The Divine Arsonist
____________________
A Tale of Awakening
by Jacob Nordby
Awakened Life Publications
Boise, ID
The Divine Arsonist
Copyright ©2012
Jacob Nordby
Cover design by Thayne Rigby
ISBN-10: 1469964082
ISBN-13: 978-1469964089
LCCN: 2012901643
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
Published by Awakened Life Publications
Acknowledgments
I am deeply grateful for the many teachers, guides and helpers I have encountered. Without them, this book would not have been written. Several dear friends read the rough manuscript and offered critical encouragement: Dan, Karen, Aline, Mark, Shari, David, Craig, Roxanne, Lisa, Autumn and my mother, Corry.
My wife, Jennifer, held space for me to fall apart, find myself, write this book and do seemingly endless inner work.
I am grateful for the inspired work of independent editor, Autumn Antal. Her tenacity, patience and deep understanding of this book’s spirit gave me great peace during the process.
Thanks to fellow author, Craig Hart, for formatting the book and providing much needed companionship along the way. www.CraigHartOnline.com
Thayne Rigby designed the cover, my website and is a friend I talk with almost every day. www.antishrillwebdesign.com
There are times on Earth when extraordinary consciousness invades everyday life. There are times on Earth when unseen forces make a calamity of the status quo. There are times on Earth when it seems as though a divine arsonist has set fire to the world as we know it.
— We live in such times.
Chapter One
“How are you feeling about this? You need to consider that before you make a decision,” the stranger said.
I sat and looked at him across the campfire flames. In the mountain darkness, he seemed to flicker in and out of existence with the dancing firelight. Far away down the valley, an owl hooted. Suddenly the sound was over our heads in the tall pine tree. Another owl had answered the call. “Who,” the owl asked persistently, “who, who?”
Yes, who indeed? Who was I? Who was living this night and who was this visitor sharing wine with me now under the stars?
The strange man sat still and looked into the fire. He appeared just a few hours ago and made me a most unusual proposition, but there was no urgency or nervousness in his manner. He was at rest and waiting for my reply, while at the same time, he gave me the sense that I could delay for decades before I answered if need be.
I, on the other hand, felt anything but restful. My central nervous system was sending out the kind of alarms that signal the fear of impending death. It was that same feeling of anticipation in the last seconds before a sky dive, or just after you’ve strapped in for the most insane roller coaster ride at an amusement park. I was sure that my mind was about to be blown.
I could not reconcile these physical sensations with my understanding of the man's words. Although what he said was not normal, it should not have triggered this powerful squeeze in my solar plexus. Something very big must be just below the surface, something that was not obvious to my conscious mind. It was as if I had crept onto the roof of a skyscraper. As if I were lying on my belly with my nose over the edge, watching the tiny people and cars moving seventy-nine stories below. Obviously, I would not fall. Yet I knew with deep inevitability, this time I would not be able to resist. Against all reason, I knew that I would leap, screaming and flailing into the unknown.
I rallied my senses and drew in a deep breath. The visitor’s eyes met mine and he raised his eyebrows.
“I don't know how I feel,” I said.
“You do,” he told me, “but you don't want to admit to being afraid.”
He was right. I knew better than to be afraid. I had cultivated a life of fearless behavior. Hadn’t I? Fear was for lesser men and I had determined long ago not to be one of them.
“You should be afraid,” he said. “Well, actually you shouldn't, but it is quite normal.”
“That's it, though,” I said. “I don't shrink from challenges. I meet life head on. I believe in the power of belief.”
He fixed his powerful gaze on me. I felt locked in place.
“You are living a life you think you should live,” he said. “You’ve built a castle in your mind and believe you’re safe within its walls. If you come with me, I will take you to places so far away that you may never be able to return. If you do return, you will find your castle is no more. That’s why you feel afraid.”
“So you’re asking me to change my whole life,” I said.
“I’m asking you to let me show you things you’ve always suspected. Once you see them, once you experience them, once you know them with all your senses, then yes, you may have a hard time going back to what you currently call your life,” he said.
~~~
The day a cosmic rock cracked the windshield of life as I knew it began like any other…
It happened on a bright autumn afternoon in mid-October. I was at my desk in a rare moment of stillness. Life was busy so life was good. I was an entrepreneur happily engaged in the pursuit of winning the “Big Game of Business.”
I leaned back into the leather chair and rested my neck, something I seldom did in this office and closed my eyes. It felt great just to find a minute of quiet. My life was filled with meetings and telephone calls and debt payments and P&L sheets. I was a proud Super Servant to my clients and staff. I had studied intensely to become a man of value in every way.
Perhaps that’s why I was so tired that day. It had been years since I had really slept well. I was famous among my friends and associates for waking up at 3:30 A.M. to devour books, write business plans and dream up exciting schemes.
A soft “ding” from the computer automatically brought my head upright. My eyes blinked open and took a few seconds to focus. I was like Pavlov's dog with my Outlook email notifications. It was now a conditioned response. I had a new message in my inbox. Must check it. Always.
This one was from my friend, Luke. He rarely sent me notes and when he did, they were straight from the heart. I double clicked and the new window opened.
>>Hey, read this today while I sat by a lake up in the Wasatch Front. Thought you'd like it, wild man!
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.”
— Henry David Thoreau
Love you buddy. Later.
Luke
P.S. Call me!
Something about that quote reverberated through my body like a deep gong. Boomsheee! I read it again. Then again.
“I went to the woods…to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life and see if I could not learn what it had to teach…to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life…”
It reminded me of one of my favorite movie scenes from Dead Poets’ Society when Robin Williams leans in and whispers in a ghostly voice over his students' shoulders, “Carpe…Carpe Diem…seize the day, boys! Make your lives extraordinary.”
I rubbed my eyes and rolled my neck. I could feel the accumulated weariness after a week of stress that often showed up as a headache by Friday afternoon.
Maybe today was a good time for a run to the cabin. I opened my calendar. It was hard to believe, but I didn't have much going on the rest of the day. I glanced out the window. The sun was shining and the orange leaves on the vine maple were being played by the breeze.
The phone intercom lit up and Sheila, my assistant, said, “Hey, I have a referral on the line. They want to meet today.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. Ah, yes. But the business needs me.
“Um, okay. I can see them at 4 o'clock,” I said. My finger hovered over the intercom button to switch it off. The gong sounded again inside me and I felt dizzy for a moment.
“No. Wait, Sheila. I need to get out of here today. Have one of the other guys meet them or see if they can be here on Monday,” I said.
She was silent for a couple of seconds. I could hear her tapping on her keyboard.
“All right,” she said finally, “I'll figure something out.”
I felt guilty. The company could use the extra revenue. What am I doing?
I looked up when Sheila appeared in the doorway a few seconds later. She came in and leaned against the wall. She ran both hands through her dark hair and then crossed her arms.
“Are you doing okay today?” she said.
“Sure, what do you mean?”
“Oh, I don't know. You've been moody the last few days and it's not like you to turn down an appointment. Just checking to make sure everything's okay with you,” she said.
I breathed deep and let my eyes wander over my desktop. Stacks. I was a stacker. I knew where everything was, but the volume of stuff that I had to keep track of always overwhelmed my ability to file it. That habit drove my neatnik partners crazy at times.
I looked back up at Sheila who was smiling a little.
“Yeah, I’m okay just kind of fried right now,” I said. “It's been a long week. I don't usually do this, but I'm going to take off early. Maybe head up to the cabin and get some quiet…or something.”
That's good,” she said, “I worry about you sometimes.”
“How do you mean?”
“Oh, you know…all of this,” she gestured around the office, “It's all so important but I suspect you're a lot closer to red-lining than you know most of the time.”
I was already closing down my programs and clicking the lid shut on the laptop.
“Well, I appreciate your concern,” I said. “It's all part of the game. Ride hard, get there fast.”
Sheila shrugged and uncrossed her arms.
“Get where fast? Never mind, let's just take some care with that,” she said. “We don't need you burning out. I’ve got it covered the rest of the day. Everything will be fine. It's Friday.”
She turned to leave.
“Thank you. You know the cabin has a phone if you need me. I'll take my laptop and check email from up there, too,” I said.
She was shaking her head and waving her hands in the air as she left my office.
“Crazy people,” I heard her mutter.
Her question lingered in the air, “Get where fast?”
You know. There.
I felt the silent gong crash in my gut again.
As soon as my car cleared the parking lot of the office complex, I knew that my historic decision to take off early on a Friday was good. Early autumn almost anywhere in the world is a wonderful season, but here in the high desert of Idaho it carries a special kind of magic. The backbone of dry summer heat broke in early September this year, after nearly three months of record-breaking high temperatures. Everyone was pitifully grateful for a week or two of clouds and rain.
Now, the weather had cleared and the wide sky was a deep-blue bowl held up by the golden hills that surround Boise. If you hiked up to the plateau known as Tablerock just outside the city, you could look down and survey the entire Treasure Valley. From there you could see why, according to legend, the early French explorers excitedly cried out “Les bois, les bois!” “The trees, the trees!” as they first glimpsed this view. The entire valley is surrounded by drab tan and gray sagebrush desert as far as the eye can see. The Boise River bisects the capitol city to create a willowy oasis along its banks, spread like a soft green carpet across the shallow floodplain. At this time of year, most of the maples were already showing tinges of orange and many cottonwoods were donning their golden fall cloaks.
My car windows were down and I could smell the smoke that the old farmers sent up as they burned the weeds in their irrigation ditches. The family farms were rapidly disappearing around the edges of town as new subdivisions full of miniature mansions sprouted like acres of asphalt-shingled mushrooms. Here and there, though, a stubborn holdout would forgo the big payoff for selling his land and maintain his pasture with several sheep, a steer and a couple of horses. I liked those old curmudgeons, many of them were descendants of early Basque settlers. I often felt that the urban sprawl was too quickly erasing important history and replacing it with the shallow veneer of modern luxury.
I plotted my next steps as I drove the short distance to my home. Arrangements must be made. My wife, Jennifer, understanding woman that she was, would need to be notified and perhaps cajoled just a bit. Our three children kept both of us busy all week, but my schedule often gave me an excuse to pass the mundane burdens off on her. I hoped that she wouldn't feel bad about my decision to get away without warning her first.
I would pack lightly, but I still needed to change clothes and grab a few things from the store on my way out of town.
Really, that was about it. I felt light and excited as the plan came together.
I hadn't done something like this for far too long. It felt like cutting class and catching a matinee, a freedom I envied of the “B” or “C” students in school but never indulged in myself. I was and always have been an “A” student. “A” students did not goof off. They achieved.
I fished out my wireless earpiece and voice-dialed Jennifer.
“Hey, baby,” I said when she picked up.
“Oh, hey,” she said.
“You doing all right?”
She blew out her breath, “Well, it's been quite a day.”
This did not portend well for my easy escape to the mountains.
“What's going on?”
“Oh, you know, nothing too crazy. Lots of stuff with the kids. They have their fall yard sale at school and I promised to help this weekend. What's going on with you?”
I was relieved; this didn't sound like extraordinary stress, just the usual. I could probably trade some good-behavior credits and the promise of a date night in exchange for my solitary jaunt.
“Well,” I said, “I am officially playing hooky today. Unless it's going to mess up your life a lot, I think I'll run up to the cabin for a night or two.”
She didn't answer right away.
“Are you going up alone?” she asked finally.
“Yes, why?”
“Oh, well, no reason I guess. It's just not like you to take off by yourself. I thought maybe you were making it a buddy trip.”
“Yeah. I can't exactly explain why, but I really need some quiet time right now,” I said.
“That can’t hurt,” she said, “I've wanted to make you go off by yourself for awhile, but you never seem to take a real break from people.”
“Well, all right then. So you're okay with things for a couple of days?”
“Yeah, I'll get pizza and a movie for the kids tonight. Maybe tomorrow we'll go to the park after the school yard sale. Just call me when you get up there so I know you're safe,” she said.
This was too easy, but I had learned from years of sales experience that when someone gives you the buying signal—quit selling. Shut up and seal the deal. Press hard, third copy is yours. All of that.
“Okay,” I said, “thanks for this. Let's do dinner together next week, just the two of us. Love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said.
And just like that, the final piece fell into place. I built my bridge to escape from the city. Now, off to see The Wizard.
~~~
Half an hour later, I was checking out of the grocery store with a few things. The cabin was a communal family lodge, so we maintained a full refrigerator. My basket held a few cans of soup, some eggs, a couple of bottles of a decent Merlot and a bag of fresh-ground coffee. At the last second, I tossed in a package of toilet paper as my nod to keeping the place stocked up.
Within ten minutes, I was crossing the bridge over the Boise River and following two-lane Highway 21. It winds through the old gold-mining territories surrounding Idaho City and terminates in Stanley, deep in the Sawtooth National Forest—one of North America's hidden alpine treasures.
I glanced to my left down the valley and watched the cluster of downtown high-rise buildings and the state capitol disappear behind the hills as the road turned north. To my right, the river flowed close to the road now. I passed several Spandex-suited bicyclists who leaned their helmets forward and pedaled hard into the stiff breeze blowing down the canyon.
This part of the forty-minute drive always filled me with anticipation. The high hills closed in behind me and the city disappeared. I was quickly surrounded by rough country. Even from the paved highway, I could still see traces of the original Oregon Trail cut into the sides of the canyon. It felt as if I were literally stepping backward in time. Here I was, speeding down a ribbon of asphalt in my tight little sportscar capsule. A single, sudden turn of the wheel could catapult me into a brushy ravine…where I might not be discovered for months. I loved the wild potential that lived here. Whenever I ventured outside the invisible walls of civilization, I felt unseen storm clouds of stress and fatigue vanish from my spirit.
In the new-found silence, I noticed that I had a CD playing with the volume turned down low. The music was like a tiny voice in the distance. I thumbed the volume switch on the steering wheel and Bob Dylan's harsh quaver boomed from the speakers,
you used to be so amused
at Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
when you got nothin', you got nothin' to lose
you're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal
how does it feel?
how does it feel?
to be on your own
no direction home
like a complete unknown
like a rolling stone?
His distinctive harmonica trailed off and the track ended. I often felt haunted by this song, but now the questions pounded the silent gong that had unsettled me all day.
How does it feel? Yes, how does it feel… An important question was being posed to me. I honestly had no idea what the answer should be.
Thirty-five minutes later, I turned off the gravel county road and drove up the sandy driveway. It wound gently between the tall, old-growth Ponderosa pine trees on our property. The recent rain and winds had showered the ground with long brown pine needles that crackled under my tires.
I stopped the car in front of the lodge. As I got out, I stretched my arms wide and breathed deep. I have lived all over the country and enjoyed most places, but this spot held special magic for me. The majesty of the views from atop our paradise knoll always stunned me. I turned around in a complete circle, the sun warm on my skin. We were surrounded by the higher hills and to the northeast, I could see the jagged Sawtooth Mountains. Our lodge stood on an open-topped hill that rolled down into a wooded meadow. In all, we owned twenty acres and I loved every square yard. During different times of the year a herd of elk and flocks of wild turkeys used our land as their bedroom. In the evening, we often heard them talking as they grazed and foraged close to the house.
I glanced at my watch. Despite sneaking out of the office early and making good time on my trip, it was already almost four o'clock. Up here, the sun would touch the top of the mountains in just a couple of hours. Once that happened, night fell fast. The temperature dropped ten degrees as soon as the sun set and it was already cooler here than down in the valley.
I loaded my grocery sacks and duffel bag into the house and walked around checking little details. Everything appeared to be in order. There were a few nearly dead wasps creeping up the inside of the windows. I could smell the funky odor of a dead mouse in one of the traps. This was all normal. I swept the wasps outside, emptied the mousetrap and started a pot of coffee brewing. This was my jittery time. It always hit me like this when I came here to the cabin. My body and soul sensed the need to fall into the natural rhythms of the place, but my mind yanked and pulled playing tug of war.
I felt like I needed to be doing something, sort of guilty. The quiet called to me, but I never felt like I had earned the right to stop. The silence itself was dangerous, a seductive siren who would lure me far off my course if I listened to her song.
I wandered out to the front porch and leaned against one of the rugged pillars. I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my face. Earthy sage and pine needle scents rose on a soft breeze.
Slow down. My mind caught up fragments of the Thoreau quote from the email I had received earlier.
“I went to the woods…to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life and see if I could not learn what it had to teach…to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life…”
Suck out all the marrow of life.
I went back inside to pour a cup of coffee.
Live deep
But I was doing that, wasn't I? I believed in the power of human potential. I even coined a slogan for my company, “A Passion for Extraordinary Service.” I was stretched to capacity in my pursuit of the best kind of life. I took risks and carried terrific burdens in my journey toward success. Did Thoreau have other things in mind? I was beginning to think so.
The very idea that I might not be living up to an ideal made me uncomfortable. I was all about making the grade in every possible way.
The deep gong went off in my solar plexus again and I had to steady myself against the counter.
This has to stop.
Back outside and down the stairs, I unfolded a canvas camp chair by the fire pit. It was one of the deluxe models with its own built-in footrest. I turned it to face the remaining sunshine, sat down and leaned back with my coffee mug warming both hands. I relaxed and let my eyes focus miles deep into the bright-blue sky. A large black turkey vulture soared high across my field of vision and disappeared. I closed my eyes and breathed.
Chapter Two
I was splitting a fine cedar log with the hatchet.
Pop!
The gleaming metal edge sank into the wood and two clean halves flew apart. I put the hatchet down and shredded a few handfuls of the bark. I tore it into smaller strips and then worked the loose fibers until they formed a mass of rough woolly tinder. I placed this into the center of the fire pit and rocked back on my heels. A woody-spice aroma rose from the cut pieces. The smell conjured swirling primal memories of firesides that illuminated myriad lifetimes back to the mysterious void of prehistory.
A few more easy swings of the hatchet reduced one of the half rounds into thin wedges and then down to beautiful kindling splinters.
I took my time arranging the makings of my fire. The aromatic sticks formed a teepee around the tinder. It was good.
I struck a match and held the flame to the frayed cedar bark edges. Immediately, glowing yellow-orange fire fingers spread through the tinder and thin blue smoke curled up between the kindling.
I had fire!
I sat for a moment and watched the flames take hold and race up the dry wood.
The hungry infant fire spit and whined for more fuel, so I added a few of the larger pieces. These also gave themselves cheerfully to the blaze and I moved my face back from the rising heat.
I sat back on the ground and hugged my knees. The toes of my boots nearly touched the flames. Evening had fallen and the back half of my body was colder than the front. I was yin-yang. Dark-light. Cold-hot.
A small airplane sound caught my attention. I watched the tiny blinking lights track its progress over the dark ridgeline of the hills. The sun was well down but the moon and the first stars were not yet visible. From down in the valley, I could hear mongrel dogs barking back and forth to each other on the porches of their owners’ ramshackle cabins.
The moment stretched out into silence.
“Hey!”
I jumped awake in the camp chair. Confused. My whole leg jerked back hard from a burning pain in the sole of my left foot. Coffee sloshed over the lip of the mug and spread in a dark lukewarm circle over the crotch of my jeans. What the hell’s going on?
“Sorry to wake you up like that. Your toe was going up in flames,” he said.
I shook my head and squinted across a real fire. A man was standing there holding several logs in his arms. He stooped and dropped them on the ground within the circle of light.
This was strange. My head felt ponderous and dizzy. I must have been asleep, but here was the same fire I had just built. In my dream.
“Who are you?” I asked.
He didn't appear threatening and I wasn’t in a position to be aggressive. Better go along and see what develops, I thought.
He took his time about answering and squatted down to hold his hands out for warmth. He was dressed like a hiker. Expensive Merrell boots, olive-green canvas shirt, khaki cargo shorts. He wore a weathered bush hat made of leather. Three days’ beard growth made his tan look swarthy.
“I was hiking along that ridge through the national forest land,” he gestured, sweeping his hand to the east, “Wasn't sure where I was going. Came through here and found you sleeping in your chair.”
“And the fire?” I said. The silent gong vibrated deep in my body again and a prickly feeling crawled between my shoulder blades.
He didn't answer and stared into the flames. Sure of himself, this one. He wandered on to my land, walked up to my house and decided to light a fire while I slept a couple of feet away? This seemed like more than just a case of confident behavior. He appeared sure that he was in the right place and on time for something. For what?
“I came a long way today,” he said finally, “When I got here it was getting dark and chilly. I went ahead and started the fire. Didn't think you'd mind. I went to get some bigger wood and when I came back, you’d stuck your foot in the fire. That's when I yelled and you woke up.”
I shook my head.
“Wait. Back up. I mean, it's fine that you lit the fire and I'm happy to meet you, but what…who are you?”
“You ready for this?” he said.
“Probably not,” I said, “but that won't change anything, will it?”
He laughed aloud and his eyes met mine. Even in the deepening twilight, I could see that they were striking blue. He wasn't exactly handsome, but he exuded strength and charisma. When he stood up straight, he had the lithe powerful look of an athlete. You would notice him in a crowd.
“I'm Lucius,” he said.
Not a surprise he has a strange name, I thought.
“Hi, Lucius, I'm Jacob.”
We leaned forward and shook hands.
“Yes,” he said.
Okay, time to get control of the situation.
“Lucius,” I said, “look, I don't think we've ever met. I mix with lots of people but I never forget faces. You'd stand out anyway. So, maybe you could go ahead and enlighten me about what you're doing here?”
He laughed out loud again. His eyes and teeth flashed in the firelight.
“Enlighten you…sure,” he said, “I know how you must be feeling. By the way, I'm not laughing at you. I just thought your choice of words was ironic.”
He sobered and his heavy eyebrows drew together as he fixed me with his gaze again.
“There was no way for me to show up and make this seem normal. I could have been even more dramatic—really blown you away—but you're paying attention without that. Here's the bottom line. You and I have had an appointment for many years. We're both right on time. You probably don't remember agreeing to this, but I'll refresh your memory as we go along. Regardless of that, we have a lot to discuss. I’m aware this feels strange. In fact, I suspect that you've felt strange all day, maybe for months now. You have a choice to make,” he shrugged, “I can easily just leave if you want me to. I'll disappear and you'll never see me again. You can get drunk and convince yourself that it was all a strange dream. Or, you can hear me out. If you have some food, why don't you bring it out here by the fire and we'll talk.”
The gong crashed inside my body with a booming crescendo. I felt ancient stone wheels that held the temple gates closed slowly start to turn as an incantation was spoken. Moving, lining up and falling into place.
I was unable to move or speak for a moment. This stranger's words were improbable, but they made sense of the disturbing sensations that had brought me here today. The iron key had turned in the lock. I could feel the click run up my spine and tingle in my scalp.
“I'll go get some food,” I said abruptly. It was all that would come out.
He nodded, “And I'll tend the fire.”
Chapter Three
There was a loaf of French bread in the refrigerator, so I sliced a few pieces of it to broil while the soup heated. I liked to cook. In fact, back at the office, we had a full kitchen and it was common for me to make breakfast for everyone several days each week. It felt good to create a warm experience and, to be honest, I enjoyed the praise I got for doing it.
While the food cooked, I uncorked a bottle of the Merlot. I wondered if Lucius would share some. It didn't matter. I could certainly use a drink right now. Rummaging in the cupboard, I found the stemless wineglasses and placed two of them on the granite counter. I poured myself a glass and took a couple of long swallows.
The broiler glowed and the soup bubbled on the stovetop. I stirred, then leaned against the counter and shook my head.
I felt separated from my body. No, more like I was fractured and all my pieces were drifting apart from each other. One part of me could feel the cool glass in my hand, taste the complex fruit finish of the wine on the back of my tongue and smell the cooking food. The other less familiar part was hovering above my physical self in a neutral state of observation. The sense of duality was powerful and I was frozen in the moment.
I shook out of it as my internal timer blared a warning that the bread was about to burn. I yanked the oven door open and pulled the pan of garlic toast out of the broiler just in time. It was dark around the crusty edges but the butter and Parmesan cheese was golden brown on top. Perfect.
That was close, I thought, I’m really a mess!
I turned off the burner under the soup and filled two bowls. Fragrant steam rose and I sprinkled basil on top to perfect the presentation. I loaded TV trays with everything and balanced one in each hand while I navigated the stairs.
Lucius had discovered another camp chair and was sitting in it with his eyes closed when I arrived. He sat up, breathed in the mixed aromas and smiled.
“It appears that I chose well in coming here tonight. What are the chances that some guy hanging out in a cabin would unpack a gourmet meal in less than ten minutes? I expected to eat a hot dog,” he said.
I chuckled and then lifted the bottle of wine and raised my eyebrows.
He nodded, so I poured him a glass and refilled my own. He accepted the wine and placed it on his tray. He spent a few seconds arranging the silverware and dishes, then he closed his eyes and began to rub his palms together gently above the food. He did this for a few seconds and opened his eyes to stare into the sky. He opened his hands and moved them with spread fingers around and down to the sides of the plate. It was as if he was creating an invisible dome over his meal. The steam from the bowl swirled and took on a magical glow in the firelight for just a moment. Then he picked up the bread, broke it and took a large bite.
I had already begun to eat, but when he began his odd little ritual, my spoon froze halfway into my mouth. He glanced over at me, chewing. I suddenly remembered what I was doing and fell to the business of eating.
“You seem confused,” he said.
“Oh, no,” I said, “Well, actually, what you did just reminded me of how I was taught to say a prayer before I ate. It's been a while is all. You did something extra, too.”
“Ah,” he said and ate a few more bites. The moment of silence stretched and I felt uncomfortable, as if I was waiting for an answer he thought he had already given.
He looked up again just as I turned back to my food.
“Ritual,” he said, “You’re surprised to observe mine. We'll talk about this much more.”
“What, you mean your food blessing thing?” I said.
“No, we'll discuss ritual in general. It has been largely lost in human society, much to your detriment.”
“Oh. But what was the thing with the food? That was just…different.”
“Everything is energy,” he said, “Food is a direct, powerful form of energy that we use to fuel our magical bodies. I pause for a moment before eating to feel gratitude and align myself with the energy of the food. That keeps me conscious of what I'm doing. When I hold out my hands with thanksgiving over the food, I am experiencing its pleasure and anticipating what I am about to put into my body. It's good to be mindful.”
I let his words sink in while we both finished our bread and soup. Magical bodies, I thought and glanced down. My body wasn't something I enjoyed seeing in a mirror these days. When I married Jennifer almost fourteen years ago, I weighed one sixty-five, tight and lean. Now, although I hadn't been on a scale for months, I was probably seventy pounds heavier. I didn't feel magical. It was a nagging frustration. I couldn’t seem to get off the roller coaster of fad diets. Then, there would be sporadic bursts of working out followed by months of indulgence. Lucius sat there looking like a goddamn mountain ninja—tan and sinewy. I envied him.
After a few minutes, we settled back in the chairs under the stars and sipped wine with the fire crackling between us.
The quiet night was punctuated by the sounds of small animals moving in the brush down the hillside. A breeze moved through our campsite and set the flames dancing. Sparks flew up into the darkness.
Lucius swallowed the last of his wine, placed the glass on his tray and leaned forward, elbows on knees. He stared into the fire and his eyes narrowed. He glanced over and noticed me watching him, then he gave a small shrug and clapped his hands together. A decision had been made.
“You'd like to know what I'm doing here, wouldn't you?” he said.
“I'm not sure. I have a feeling that I may not be ready for what you have to say.”
He laughed then quickly his mood became serious.
“Yes. Your feeling is not only real, it’s appropriate. I'd like to have a way to ease you into this, get you accustomed first. Things are speeding up though, so that isn't an option. You're going to have to trust me more than you normally should trust a stranger. It won't be easy at first.”
I felt a chill and shifted closer to the fire. I leaned forward to face him.
“Look, everything that happened to get me here today and everything about tonight has been surreal. I feel like I'm dreaming right now. Whatever you have to say is going to fit right in with the overall weirdness, I'm sure.”
He drew in his breath, held it and then let it out with a sigh.
“Here it is then. Your planet, all of humanity, is facing massive change. It’s a birthing process. You've already begun to experience the early pains of this around the globe. The symptoms may look normal. Famine, war and oppression have been with the human race even before your history books were written. The difference now is that everything is speeding up and shifting much more rapidly. Know what I'm talking about?”
“Well,” I said, “Yes. I mean, it does seem like there's a mad rush going on right now. Even in my life, things are moving so fast that I can't catch my breath. Is that what you mean?”
“That's a sensation and it’s just one clue you've noticed so far. Everyone and all things are aware at different levels. You've been on the edge of waking up for some time, so you’ve probably had that acceleration feeling more than other people,” he said. “Now that I bring your attention to it, can you think of other things you've seen or sensed?”
“Honestly? I’ve noticed that I'm tired. It's not that I just need some time off, either. I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and feel terrified I won't be able to keep up much longer. There's nowhere for me to stop. I always thrived on hard work and challenge before. Now things are spinning faster and faster. I can't imagine what will happen if I lose my footing, but it feels as if I’m getting closer to losing it every day. It’s an impossible situation.”
He nodded.
“Yes. Can you think of another word for what you're feeling?”
I closed my eyes and said the first thing that came to mind, “I feel stuck.”
“Ah,” he said, “Well put. You are stuck. Most of the human race is stuck. Stuck, but moving at an ever-increasing speed. Headed for a crash. Before we talk about that, I need to caution you about something. You have identified your basic condition. As we examine this, you’ll find yourself recoiling from the implications that emerge from the picture we’ll paint of your life. It's going to be hard for you to believe. Don't worry about it right now, but remember I said this. It’ll help you keep your bearings as we go.”
Even as he spoke, I felt resistance to my own statement rise inside me like a solid object. How could I say I was stuck? I lived a life most people envied. If I walked down the streets of Boise on any day of the week, I was certain to run into at least a dozen acquaintances who thought well of me. I played by the rules, worked hard and achieved a lot. I had a gorgeous office, a comfortable home and a great family. Yes, I was in debt, but so were most young entrepreneurs. I was on the right track. It was just a matter of time.
I felt foolish and disgusted with myself for allowing the negativity to cross my lips.
Lucius fixed me with his stare.
“You see what I mean?” he said, “You spoke from your truth. Exactly what you felt. Now your ego-mind is busy trying to invalidate that and put you back in your place.”
My eyes filled with tears and I turned my head to hide the emotion. A great sob rose up and sought to burst out, but I swallowed several times and took a long breath. I turned back to look at Lucius but my head felt pressurized, as if I had just stifled an enormous sneeze. I was dizzy.
Lucius was gazing at me with a look of such piercing compassion that I was undone in an instant. My whole frame convulsed and I pushed out my vocal sorrow so ferociously that I almost threw up.
I wanted to be self-conscious, to control this outburst in front of a stranger, but I could not. I surrendered to the tsunami of grief and pain. It didn't matter how I looked, this force had me in its grip. I was rolled over and over by it while hot tears and strings of mucus ran down my face. My diaphragm constricted repeatedly and I felt as if the bones of my chest would crack and burst open, revealing the dark vortex of grief inside me.
Minutes must have passed, but when I regained my composure I discovered that I was on the ground beside the fire, on all fours. I felt warmth from the flames on my face and pine needles under my fingers. My eyes and nose throbbed, swollen and raw.
Lucius knelt beside me with his hands held a few inches above my back. I heard him speak softly in what sounded like a foreign language. I didn't understand the words but they soothed my spirit, and I was able to sit up and take a long, ragged breath.
Lucius still knelt with his hands outstretched. Quiet now. He breathed deep and released it.
“All is well,” he whispered, “All is well.”
He opened his eyes and we both looked at each other. His face was sober. He nodded and strength returned to my legs. I struggled to the chair and leaned back. Exhausted.
With my eyes closed, I could hear him moving. He must have added wood to the fire because I heard fierce crackling and fresh warmth blossomed on my skin.
“Lucius,” I said, still shaky but more tranquil than before, “what the hell was that?”
He didn't answer right away, so I opened my eyes. He was poking around in the coals with a stick.
“You experienced in your body what you talked about earlier and tried to rationalize. For once, you allowed the experience to be processed through your nervous system and bones and muscles. How was that for you?”
“It was…it hurt. I don't usually get out of control. I mean, I cry sometimes but not like that. I feel beat up.”
“Yes,” he said, “You spoke the truth before when you said you’re stuck. You have no idea how deep that condition is within you. Because you have dammed up your feelings for so long, when a surge like you just experienced comes roaring out—it tears a path through years of clutter. That hurts. It's all right though, you’ll feel better soon.”
I nodded, “I already feel lighter. That was almost like therapy.”
“Oh,” he said, “It isn't almost like therapy. It is therapy and it's powerful, too. What I don't want you to do now though, is feel such relief that you lose sight of the bigger picture. It's too easy to blow off steam, get rid of the pressure and then return to what you call normal. Too easy to go on without seeing the mass of knots that have kept you tangled your whole life. What you just experienced is the merest whiff of what will come—if we continue together.”
I felt another chill at his words and shivered.
“When you say that, I’m afraid. How did you make that happen a few minutes ago? What will our continuing on together entail?”
“First, fear is to be expected. You're peering into the unknown and humans dread that. I'm going to deal with the continuing on process later. As far as what I just did, that's a good question,” he said.
“It's not that I did anything. The very fact that I’m here with you stirs up energy you aren't accustomed to feeling.”
“What do you mean by that? The very fact you're here…” I said.
“I keep edging you closer to the truth,” he said, “So here it is.”
“I mentioned a while ago that your planet is under severe stress. The entire organism is experiencing the pressure of massive changes that are underway, but most people are only vaguely aware that anything is happening. A few tribes of people in places like Africa and Australia are sensitive to the vibrational shift. Wild creatures in nature feel it in their own way. What you call the civilized world though, is so insulated from reality that the message isn't getting through to those who need it most.
I occupy a different dimension most of the time, but I’m part of a group who you can call helpers. I am sent to find those who are ready in your world and help them to wake up.”
“So you’re an angel?”
“Mmm. Sort of, there are many of us here right now. In fact, down through history we have always held this space and been present. During times of extreme change, the veil that usually hides us gets thin. Then, we’re visible and can communicate with humans. This time on Earth is critical, so my fellow helpers and I are moving fast. We only appear to people who are ready. I don't want you to get tangled up in a story of specialness, but you’re one of a handful being visited like this now.”
I started to speak, but he waved me off and continued.
“In the past, I would have befriended you in a normal way. You wouldn't have noticed anything unusual for years. I would have taken a lot of time to gain your trust, get to know you and move you into the process of awakening. Right now though, time grows short. Events and cycles are accelerating. This requires that I deliver my message in ways that don't allow for much buffering. You get the raw feed so to speak, the full dose.
This is rock-and-roll, buckle-your-seatbelt time. I wish it could be done another way, but it's too late for that now.”
Irrational. Unbelievable. I was entertaining a visitor from another dimension. Wait until I try to explain this to anyone back in the city. Nevertheless, the deep silent gong that had reverberated within me all day long boomed again in confirmation. This strange man had much to say and instinct told me that I'd better listen—no matter how improbable the whole thing sounded.
Chapter Four
We sat silent for awhile, my senses felt magnified. The night was full of Earth-creature sounds. My eyes grew wide. Suddenly, I was swept up and standing on the spear-like point at the top of the world's tallest mountain. Below me, the rushing energies of every nation on Earth swirled and roared along in a ceaseless flood tide.
From my vantage point, balanced like a lone watchman in the night sky, the blackness of the entire outer universe became a living pressure. It held me in its magnetic grasp. For all the terrifying vastness pressing in, I was strangely comforted. I was safe—suspended in a powerful benevolent liquid. Like electric gelatin. The insanity of this sensation filled me with joy. Giddy, the laughing stars cheered me on while I attempted a pirouette.
Lucius cleared his throat, I jolted back into the sturdy camp chair. He glanced at me and I must have been grinning madly, because he chuckled.
“You okay?” he asked.
My voice cracked when I tried to speak. I swallowed and said, “I'm okay, but…”
“But what?” he said.
I tried to describe the fleeting experience and he nodded. Understanding.
“You just brushed the outer garments of Who You Really Are with your fingertips,” he said. “I mean, earlier when you had the surge of emotion, it cleared channels of perception. It's common to see or feel things differently for awhile.”
“So, is this the way you feel all the time?” I asked.
He laughed, “Oh, that's not even the beginning. Honestly, we don't have time to talk about these things. The Reality of Everything is so different from your normal perceptions that we could be sidetracked for years, for centuries, trying to describe the most mundane features of the universe. Because of our timetable, you're going to have to just strap in for the ride and learn through your body as we go. As one of your Presidents said, 'you ain't seen nothing yet!'“
I nodded because I couldn't think of anything relevant to say.
He leaned forward with fresh intensity on his face.
“As I was saying, you are here on Earth at a critical time. You and all your fellow humans chose to be here now so you could participate in the birthing of a new world. I'll reveal more about this later. I know it sounds strange. Just make note of it.
The current trouble is that most of the human race is disconnected from their true nature. They have forgotten Who They Really Are.”
I raised my hand to interrupt him, “You keep saying 'Who You Really Are' as if there's a fact that I should already understand. If I'm not who I really am, then who really am I?”
“I'm getting there, hang with me,” he said.
“As I was saying, the human project is in its final stages of forgetfulness. You have moved away from your natural powers and created a false reality that is complex and terrifying. For example, give me a few things that seem wrong about life on Earth right now.”
“You mean…?”
“I mean, what comes to mind that is unjust, sad, depressing or completely out of balance?”
“Oh, well there are the obvious things like starving children, genocide, poverty, terrorism and drugs. But those have always been part of the human condition. They're deplorable, but they aren't new.”
He bowed his head almost to his knees and shook it slowly. Suddenly, he was on his feet. Fists clenched, he leaned in close to my face. Our eyes locked and his gaze held a ferocity that frightened me.
When he spoke, his voice vibrated with passion, “Jacob, you listen to me. The time has come when the bloodshed and sorrow of life on your planet can no longer be ignored. You must not regard the pain and death of innocents as usual things. It is time that humanity awakens and remembers their purpose for being.
By the way, even though the atrocities you mention are terrible—what’s behind them, what allows them to be commonplace in your societies concerns me more. Those are only symptoms of a larger disease.”
He paused and straightened to his full height. The fire crackled and sent up sparks behind him. I sat waiting for him to continue.
“I chose to visit you on purpose. You live in America. You are following the great dream and working the system, but you’re nagged by the knowledge there should be more to life. You have immersed yourself in the pursuit of wealth. You’ve built a prison of comfort and affluence. Sometimes imagining a simpler life moves you, but you’re stuck. You can't see how this could ever come to pass because of your complacency, your position and your obligations. You can only hope somehow to outrun the monster you created. Only after you have piled up enough cash to pay all your debts and fuel your luxurious lifestyle—only then, will you turn to what you suspect is your true purpose.
I am here tonight to tell you that time has run out on your game. You have dodged the central question and remained asleep for as long as possible.
You’ve reached a decision point. One choice is to go back to your current reality and pretend that you met some lunatic up in the mountains. You'll forget me and go numb again with all your busyness.
The other path leads into the unknown. Into freedom. If you choose to follow me on it, you will discover Who You Really Are.”
He stopped speaking abruptly and turned to stir the coals and add more wood to the fire. He sat back down in his chair and propped his boots on an upturned log.
A long moment passed. Then another. He seemed to have finished his speech, but there were many questions left dangling in the chilly mountain air.
The owl hooted in the pine tree overhead, I closed my eyes to consider this strange night and the unsought choices that were now in front of me.
Without warning, I was dragged down into a heavy sleep that swallowed me like dark velvet infinity.
Chapter Five
I opened my eyes. Confused.
Morning sunlight was bright on the coffee table and I struggled to focus my vision by squinting. Without moving, I began to assess my situation. I was warm and my face was resting on soft cushiony material. I closed my eyes and drifted for a while.
Thought fragments floated around in my brain. Warm… Feels good… Wonder if… What time is… What?
I must have slept again because the ringing phone lit up my system with adrenaline. I whirled in a tangle of blankets to a sitting position on the couch.
Awake. I looked around in a daze.
On my couch. The phone kept ringing.
Oh, yeah. At the cabin. By myself. I had to put both hands down on the cushions to steady myself. My head was spinning.
Where's…? I looked around. I was alone. The phone rang two more times and stopped.
I blinked my eyes.
I didn't want to move but it seemed right to get on my feet. Standing on shaky legs, I shuffled to the sliding door that led to the back, east-facing deck. The sunshine was brilliant and the cedar boards were warm under my bare feet. I crossed to the railing and leaned against it. I needed to pee and did so off the side of the porch. It was a caveman thing to do, but I always enjoyed this little freedom out here in the woods. The morning routine handled, I braced myself against the big pine beam that supported the balcony above me. My eyes were closed but the light glowed through my eyelids and felt good on my skin. I breathed the morning air. I could smell the mountain laurel and pine needles warming under the sun. Beautiful day.
Okay, my mind returned to its inquiry, what happened last night?
Oh, yes. Lucius. Where was Lucius?
The memory of my visitor of the night before woke me up completely. I was alarmed. He had asked me questions and there was something I needed to decide. I didn't remember making any commitments. Had I?
I walked quickly back inside and looked around. The house was quiet. I looked out the big front window to the fire pit below. No one out there. Wait. Only one camp chair sat by the cold ashes of last night's blaze. My chair.
I went to the kitchen. The empty wine bottle was standing on the counter top. A fly explored the dried residue at the rim. My bowl and glass were in the sink. The soup pan still sat on the stove with just a little congealed dinner left in the bottom.
So, it looks like I had dinner… All by myself.
I opened the dishwasher to check for other dishes. Maybe Lucius was extra tidy. Empty.
Immoderate panic seized my body and I struggled to breathe. Stop. This is silly.
I put my hand out against the refrigerator and its cool stainless steel surface steadied me. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'll figure this out.
The phone started ringing again. I took a deep breath and reached over to grab it off the wall.
“Hello?” I tried not to gasp for air.
“Are you okay?” my wife asked. She must be calling from the car. I could hear kid noise and the radio in the background.