OUT ON a LIMB

by Shirley Maclaine

  “Ye are taken to find that Akasha is that which ye might term the collective unconscious of mankind, stored in ethereal energy. This energy could be termed as the mind of God. Ye are taken to find that communication of said ideas is difficult given the limited dimension of language.”

  “Yes,” I said, “I can see what you mean. And while we’re at it, why do you speak the way you do?”

  There was a pause. Then he said, “I will endeavor to bring my language more up to date, as you would term it.” He went on immediately, “This stored energy called the Akashic Records is as vast scrolls housed in vast libraries. You, as an individual, would be thought of as a single scroll within the libraries, or as a single soul within the mind of God.”

  “Excuse me,” I said. “Isn’t what you are saying just a little too simple?”

  “All truth is not so much simple as it is designed to be easily revealed.”

  “Well, if it’s so easily revealed, why don’t we know it?” I asked.

  “Man refuses to accept that he is in possession of all truth and has been from the beginning of time and space. Man refuses to accept responsibility for himself. Man is the co-creator with God of the cosmos.”

  No, I thought, in the church we are taught that God created everything.

  But “John” was plowing on.

  “Only when man accepts that he is part of the truth he is seeking, are the truths themselves apparent.”

  “So you’re saying that if I understand myself and where I come from, I will understand everything?”

  “Correct,” he said.

  “Well,” I said, “I’ve never really been sure there is such a thing as God until maybe lately. With what’s going on in the world, why should anyone believe in God?”

  “You are saying,” he asked, “that you need proof of your own existence?”

  “Well, I don’t know what you mean. No, I’m sure I exist. Yes.”

  “You have a mind?”

  “Of course.”

  “The mind is a reflection of the soul. The soul is a reflection of God. The soul and God are eternal and unto each other.”

  “So you mean if I’m to understand what this God thing is, I must know myself?”

  “Correct,” he said, “your soul is a metaphor for God.”

  “Huh? Wait a minute,” I said. “I can’t prove either one—soul or God. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but that’s a tricky way of confirming that there’s a soul.”

  “Tricks,” he said, “are a game of mankind, not of God.”

  I felt strangely embarrassed.

  “Well, I could become very arrogant if I really believed I was a metaphor for God.”

  “Never,” he said, “never confuse the path you take with the truth itself.”

  I felt slightly shamed. I waited for him to say something else.

  “Pause,” he said, “another entity is desiring to speak.”

  “What?”

  Kevin shifted his position in his chair. His arms rearranged themselves. His head swiveled to the other side. He covered his face for a moment and then crossed one leg over the other.

  I got up on my knees trying to understand what was going on.

  “Tip o’ the hat to ya,” said a completely new voice. “McPherson here. Tom McPherson. How are you doing out there?”

  The accent was funny. I laughed out loud. Kevin cocked his head as though he wasn’t really doing it. The expression on his face made me feel he wondered why I found him so funny.

  “My, my,” said the McPherson voice. “I didn’t expect a reaction like that quite so soon. It usually takes me a while to work up to that.”

  Kevin had said this McPherson character was amusing. I felt as though I could feel his personality coming through. It wasn’t just the sound of the voice, it was almost the presence of a distinct new energy in the room. It was remarkable how he seemed so separate from Kevin. Being an actress, I had to hand it to Kevin. If he was acting, it was a superb transition.

  “Is your whirring box going?” said McPherson.

  “My what?”

  “Your whirring box.”

  I looked down at my tape recorder.

  “Oh that,” I said. “Yes. Is it all right?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, “of course. I just wanted to make certain you captured the details.”

  “The details?”

  “Quite right,” he said.

  Kevin coughed. He cleared his throat and coughed again.

  “Excuse me,” I said, “but what’s wrong with Kevin’s throat?”

  “Oh, nothing,” said McPherson. “I’m just having a little difficulty adjusting to the vibrations of the instrument.”

  “Oh. You mean you try to adjust your energy vibrations with Kevin’s energy vibrations?”

  “Yes. Quite right. Over here we work with vibrational frequencies. Do you have any of your brew about?”

  “My brew?”

  “Yes, I believe there is an herbal brew about?”

  “Oh, you mean tea?”

  “Quite right.”

  “Why yes,” I said. “Would you like some?”

  “Very good.”

  “The cup is very small. Shall I put it in Kevin’s hand? Will he be able to handle it?”

  “Oh, yes,” said McPherson.

  I filled the cup and held it in front of Kevin. He made no move to lift his hand. His eyes remained closed.

  “Just place it in the young man’s hand. Thank you.”

  I lifted Kevin’s right hand and slipped the cup into his palm.

  “The cup is not so much small as it is tiny,” said McPherson.

  I laughed. I didn’t like these little cups myself.

  “Have you a mug about?” asked McPherson. “I believe you have glass mugs in your cupboard?”

  I looked over to my kitchen. He was right. I did have glass mugs. Only I never served tea in them.

  “I’m partial to mugs,” said McPherson. “A bit of the old pub feeling. Helps me to think clearly.”

  I climbed from my knees, walked into the kitchen, and fetched the mug. I continued talking to McPherson as I went.

  “So you really are an Irishman? Do all Irishmen think better with mugs?”

  “Quite right,” said McPherson to my back.

  I returned and poured more tea into the mug and exchanged the cup.

  “Well, it’s not like the pub, but anyway,” said McPherson.

  Kevin raised the mug to his mouth and took a sip. His eyes were still closed. He swallowed the tea.

  “Can you actually taste the tea?” I asked.

  “Well, I sense it more than I taste it. I use the instrument’s oral faculties to gain a sense of it.”

  He took another sip.

  “If it was too hot, would you feel it or would Kevin feel it?” I asked.

  “I would react to protect the instrument,” said McPherson. “I wouldn’t feel the pain, but there would be empathy on my part, yes.”

  “And if it was really hot, what would you do?” I asked.

  “Probably use a better command of the instrument’s system to deaden the pain.”

  There was a silence. I could feel McPherson waiting for me.

  “May I call you Tom?” I asked.

  “Very good.”

  “I hear you were a pickpocket,” I said.

  “Quite right. Although pickpocketing was more what you would term my ‘cover trade.’ ”

  “Your cover trade?”

  “Quite right. Actually I was what you would term a diplomatic spy.”

  “A diplomatic spy? For whom?”

  “For the English Crown, I’m sorry to say.”

  “You were a spy for England and you’re Irish?”

  “Quite right. I was Irish even though the name McPherson is Scottish. I took the name of McPherson to disguise my Irish identity as there was deeper prejudice against the Irish than the Scots in those days. Hasn’t changed much either.”

  “Well, w
hy were you spying for the English if they were so prejudiced against your people?”

  “I like to think of myself as a freelance spy. The Crown simply hired me to lift important papers from Spanish diplomats. I was very good at that sort of thing. Therefore I call myself a pickpocket. It is more humorous for me.”

  I sipped some tea, trying to make heads out of tails and not getting very far.

  “So, now you ply your trade more positively to help others down here, do you?”

  “Quite right. Balance and karma and all that.”

  “Didn’t you get points against you for being a pickpocket—diplomatic or otherwise?”

  “Quite right. I am working off some of my karma now by being of service to you.”

  “I see.” I was alternately amused and skeptical

  “Have you any more of your brew about?” asked Tom.

  “Yes, certainly.” I poured another mug of hot tea.

  “Did you wish to make any other inquiries?” Tom asked.

  Now I poured some tea for myself, considering what would be a productive line of approach.

  “I was discussing the existence of the soul with someone the other night,” I said, “using déjà vu as an example of previous existence. You know, when you feel you’re in a place where you’ve been before but know you can’t have been? Or you have that back-of-the-head feeling about an experience that it has all happened before?”

  “Quite right.”

  “Well, some people were saying that cellular memory or ancestral memory (like some of the scientists are also saying) was really the explanation. They believed that we just inherit genetically the memory of things our ancestors might have experienced. Now, how would you debate the issue of the existence of the soul?”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “How would you do it?” he said, “now that you have had time to reflect?”

  “Well, I guess I should have said that there are cases of people—say, in tribal societies in Africa—whose ancestors have never moved out of their environment. Yet they have memories of North America, India, etc.”

  “My goodness,” said Tom, “that is a good argument. Then of course you also have heard of your telepathy and mind-out-of-body experiences. Many people in your time have spoken publicly of out-of-body experiences. They were actually experiencing their souls as separate from the physical envelope.”

  I remembered how many people indeed had described this experience when going through a close brush with death. Most described the same white light as Peter Sellers had, drawing them with a compelling sense of love and peace, while looking down at their own dying body. Some did not want to return to the body. Many such experiences have been recorded in Life After Life by Dr. Raymond Moody. In my own acquaintance were a surprising number who had reported having the experience.

  “And,” Tom was continuing, “as for déjà vu being simply a form of cellular memory, there are many individuals who have had memory patterns of places their ancestors had never been.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “that’s what I said. But maybe some of his ancestors had been to Africa—like the Romans, for instance—and their cellular memory recorded their reactions and the offspring inherited those cellular memories.”

  “Possibly,” said Tom, “except for one thing. Déjà vu also occurs in the modern context. For example, you may have déjà vu when you walk into a house that’s only a few years old. That’s hardly inherited cellular memory.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “That is the result of the soul astrally projecting to the new house. Something like your experience in what you call the floating dream that you loved so much. You remember that experience?”

  He stopped me in my tracks. I had never mentioned that to anyone.

  “My goodness,” I said, “how did you know that?”

  “Oh, a bit of the old spiritual voo-doo, so to speak.”

  I needed a moment to adjust to what had just happened. Could this have been a predictable guess? Did he tell this to everyone he channeled for? I choked back a cough.

  “Just give me a moment,” I said.

  “Quite right,” he said, “one thing we have plenty of is time.”

  I felt confounded. Could it be that certain dreams were astral projections of the soul?

  “Have you any more inquiries?” McPherson asked.

  I collected myself.

  “Well,” I said, “why is there such resistance to the study of the soul as a realistic fact? Why isn’t as much time and money spent on researching the existence of the soul as there is on splitting the atom or nuclear energy?”

  “Well, for one thing,” he answered, “the material isn’t available. The soul is not a material thing. Also the field of soul study has a tendency to have scorn and ridicule heaped upon it and professional reputations go down the tubes, so to speak, very easily.”

  “But why is it so scorned?”

  “Because it is considered to be a ludicrous waste of time. Superstition and the like. Serious people who admit to such investigations are sometimes made to feel ridiculous. But as a friend of yours said recently, ‘To get to the fruit on the tree one must go out on a limb.’ ”

  I was silent—floored. He had used the same analogy as Gerry. I had been most careful never to even mention Gerry to anyone, much less what he said.

  McPherson went on. “You must be patient with your Gerry. We are being patient with you.”

  I was struck dumb. How the hell could this guy know about us? He not only knew about Gerry, he knew what Gerry had said.

  “Do we have a revelation here?” asked Tom.

  “Oh God,” I said.

  “Quite right,” he responded cheerfully.

  I sipped more tea and tried to sort myself out. A few moments passed.

  “Would you like to continue?” said Tom.

  Jesus, I thought, this stuff could be real. There were so many questions I had to ask. “Okay,” I said under my breath. Then, “Okay. Tell me, why is there such a gap between science and the Church?”

  “Well,” said Tom, “because science just lately (in cosmic terms, of course) feels it has rid itself of the shackles of religious superstition and is now enjoying its freedom and golden age. The attitude is understandable. To research those domains of the Church which was its former jailer would only rebuild the power base of that old traditional persecutor.”

  “Is the soul under the dominion only of the Church?”

  “Quite right. That is, it is considered so in the orthodox sense, yes. Actually, one’s soul is, um, a highly personal matter, in a manner of speaking.”

  “But would proof of the soul’s existence radically alter the attitude of science?”

  “Yes, of course. But quite honestly, science feels there is no basis on which to inquire about the existence of the soul. Also, there isn’t much money in that kind of research.”

  “You mean” if you research electricity you can turn it into an electric light? Or, if you research the atom you can turn it into a bomb?”

  “Quite right.”

  “But if you research the soul there is no material profit in it?”

  “Quite right. Could I have a bit more of your brew?”

  I poured more tea. It was almost gone.

  “So,” I asked, “are there research groups who solely devote themselves to the soul?”

  “You turned a nice one there,” he said.

  “I turned a nice one where?”

  “Solely for the soul? Very good.”

  “Are you aware,” I asked seriously, “that you are performing for me right now?”

  “Quite frankly,” he said, “I believe I am sensationally entertaining at all times. This is my natural nature. There’s another: ‘natural nature.’ ”

  “You’re quite a punster, aren’t you?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t feel I’m being, so to speak, overly campy. No, it’s all a natural extension of my personality.”

&nb
sp; I sat quietly for a while considering this outrageous tea party we were having. I wondered if I was so gullible I was swallowing a whale. The tape recorder whirred in the silence.

  “Well,” I said.

  “Quite right,” said Tom.

  “Well, I’d really like to know something more about my past lives. Would that be all right?”

  “Very good,” said Tom. “Has the instrument any alcohol in his system?”

  “No,” I said. “He said it inhibited trance channeling, so I don’t think so.”

  “Very good then. One moment please. Would you remove the mug please?”

  I got up, took the mug from Kevin’s grasp, checked my tape recorder, and settled down again.

  Chapter 15

  “In view of the endless duration of the immortal soul throughout the infinity of time … shall the soul remain forever attached to this point of world-space, our earth? Will it never participate in a closer contemplation of the remaining wonders of creation? Who knows but that the intention is for it to become acquainted at close range, some day, with those far distant globes of the cosmic system … which from this distance already provoke our curiosity?”

  —IMMANUEL KANT

  General History of Nature

  A shudder went through Kevin. His head moved around until once again he had assumed the character of John.

  “Hail,” said the John voice. “You have inquiries as to your past lives?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  The telephone rang.

  John reacted and cocked his head. I waited.

  I could feel John “adjust his vibrations,” as McPherson had said. The telephone rang again. Again, I didn’t answer.

  “You will find,” said John, “that to understand the soul within yourself today, you must also understand something of the previous civilizations you have known.”

  “Really?” I said inanely, feeling sort of ridiculous and nonplussed.

  “Indeed,” said John, “you were incarnate several times during the five-hundred-thousand-year period of the most highly evolved civilization ever known to man. It was what the Bible symbolized as the Garden of Eden. I would like you now to understand one very important concept. The level of achievement in any civilization is judged by its spiritual evolvement. Technological advancement is important and attractive, but if it detains, detracts, or deters spiritual understanding, it bears the seeds of its own destruction. You are bearing witness to such a simple truth in your present civilization on Earth today. Your spiritual understanding is lagging at great lengths behind your technological knowledge and as a result, you are witnessing progressive insanity, depression, confusion of purpose, and total human inequality and despair.”