Children of the Source (12 page)

    But Charles knew the memories of what he’d done could not be masked from the aliens.
  His was a history so horrendous as to have gone down in legend akin to Hitler, Genghis Khan, and Tamerlane.  He and his followers had ruined the planet without remorse or care, leaving a devastation that literally took hundreds of years to repair.  He needed to keep a low profile, indeed, to be as near invisible as possible.  

    I didn’t know what to expect from the aliens.
   I did remember Akenton’s disillusioned followers pleading to join us.  Their fanaticism, legendary for its extremes, made us wary of accepting any of them into our group.  They thought nothing of killing or maiming someone for the most casual slight or disbelief in their version of eugenics.   Did any of them mask this dangerous behavior to join us?  I didn’t know.  If so, did they still exist among my former group?

   When unable to sleep longer I tried to probe this question, I got nowhere.
   Here, I had the Sound Language with everything it was capable of, but the memories were not there.  Just bare bones with a vague uneasiness.  There was nothing to do but wait.  The rest of the night passed uneventfully.

    Late the next morning Abe and I headed for the Arms Shack, a twenty by twenty foot building with a covered awning of the same size. The spac
ecraft still circled the Peaks almost a fixture in the blue sky.  But  curiosity kept small groups studying them.  One of these group sat around a picnic table.  Dick Clayton, our chief hunter and arms expert, waved a hand briefly in greeting.  A quiet man, his lean frame and large hands told of a life outdoors.  Close cut curling grey hair fitted neatly on a leonine head.  “Abe.  Jamie.”  The high voice somehow went well with his reserved, but independent personality.  He sat on one of several picnic tables underneath the awning re stringing a crossbow.

    June Oberman trotted up and Abe blushed.
  “Lo, Dick.  Jamie.  Abe.”

     “Lo, June,” Dick said.

     “June, how you doing?” I asked.

    “Good.
  Cat got your tongue, Abe?”

    He grinned at her. “Oh, no, ma’am. Just waiting my turn.
  Age before whatever, you know.”

    She eyed him. “So?”

    “How are you, June?”

    “Pretty good, now you ask.
  Thank you.  Headed out on the hunt, Abe?”

    “Hope to.
  Depends on what Dick thinks.  He’s in-charge.”  He nodded, foolish grin still on his freckled face.  He adored her and to everyone’s amusement they bantered like a feisty old couple.

    “When is the hunt?” she asked.

    “We leave tomorrow, I hear,” Abe said.

    “You be extra careful, mister,” she said to Abe and plunked down next to him.
     

    “Always.
  The elk will be high on the mountain this time of year.”

    “How many men will you be taking, Dick?” I asked.

    “Eight including the hunters.  Lot of meat to pack out,” Dick said.  “Betty said we need more meat in two weeks.”  A flock of birds turned in the air as one and flew to a stand of pine trees.

    “Group mentality.
  A group soul,” June said. “I’m glad I have my individuality.”

    “They do, too.
  And you are, we all are, a part of group souls,” I said.

    “Back up, Jamie,” June said.
  “What’ d you mean we’re part of group souls?”

     “It’s not as bad as you’re thinking, June.
  The Souls that created us are composed of many many personalities, each a part of the larger whole.  Hence a group soul.  The Over soul or overall identity creates each of its personalities.  Personalities only incarnate once in this system.  The Soul may reincarnate many many times.”

    “We know part of this, but why are some personalities more developed than other personalities?
  They are, you know,” June said.

    “Yes, indeed.
  Because Souls are older and younger or more developed or less developed depending on their experiences.  Each new personality has the essence memory and maturity of its Soul built into its psyche.  All the lessons learned.  The lessons may have been learned in triumph or in tragedy or not learned at all.  You’ve heard the expression: as a dog returns to its vomit, so a man returns to his folly.  Sometimes it takes a lot of nose rubbing in the snot of life to learn something.  But when a lesson
is
learned it is a beautiful thing to see.  And it only takes a brief instant in time for the lesson learned.”

     “Is there a time when the Soul is done reincarnating?”
  Dick asked, fingers working the crossbow.

    “Yep,” I said. “The Entity decides that point.”

    “So who pulls the plug on these personalities - decides the point and manner of death?”  Abe asked.

    “The Soul/Entity on the Other side.
  That can be a sore point with the personalities.  Some do not feel they were done or deserved the death arranged.  And on the Other side, another sore point comes when the personalities understand they were created with built in problems - physical, mental, emotional, economic.  This doesn’t endear the Soul to  the personalities either.  These sore points can make it a challenge for the Soul to encourage the personalities to reintegrate their energies with their Source.”

    “And karma, Jamie?
  People say you have good or bad karma,” Flo Henderson said. 

    “You, as a new personality, are not responsible for the mistakes, poor judgment, and unfortunate behavior of the ‘past personalities’ of your Soul/Entity.
  You may repeat the mistakes if the lessons are not learned,” I said. “You can also benefit from the lessons already learned.”

     “So no karma?” Flo said.

    “Well, karma simply means you reap what you sow.  If you practice risky behavior like swimming with sharks, unprotected sex with lots of people, handle rattlesnakes, use drugs, run with thieves and thugs, don’t take care of yourself with proper diet and exercise - things like that, you can’t, in all honesty, blame your Soul for what happens to you.  If you know this, you can partner with each other and create something positive and beneficial for both of you.  We do that here.”

    “Why,” Rick Martin said, “hasn’t this been known down through the centuries?”

    “To a very few it has.  But the thought comes to mind, why would these Souls want to spoil a good learning venue for themselves where you, the personality, holds them responsible for some of the things that happen to you in your physical life?”

    Greg Lopez cleared his throat, opened his bear-like hands,  “So partnering with your Entity.
  We know our Entity/Soul is the Go To Person in our life.  We explain our hopes, dreams, and goals. Thank It for the good things in your life.” 

    “Be sure to examine your beliefs while you’re at it,” I said. 
 “Will they take you where you want to go?  Then look for input.”

    Flo said,  “Like dreams, intuition, hunches, information from other people, things you read, and plain everyday experiences,”

    “Exactly.  This is the language of the Entity.  It’s way of speaking to you.  The clues and cues to help you on your way.  We’ve  learned to tune into, to make the language of the Entity second nature to us.  If you are into risky behavior, you may have a warning dream of impending disaster or a minor ‘accident’ which warns you of things to come.”

    “But  they can be positive, too.”
  June said.  She sat next to Abe, gently elbowed him in the side, eying him slyly.

    I laughed. “Right.
  The whole idea is to create a positive experience.  We do this here by focusing on the positive constantly.  There are past civilizations, and in other realities systems, knowing their origins, that call on their Entities/Souls in group gatherings, as we do, for their wisdom, knowledge, and understanding.  Then, knowing the language of the Entities/Souls, watch and catalog the knowledge given.  These civilizations were and are far in advance of our own.”

    Rick stared at me, unsettled.
  “You obviously have second thoughts about the motivations of these Entities.  Why?  What is their motivation?”

    “Learning.
  But their focus is much larger than ours.  Their value systems reflect that.  They know they are eternal and you, their personalities, are eternal.  They are interested in the growth gleaned from learning from experiences they can have with their personalities.  So they are not bashful in creating horrendous experiences for them so they can learn.  The trouble is we are on the receiving end.  Personally, I have told my Entity, if It wants a terrible experience to learn from, to have it with another part of itself in another reality.  Doesn’t always work.”   I smiled.  “But It, at least, is aware of my interests and feelings on the matter.”

    “So,” Dick said, “how do we deal with these powerful creatures we are a part of?”

    “In a positive way.  They aren’t malicious, but they do need to be communicated with.  That can change everything.  They will be less inclined to create mischief, a disease or problem if they know that you know who they are, and how they work in relation to you.  We do that here.  It creates more positive options.”  I gestured. “In every way we look for clues and cues.  We compare notes and experiences together.  We ask for information.  We seek it, and it comes.  The materials we need and seek come one way or another for the projects we want to create.”

    “And those who want to destroy us, like Mr.
Hensley?”  Greg asked.

    I shook my head.
  “I’m not sure, other than keeping it positive.”  I scratched my head. “That is one guy I haven’t got a handle on.  He has enormous power and a very primitive belief system based on good and evil.  A scary combination.  Anyone have any ideas?”

    “You baited the man,” Greg said voice edged with concern.
  “Calling him Torquemada Junior.  You, of all people, have more brains than to do that.  What’s going on, man?”

    “I know and I’m not sure why.
  The emotion just roared in.  Something is not finished here from that time long ago,” I said.

    “So what memories do you have from that time when everything went wrong?” Greg opened and closed his great hands.
 

     I shook my head.
  “Pretty much zero.  I know of the principal leaders, but not of the support players.  It may be Hensley is from an Entity that was part of that scenario.  Why else would he be here?”

    Flo sat down on top of a picnic table. “But this happened thousands of years ago.
  How can it continue now?”

    I pointed to the aliens.
  “It does.  These Entities are free of time and space.  Most systems don’t use time and space.  Time and space are peculiar to certain physical systems like ours.  So it seems that it took place thousands of years ago, but the drama continues.  To the Entities involved, the continuing drama has nothing to do with thousands of years ago as we know it.  This new lifetime to them would be like the next event in an evolving experience.”

    “If Entities are like growing children, maturing slowly, we could be dealing with some very immature people, like Hensley,” Greg said.
  “Imagine someone with the Sound Language who is vengeful and self-indulgent.  Recipe for disaster.  Like before.”

    “Indeed,” I said.
  “That’s exactly what I’m concerned about.”

7

    We spied some hurried activity at the Main Gate to the outer perimeter.  “”What do you get, Dick?“

    “An injury.
  A child-boy.  An older man, distant.”  He looked at me. “And you?”

   “Birth.
  A sadness.  Violence in illness.  Rage from no resolution.”

   “I’ve noticed you see things in terms of feelings and emotions.
  Why not images like I got?”

    I looked at him soberly, still feeling the play of experiences I’d picked up.
  New dimensions of these ideas opened themselves as the experiences continued to play ever-widening, like the ripples after a rock is tossed into the water, until I had a pretty clear picture of what we were dealing with.  “The images you picked up,” I said, “contained enormous amounts of information.  You sensed this.   All I did was focus on the images and explore the feelings and emotions attached to them.  Guess that’s why I described them the way I did.”  We stood silent for a moment.

    “I’ll get Evan and Helen to the clinic,” Dick said.

    “Thank you.  I’ll get Laith.  He studied with Maria Beck.  Maria is still at the fort.  May need a herb or two.”  We hurried off after checking first impressions as to where those we wanted would be.

    By the time Laith and I arrived at the clinic Evan and Helen had the situation well in hand.
  A large man in his fifties stood uncertainly to one side.  The tired eyes in the seamed and dirty face held a certainty that life dealt circumstances which though senseless must be endured.

    A young woman barely twenty sat on the bed, face a welter of agony.
  “Oh, God, the pressure,”  she moaned and got up. 

    Helen turned to me.
  “She’s fully effaced and dilated.  Everything looks normal.  Just have to wait.”        

    I turned to the man.
  “Want to come with me? Get cleaned up?  Get something to eat?  Not much you can do here.  It’ll be a couple of hours.  She’s in good hands.”  He looked over at the young woman, now sponged clean, and dressed in a short birthing gown.  A birthing stool sat to one side, ready when she was.

    “Go ahead, Pa.
  Good people here.  Good feelings.”  The voice husky to match her build told of a reliance on intuition.  He nodded tiredly and followed me to the door then turned, eyes only for his daughter.

    “I love you,” he said.

    She smiled, making her slightly swollen features handsome.  “I know.  It’s one of the things that’s kept me going.  I love you a heap, too.”   A ghost of a smile rose in his eyes and edged his lips.  He followed me out.

    “Food.
  Clean up.  Change of clothes?” I repeated.

    “A bath.
  Clean clothes,”  he said, looking incredulously at his rags.

    People wore what they could get, altering the clothes as best they could with sewing kits gotten from the trading posts.
  The government trading posts sold only rugged heavy duty work clothes.  The prices, subsidized, were small, but the clothes were quality.

    “A hot bath.”
  We picked up some clothes at the storeroom, and left him at the bathhouse.

    Jack Lazrus saw me and walked over.
  “Concerned?”

    I stared at the closing
bathhouse door.  “The man feels life’s an ugly tragedy.  Daughter pregnant.  Son-in-law caught some disease and died painfully.  Nomads a lot of years.  Worked some.  Stole some.”

    “Who hasn’t?” Jack said.
  “Story of my life before here.”

    “True.”

    “Whatcha gonna say to him?”

    “Not much I can say.
  Listen mostly.  Let the man get it outta his system.”  Where was he going with this?

    “How do you tell someone who has experienced what he has that he has a hand in creating what happens to him?”
  Jack’s malicious grin made me chuckle.

    “If he really knew how it worked, he might want to join a union of personalities lobbying for better working conditions from their Entities.
  If that were possible.”  I shook my head.  “Very few people have any idea ... ”

    “So what else has your attention?” Jack said. “You tug on your earlobe when something’s bugging you.”

    “Something ... something.  Can’t put my finger on it.  The man has the smell of a politician or used car salesman.  Right now it’s in feeling form,”  I said.  “The man has a history, but it’s hard to get a hold of.  He’ll bear watching.”  I smiled at Jack, remembering when he came to us.

    We didn’t always keep ourselves prisoners in our community.  Sometimes, with care, we’d have an outing or picnic in the pine forests surrounding us, or go to the great reservoirs to swim or boat.  One day at the reservoirs we found a man sleeping by the overflow intake of the new reservoir.  He wore a pair of ragged shorts, and waking, pulled a worn and torn army blanket around him as some sort of shield of modesty or defense.  Long matted hair and beard made a skinny underfed body even more prominent.  And the wild animal eyes darted uncertainly over us.  A crude small bow lay next to him, but he made no move toward it, perhaps seeing our guards and their crossbows.

    The clear blue May sky sailed only a couple of thin scattered clouds.
  Mike Roseman directed the guards to aim their crossbows away.  He took a step forward. “Hello,” I said.

    “I’m not a wild animal.”
  The voice, a cold chiding whip, made everyone perk up.

    Becky Corn, old and irascible to the core, said, “You could have fooled me.”
  The man went red.

    Jana, her daughter, snorted.
  “Gawd, Ma, kindly shut your mouth.”

    “What’s your name?” Mike asked.

    “Jack Lazrus.”

    “How old are you, young man?”

    “Twenty-two.”

    “Where are you headed?”

    “I was told to come here.”

    Becky arched an eyebrow.
  I could see it coming, dripping with sickish sweet  sarcasm.  “Really?  By who?”

    “By whom, you old witch,” Jack corrected.
  “In dreams, Mister,” he said to Mike.

    “Okay.
  Where are you from?”

    “Salt Lake,” came the faltering reply.
 

    “Relax,” I said.
  “You’re not the only one acquainted with that forced labor camp.  We aren’t going to turn you in.”

    His stance became less wary.
  Becky was casting around for something wretched to say.  I gestured to the canoe.  “Come on, let’s go canoeing before Miss Becky finds something interesting to impart.”   That got everyone going including Becky who reluctantly followed Jana away.  Jack and I put the canoe in the water.   A fifty million gallon reservoir makes a pretty good-sized lake.  I urged him into the canoe and as I paddled we talked.  “My name is Jamie.  Tell me of your dream.”

    He brightened, recognizing my name.
  “The Wizard.  A dream to get answers,” he said shortly.

    “About what?”

    He looked off at the Peaks for a long while, then trailed his fingers in the clear water,  making eddies.  Finally he said, “To find out about the Teacher.”  He saw the surprise on my face and took it for something else.

    “I knew I shouldn’t have come.”
  Then defiantly, “I’m not crazy.  I dreamed.  I know he’ll come from here.  I just don’t know how or who.”

    Someone has the ball.
  “Why is it so important to you?”  I paddled around Becky and Jana.  Becky stuck her tongue out at Jack, who broke into a grin and laughed. 

    “I just need to know.
  Are you the Teacher?”

    “No.
  Sure not.  Just a generic man,” I said.  “You’ll find out, though.”

    “You know, don’t you?”
  His voice held  accusation.

    “I have some ideas,” I said carefully.
  “Join us and be patient, Jack.  But be careful of gurus, self-proclaimed spiritual masters and psychic experts.  Do you really need them?  The ones you seek expect you to be responsible for your own spiritual development.  Not be running around seeking it outside yourself from someone else.”  The Ingathering.  That was eight years ago.  Now Jack was one of us.

    We talked until the older man came out of the bathhouse clean, shaven, with new clothes and looking refreshed.  Jack excused himself.

    The older man offered his hand.
  “Ren Locus.  Call me Ren.”  I took it and introduced myself.     

    “Elaine’s my daughter,”  he said.
  “Been on the road a long time.”  We went to the Dining Hall where he ate in silence.  When he was finished, we walked.

    “I used to work in the copper mines before the shutdowns.
  Made good money, too.  We lived on unemployment for a while, hoping things would change.  Sold stuff, did odd jobs to pay the mortgage.  Other stuff got repossessed.  Everything went by the wayside.  Unemployment ran out.  Finally we lost the house.  I was scared.”

    He hocked and spat.
  “We hit the road.  Tent cities sprang up.  Lived in a couple.  Killed a range cow once to feed everyone.  Then one day we ran out of gas, parked the car, and began walking.  Life was hard.  Mannie, my wife, died about that time.  We buried her next to  a tree.”  Unshed tears filled his eyes, he pursed his lips, and ran his tongue over his lower lip. “Elaine took up with a young nomad.  We stayed together for three years.  Then about four months ago he took sick and died really painful.”  We stopped and looked over at the reservoirs, half their thirty foot depth sticking up out of the ground, the rock and dirt sides lush with green clover.  “I love the earth, the sky, the water, but I don’t understand what we’ve gotten into.  The death, suffering, and pain make no sense.”  He faced me.  “People say you’re a miracle worker.  The squatters down the road call you the Wizard.  How do you make sense of this?”

    “You experienced it.
  People must make sense of their own experiences.  What’s important to you now?”

    “Elaine.
  The baby.”

    “She’s fine.
  Still in labor.  What else?”  I said.  “How do you view money?

    “Haven’t seen any in three years.
  Haven’t used any in five years.  Don’t worry about it.”

    We walked toward the clinic.
  “You’ve lost your fear of money, material possessions.  You value your family more.  What do you want now?”

    “A good place to live.
  Out of the weather.  Some place where we don’t have to look over our shoulders all the time.  Be with good people I can trust.  Raise good food.  The basics.  To be together and be happy.”

    “So you learned some things.
  Life isn’t as senseless as you think.”

    “What is its purpose?”
  He looked at me stunned and almost angry.

    “To learn.
  To be.  We’ve pooled our knowledge here.  It works.”

    “Why does it have to be so painful?”

    “Would you learn if it wasn’t?”  I shrugged.  We stopped at the stock pond and enjoyed the new mule Baldy.  His rapid recovery pleased everyone.  His big eyes watched us carefully, then he stomped a couple of times and brayed.  We laughed.  Baldy brayed the laughing hee-haws.   I have never gotten used to the abrasive, up and down, squeaky hinged sound.  It always leaves me startled.

    Suddenly Ren sat down on his haunches, covering his face.
  “God.  I feel so weak.  It just hit me.  Took all my energy.  What is it?”

    “Your daughter is birthing.
  Relax.  Don’t fight it.  She needs your energy.  Let it happen.” I let my mind roam to the clinic.  The birthing wasn’t especially hard, but the woman’s physical condition was nutritionally poor.  She was also scared.  Laith touched her shoulder.  She gasped and relaxed.  The baby’s head crowned and then emerged, slightly lavender.  Helen asked her to push, and Laith caught an energetic boy.  I looked back down at Ren, then something pulled me back to the clinic.  Helen looked startled.  Laith let go of the left leg.  Everything looked normal so I turned back to Ren.

    We stayed by the stock pond until Ren stood.
  I gestured to the clinic.  “Want to see your grandson?”

    He walked unsteadily toward the clinic.
  “Yes.”

    “Take it slowly.
  You gave a lot of energy to Elaine.”

    “Could you explain?”

    “Often people with emotional commitments to each other lend energy when it is needed.  I remember once my father was getting a tooth pulled.  We lived in the same town.  Shortly after eleven I felt as you did - drained and exhausted and weak with an almost overwhelming desire to sleep.  Later that day we talked, and he confirmed his tooth being pulled at the same time.  He’d needed my energy.  It’s quite common.  Most people never think of it or connect the two.”