by Annie Kagan
When Billy was in Margarita, visions of being abducted and held for ransom in South American drug country had made my going to find my brother out of the question. After two months of trying to convince Billy to get on a plane and leave Margarita Island, and desperate to make myself feel better, I had gone to see Olga, the Colombian manicurist, to have my toenails painted red.
“What's wrong with you?” she asked. “You look like hell.”
I blurted out the story. She's tough, Olga. She thought for a few minutes and said, “I know a guy—a really big guy. He can go find your brother. For a price.”
I stared at her. A sort of kidnapping. How fantastic! Why hadn't I thought of that?
The Colombian guy wanted ten thousand dollars to find Billy and bring him back. Now that my wheels were in motion I happened on a better solution. I could send my good friend and fellow meditator, Guru Guy, the Jewish boy from the Bronx, who was the king of South American travel.
“I'm sending someone to get you, Billy.”
“No! Really? I can't believe it. Oh my God, hurry up! I'm dying. This is no way to die. Itching to death.”
“Tell me where you are and he'll come get you.”
“I can't, Annie. I can't.”
“Why not? You're driving me crazy. I can't take this anymore.”
“I can't come home, Annie. I look awful. My hair's falling out. I'm all bloated. My flesh is hanging, like Daddy's when he was dying of cancer.”
Now I understood. Billy had always been goodlooking. He was still vain.
Finally, the itching won out over Billy's vanity. The plan was for Guru Guy to fly into Margarita. Billy would somehow get to the airport, they would take the same plane right back to Miami, and I would meet them there. If Billy was a no-show, Guru Guy would start the search.
NINE
Billy-Dust
Now that the weather had started to warm, I began thinking I should do something with Billy's remains. His ashes had been sitting in a rosewood box by my fireplace for almost three months.
When Billy was alive, he always said he wanted to be cremated and scattered in the sea. I suddenly had the impulse to take his ashes to the bay across the street from my house so they would be close by.
I put on white clothes like they do in Eastern funeral rituals. After I poured Billy's remains from the box into a red silk embroidered purse, I sifted through the light gray speckled ashes with my fingers. Billy-dust. There were small, hard white chunks in it, probably bone, and a large piece of metal that looked like part of a dental bridge. I slipped on a jacket and went to the bay. The sky was intensely blue and cloudless, and the wind was blowing in the right direction, out to sea.
When I put my hand into the ashes, a piece of sky got brighter, and I heard Billy's voice.
It's too cold for me, honey.
“What?” I asked.
It's too cold. The water's too cold.
I stood there, not sure what to do. “You know, you could have told me that before I came down here.”
Tell you what. Just sprinkle a little bit so you can feel like I'm here.
As I threw a handful of his ashes into the sea, Billy said:
The world is your oyster
The world is your oyster
You are the pearl
And the oyster
I had no idea what that meant, but it made me feel luminous. When I returned to my house, I could still feel Billy around, so I sat down at my computer.
Thanks for sprinkling some of my ashes in the bay this morning. I feel better. I really do, though, because you did it with so much love.
When I was alive I used to say my life ended the day you were born, and I'm sorry for that now. It's just that I was always the bad one and you were the good one. And Daddy loved you so much! It was one thing if Mommy loved you more than me, but not Daddy, too. The family drama is the first one, the primary one, and it has a lot of oomph. My envying you was a major factor in that drama.
On earth there's a lot of who's-better-than-who-type issues and that causes a lot of suffering. It's a game devised by the forces of Maya, or illusion, to make people unhappy. That's one of the purposes of illusion: human misery.
But the way I see it from this side of things, every soul is unique in very beautiful ways. Some are just farther along the path of development than others, and that's okay.
Now that I'm dead, I know it was no fun being the good one, always having to clean up the family mess— and we were messy, that's for sure. And I was the one who got all the attention, wasn't I? It was always all about me. What a revelation that was!
But you always loved me anyway, didn't you? Took your first steps to me, wrote little rhymes for me, looked up to me and out for me like I was your own personal James Dean. And what did I do? I pretty much ignored you. Well, that's over now. I'm making up for lost time.
The blessing I gave you today? It's more than some reward for what you did for me. It's a thing of the spirit. Infusing your life with it is the outcome of this moment and all it contains.
I can see you sitting at your computer right now, crying. You're crying because of how it ended between us. I struggled with my addiction for almost two years after the rescue mission; then I died. You rescued me, but couldn't really rescue me. It was written. Those last few months before my death, you told me to stay away and leave you alone. I was a drowning man, Annie, taking you with me.
I don't care much about memories anymore, but when I see you sitting there, crying, I want you to know there are memories much bigger than the fights you and I had at the end, down there on that very temporary planet. Memories like getting on that plane from Margarita with my new sidekick Guru Guy, crashing in a motel room in Miami, then waking up from my intoxicated sleep and seeing you standing over me like a Madonna. I had been away such a long time and I was so happy to see my baby sister, caring for me, saving me, getting me ready for the hospital, doing whatever it took to keep me from dying in hell.
So now you're crying at your computer, wondering if I forgive you.
Maybe the real question to ask yourself is, do you forgive me?
And really, darling, there is no one to forgive, because we signed up to do this dance together before we were born. We weren't acting out some type of I-did-somethingwrong-to-you-in-another-life-and-I'm-paying-for-itnow kind of thing. It doesn't really work like that. That concept of an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth karmic equalizing of the score isn't the real deal, at least not where I am.
It's more a kind of experiment chosen for soul-type reasons that humans have an almost impossible time understanding. And not understanding is an important part of the experiment. If people knew the workings of the experiment, it would lose some of its punch, and that losing of punch, well, that's a little bit of what enlightenment is all about.
TEN
Vincent
After his pearl in the oyster blessing, I wanted to give Billy a special tribute. The next day I decided to spread his remains in the Catskill Mountains in Upstate New York, a place he always loved. The year before his death he'd promised to take me on a trip there to see the autumn leaves.
I packed the red silk purse that held his ashes in my overnight bag, drove for five hours, and checked into a small hotel-spa I had stayed at before. It was a bare-bones, funky place, but the pine trees and forest were spectacular. I ate lunch, dressed in white again, put the silk purse in a backpack, and walked up a large hill.
When I reached the top, a big buck with huge antlers was staring at me from the edge of the trees like a mythological forest guardian. A little scared, I approached him slowly and stopped about fifty feet away.
“May I scatter Billy's ashes in your forest?”
When he didn't attack me but ran off into the woods, I thought that meant it was okay. At the spot where he had been standing, I opened the red silk purse. Then I heard:
It's too lonely here. And it's not cold now, but it's freezing in winter.
“I jus
t drove for half a day, Billy. Why didn't you stop me?”
Billy didn't answer, but I could feel his spirit everywhere, like a bright mist illuminating the hills. I walked back to the hotel with the ashes still in my backpack. The shabby buildings looked like enchanted cottages, and people's faces were glittery and beautiful. I decided to stay until lunch the next day and scheduled a morning massage with someone named Vincent.
Before Billy escaped to Margarita, he was a masseur, one of his better gigs. I never met anyone with hands as gifted as Billy's. Another reason he liked the name Billy Fingers.
When I woke up at daybreak in my dimly lit room, my brother was waiting.
Thank you for honoring me by carrying my ashes to these sacred mountains. The miracle of creation is here in this place, everywhere: the trees, the skies, the sun, the friendship, the kindness, the love. Perhaps today I can give you a small sign, a small miracle, a small thing of beauty that will connect you to the source of all beauty and miracles.
Vincent turned out to be a big, round, twentysomething guy with slicked back blond hair and phenomenal hands. I don't know if it was because of the similar feel of their touch, but while Vincent was rubbing my back with warm oil, I told him about Billy. I didn't care if Vincent thought I was a weirdo. I'd never see him again. When the massage was over, I pulled the sheet around myself, sat up and saw that Vincent was crying.
“My sister died a few months ago. She just got sick and died, all of a sudden, like that. She wasn't even twenty. Thank you so much for sharing your story about Billy. I think that you're, you're like some kind of sign from her.”
I was taken aback. This was the first time I had told a complete stranger about Billy, and he didn't think I was crazy. He thought I was a messenger.
“Yes,” I agreed, remembering Billy's message that morning. “It must be a sign.”
Walking from the spa to my small, musty room, the woods and sky were humming with the Billy effect. Billy must have had something to do with my meeting Vincent. Did Vincent's sister have something to do with it too?
As I ate a bowl of chickpea soup in the restaurant before heading home, Vincent came to my table. He handed me a tiny round red straw basket with three crystals inside. Vincent explained that the clear quartz was for the mind, the rose quartz for the heart, and the rare dark red citrine was for the blood, as in brother and sister.
ELEVEN
More Proof
After I returned from my trip to the Catskills, I told my writing group about Vincent. When I admitted that sharing my Billy experience with a stranger had been more a gift than torture, Tex gave me her I-told-you-so look.
The next morning was misty. As the late April showers turned the earth fragrant and green, Billy showed up sounding lazy, his words softly drawn out.
Tell . . . Steve . . . lead . . . us . . . not . . . into . . . temptation.
I phoned Steve at the office to deliver the message.
“Billy just gave me a message for you. ‘Lead us not into temptation.’ What does it mean?”
“It doesn't mean anything,” he said. His voice was clipped. “Listen, I have a meeting and I'm late. We'll talk later.”
I was surprised. This was the first time my brother had missed the mark.
A few hours later Steve called back.
“In the middle of my meeting, one of my partners told a story, and the punch line was . . . Lead us not into temptation. He repeated it twice. I almost fell off my chair. I guess any doubts I had about your brother are gone.”
After Steve hung up, Billy gave me another clue.
Tex . . . Bach . . . flower . . . remedy . . . clematis.
Bach flower remedies are a kind of homeopathic treatment for emotional distress. I speed-dialed Tex.
“Did you ever hear of Bach flower remedies?”
She laughed. “Yeah.”
“What's so funny?” I asked.
“I'll tell you after. Go on.”
“Well, Billy wants you to take one called clematis.”
“Just yesterday, my sister said I should take a Bach flower remedy. I'd never heard of them before. Now Billy's prescribing one? This is wild.”
Tex and I went online and searched clematis. It was for people who prefer to live in a dream world rather than reality. That fit Tex to a T.
“Billy wants me to know he's watching me,” said Tex. “And watching out for me.”
Twenty minutes later, Billy gave me another prescription.
Lola . . . Bach . . . remedy . . . vervain.
Lola was Guru Guy's girlfriend. Both of them had been following the Billy story, so I immediately called Guru Guy and delivered the message. He called me back minutes later.
“I just gave Lola Billy's message and guess what? She was at a health food store looking through the Bach remedies when I called. Guess what else? She had a vial of vervain in her hand.”
These proofs, coming all on the same day, made me feel like I was in a wonderland—an invisible reality that Billy was making real for me. I put on a yellow slicker and drove to a nearby fishing village, then sat on a weathered wooden bench, looking out to sea.
It was July when I'd last seen Billy. We were sitting on this same bench, drinking coffee and eating donuts. Guru Guy had rescued him from Venezuela the previous summer and Billy had come up from Florida to visit. When we went into a donut shop, he ordered for me. I was surprised that he remembered I liked vanilla icing, rather than chocolate. I loved being near my big brother, watching the waves roll in. Now, though, sitting alone in the rain I sensed his presence all around me.
Part Two
Even the Soul Changes
TWELVE
Becoming the Universe
Billy went silent for a while, though sometimes I could feel him around as I went about my day. It was almost June when he visited me again, but he sounded very different. His voice was slow, hypnotic, and dreamy, and seemed to be coming from far, far away.
I know my voice sounds funny today—far off and kind of intoxicated. Don't get scared, little one. I'm not high [laughs]. I'm just further along than I was before. I'm alone, but it's a good alone, not like the alone I felt those last years of my life.
After you die, you spend a lot of time, solo time, exploring yourself as a Universe. Do you believe that? You are the Universe. But society teaches you different. Society teaches limitation. Believe me, Annie, everything you ever need is already inside you. And who you really are is far beyond your comprehension. That's why living squeezed into the human experience can be painful at times. It was for me.
It's been, what, about four months since I was hit by God's delivery service?
I thought I'd never get tired of watching my hologram. But after a while it became clear that all roads ultimately led me to the same place—the present moment, floating out here in space, which is a lot more fascinating than looking back at the life I left behind. My hologram must have had some built-in destruct mechanism, because as I lost interest in it the images faded to nothing.
As the last image evaporated, out of nowhere this super-radiant vertical ray of blue-white light burst onto the scene. The light beam was about ten times my size (I don't really have a size, but you know what I mean) and reminded me of a stick figure zigzagging like a wavy electric current. Coming out of its body were a bunch of fluorescent branches that looked like arms reaching in my direction. This light seemed friendly, glad to see me. I felt friendly toward it, too, but since I had no idea what the proper protocol was I didn't say or do anything. I figured I wasn't the one in charge.
You're probably curious about why I felt friendly toward a giant figure with lightning tentacles, but the benevolence of whoever or whatever this was left no room for fear. I'm pretty sure it was one of those invisible Higher Beings who's been hanging around. Maybe I'm only ready to meet it in this form. Or maybe this is its form. I can't really say.
What I can say is that the Higher Beings seem to be particular attributes of the Divine Pre
sence. This Presence—the limitless light that fills the Universe everywhere—its personality contains every good quality imaginable. Perfect wisdom? Yes. Tender compassion? Of course. All-encompassing love? Definitely. Whatever qualities come under the heading of benevolence, that virtue is right there in the light. It's different with these Higher Beings. They're more specific, more personal, like the Divine Presence is focused through a prism. And the colored rays that come through the prism—these are the Higher Beings.
Anyway, as the lightning-type Being came closer to me, it radiated an electric kind of energy right through its phosphorescent arms. I compare it to electricity not because it was painful in any way but because it gave me a jolt. The kindness and understanding from the Higher Beings now comes to me from myself. I love myself as I never could have when I first arrived in the afterlife. I guess that means even the soul changes.
If there's one thing worth doing on your planet, it's discovering self-love. I say “discovering” instead of “learning” because learning implies you're starting from zero; but the truth is, you already love yourself. When you're born, when the amnesia happens, you forget your magnificence, and think you have to earn the right to be loved. How can you earn what already belongs to you?
My encounter with the Light Being began a new phase of my journey, the phase I'm now in: becoming the Universe. That electric jolt made me rise up, spread out, and expand across the cosmos. I've got stars and moons and galaxies inside and around me. There's some kind of processing happening, like there's a giant pinball machine of light waves inside me, and the sensation keeps getting better and better.
The thing about becoming the Universe is—and I'm going to say this but the words aren't really going to do it justice—the more I let go of my so-called self, the better I feel. As I blend more and more into the Universal energy, I think, “This is it, I'm going to lose myself.” But it feels so good I don't care, so I let go and blend. Then, lo and behold, I'm still myself, but more blissed out. That's why I sound so dreamy.