Seeds Of Ascension Book Two: Gateways

Dedication

 

To the memory of all of those children and the adults that stared up into the stars on cloudless nights, staring at millions of stars, galaxies and dreaming of riding on starships going on incredible adventures.

I was one and still am.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Come to the edge,” he said.
“We can’t, we’re afraid!” they responded.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
“We can’t, We will fall!” they responded.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
And so they came.
And he pushed them.
And they flew.”

― Guillaume Apollinaire

 

 

 

 

Prelude

 

It won’t be anymore.

Roger turned over in his bed, wondering if Luke had ever had days like this dealing with crazy events and crazier beings, living life behind a lightsaber.

Welcome! rang out in his head. A voice he never heard before was now calling out to him at night, every night.

Drumbeats, hearts melting. Beating like an eerie dream cast in dim light with abeyance drawn in the moonlight. Stars blinked in cascades of clouds asunder while a crow in a darkened tree spate in disbelief.

Not in disgust, but mere enjoyment of the moment. The very moment a page turns in some holy text, to begin the next chapter.

When all is silent and in the still of the night, one only hears the blades of grass that are moaning under the caress of the winds perceptive touch and the thump of a heart.

Roger awoke shaking, while somewhere in the cosmos a star began blinking in response.

 

“Damn!” hissed a reptilian voice from the dark side of the moon and, slamming his clawed hand on the consul, glared at the warning light blinking before him.

 

 

Chapter One

 

Science News

February 12, 1991

Scientists have reported a new frequency or some sort of energy radiating from the very central core of the galaxy and spreading out into its further reaches. Its source is unknown at this time, as is its nature, but it appears to be a new photonic pulse, the likes of which have never been detected before.

 

I closed my eyes and he was there. “So, I don’t totally understand. I go to sleep at night and you arrive. Are you just a figment of my imagination? Something I created to deal with what I’m going through? I’ve read that the human mind uses dreams and sleep to sift through the day’s events and store what it needs to remember.”

“Hmm, that is logical and a justifiable position. A skeptic could rationalize away everything that is happening to them. Convince themselves that all of this is simply dreams. Rationalize until they sort order from chaos. Quiet the fear inside that exists when we confront that edge of the unknown. And in the end, the skeptic believes in nothing other conspiracies that other sceptics believe in.”

I hesitate. “I call myself a skeptic, and a strong one. But with everything that has begun to happen I find myself wondering about a lot of things.”

“Wondering is good, believing is better for it gives your life purpose, puts you on a path, but believers can only work on trust and love of self and of life.”

“And something else I’m starting to realize.”

“What?” it asked, and as it looked to me for an answer, I saw what I took to be curiosity cross its face. The first glimmer of any emotion from this being.

 “Connections. I’m beginning to see connections.”

“Good. That is important. You are doing well in this learning of the gateways and of journeying through the chakras.”

“But you never answered any of my questions.”

“You will find your own answers. Right now, you are establishing will and purpose, the foundation of the third chakra. Understanding comes later.”

            It gestured toward another inset tile. Deep in a cavernous pyramid, tall columns disappeared into the darkness, preventing me from seeing where the roof was, or even if there was a roof. The tile was of petals surrounding a circle and inset was a crystal that began to glow as I stared at it. Below that stood a ram.

“The strong horns of will, power and internal purpose.” The crystal grew even brighter until I was nearly blind, covering my eyes as the Hathor talked. “Manipura. The first two chakras are of flow downward. This one is of eruption, fire, determination and upwards flow. Internal will and purpose. Or as we just mentioned believing.”

I reached out to cover the crystal and attempted to block out the blinding light. Instead of touching the glowing surface I encountered nothing. It slipped away and I fell into the tile and into darkness.

I stood up in the darkness, the crystal glow hovering behind me. I reached again for it. Glittering flashes sparkled everywhere. Blinded I chased the crystal as it weaved out of my grasp.

Every time I reached out and got close the light intensified, my fingers grew hot. Afraid, I withdrew, not wanting to burn myself. Instead, I closed up and sat down until the sun broke over my shoulder and light filled the room.

I stood up, trinkets and rattles stirred. I looked down. Hair flowed long, dirty and coarse in my face. I was a female again, but not helpless this time. Leathers of animal hides covered my body and, around my neck, bits of dried flesh strung in a necklace. A medicine pouch hung on my side. Outside seagulls squawked, air was heavy with humid salt smell of the ocean. Simple white painted buildings of the town yard glinted through the windows.

I knew what had to be done and shoved aside the two austere looking women staring at me in disgust from their black and white outfits. Nuns, they were called. It suited them, for they had ‘none’ connection to the Earth and even though they considered themselves pious and strongly spiritual, I knew they were missing a connection to this world and this land. But I wasn’t here to save them, it was the one inside that needed my attentions.

“Begone, savage,” one said as she made signs on her chest that I knew were of the cross bearing their god. “You’ll harm her. She is in God’s Good Hands now.”

I stood over Crystal Running Water, or Mary as they called her. She had already been tainted by their ways and had denied all the teachings of our people, our ancestors. She would have been picked to be a shaman in training as she had great gifts of healing. I should not have come, but one never turns their back on their own people in need. “Not as much as the harm you’ve already done. She will not live the night and you have no means of saving her,” I grunt in their foreign tongue.

“No, we are praying for God to come and save her soul. She will join St. Peter and live with Jesus in heaven.”

“Your God will not have her yet. Her time is not yet. Leave this room.” I growl and shake my raven’s rattle at her. The head nun turns and runs from the room screaming to get the men to come. I pick up Crystal, her body is hot and easily mistaken for fever-ridden but it is not fever that resides in this one. Still, it will eat her alive just the same. I open the side window, no one is around. They are guarding the front entrance. I pull myself and Crystal through the window and carry her to a sacred grove in the woods.

I deposit her body on the ground I’ve covered in cedar boughs and pine needles ahead of time. I quickly light smudge to burn all around us. No spirits will dare enter past these boundaries while I begin my work.

Crystal’s eyes flicker open. “Grandmother, what are you doing?”

“They would let you die. You are not meant to die, you will live a long life. Some of this you will remember, most you will not,” I bark in our tongue; she nods and falls unconscious again. The evil spirit inside is eating her spirit with great haste. I have not much time. Cries of alarm ring out from the village, they have discovered my doing and I have less time now.”

I close my eyes and begin a slow walk around the body, knowing it is not the eyes I need to see with. Instead I see the demon twisting around inside her, it is hungry, gnawing away at her spirit. I shake the raven’s rattle and the ground shakes. The creature stops and turns to look at me.

Great red eyes of hunger glare out from the shaggy fur of the grizzly looking beast. It is strong, savage like the grizzly. Teeth glint in a snarl. They want to devour Crystal’s essence and perhaps mine if it could.

I pull another rattle from my belt and shake it several times until her body is frozen solid. The beast looks down and snarls. It turns to leap at me, enter me if it cannot have the girl. I shake the raven’s rattle again and it staggers, dizzy. This battle is greater than it had hoped for.

“Begone, foul demon, there are others for you to devour, but she is not yours.”

I hear people approaching and the voice of the mother nun yelling, as soon as it sees the face of the head nun projected from my mind’s eye the beast is gone. She is easier prey to hunt and more satisfying. I shake the rattle again and I am back.

“I am so cold now. Thank you.”

“That is a good sign. You’ll be okay. Know this, your son will become a powerful minister among the whites. He will be half white and will lead the missionaries to destroy the last of the old ways, the native ways. There will be no more Ska-ga shamans after me. None will follow, the old ways will die.”

“Why do you save me then?”

“Because you are one of my blood, and as a healer of my people, I could not let you die knowing I have the ability to save your life. I cannot judge those I save, that is not the way of our people, nor the Ska-ga. We do what we must.”

“Thank you, Grandmother.”

Shouts burst from the woods as she stands up on shaky legs. I turn to leave and a crack from one of their thunder-sticks rings out. Searing pain bursts from my shoulder and I stagger backwards, blood pours into the sky. Several men burst into the glade.

The head nun points an accusing finger at me. “You should rot in hell for taking this child from us and trying to kill her with your heathen ways.”

“No!” young Crystal screams. “Don’t harm her! She has saved my life, I am cured.”

The head nun feels Crystal’s head. “Goodness the fever has left her. Get this girl some clothes.”

They wrestle me to the ground, crushing me into the still burning smudge. It cannot protect me and keep these men from me, just as I cannot prevent what will happen in the future.

Young Crystal Running Water turns to me as they shackle my hands. “Howa, thank you, again. I shall never forget I was born native, no matter what they teach me.”

Later I know she will help me escape. My time is not yet either. I am picked up and shoved forward to fall face first into the cedar boughs, with my hands bound behind me. My medicine bag is trampled and kicked aside. My blood flows back into the earth that created it from the wound inflicted of buckshot and pellets.

“You should be punished for this. But she lives, so we will take you in to attend to your wound and teach you the kindness of Jesus and begin to teach you his ways, cleanse you of this heathenism. Someone make sure her hair is cut and she gets a bath.” The head nun holds a hand over her face, as I watch a bead of sweat break her brow. The beast is already within. “Let us hurry back, this accursed glade gives me shivers.”

“We’ll see just how strong your God is now.”  I lean into her and whisper, “forgive them, for they fear the unknown and they know not what they do.”

 

Richmond, BC

“Main Gracious Hall is the main temple,” the Buddhist guide announced to the first guests touring the grounds of the Buddhist Temple in Richmond, British Columbia, Canada that day. His traditional yellow, orange robe rippled under a gentle breeze as he walked. The smell of pungent incense filled the air in honor of Buddha. Some guests wrinkled their noses, unused to the burning aroma. Others relaxed under the calming fragrance that burned everywhere.

“Many come to visit us every day,” said one of the shaved monks standing guard outside the Ksitigarbha Buddhisattva Hall, which housed the pictures of the departed ones.

“Yes,” the other replied. “Many have come to see His Holiness. He is the 14^th reincarnation of the Dalai Lama. Does anyone know what Dalai Lama means?”

The group stared blankly.

“It literally means the Ocean of Wisdom. The Dalai Lama knows all.”

“Is he inside? The ocean?” a young boy asked his father as the tour group approached the small temple. “Does he have to pee often?”

“No son, behave. The Ocean is a man.”

“Will we get to meet him, Dad? Why do they shave their heads? Dad, I have to use the bathroom now.”

“The Dalai Lama was found living in a boy about your age. The name given by his parents was Lhamo Thondup.” The guide continued his rehearsed monologue, trying to ignore the well intentioned, but irritating young lad pulling on his dad’s hand.

The boy pulled on the robe of the tour guide as he stood behind him. “So when do we get to see the Ocean?”

“I’m sorry little one. You will probably not get to see the Dalai Lama today. He entered this temple only minutes ago to meditate for the souls of the departed. He will usually meditate for over an hour and is not to be disturbed.”

The boy thought hard and looked up at his father. “Dad, I have to meditate. Can I go inside?”

“But I thought you had to pee?”

The Dalai Lama was deep in prayer, oblivious to everything until he opened his eyes looking around the temple. Had he just felt that? A subtle shaking of the ground? His dreams were disturbing earlier this morning, which for a man of his serenity was most unusual. He couldn’t sleep, so he got up early and came here to pray instead.

As he closed his eyes it happened again, only stronger. That one he definitely felt. He rose to his feet, worried about being in the building should a real quake start. The tremors returned with double the intensity. The Dalai Lama grabbed hold of the counter and held on. Dust sifted down from the ornate ceiling. He clasped his hand over his mouth as the gold statue of the thousand eyes, thousand hands of Avalokitesvara Buddhisattva shook. He knew what this meant; this was no earthquake. He turned for the door.

“But Dad, you promised I’d get to see the Dalai Lama.”

“I’m sorry son and I didn’t promise, he is not into visitors.”

“Now we move on to the adjoining temple on the other side of the main temple, which is called Thousand Buddha Hall.” The guide monk commented.

The group moved on. The boy stared at the door as his dad yanked at his arm.

“But Dad! It’s him!” he said. The door flew open and the Dalai Lama staggered outside. The two monks guarding turned and stared into the ashen face of their spiritual leader. He sagged into their arms, fighting to stay conscious, not looking at all like the serene being he was.

The two monks in total awe held their leader. “Your Holiness, are you all right?”

“It begins,” he sobbed. “It begins.”

“We will take him to his quarters.”

“Yes, I must lie down. Then I will pray for us.”

The two monks bustled the Dalai Lama to his quarters, leaving the tour group aghast at the happenings. One quickly called for other monks to watch him.

“What happened?” a senior monk asked, as he entered.

“The Dalai Lama said the ground started shaking beneath his feet. He said it was an omen. I don’t understand.”

“An omen? I felt no shaking.”

“Neither did we?”

“Yes, we felt nothing. Maybe it was nothing,” the second guide confirmed.

“You, guard the Dalai Lama while we investigate,” the senior monk ordered.

The two ventured inside the temple. Hundreds of gold-foiled cups were strewn about, dust covering the floor. A trail of prints led out of the building.

“This is not possible. I swept in here this morning.”

The senior monk thought a moment. “His Holiness had this happen once before in 1950. He felt the ground shake beneath his feet. It was taken as an omen that one way of life was ending and, after much destruction, another beginning. Two days later the Chinese began their invasion of Tibet, eventually overthrowing the Dalai Lama and forcing his evacuation.” He turned and stared at the thousand-armed figure of Avalokitesvara Buddhisattva.

As he did, a young girl and her mother entered. The young girl stared at the statue. “It broke. Mom, why did it break?”

The two monks gasped and fell before the indestructible god, chanting in front of the figure, now aware of the large crack running through it.

The young Chinese boy pulled at his dad’s hand. “See, Dad, we did get to see him.”

 

In his bed the Dalai Lama broke into a sweat, muttering, feeling ill for the first time in many years. “It begins.”

****

 

Belle Glade, Florida

“Your mama don’t dance and your daddy don’t rock n roll,” blasted out of the boom box on the bench next to John as he reached in to tweak the air mixture adjustment one more time on the Edelbrock four barrel carb.

Pressing stop on his cell phone, he listened to the thumping purr of the over-cammed engine. “Yeah, like a hungry panther about to devour its prey.”

He closed the hood. “Now, time to prowl.”

John Miller slammed down the hood of his ‘91 Mustang and jumped behind the steering wheel. The thundering vibrations of the five-liter, three hundred cubic inch engine shook right through the seat. “Okay, time to go for a test spin.” He’d just spent the last six months tearing the engine out of the car, rebuilding it along with the transmission, and was ready to try it out.

He eased the stick-shift into reverse and backed out of his parents’ driveway, feathering the throttle. Johnny hated life in the small-town community of Belle Glade, Florida, as much as he hated the oppressive humidity living so close to Lake Okeechobee in the heart of the Everglades.

“I hope he gets some mufflers on that thing,” his mother yelled at her husband from across the living room. The noise from the car with the open header was deafening.

His dad just shook his head and muttered to himself as he grabbed another beer and continued watching the baseball game mad since his team just gave up three hits and were now behind. “I hope he gets insurance.”

John grinned as he eased the car down the street, it had taken him over a year to rebuild this car, working part time. He didn’t want to make too much noise just yet, he had to get on the old interstate first and make sure the car wouldn’t overheat. There usually weren’t any cops on that road and it had a straight stretch about two miles long just before the swamp where he could really put his foot into it.

Sweat poured down his brow as he gripped the wheel. The lump of the racing cam shook the car at an idle due to lack of engine vacuum; maybe he’d gone too radical on valve timing. He grinned. “Go hard or go home,” he’d tell his buddies, well, he wasn’t going home right about now.

He was going to get insurance next week, but couldn’t resist one joyride, had to test the cooling system and give the engine just one blast. He might even have to pull the timing back anyway if it’s too far advanced and the engine pings under acceleration. Johnny grinned as he signaled onto the nearly deserted highway and punched it. Tires screeched in a cloud of blue smoke as his back sunk into the seat and the car shot forward. “Yeah, that’s Ford power, baby.”