Sara, Book 1 (2 page)
The Foreverness of Friends of a Feather
both entertains and informs as it flows to you—as per your state of attraction— through the Universal thought translation process of Esther and her word processor. Streams of impeccable wisdom and unconditional love—gently taught by Sara’s very entertaining feathered mentor—blend with the currents of Sara’s enlightening experiences with her family, peers, neighbors, and teachers to lift you to a new awareness of your natural state of well-being, and of your knowing that all is really well.
Consider who you are and why you’re here as you’re considering studying this book, and then, at the completion of your first leisurely reading, take note of how far and how fast you have progressed toward all that is important to you.
As a result of the clearer perspectives that you will have gained from this brief, simple, thought-provoking novel, expect to experience a new level of joyous fulfillment.
— Jerry Hicks
PART I
The Foreverness
of Friends of a Feather
“S
ara frowned as she lay in her warm bed, disappointed to find herself awake. It was still dark outside, but she knew it was time to get up.
I hate these short winter days,
Sara thought.
I wish I could just stay here until the sun comes up
.
Sara knew she had been dreaming. It was something very pleasant, although she had no idea now what the dream had been about.
I don’t want to wake up yet,
Sara thought, as she tried to adjust from her pleasant dream into the not-so-pleasant cold winter morning. Sara snuggled down deep into her warm bed and listened to hear if her mother was up and moving about yet. She pulled the blankets up over her head, and closed her eyes and tried to recall a piece of the very pleasant dream she had awakened from. It had been so delicious that Sara wanted more.
Darn. I really need to use the bathroom. I’ll just hold still and relax, and maybe I won’t notice.
Sara shifted her position, trying to delay the inevitable.
It’s not working. Okay. I’m up. Another day. Big deal.
Sara tiptoed down the hall into the bathroom, carefully stepping over the spot in the floor that always creaked, and quietly closed the door. She decided to put off flushing the toilet so that she could enjoy the luxury of actually being awake and alone.
Just five more minutes of peace and quiet,
Sara thought.
“Sara? Are you up? Come here and help me!”
“Might as well flush the toilet,” Sara muttered. “Okay, I’ll be right there!” she called to her mother.
She could never figure out how her mother always seemed to know what everyone in the house was doing.
She must have bugging devices hidden in every room,
Sara bitterly decided. She knew that wasn’t really true, but her negative mental rampage was well under way, and it seemed that there was no stopping it.
I’m going to stop drinking anything before I go to bed. Better yet, from noon on, I won’t drink anything. Then, when I wake up, I can just lie in bed and think, all to myself—and no one will know I’m awake.
I wonder how old you are when you stop enjoying your own thoughts? I know that it happens, because no one else is ever quiet. They can’t be listening to their own thoughts, ’cause they’re always
Startled, Sara blinked as she came back into the awareness that she was standing in front of the bathroom sink, blankly staring into the mirror, with her toothbrush halfheartedly moving around in her mouth.
talking or watching television, and when they get in the car, the first thing they do is turn the radio on. Nobody seems to like to be alone. They always want to be with somebody else. They want to go to a meeting or to a movie or to a dance or to a ball game. I’d like to put a blanket of quiet over everything so I could, just for a little while, hear myself think. I wonder if it’s possible to be awake and not be bombarded with other people’s noise.
I’m going to organize a club. People against OPN. Member requirements include: You can like others, but you do not need to talk to them. You can like watching others, but do not need to explain to anybody else what you saw. You have to like to be alone sometimes to just think your own thoughts. It’s okay to want to help others, but you must be willing to keep that to a minimum, because that’s a trap that will ruin you for sure. If you’re too helpful, it’s all over. They’ll consume you with their ideas, and you won’t have any time for yourself. You must be willing to lay low and watch others without them being aware of you.
I wonder if anybody else would like to join my club. No, that would ruin it! My club is about not needing clubs! It’s about my life being important enough, interesting enough, fun enough, that I don’t need anybody else.
“Sara!”
“Are you going to stay in there all day? Let’s get moving. We have lots to do!”
“S
ara, did you have something you wanted to say?”
Sara jumped, becoming aware again as Mr. Jorgensen said her name.
“Yes, sir. I mean, about what, sir?” Sara stammered while the other 27 students in her classroom snickered.
Sara had never understood why they took such delight in someone else’s embarrassment, but they never failed to do just that, laughing raucously as if something actually funny had happened.
What is funny about someone else feeling bad?
Sara just couldn’t sort out the answer to that, but now wasn’t the time to ponder that anyway, for Mr. Jorgensen was still holding her in the unbelievable spotlight of discomfort while her classmates looked on with exaggerated glee.
“Can you answer the question, Sara?”
More laughing.
“Stand up, Sara, and give us your answer.”
Why is he being so mean? Is this really so important?
Five or six eager hands shot up around the classroom, as show-off classmates took further delight in making Sara look bad.
“No, sir,” Sara whispered, slipping down into her seat.
“What did you say, Sara?” the teacher barked.
“I said, no, sir, I do not know the answer to the question,” Sara said, a bit louder. But Mr. Jorgensen wasn’t finished with Sara—not yet.
“Do you know the question, Sara?”
Sara’s face flushed red with embarrassment. She didn’t have the slightest idea what the question was. She had been deep in her own thoughts, truly in her own world.
“Sara, may I offer a suggestion to you?”
Sara didn’t look up, because she knew that giving her permission or not giving it wouldn’t stop Mr. Jorgensen.
“I suggest, young lady, that you spend more time thinking about the important things that are discussed here in this classroom, and less time gazing out of the window, wasting your time on idle, needless thoughts. Try to put something in that empty head of yours.” More laughter.
Will this class never end?
And then the bell, finally the bell.
Sara walked slowly home, watching her red boots sinking into the white snow. Grateful for the snowfall. Grateful for the quiet. Grateful for an opportunity to retreat into the privacy of her own mind as she began her two-mile walk home.
She noticed that the water beneath the Main Street bridge was nearly completely covered with ice, and she thought about sliding down the riverbank to see how thick the ice was, but decided to do that on another day. She was able to see the water flowing beneath the ice, and she smiled as she pondered how many different faces this river showed throughout the year. This bridge, crossing this river, was her favorite part of her walk home. There was always something interesting happening here.
Once across the bridge, Sara looked up for the first time since leaving the school yard, and she felt a little twinge of sadness wash over her as she realized that her quiet walk in solitude was only two blocks from ending. She slowed her pace to savor the peace she had rediscovered, and then turned and walked backwards for a bit, looking back at the bridge.
“Oh well,” she sighed softly, as she entered the graveled driveway to her house. She paused on the steps to kick at a large sheet of ice, loosening it with her boot and kicking it off into a snow bank. Then she pulled off her wet boots and went into the house.
Quietly closing the door, and hanging her heavy wet coat on the hook, Sara made as little noise as possible. She wasn’t at all like the other members of her family who usually called out a loud, penetrating “I’m home!” upon entering.
I’d like to be a hermit,
she concluded, walking through the living room into the kitchen.
A quiet, happy hermit, thinking, talking or not talking, getting to choose everything about my day. Yes!
