Paul re-filled their wine glasses, noticing that the pressure in his mind had definitely eased. Maybe Nuttley had come good after all?
The meal went tolerably well from then on. Paul proposed a toast to his son wishing him good fortune. For a moment Paul detached himself and gazed at his little family. He had been lucky. Maybe he didn’t tell them that enough, or ever. Maybe he didn’t tell Kate he loved her, enough or ever. Life was over in the blink of an eye. He remembered what the angels had told him that most lives ended with nothing more than a nugget of wisdom to show for a lifetime with the rest being of no real value. People simply did not contemplate this enough, he saw that now. Maybe in some other cultures the main thrust of life was to prepare for death and beyond, however primitive and backward those cultures appeared to those in the, so-called, developed countries.
Whatever the angels told him, whatever cults, religions and mystics said, most people were unprepared for death. There was at the centre of it a very simple proposition. Either death meant oblivion following random echoes of brain activity, illusions and dreams, or it didn’t. And if it didn’t?
The angels had been clear. He had been given a mission and it was largely out of his hands. There was little reason now for the angels to stay. Either the whole thing was just a mental breakdown of some kind or it was just as the angels said it was. Either way, only time would tell. He had the feeling that when the angels departed from his mind, that the dark force would follow. The spotlight would have been turned off. He turned his attention back to his family. By now, they were all chattering and laughing and reminiscing.
Later, at home, when everyone had gone upstairs, Paul lingered, pouring himself a drink. The house felt deceptively calm, as though a storm was brewing, shielded by a wall of light. He decided to try Romy’s stress busting technique. He sat quietly and allowed his thoughts to settle on his own emotional state. He asked himself point blank questions. Was he jealous? Did he experience real hate for anything or anyone? What did he feel deep down? Was he unreasonably proud of himself? Was his ego out of control? Did he think he was something special? What about fear?
The reaction was devastating and instantaneous. So far, he had browsed through potential sins, misdemeanours, character traits, weaknesses, strengths, true beliefs and errors of judgement and felt nothing. As soon as the word fear entered his mind he knew that was it. He was experiencing fear, true fear on a daily basis. Fear, he realized, was built into his genetic make-up. It was a nuclear relationship with the emotion. It dawned on Paul that he had spent the majority of his adult life in fear of something. When he tried to pin down that something it proved elusive. It was fear of today, fear of tomorrow, fear of death, fear of life, fear of losing his hair, his career, his income, his wife and family. It was the same fear that formed a knot of chemicals within his intestines at the arrival of dark, evil, spiritual forces he couldn’t understand. It was clear to him that he was dogged by fear.
He placed his fingertips on his heart chakra as Romy had shown him. He imagined all his fear escaping through a vent in his chest. He exhaled in a steady stream and swore he could actually feel fear itself as a physical substance being expelled. Tears came and he had to stifle the desire to cry out loud. He wept as he had never wept before. The emotional release was painful but also ecstatic.
But it wasn’t just fear. There was something else, some other quality lurking in the recesses that needed to be expunged.
It had all the quality of a true revelation. The exercise helped but did not address the root cause, the elemental reason for fear to be such a dominant feature of his existence, an albeit subconscious, insidiously evil malfunctioning emotion of his soul, This was an extraordinary experience. Romy had been right. The technique worked and having worked the results and implications had to be faced.
Paul scrolled down through every other deviant sin and human weakness he could think of, surprised by some, including adultery, that did not raise his heartbeat one iota. Then, at last, almost as an afterthought, he allowed the concept of envy to enter his mind. Paul had always told himself that he didn’t have an envious bone in his body and couldn’t remember consciously envying the rich or the successful or the wildly handsome. But the response from his subconscious told a very different story. As with fear, the realization that envy was a deep-seated element of his make-up hit Paul like a runaway train. He knew for absolute certain that he was envious and the admission almost choked him. Tears again fell involuntarily. Far more than fear, envy was turning out to be the dominant deadly sin within his psyche. This was a conduit to remembering consciously then just who he really was. He had to admit it. That was part of the deal. Romy’s little technique was deviously clever. Once it was apparent what the weakness in your psyche actually was, there was nowhere else to go. You had to own up. You had to face the humiliation. And it was painful. Paul attempted to release his envious emotions and succeeded to a degree but they were embedded so deeply that it was like trying to shift a congealed and impacted layer of spiritual faeces from the soul.
Then part of him said, it’s all right. It’s okay to feel like this. Admit it. Realize it. Own up to it. Look it in the face and defy it to harm you again. That was easier said than done. Paul was in more turmoil now than ever, but the process of in-depth analysis did have a cathartic effect.
He supposed that he would have to continue the medicine until he could face his demons and deal with them in some constructive way.
He could not make the connection between this cathartic release and technique for addressing deep-seated emotional instability, with angels, demons, past life regression and being chosen for a task that would change the world, or with the possibility of some kind of short-term schizophrenia. He was about to find out that they were two very different sets of circumstances.
As he began to rise from his chair, aware that an hour had flown by in the blink of an eye, the pins and needles paralysis began once again.
Within minutes he was on his knees, almost numb with fear of a different kind. He was retching again as though trying to dislodge an evil spirit. He heard quite clearly in his mind the distant groups supporting him, chanting: ‘Fear not, there is no fear,” over and over. He could feel the angels taking him into their midst as images of burning crosses, desert winds, hurtling over a precipice toward certain death and his other parallel universe self somewhere in the mix. He blacked out. When he came to, the house was silent. He glanced at his watch and grunted as his body felt the echo of deep-seated pain. Several hours had gone by. He rose to his feet, feeling strangely exorcised.
He prayed also that his ordeal was coming to an end. He knew he could not take much more of this without cracking.
He doubted if he would ever know the truth of the so-called revelations regarding Kate and Terry Sullivan or about Rory’s gay nature. Nothing had appeared on the clearance chart about Annie but Cassie’s sudden illness had shaken him. Then there were the sexual and religious fantasies, the dreams and the waking dreams. He was still at a loss to explain any of it. As for the angels and the other entities of unknown origin, well, there was another mystery. But, the conundrum remained. If all this was true. If he had been chosen. If he was going to meet people over time who would expand his understanding and help prepare him to meet The One. And if it wasn’t just a load of hokum or mind games, how and when would he tell Kate?
This was a tough one. And, as things stood, the less said the better. To tell her now would lead to unimaginable complications. If it turned out to be true then it would be a gradual process and she would come to understand it. And he would not be alone. There would be indications that the world was changing or heading for the disaster so often predicted, either by a wandering asteroid attracted by the Earth’s gravitational field; a comet on a collision course; a new ice age; an epidemic to make AIDS seem like a sniffle in comparison or world terrorism mixed in with religious fanaticism and spiced up with weapons of mass destruction, or even the conspiracy the
ories of clandestine enslavement.
There would be other signs surely of the need for a spiritual re-awakening, for cosmic truth to become more than a populist new age pastime or scientific whipping boy. He would be part of a process and as such maybe Kate would also become part of the same process alongside the children as the world anticipated subconsciously the emergence of The One who would transform life as it was known throughout the world.
Paul shuffled upstairs to bed still reeling from the other revelations of fear and envy dominating his life. He knew he had to face these debilitating life conditions or go under. Romy had probably been sent to him in order that he prepare himself initially by addressing and facing the truths of his life. When he finally slipped into bed beside Kate dawn was breaking. He fell asleep instantly.
Paul had to wait several hours before he was alone the following day. Rory was busy packing and Kate was fussing as she always did. He drove Annie over to a friend’s house where she was staying for a birthday party. She would be back the following day in time to say goodbye to her brother at the airport. Annie didn’t say much but Paul knew she would miss Rory. They had always had a love hate relationship but as they grew older the love became more dominant than the hate, which turned out to be mostly brother sister annoyance syndrome.
Paul did a couple of hours work on the Spears account, preparing for the first big meeting then he composed himself to call Ebenezer Nuttley. So far that day there had been no spiritual disturbances. The angels had not been in direct contact for some time but nevertheless Paul needed Nuttley’s opinion.
The familiar reedy voice greeted him.
“I’ve been getting the feeling there are people praying for me,” said Paul, feeling a little foolish.
“I have spent some time clearing you,” he answered, “and I have had to involve quite a few groups to do battle on your behalf.” Paul thought about this.
“I’m grateful,” said Paul. “So, just what is going on?”
“Something you have done or are doing has opened a channel to a parallel universe. The forces that have been bothering you will not stay long. If they cannot get what they want from you they will depart. However, there are other forces attached to you that are not quite so fickle. It seems you have attracted an angelic manifestation and a satanic force of exceptional power.”
“The white light seems to be working,” commented Paul hopefully. Nuttley chuckled. “Yes,” he said. “That will deter most normal intruders and psychic vampires but will have no effect on angels or true demons. But the link with you is fading. I have cleared you of all remaining karma through your supreme soul. Remarkably, there was almost no karma from any previous life which was unusual. I feel things will now ease and you will be out of danger very soon.”
“Danger?” said Paul anxiously. He could picture Nuttley’s long fingers twitching.
“You mean you don’t know?” chuckled Nuttley. “You have been in very great danger. If you hadn’t cleared yourself somehow of bad karma then you may have suffered the final consequences.” Paul breathed a silent prayer of thanks to Punishment Angel. It was certainly nothing he had done messing around with the pendulum.
“There is nothing more I can do for you,” Nuttley told him. “You have to be careful with the pendulum. It is a powerful tool. It does open two-way channels and, in your case, another version of reality has overlaid itself on your life and this has led to confusion. In some people it can be diagnosed as schizophrenia, psychosis or insanity. You have been fortunate.”
“Fortunate,” Paul laughed ironically. “I thought I was going crazy. I still can’t work out if it has all been truly true or just an hallucination.
“You can tell if something is true generally,” said Nuttley. “There is a quality about spiritual truth and revelation that is missing from mere psychobabble. I envy you, my friend. To have attracted such powerful entities is truly rare. Contact with these forces does not happen that often. I think you will be all right now.”
There was nothing more to say to the little man. In the end he had been the only one who could help. For all Malone’s so-called esoteric development he had had nothing to say about Paul’s terrifying experiences except clichés. Paul could only hope his sanity would be preserved. He had a feeling the fight to remain sane was not yet over.
Maybe the white light was working, Paul smiled, trying to imagine Ebenezer Nuttley at home. He then became aware of groups of people all focusing their attention upon him, right here and now. The groups were far away but giving him support, rather like the massed ranks of angelic entities that had surrounded and protected him during the most terrifying and crucial moments of his ordeal. Then, suddenly,he knew that these groups really had been marshalled by Nuttley in some way: maybe there was some kind of network in operation.
He thought or heard the words: ‘Fear not,’ repeated over and over again until the sound became a vibration. It was a comforting feeling but also indicative that there was more to come.
The following day Paul drove the three of them to the airport. Cassie had telephoned the night before and spoken to Rory. The boy was excited yet nervous. Conversation was mundane most of the three-hour trip. They hit the usual airport traffic several miles out. Paul had now talked himself into believing that Rory would be gone for good; that he would never come back, except for holidays once in a while. It had hit him hard. He didn’t think Rory really understood how he was feeling. Why should he? This was his time. This was his big adventure.
Cassie had been the first to leave home, but she at least was within travelling distance. Australia was the other side of the world. Sydney was the magnet and Paul could understand why. As he watched Rory and Rod queuing to check in he stood with Kate and Annie and Rod’s parents. Kate was much more matter-of-fact than he was about it. She knew he would be back. Paul wasn’t so sure. He knew he would have to hold back tears. If he was in Rory’s shoes he would do the same, he was sure of it. Rory had not gelled with his multimedia arts course. Education didn’t suit him. Whatever you said to Rory and whatever advice you gave him, the boy would have to experience life for himself. He wasn’t a second hand kind of person.
The time came for departure and there were hugs and tears and best wishes.
“Don’t forget I love you, Son,” Paul whispered hoarsely into Rory’s ear as the hugged each other.
“I know, Dad,” he said. “I love you too. Always will. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
Then Rory and Rod were gone, waving back as they disappeared inside the departure terminal.
Annie held Paul’s arm as they said goodbye to Rod’s parents and headed back to the car park.
“You’ve still got me, Dad,” she whispered to him.
“How long for?” he replied. “You’ll be off to college in the next couple of years.”
Kate joined them.
“What are you two plotting?” she asked. Annie looked at her mother.
“Dad’s sad. I’m cheering him up,” said Annie.
“He’ll be all right. Rory will be back, you’ll see.”
The forest canopy was turning its distinctive rust brown, soft in the evening sun. Sabre snuffled amongst the fallen leaves as though searching for buried truffles. Paul loved this time of year when the season changed and the forest smelt of decay and rebirth.
He stood looking out over the river, winding in its huge arc in the distance lanced with slivers of gold and silver reflections.
Annie called out behind him. He turned to see her trotting through the trees along the path on Solomon, whose huge muscles glinted in the shadows of the rust coloured leaves.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he called as she waved and rode on. Paul allowed a brief memory of Bessie, their mare and Kate’s passion, to cross his mind. He shook it away angrily and walked through the trees to a broader viewpoint of the river and the hills beyond rising through the escarpment to the plateau beyond.
“Your time is almost here,” pronounced Guard
ian Angel. Paul jumped with surprise. It had been days since his last direct contact with the angels.
“You have been well prepared,” grunted Punishment Angel.
“Good things will come to you,” promised Prosperity Angel. “The rest of your life will be spent in perfecting your spirit in preparation to play your part in the next human age.”
“We will come to you tomorrow,” Development Angel told him, “and make final adjustments. Then your life will return to normal although you will never forget that which you have come to understand. Over time you will be directed to meet others and you will realize that you are part of a world developmental movement. When the time is right, we will come to you again to welcome your return to us.”
“What does that mean?” Paul blinked the question.
Instead of reply, a glorious vision came into his mind. Ecstatic love poured into him and he absorbed it like a sponge. He experienced the creative now as multiple universes of incredibly vast dimensions and yet focused to a point smaller than an atom. He was drowning in wonder and awe and yet he plunged into that all-embracing love with the assurance that comes from knowing he was an integral part of it. He needed no name, no personality, no ego, no identity, no past and no future to just exist and yet maintain an objective view of it as though he was an individual. He sensed no central being although he was aware of sending out pure love like a battery sends out current.
All the images the angels had implanted were recalled and re-run. All the insights now had the ring of perfect truth yet he knew he was just like a particle of dust in a storm. Every particle was irreplaceable and part of the whole spirit energy interplay that was creation that was life in all its forms and dimensions.
He walked back to the house immersed in thoughts and dreams and of his destiny. It all now seemed so clear. It was beyond psychoanalysis. He knew he was as sane as he ever had been. If he released stress then that had built up as part of his life now. You couldn’t put these experiences down to stress, no matter how deep he journeyed into his psyche. There were still mysteries. Some of the entities that had made contact had been attracted by his exposure to the angels, rather like a beacon suddenly being uncovered and attracting moths and insects. He called Sabre to him as they approach the small road than ran along the bottom edge of the forest. So it would end tomorrow. And, at the same time, it would only just have begun.
An Angel on My Shoulder Page 17