“I have lost time. I don’t
know how long I’ve been here, and mostly I have slept, and dreamed. I cannot
remember my dreams here, none of them.
But while I have them they are vivid, complex, dramatic, then I awake in
almost complete forgetfulness. For some
reason I don’t find this frustrating. I
have been mostly left alone since I came here last week? Month?
Last year? Three times a day a
meal on a tray is left at my door. A
soft knock summons me but when I open the door there is only the food and the
sound of softly receding footsteps. I
still have not ventured outside, so great has been my need to rest, but now it
compels me. The air that blows in
through the window is sweet, and fragrant with sea salt and cedar. I always
hear gulls, crows and other birds, sometimes eagles. Yet, outside of my inevitable treks to the
bathroom, I never leave this room. I
have become like Proust. My single
recreation is writing in this journal. Someone now is knocking at the
door. I have only finished lunch, so it
can’t be time for dinner. Though it’s
hard to say, since time doesn’t seem to follow the usual pattern to which I’ve
always been familiar.
“It was the old
woman, the one whom I am to call “Mother.”
She was courteous and asked if she could come in. Well, how could I refuse her? I hadn’t realized how tall she is, taller
than me, towering almost. I hadn’t
noticed this when I first saw her. Her
hair seemed more under control, and her eyes were very bright and very
young. Her voice had a lilt, a musical
cadence, but I must say that I felt diminished in her presence. I could not look in her face, though she was
very kind and good. She sat down in the
comfy chair in the corner, I reclined on the bed. Perhaps she was yet another dream. I could no longer tell the difference.
“Do you know why
you’ve come here?” she asked.
“To rest?”
“You’ve been
rediverted. You were on your way to
commit an act that, while in itself innocent, would have precipitated great
evil over the earth. You will still end
up in Nicaragua, and there you will marry Maria, a diplomat’s daughter by whom
you will father a child. Because
you have been summoned here, the harm you might have brought on the earth will
come only upon you. There is a man in
Managua, a CIA agent, who has just yesterday died from a heart attack. Had we not intervened he would have found
you, and used your influence over the diplomat’s daughter to destabilize the
new government in Nicaragua, and with tragic consequences. The American-backed forces would gain in
strength and momentum thus toppling the Sandinistas, and bring in first Cuban,
then Soviet intervention. Then the US war machine would be displaying its most ugly and naked might, only to be
matched by the Russians who would bring in their nuclear missiles. Do you recall the Cuban Missile Crisis? Had we not intervened at the eleventh hour by
bringing a certain person of influence here to our Refuge just in time, this planet would
now be shrouded in the cold darkness of a nuclear winter. And once again, by diverting you here, we
have again rescued your planet from destruction.
“When you came here
you were carrying many wounds and heartaches, along with your stubborn refusal
to reckon wisely with your conscience.
Thus you would have brought to a particularly dangerous and explosive
part of the earth your own psychic and spiritual toxins that would have set off
an irreversible chain of events. It is
one of the many tragedies of your species that you have not yet learned to
reckon that the spiritual, invisible properties of your beings are in
themselves the most real, and therefore the most vital and powerful forces in
this planet. Behold now the great
destruction that has thus been wreaked on this jewel of the Cosmos, your
Earth. Slowly the air and waters that
sustain all life are being poisoned with the venom of your very human greed,
fear and violence. Since the advent of
your kind, this planet has seen an acceleration of species extinction
unprecedented since the ending of the Age of Dinosaurs. And now your atmosphere is rapidly losing its
protective shield. Soon the very sun,
that gives life, will become your terror and destruction.
“Were you less
stubborn and wilful, we would have embued you with the charge and all the
necessary power to influence change among your kind, such change as would cause
each of you miserable creatures to turn your selfish hearts of stone into
giving and living hearts of beating flesh.
Long we have watched you, to see if you would turn and repent and you
would not. Now, the best we can do for
you, is that we render you incapable of harm.
Your own end will come soon enough, after which time you shall be returned
to us, that you might complete your healing.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I mean, you’ve already told me you’re my mother. But, who are you?”
“I am of the
Millionth Council, and it is our task to watch over your earth and especially
over your species. Because you have
become corrupted and sinful you have wrought great destruction here, and have
gone entirely contrary to the charge that was first given you—that you take
care of and nurture this planet. You
have created a charnel house of Eden, but still we labour and strive with you,
and against your great harm, for the record of your species is not yet
complete, and we hold out for you in the greatest redemptive hope.”
“What is this
place?”
“You are in the
Refuge, one of many portals between the dimensions. Here it is that our watchers and agents
gather to determine the outcome of this planet and how best to preserve your
species against its own destruction.”
“Who are these
watchers and agents?”
“You are
neither. We have had to rescue from you
one of our agents, for she is, and for many years to come will remain, torn and
conflicted as to her role and calling.
Only following your death will she come to resolution and begin to
faithfully carry out her task.”
(By this I knew she
could only mean you, Carol.)
“What exactly is a
watcher? And what is an agent?”
“I would never be
able to fully explain to you those mysteries, because our natures are so
different. Yet I shall give you an
idea. The watchers are such as I. We live throughout the earth, but we are not
of the earth. We appear as mortals, but
we are not mortals. We are the guardians
who have been placed in charge of all the celestial and the earthly orders. Your religions and mythologies speak of us as
angels, as spirits, and so we are, yet we are more, much more. The agents are ordinary mortals such as
yourself, who have been chosen to express and show forth the Divine
Intention. Many, sadly, fail at their
task, yet they also shall be rewarded.
“And now, Richard,
you shall soon be dismissed from the Refuge.
You will leave here your writings, which I shall promptly post to her
who is called Carol Hartly-Atkinson. You
will wake up on the beach near your hotel in Tofino, and you will have
forgotten entirely your writings and everything about your sojourn here, until
the last moments before your death in Nicaragua, after which time you shall be
returned to us.”
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