Had I? Of course I had. That wondering had taken me to visit Claudia at UNM. Perhaps I should consider the supernatural element in getting these powers.
“Well, yes. I’ve talked to a scientist lady. Her exams of me showed parts of my brain were larger than normal.” I shrugged. “That’s a science fact that may, or may not, explain my powers. So what can your pastor lady tell me?”
Leroy smiled softly. “She might share with you stories of other persons touched by God. Or the Goddess, as I’ve heard you say a few times.”
Well, why not? Attending church a few times would burnish my new image as a community benefactor. And maybe Leroy’s pastor had some insight into what had landed on me. Which left me with the issue of what I would tell her about my abilities. Well, that problem came tomorrow, Sunday. Tonight was my buddies night.
“Sure, Leroy, I’ll go to church with you. What time?”
“Services start at 10 a.m.,” he said, his look going unique again. “Thought we could go there after breakfast at Café Loco. It would give us time to visit with Pastor Lydia before Sunday services.”
I nodded, then turned my attention to the bowl of ice. Which was empty of bottles. “Hey, folks, anyone up for a can of Bud?”
Groans, growls and laughter greeted my offer. After swilling down quality beer my buds were happy to give their opinion of basic Budweiser beer. And drink it no matter what. The evening was still young. Chips, dip and cookies were still mostly there. And the seven of us had never before gathered at someone’s home for chatting, sharing and laughing. Which a few were doing now as Angelina pretended to read Christine’s mind. I joined the laughter. And inside gave thanks I was no longer as isolated and alone as I had been since the divorce.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After breakfast and coffee at Café Loco with Leroy and my other buds, he and I took an Uber ride to the Lutheran church out on the east end of St. Michaels Drive. It was close to the St. Vincent hospital. As we turned into the church parking lot I noticed a sign that said this church was a member of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America. I pointed at it as the car slowed.
“Leroy, you said this pastor was liberal. But that sign says Evangelical. I’m not up for a conversion session.”
He laughed softly. “Not to worry. This group of Lutherans is not part of the Missouri Synod. Buddhists and Hindus and Pagans are welcome here.”
“Oh.” This for sure seemed a different kind of Lutheranism.
The car stopped at the curb in front of the church. Which was a Pueblo-style building of brown stucco and a high roof. The woman driver, who had introduced herself as Trixie, gave us a smile as she looked back to where we sat on the rear seat.
“Here you are, boys!”
Leroy opened the car door on his side, since that was closest to the church. I returned Trixie’s smile, then handed her a $10 bill. “Thanks, Trixie. You’ll get a fine review from me when Uber sends me their email rating request.”
“Great!” she said, accepting the tip that was in addition to the automatic charging of my credit card through my online Uber account. “I work weekends and a few weekday nights. Keep me in mind!”
“I will,” I said as I slid out of the car and joined Leroy on the curb.
The woman who used her own private car to do Uber ride pickups sped off, heading for St. Michaels. I faced Leroy. Who, like me, was dressed in a suit. It was a nice blue with white thread highlights suit that was double-breasted. A style that I knew was at least 20 years old. I’d chosen to wear my white linen suit, hand-sewn leather shoes, a bright green button-down shirt and a tie that bore the image of a crocodile lizard down its length. It was my one gesture to frivolity. And Leroy had burst out laughing when he’d seen it. As had Mabel and my other buddies. He waved at me to join him as he walked toward the front of the church. The main entrance was a double door in the middle of the building. A wing on my left jutted out from it. A normal-size door had the sign Office stuck to it. Leroy turned off the flagstone-paved walkway and onto a short concrete walkway.
“Over here, Jack. Lydia said we could meet with her in her office. She said she’d be there by 8. And it’s now 8:12.”
My buddy opened the unlocked office door and walked in. The front room was an obvious office with computer, keyboard, filing cabinets and some pictures on the walls of Jesus and the Disciples. Leroy kept walking through an open doorway and up to a closed door with the name Pastor Lydia Breckenridge on a wall name tag. He knocked on the door.
“Pastor Lydia? It’s Leroy with my friend.”
“Come right in, Leroy!” called a happy-sounding woman’s voice.
Leroy opened the door and entered. I followed after him. We found ourselves in a room half the size of my living room, but with enough room for a nice solid wood desk, a comfy padded chair behind it in which sat a woman with dark brown hair that fell in large curls to her shoulders. She wore a purple-themed pantsuit with jacket. A live rose peaked out from a jacket pocket on her left chest. Anglo she was. Middle-aged she seemed to be. A mom she was based on a wall photo of her with a hubby and two kids. And happy was the smile she gave us, gesturing us to sit in two padded chairs before her desk.
“Leroy! Welcome. And I see you brought your friend. Welcome, sir!”
I felt myself smiling in response to the woman’s own smile and her cheerful voice tone. “Thank you, Pastor Breckenridge. I’m Jack Hansen. Leroy and I belong to a group of seniors who meet each morning at Café Loco for coffee, donuts and usually breakfast.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Welcome, Jack. Please call me Lydia. I save my formality for our Sunday services. Uh, are you the same Jack Hansen pictured in yesterday’s newspaper? Who confronted the robbers at yours and Leroy’s café?”
Damn. Too famous. Soon folks would stop me on the street and ask for an autograph. Or a smartphone selfie with them. I kept my smile on as I nodded. “Yes, Lydia, that was me. Despite my wish to be anonymous, the Santa Fe Police Department chose to share that image and my name with the press. I didn’t do anything special.”
As bright sunlight shone in through a tall window on the pastor’s left, Lydia’s face moved through several emotions. Telling myself to be polite I chose not to skim her surface thoughts. Though my view of her aura showed lots of yellow curiosity. And also the gold of wisdom and the bright pink of compassion. Her inner red core was a vibrant, almost glowing red. A clear red, which indicated a lot of energy and passion. Clearly this was a woman passionate about life, her calling and the people she met.
She tilted her head to one side, a playful look settling on her face. “Well, Leroy tells me you ordered the chief robber to not harm the waitress, his friend Mabel, or any of your other friends. That took courage, standing up to a man with a shotgun. Based on what I read in several days papers.”
Leroy and my buds knew about my barrier field. To me what I had done, knowing the powers I possessed, was not courageous. Petros was the courageous one. As was Mabel who had attempted to draw the chief robber’s attention away from his threats to her patrons. I shook my head. “Actually, ma’am, I think Petros in our group and Mabel were the brave ones. Anyway, thank you for seeing us so early this morning.”
Lydia laughed softly. “Getting up early is what I do. To pray. To meditate. To seek guidance in how to celebrate each day.” She looked to my bud. “Leroy, you asked for this meeting. Would you share with me why you wished me to meet with you and with your friend Jack?”
Leroy glanced my way, his unique look showing. Then he faced the pastor. “Lydia, I believe Jack has been blessed by God. Or the Goddess. Or Jehovah. Or, as I heard Jack say once, the Creator Force. He can Heal by the touch of his hands. And also do other things not common to most folks.” He pointed to his right ear. “I’m not wearing either hearing aid. But I hear you just fine. And he also cured my diabetes. No more finger poking!”
His pastor focused on me. Her look was intent, thoughtful and unique in a way similar to Leroy’s. As if s
he were looking at . . . at something miraculous.
“Jack, when did this blessing happen to you?”
I swallowed hard. “Early Tuesday morning, this past week. Just before I joined my friends for coffee.”
She nodded slowly. “And what do you think of this blessing?”
“I’m frustrated. A bit pissed. And amazed at what has happened to me.”
A happy glow filled her face. “Very normal reactions, based on my seminary studies of blessed people through the ages. Tell me, do you know how you are different, than before?”
What a question! “Well, a woman scientist at UNM that I saw said three lobes of my brain are bigger than normal. She is researching my DNA and blood sample. Maybe she will learn more.”
Lydia nodded quickly. “Good. Facts are always helpful. Do you think there could be a supernatural element to what happened to you?”
Did I? “Well, the Healing is not anything I could do before turning 70. Nor was I ever able to do any of the other . . . blessings that have become part of me. So maybe. What do you think?”
She sat forward, her gaze scanning me closely, her expression both impressed and reverential. “I think you are one of the few humans who have been blessed with unique powers. I believe Leroy. He is a veteran and a very honorable man. If he says you Healed him, I believe you did. Would you like to share anything about your new abilities?”
Should I? It was clear I did not need to Heal this pastor woman. She accepted me as someone with unique abilities. Since she did not need more proof, what could I do that would not involve setting fire to her waste basket? The faded color of orchid petals as they sat in a flute-like vase at the edge of her desk drew my attention. I reached out to the flute and touched the orchid stem.
“Well, I see the life force in everything,” I said as the yellow-green glow of the orchid grew stronger under my touch. The pale pink and purple stripes in the orchid petals became sharp and distinct. “And I can see the auras around each person. And know when they lie to me.” I met her brown eyes, showing her my sincerity.
She blinked. Then reached out to touch the orchid. “Most delightful. Thank you.” Lydia glanced to Leroy. “My dear friend, do you plan to attend services this morning?”
Leroy nodded quickly. “I do.” He faced me. “Jack, want to join me? I promise you the singing will be easy and the welcome from this small congregation will be real.”
I had planned to leave this meeting and just teleport to Central Park. But this pastor had piqued my interest. I faced her. “Yes, Leroy, I will attend services with you. Pastor, do you think your God has blessed me with these powers?”
She smiled softly. “I believe our God has blessed us all by being the source of creation and the universe. And sometimes he or she will reach out and brighten the life of a few of us. I believe he has brightened your life. What you do with this blessing gift, though, is up to you. Free will, you know?”
I almost laughed. Her ‘free will’ phrase brought back to memory a Sunday Bible study class I had attended with my Mom when I was six years old and in first grade at school. It had seemed so at odds with the ‘God will be angry with you’ threats the reverend of my Mom’s church often sprinkled into his Sunday sermons. This pastor, though, offered joy, not threats, love, not fear. Maybe I would like coming to Leroy’s church, now and then.
“Yes, I do know. It’s an issue I’ve been wrestling with ever since Tuesday. Having plenty of blessing options can be a curse. But I do know I like being able to Heal, people and plants and animals, versus hurting living beings. Evil must be confronted. And I have confronted it, and ended its presence on earth. But I prefer . . . I prefer having friends and being less alone, less isolated.”
Her expression went soft and knowing. “All people need friends and to be less alone in their lives. You are welcome here at any time, Jack Hansen, Healer of lives.”
I liked that title. Healer of lives. So much better than Burner of Evil. But I also knew, after 70 years of living, that bad people and evil actively seek out victims. Almost all of whom are good people. Was I willing to be an Archangel Michael, the defender of humanity against all evil and wickedness? Or try for Archangel Raphael, the Healer of physical ailments? I know which I preferred. Whether in the Hebraic tradition, in the Hindu pantheon or even the Buddhist pathway to nirvana, soldiers were welcome. Gautama Siddartha, the Buddha, did not hate soldiers. He just found them to be of lesser status than seekers of truth and practitioners of disengagement from the jealousies of life. Maybe I could be a soldier for life? And also a healer of lives. Why not be both?
“Thank you, Lydia. I think I will try to be a Soldier for Life. And a Healer of Lives.”
Giving Leroy the excuse I needed to meditate, I left him after services and went for a walk on the paved pathway that led church goers into a juniper forested woodland that led to a spiral contemplation walk, according to Leroy. Walking far enough to be hidden from sight, I finally reached the outer edge of the spiral walk. No one else was here. Other than a few chirping birds and a bobcat that watched me covertly from the far side of the spiral. Taking a deep inhale I felt the yellow-green glow of Nature as its life surrounded me. This was a kind of peace I often enjoyed while doing outdoors reporting for the Reporter. Since losing that job I had missed being surrounded by Nature. Now, I had refound my need. And the essence of what mattered to me. Life, glorious life!
As a soft mid-day breeze brushed past me, carrying the smells of juniper, bunch grass, squeaky squirrels, nesting birds and rich loamy soil that was clearly tended to by some church goers, I built in my mind the image of a spot in Central Park where I had gone exploring while a teenager, visiting New York City for the first time. My sister was elsewhere while my parents were a long yell away. For me, I was surrounded by trees and hidden from the view of the many people who jogged or walked along the many trails in the park. A small bunch of boulders nearby beckoned to me, offering a miniature castle I could climb. So I recalled. With a thought I took myself there.
“Whoosh!”
“Pop!” sounded as air rushed away from the spot I had appeared in.
The smell of shit hit me first. My eyes saw the dark green of surrounding trees. No one was here. Yet. But a soiled sleeping bag was huddled up against the boulder pile. From a spot nearby came the dense odor of feces. Clearly a homeless person had found a place to camp for the night. And take a dump. Which, based on my watching of TV news reports, had become a dangerous thing to do. Muggers, robbers and rapists sometimes roamed the park at night, seeking out easy victims. Pushing that awareness away, I put my aura vision to one side and looked to the east. I knew the direction, based on the position of the sun at 1 p.m. in NYC. Since the city time zone was two hours earlier than Santa Fe’s time, I was here at a good time for wandering through its densely forested northeast side. Directly east was the Vanderbilt Gate entry to the park. I needed to be further south on Fifth Avenue in order to reach Ansgar’s luxury apartment condo building. I headed south through the trees, taking care where I stepped to avoid holes and crap. This park sure smelled different than when I’d visited decades ago. My belly grumbled for food. Clearly my life-giving to the orchid and now this teleport had used a lot of energy.
“Watch out!” yelled a bicycle rider as I stepped out onto the trail that ran parallel to the East 102nd Street path that ran across the northern third of the park.
“You watch out!” I snapped back, feeling instant irritation.
My barrier field has automatically arisen as my mind sensed the rapid approach of a person on a vehicle. Quick as thought I pulled my field in to avoid knocking the rider over from his collision with it. A fresher wind wafted by me as the bicyclist sped past, showing me the finger and acting as if he owned the asphalt pathway. He was headed to the Fifth Avenue side. I followed him. Other walkers were ahead of me and to the rear. Clearly late lunch time walking was popular with the suited-up biz types. Which, I realized, I resembled thanks to my white linen suit,
shoes, shirt and weird tie. Also present were a few mothers pushing strollers with babies inside, a few teens of both sexes who were mouthing off loudly to themselves and to passersby, and I also saw the black tornado of a darkly tattooed gangbanger who watched from the far side of the path. He was leaning against a tree trunk. My reading of his persona said he was waiting for a buddy to bring something, perhaps drugs. He did not intend to grab the purses of any of the men or women who had them slung from their shoulders. Which left me feeling relieved. I really did not wish to create a scene by causing the guy to have a heart attack.
Life hit me. The loud honking of car horns, the rumble of thousands of people talking as they walked along the sidewalks that ran on either side of Fifth Avenue, the sharp taste of auto exhaust, the vibrations of scores of feet against the pathway, the odor of disinfectant from the Mt. Sinai Heart Hospital that lay south of Ansgar’s building, and the rich smells of wheeled cart food sellers, they all washed over me like a tsunami of the five senses. Pulling my barrier field in until it was just an inch above my skin, I looked around as I reached the wide street. Ah, there it was.
A large multi-story brownstone building drew my attention. It lay to the right, not far from East 101st Street. This was Ansgar’s building. I headed for it, threading through lanes of cars that were moving very slowly. When I reached the far side I turned right and headed down the sidewalk, automatically avoiding people headed the other way. It became obvious that walking close to the sidewalk was the preferred route for heading south on Fifth. As I passed the corner of his building I noticed a sign for HearUSA. A place that sold hearing aids, no doubt. It, like a few other shops, occupied part of the bottom floor of Ansgar’s building. Going past it I came to the main entrance. Walking up the steps I went past a liveried doorman who gave me a close look but said nothing. A ritzy suit had its value, it seemed. Entering a high-ceilinged lobby I walked toward the bank of elevators. A crowd was gathered before four elevator doors. One elevator had a sign above it that said Residents. I stopped behind a stylishly dressed woman who seemed barely 20 but I knew from my psychic vision she was 33. She glanced my way as we were the only two standing in front of this elevator. Her artificial black eyebrows rose, she sniffed, then she faced forward. Well, she was not the only person dressed to make an impression. While there were a few grayheads like me scattered in the crowd waiting at the other elevators, most were middle-aged or younger. The auras of all of them showed discipline, intensity of emotion and possessiveness.
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