"Lenny," she whispered, her voice shaky.
He opened his eyes, but didn't look over at her, staring at the ceiling instead.
"Jean," he said softly.
She moved to his side, went to take his hand, then thought better of it. The simple fear of touching him hurt her as much as anything had so far. It must have hurt him as well; he looked at her with such wounded eyes it was all she could do to not burst out crying. She remembered a dog she had had as a child. He had looked at her the same way right after being struck by a car, right before he died.
'"Ola, "she said.
"Ola, " he said. "How are you?"
"Fine." She touched her bandage. "Just bumped my head is all."
"Yesterday they told me you were in a coma."
"That was yesterday." She paused. "How's your back?"
He smiled bitterly. "I don't know. I can't feel i t"
"What can you feel?"
He closed his eyes. "I can use my hands and arms. I don't know what else works."
She reached over and gently touched his big toe. He had on underwear, nothing else, but there was a vaporizer steaming in the corner and the cubicle was warm and humid.
"Can you feel that?" she asked.
"Feel what?" His eyes remained closed.
She took her hand away, the weight on her chest heavier than the one on her head. "Nothing. Lenny. Look at me, please, I need to talk to you."
He opened his eyes. "What do you want to talk about?"
She fretted with her hands and had to make herself stop. "You're going to get better."
His voice was flat. "No, I'm not. The doctor says my spinal cord's been severed.
It won't heal, they never do. I'm crippled for life. I'm screwed, that's a simple fact. So don't stand there with that little bump on your head and tell me I'm going to get better."
Her throat choked with grief. "I'm sorry."
He turned his head the other way. "I don't want your sympathy."
"What do you want?"
"To be left alone. Get out of here and don't come back."
Finally her tears came; she couldn't stop them.
"You don't mean that."
He turned his head back in her direction. His eyes were red, with anger as well as pain. "But I do, Jean. I can't stand to see you walking around while I'm stuck here in this bed."
"Damn you!" she yelled. "That's not fair! Just because I'm not paralyzed I can't be your girlfriend anymore?"
"My girlfriend?" he said sarcastically. "How can I have a girlfriend? I can't even control when I have to go to the bathroom anymore, never mind have sex. I'm no good to you. I'm no good to anybody."
"I don't care what you can and can't do. All that matters is that you're alive."
She dared to touch his hand. "I mean it, I'm not going to leave you. We can work on you getting better together. And if you're unable to make a full recovery, then we'll work on that as well."
He looked down where she touched him. His eyes seemed to soften. "I can feel that," he whispered.
She nodded eagerly. "Bueno."
Unfortunately, the softness only went so deep. He shut his eyes and turned away again. "I have to sleep, Jean. I'm very tired."
She leaned over and kissed his hand. "I'll be back," she said.
He did not respond. He needed time, she told herself as she left the cubicle.
Time and love. She couldn't remember having ever loved him so much.
CHAPTER V
THE RISHI WALKED WITH ME beside the stream. I still found it hard to understand how I had created the paradise we were enjoying when I had never imagined a scene so beautiful. The flowers that bloomed beside the water were like none found on Earth—or at least the Earth I knew—so many different colors and shapes. The joy of existence, of walking with this great being, was like a constant stream of gladness inside my chest, as clear and sweet as the water at our feet. I questioned him about Wanderers.
"Were there any on Earth that I knew personally?" I asked.
"You met many as Shari Cooper. But you weren't close to any."
"How about in history? Were any famous people Wanderers?"
"That is a perceptive question. The answer is yes, many well-known people were Wanderers. To be a Wanderer is a great honor as well as a great sacrifice.
A soul has to be highly evolved in order to bypass the birth process. Because a Wanderer enters into a developed physical body, he—or she, sex is, of course, not an issue here—carries more of the knowledge of the spiritual plane with him to Earth. Always, he returns to the physical plane with a particular mission, and because he radiates so much soul energy, he often succeeds. By nature, Wanderers are charismatic, intelligent, loving. People are attracted to them. They want to be with them."
"Have you ever been a Wanderer?"
The Rishi smiled. "I wander all over the place."
"Will you ever return to Earth again?"
"I am on Earth now."
"I mean, somewhere in the time frame that I understand to be modern society?"
"Perhaps. It is up to God."
"Does he talk to you? I mean, like I am talking to you now?"
"God is an unbounded ocean of light and consciousness. I float in that ocean on whatever current or wave arises. I go with that, it is my joy to do so. I talk to God when I talk to you. I see God when I see the trees. I feel God when I touch my head. Who is there to talk to but myself?" The Rishi chuckled. "I'm sorry, I don't know how to answer your question."
I smiled. "It doesn't matter. Your answer was beautiful. Tell me some of the famous people on Earth who were Wanderers?"
"They're often hard to spot, but they do have one quality that makes them stand out from others. At one point in their lives they all undergo a huge change of heart and awareness. That, of course, is when the new soul enters the body. Einstein was an example. From a young age he was intelligent, but not the genius he became when the Wanderer who brought the theory of relativity to Earth arrived. That was his mission, to bring that knowledge."
"But wasn't the atomic bomb developed as a result of his theories?"
"Yes. His knowledge was insightful. But it is up to mankind to decide what to do with such knowledge. The theories themselves were neither good nor bad."
"Who was another example of a Wanderer?"
"Martin Luther King. I think his purpose must be obvious to you. But this will surprise you—Malcom X was also a Wanderer."
"Him? But wasn't he a bigot?"
"He was many things while on Earth. Can any man or woman be defined by one word? But the Malcolm X whom history will remember entered while he was in jail. Immediately there was a huge change in his outlook. He became interested in religious matters. Many Wanderers go through this phase because in your society, religion is seen as the main source of spirituality, although, in reality, that is a great misunderstanding. But as I said, religion has its purpose and Malcolm X became deeply religious. He was extremely charismatic. He drew people by the thousands."
"But wasn't he a Black Muslim? Didn't he hate white people?"
"You just came from a predominantly Judeo Christian society. Both Judaism and Christianity are fine religions, as are Islam, Buddhism, and Hinduism. One is not better than the other, no matter what the priests and ministers and rabbis would have you believe. Where religion awakens divine love, it is useful.
Where it narrows the mind with dogma, it is harmful. And it is true that Malcolm X spent much of his adult life trying to separate Caucasians from African-Americans. But we must come back to what his mission as a Wanderer was. He came to give pride to people of color. At the time many African Americans, particularly young males, felt a certain helplessness as far as dealing with society. Malcolm X showed them how to be proud and strong."
"But doesn't pride divide people?"
"It can. But it was a necessary step for that segment of population at that time.
You cannot let go of pride until you've first had it. M
alcolm X stirred things up—that was his purpose. You cannot judge people such as him. You cannot judge anybody."
"But if he was a Wanderer, why was he assassinated? Why didn't he have divine protection?"
"He had divine protection. But when a Wanderer is finished with his mission, he often leaves suddenly. Either in a blaze of bullets or quietly."
"Was Malcolm X happy when he got over here?"
"He did not accomplish everything he set out to accomplish. He was used by others, and his mission was distorted. But that happens. He had no regrets.
Regret is the most useless of all emotions."
"I'm confused. You speak as if when he entered the body he didn't know he was a Wanderer?"
"That is correct. Few Wanderers realize what they are while in a physical body, at least consciously. But deep inside they know they are on Earth for a reason.
They usually move toward their particular mission spontaneously."
"Will I realize that I'm a Wanderer?"
"It's possible. It's up to you. You have free will."
"What will my mission be?"
"I speak of missions because it gives you some understanding of why you would want to return. But in reality there is only one mission—to realize divine love. To awaken that divine love in others. But different people do that in different ways, and they don't have to be Wanderers to inspire others. Every man and woman born into a physical body on Earth has a mission. Your particular one will be to inspire the often forgotten segment of the poor Hispanic community. Jean Rodrigues is Hispanic and poor. As her, you will write stories that millions of people will read. They will not necessarily be spiritual stories. They can be about space ships or aliens or dragons or ordinary people. The topic does not matter. But the spirituality will be in your stories because it's inside you. It will flow into your words. People will read your stories and without understanding why, yearn for something greater. And because you are a young Hispanic woman, you will also serve as a role model for other young people like Jean Rodrigues."
I smiled. "I always wanted to be a writer. But where will I get my ideas? Will I have a muse?"
The Rishi smiled. "You will be inspired, don't worry. But perhaps you can write a story about where you get your ideas. I imagine it would be very popular."
"This is great. I couldn't ask for a better job. I loved writing that story about what happened to me when I died. Do you think I'll be able to find my brother and get my story published?"
He regarded me fondly. "It's possible."
"What does that look mean? You know something I don't. Will I find Jimmy?"
"Yes."
I clapped my hands together. "Great! Will I recognize him as my brother?"
"That is up to you."
I stopped walking. "But I have to know him. Can't you help me out here?"
The Rishi was amused. "I am always helping you, Shari."
"I know that. I appreciate that. But what can I do after I get in Jean's physical body to make it more likely that I will remember that I'm a Wanderer?"
"You can learn to enjoy silence."
"Come again? Do I have to learn to shut up?"
He laughed. "No. That would not be possible, or natural, for you. You can talk all you want. But sometime during your busy life you will want to sit in meditation."
"But I don't know how to meditate. Can you teach me now before I return?"
"I will teach you. But you must be taught again while you're in the physical body. You must be taught by a Master. That is very important. There is a new consciousness entering your society, new ideas. Many people call this New Age information. Much of it is useful. Much of it is confusing. The New Age movement speaks of many of the same things I speak of, but there are major differences between what I tell you and what you will find in most New Age books. I will go over these differences with you. Even if you don't remember them consciously while you're in the body, you will have a sense for what is true and that sense will guide you on your path. You will even write about the things I tell you now."
"1 can't imagine that a story about a dragon could bring out any profound truths."
"It all depends on the dragon, Shari. Listen attentively to these points.
Meditation is never an act of mood making. Pure silence, pure consciousness, the eternal side of your nature—it is beyond thought. You cannot talk yourself into it. It comes by grace and by grace alone. But what is grace? How do you make it come? That is where a Master is important. Many in The New Age movement are too anxious to throw off all authority. They say that no one can teach anything, that it is all inside the student. And that is true to a certain extent. On the other hand, to uncover what is inside you must bow at the feet of someone who has already discovered that great treasure. I use the word bow carefully. Because until a person is ready to humble himself and admit that he doesn't know, then he can learn nothing of value. It takes great humility to even approach a Master. These are things the New Age movement sometimes forgets."
"The whole eighteen years I was on Earth, I never saw a Master."
"This time you will. They will begin to appear in the world at this time. They teach techniques: meditation, certain kinds of breathing, physical exercises.
But a technique only points toward the goal. It is not the goal itself. It is like a branch on a tree at nighttime. You can say to a friend, 'Follow the way that branch points and you will see the most wonderful star.' The branch gives direction, but it is not the same as the star. The branch is made of wood, the star is pure energy. Or say you want to eat a bowl of cereal. To do that you need the technique of using a spoon: how to hold it, which end to put in the bowl, how it goes up and into your mouth. The spoon is crucial, but it is the cereal you want. The cereal is the grace. Grace flows from a Master. It has to flow because he embodies that divine love."
"I wish I had been on Earth with you in Egypt," I said.
"You were. You are. You are with me there as much as you are with me now."
I shook my head. "Let's stick to one time frame, please, or I just end up confused."
"If you wish. But sometimes a Master is purposely confusing. He destroys preconceived ideas and beliefs. Always, though, he gives an aspirant a spiritual practice. That is very necessary to do even though many on the physical plane don't think so. They say, 'The time is changing and all will be taken care of.'
They don't want to do any practice. And they are right, to a certain extent. The time is changing. That is why so many Wanderers are beginning to appear on Earth—to help prepare for this change. Mankind is entering a new age where spirituality will dominate. But many fear this change. They have heard about the disasters that are to come. Many so-called prophets say the majority of the world will be wiped out. That is not true. The world has an insurance policy. It has the Masters. There will be disasters, however, to shake things up a little. It can take a needle to remove a thorn. It can take a shaking of the Earth for people not to totally depend on the Earth, to make them look inside. You will write stories about the disasters as well. People will read them and understand that when things appear the darkest, it is a sign that dawn is near. You will write stories of enlightened dragons and aliens, and people will want to learn to meditate. Even though the coming dawn is inevitable, it is good to be awake to enjoy it. Meditation helps with that."
"I am never going to remember all this," I said. "I can't remember half of what you just said."
"It doesn't matter. I see your mind has begun to wander. That is all right—you are a Wanderer, after all." He paused. "You want to see Peter."
I nodded. I knew I could hide nothing from the Rishi. "I miss him."
"Where would you like to see him?"
"What do you mean?"
The Rishi knelt for a moment and picked a red flower that resembled a rose. He gestured to the serene landscape. "I told you, this is all a dream. What would you like to dream with Peter? It can be anything. It can even be that you don't know that
it is a dream. Really, that is all human life is. Just a dream people choose to enter into so that they can learn something. But people take it so seriously and become afraid of their own creation. They even fear to wake up.
That is the one lesson humanity most needs to learn in the coming days. That there is no reason to be afraid. That things will work out for the best That God knows what she's doing."
"She?"
He tapped me on the head with his flower. "When I am with you, Shari, you are my God. What universe do you wish to create for you and Peter?"
I considered. Boy did I consider. "It can be anything?"
"Anything."
I blushed; I could feel the blood in my cheeks even though I was a ghost. "Can it be an R-rated creation?"
"Yes."
"I don't want you to watch."
"I won't watch."
I laughed. "You promise?"
"I promise." He chuckled. "I swear it, Shari."
I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. "Awesome. Let the creation begin.
Let there be light. Let
there be boys!"
I never knew I had such a dirty mind. Well, I may have suspected.
CHAPTER VI
JEAN RODRIGUES couldn't remember when she had last tied her little brother's shoes. Teddy sat above her on the kitchen table as she knelt at his feet and stared at her as if trying to remember the same thing. He was a cute four-year-old, with hair as long as a girl's and dimples. He touched the top of her head as she finished with his laces. She no longer wore her bandage, although she still suffered from a dull headache. But she couldn't complain; her ribs and knee were healed. She had been released from the hospital nine days earlier. She had just made it to her high school graduation the night before, and had been happy to be there. It was before nine on Saturday morning, two weeks after her fall.