Part One:
Initiation.
- - - - - - -
The Fan.
The bathroom fan kicked on in the apartment next door. I could tell, because my apartment shared a common wall with the adjacent unit, and that common wall would vibrate every time the neighbor’s fan came on, as if my apartment was being held in the arms of a giant cat, or maybe a dragon that was purring. The distant pulsing throb didn't sooth or irritate so much as it just distracted. It was there in the background until it wasn't, pulsing its anonymous vibration with no way for escape except out.
Out was Houston, Texas. Outside the downtown area where the old suburbs had been, way back when Houston had settled down from its Wild West Days (at least externally), there was now a seemingly endless array of cheap multi-family apartment complexes. Lumped together into a vast and twisting mass encompassing miles of "affordable housing," it was as confusing as any labyrinth, and equally as terrifying.
As to the heart of Houston? Who can say? In any event, the one thing I knew for sure was that out was no escape. It was simply passage from one form of frustration to another. I resigned myself to having to deal with the neighbor's bathroom fan, again.
At that moment the fan turned off.
- - - - - - -
Mateus.
Mateus remembers…
…hot dusty days playing fútbol with cousins…falling asleep on the roof hearing cicadas…loud bangs over and over…men yelling…Papa screaming…silence…Tío beside him, lifting him up…running through the night…why?…what?…Tía holding him, rocking him…sitting, hungry, hot, sad…where is Maman? Papa?…voices of men, quiet…Tía whispering “no no no…” being lifted again…carried…pushed inside a big dark space…hearing breathing sobbing around him…BANG BANG doors slam…riding riding forever…feel his pee hot in his pants then cold…hungry…asleep…awake…doors open men scream water bottles thrown past grab one grab it grab it…BANG BANG doors slam…water…riding forever again forever…stopping…doors open…quiet voices sooth as arms lift him up…more voices whisper…a blanket wrapped around him…another car door opens…he is placed inside…the sun is starting to rise…he sobs…he rides forever…he sleeps…he wakes clean…bed soft under him…he is afraid to open his eyes…he sees a room…he sees a man…he sees a hand before him…he takes the hand…mornings and evenings come and go…he is sad…he misses his Maman and Papa…he misses his Tía and Tío…but new Tío is nice…new Tío buys him toys…
new Tío buys him candy…new Tío plays fútbol with Mateus…but new Tío also hurts him…hurts him in the night…he cannot think of it…sometimes it is too much to bear…Mateus does not want to sleep…new Tío comes again…there is pain…there is more pain…Mateus is screaming…around his neck his gift from new Tío is tight…too tight…Mateus cannot breath…Mateus cannot scream…Mateus remembers…
¡…Maman! ¡Te extrañé!
- - - - - - -
After Glow.
The curtain closed for the last time. Everyone dashed off stage to their dressing rooms to get out of costumes and scrape off pancake makeup, finishing a transformation that had begun four hours earlier in the exact reverse of the process.
He was elated. The bouquets of roses that had been tossed at his feet tonight were so satisfying. After years of slowly building up his public persona, he had finally arrived. He was exactly where he knew he was supposed to be: Adored by thousands of fans, reviews all extolling his talents and natural grace, being interviewed for local and regional magazines.… Why, his agent had told him just yesterday that he might be booked for a spot on the late night show. Yes indeed, things were finally, finally looking as he had imagined them.
Finishing his change of wardrobe and, with a final careful combing of his perfectly coiffed hair, he gazed at eyes reflected back to him in the mirror and was filled with love. He was beautiful. He thought the hint of silver just beginning to frost his temples gave him an air of sophistication. He knew it made him look more like a tío or an abuelo to his special guests. It was a persona he had developed over the course of a lifetime, born out of an insatiable need to give love. He had no family to speak of; had grown up in the slums, had learned the hard way that it is always better to be the bearer of some gifts than the receiver. Had learned he liked being with boys, if he was the one in charge. Bestowing the gift. Feeling them tremble beneath him drove him into ecstasy. He knew he had to be careful. No one must know that he had special guests. He glanced at his watch: Time to go. His ride was waiting impatiently outside. He shrugged and tossed his jacket over his shoulder, stopping for one last quick glance in the mirror before he left the room.
- - - - - - -
An Awkward (Re)Introduction
... I am ... dreaming?
All I could see was white. I could see and feel my feet standing on what felt like a cold, solid surface, but everything I could see except me was white. No distinct horizon, floor, or ceiling was visible…. Everything was a seamless expanse of white. I felt a moment's vertigo but a blink restored my sense of balance.
I'd had lucid dreams before, where I had known I was dreaming inside the dream and was able to at least understand what was happening within the dream, but this felt different. I really didn't like lucid dreams. It seemed they were only harbingers of doom, which I then got to re-live in my life with the inevitable sense of deja vu and a "I didn't like it the first time when it was a dream" sense of helplessness. Who needs that?
But this felt different.
For one thing, I seemed to be alone. There didn't seem to be anything or anyone that I was supposed to interact with. Why was I here? I knew the fragile tapestry of the dream would not allow a strong response/thought and I'd just wake myself up. If there was some point to being here in this infinite nothingness, I wanted to find out what that was.
And in that instant, She was There. I thought I recognized Her as me which confused me for a moment, but then I thought, "oh okay, must be my Higher Self" and felt one corner of my mouth twitch upwards. She raised one eyebrow in silent inquiry. I shrugged slightly.
"Still doesn't tell me why I'm here," I thought, and She raised her hands towards me in a silent invitation, bending her knees to sit on the floor. I felt my knees bending in response and decided to go along with it. Again, I could feel "floor" beneath me but it remained an elusively non-reflecting, opaque surface, my eyes unable to get a hold of it. I decided it wasn't important and stopped trying, raising my eyes instead to look at Her.
She smiled slightly and inclined Her head, resting the backs of Her hands on Her knees in the classic gyan mudra. I followed suit, satisfied for the time being to follow Her lead in this. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly. I did the same.
"Why am I here?" I found myself thinking.
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"You are here to learn" was the instant reply-thought.
"What am I supposed to learn?"
"Your purpose for being here."
Wait, what? That was just a circular thought process, some silly kind of brain exercise. I felt myself begin to feel annoyance and thought, "I better not get mad or I'm just gonna wake up."
With my eyes still closed I could feel her answering smile and thought, "I am ready." At least I hoped I was.
- - - - - - -
Much Ado About Nothing.
Everyone makes such a big deal about spiritual gifts like intuition as if it’s something to be desired. I know better. Knowing about catastrophes before they occur is useless; if we can’t stop the events from happening, what’s the point of knowing about them?
I had the migraine from Hell. I sat at my desk, considering myself fortunate for having arrived safely at work. My head was just too heavy for my neck to hold up, so I rested it on my left hand, elbow propped on my desk, while I tried to type a one-handed response to an email with my right hand.
I could feel someone standing behind me…. Ahhh yes, that would be Tony, my supervisor, I recognized his Old Spice after shave. I waved my right hand behind me in his direction, letting him know I knew he was there but trying to communicate non-verbally that I didn’t want to communicate verbally.
Tony ignored my nonverbal transmission. “What’s the matter—you gotta hangover?”
I winced visibly, his voice piercing my head, and replied, “Something like that…” while I tried to telepathically send him away.
He still wasn’t receiving my signals and barreled on: “There’s Motrin in the kitchen, go chew a few of those—you look like shit.”
I slowly raised my head up and turned my chair around so I was facing him directly. I looked him in the eyes. He flinched, mumbled something about, “Sorry, just trying to help…” and turned to walk back to his desk.
“Tony,” I said, stopping him. “Thank you. I appreciate you. I have a migraine. I had a crazy dream last night and woke up like this. I am doing the best I can, okay?” He smiled at me and said, “Go. Home.” I started to demur and he said, “I’m serious. Whatever you are doing will wait until tomorrow. I promise. We’ll douse any fires in your absence. We’ll document everything thoroughly. Take your migraine home and call me when you get there so I know you got home okay.”
I took a breath, and he gently nudged my chair back with a toe and a “Go. Home. Now.”
I exhaled and turned back to my computer. “Let me just finish this and I will go home. I promise.” I felt his nod and tried to figure out what I had been trying to say in the email on my monitor. I typed some non-response about I’ll review and get back to you tomorrow, going home not feeling well now. I shut down the computer and slowly gathered my purse and jacket, sliding my feet just above the floor so I could move without bouncing my head.
How I managed to make it home I’ll never know. I don’t remember the drive at all. I sent Tony a “I’m home safe thanks” text and fell into bed, pulling the pillow over my face.
I woke up at 2:00 a.m., urgently needing to pee and being desperately thirsty. “How is that even possible?” my brain protested. I told my brain to shut up and go back to sleep, stumbling to the bathroom with my eyes closed, arms outstretched as my heart and head had a mutual drumfest session going. I peed, drank tap water from my toothbrush glass, and stumbled back to bed.
“If this is the result of intuition activation, unactivate me. Now.” With that last thought I went unconscious. And started to dream again.
- - - - - - -
The Lens
... I am ... dreaming?
Back in the White Room (that’s what I’d started calling this dream space) once more, I seemed to have again arrived before She Who Knows. Feeling a bit like an expert at this point, I inhaled and closed my eyes, then exhaled slowly and dropped my shoulders, bending my knees and sitting down to await Her appearance.
Opening my eyes I saw Her there, seated across from me. I smiled. She smiled. Between us was a small round wooden box, about a foot and a half or so in diameter and about half that in height. It looked like an old hat box and appeared to be made of a single piece of dark-colored wood, unvarnished but finished to a smooth gleaming surface. She lifted the top which formed a lid, turning it over and setting it on the "floor" beside the box. Inside the box appeared to be a smaller cylindrical wooden object nestled in a padded compartment, maybe eight inches in length and two to three inches in diameter.
I felt my eyebrows crease. I'd never seen anything like it before.
It looked something like a very short telescope, with a gray-black round "eyepiece" connected to a cylinder made of two obviously different sections of wood. I watched Her curiously as she gently removed it from the case, letting me see it as it rested in her hands for a moment before she offered it to me.
I felt my hands reach for the device without conscious thought. I felt no fear or hesitation at all through this strange encounter, although at some point in my consciousness I recognized how singularly unique this situation was.
Being a somewhat expert on various types of rocks and crystals, I thought I recognized the "eyepiece" as black tourmaline, cut in a donut shape to form a circle with a hollow center. I raised my eyes to Her with that thought and she dipped her head once in silent approval. Returning my gaze to the device, I could see what looked like a quartz crystal point nestled within the tourmaline's center. Feeling my eyebrow twitch, I looked carefully at the wooden section the tourmaline was joined to. It was a perfectly smooth cylinder approximately two inches long, and I guessed it was hollow inside to hold the quartz crystal, which meant the crystal was about two inches long and about an inch thick.
"Hmmm, that's a 1:2 ratio... interesting...." I thought.
There appeared to be some kind of spacer between the first and second sections with a small raised "lip." It seemed perfect for getting a fingertip hold of, so I tried that. The piece slid out easily, a small black frame that held two pieces of glass, maybe a couple inches square. It looked like the lip had an opening where the glass pieces could be inserted and removed, so I tipped the frame over and watched as two thin clear pieces of what felt like glass slid out a bit, making it easy to remove the rest of the way. It reminded me of the science kit I had when I was little, with the small clear glass slides you put a specimen on before placing under the microscope. These were just bigger and square. I blinked and raised my head, genuinely puzzled now and not worried about whether I woke up or not. This was getting weird.
She smiled at my confusion and raised one hand in a "just hold on a moment" gesture. I heard Her say, "This is the Lens." She nodded to the device. I nodded my understanding.
"Black tourmaline for the threyepiece, to set a focus that is balanced and based on the root chakra, joining left- and right-brain functions.”
"Thriepeace?" I thought.
“The piece for the Third Eye to be directed through,” was Her reply. She continued without pause. "A clear quartz double-point crystal concentrates the energy being directed through the threyepiece, with one point held within the tourmaline's center.”
"The threyepiece is mounted to a two-inch section of yew, hollowed out to firmly hold the quartz crystal generator. Yew provides the energy of regeneration.”
"The 'slides' as you call them are indeed very similar to your science kit, and as you see they are held in a black bracket which forms the frame for the two clear glass slides. This allows a microscopically thin "specimen" to be mounted and placed within the Lens. When a specimen is mounted and inserted, one side of the slide touches and makes a connection with the crystal point.”
"The last section of the cylinder is ash, which provides strength and accuracy.”
"At one end of the ash cylinder section is a reading glass lens with a +3.5 magnification." She glanced at me to make sure I was still with Her. I nodded slightly and returned my gaze to the Lens.
"At the other end of the ash cylinder is an 8x magnification lens, most commonly used in archery scopes." I tilted the end of the Lens and could clearly see a glass lens at the terminating end. I returned the Lens to rest in both my hands and lifted my eyes to Her.
In my mind’s eye, I “saw” each piece as she described it:
She met my gaze calmly but didn't make any other gestures. I didn't hear any other thoughts from Her. I looked again at the Lens, feeling like I was missing something here. You obviously couldn't actually look through the device; having a quartz crystal blocking whatever might be seen through the tourmaline and the interior lenses pretty effectively guaranteed that. So why call it "the Lens" and what did it do? What was its purpose?
Which immediately reminded me of the start of this "conversation." I had asked why I was here, and She had answered that I was here to find out my purpose.
Okay, copy that. So now what?
She asked, "Is hindsight always 20/20?"
I replied, "That's what they say" with a mental shrug, unsure where this was leading.
"If hindsight is 20/20, what is foresight?"
Ummm. "I don't know? What kind of question is that anyway?"
I could feel Her amusement with my thought process.
"You use your foresight when you get your inspiration or 'divine downloads' as you call them. Foresight, divination, prophecy and related skills are all just aspects of your true vision."
"My third eye."
"Indeed."
She held my gaze for a long moment. “There is an evil in the world. In your world. Here. Where you are currently. It needs to be stopped. The Lens can show this. With your help.” My bewilderment must have been apparent, because She leaned forward intently and continued.
“Holding the threyepiece to your Third Eye, the Lens will project an image of the memory held within the specimen between the slides onto the lid of the box.”
I thought I understood what She was saying but I was losing focus of the conversation. I could feel the dream slipping out of my control and decided to let it go.
* * *
I woke up with another migraine. It was Monday morning, the start of a new work week. Hooray. Whatever the hell that was all about.
I half-fell out of bed and felt my way along the hallway to the bathroom for an urgent call of nature, snagging the bottle of Motrin out of the medicine cabinet to down four tablets with saliva while I peed and listened to the pounding of my head, willing the drugs to stay down as I fought a bout of nausea.
Lovely.