by Terry Schott
Chapter 49
The master computer, which I call God, speaks to us all the time, but almost no one can hear it. I don’t think it’s the fact that we’re too busy to listen (although often we are). I think it’s that we don’t understand how the communication is coming to us; we don’t recognize that someone is actually speaking to us. It’s also an escalating form of communication. At first you can hear God in the way the wind blows, or in the strange silence that comes over a busy park for just a brief moment and then is gone. Most of you will laugh at me and that is why you will never fully communicate with your God, because you can’t accept the first steps towards the larger ones. When you’re petting a cat and its eyes focus on something behind you, then it gets strangely calm and starts to purr even louder. You think about a friend you haven’t heard from in years, and then you see them in a crowded restaurant soon after. If you are able to sense the presence of your Creator at these moments, you become ready to handle more direct contact as time goes by. If you practice enough, then perhaps when the more direct communication arrives, you are able to participate and truly interact with the Divine. When grave trouble finds you — and make no mistake, it will — it is very comforting to be able to communicate with your God. Sometimes it is the only thing that can save you from madness.
Excerpt from Earth book called ‘The Game Is life’
George Knight (avatar)
Trew - 29
I have a ritual for leaving my work behind me when the day is done. I get in my car and tell myself that I’m done with work. Then I make the drive home, listening to the radio or a book on tape —nothing to do with sales — and I just slowly let it all go. All the stress and hustle and bustle of the day, I let it slowly seep out of my body and drop onto the road behind me. By the time I get home, I’m ready to walk through the door devoted to my dear pregnant wife and the life that we’ve built together.
It’s a nice life. I’m making a six figure income and learning a lot about people and how they think. Danni is also making a six figure income and helping people feel better each and every day with her own spiritual healing centre. Most of the time we just get up and go about our daily routine; every so often I feel like I’m in a daze, or sleepwalking. Is this what life is meant to be? Danni feels the same way, but it seems that this is what society wants from adults. The time to run around and play is gone. But that doesn’t even sound right, does it?
I think we’re getting bored with this… niceness. This safe routine. But I think we’re both accepting it because that’s the best environment in which to bring up a baby. Once she or he gets here, our lives will be focused on her or him. For the next 20 years (or our entire lives, according to Dad), this little bundle of joy will be the centre of our universe, and I can’t wait!
I think being a parent and helping to guide a young soul through this world will be one of the best things I ever do. Just a couple months now and the baby will be here. It’s gonna be awesome.
I open the front door and immediately something doesn’t feel right. It’s too quiet. Usually I can hear the television, and Danni yells a greeting from the kitchen where she’s already started dinner. Tonight it’s silent. Maybe she’s working late, or went to her mother’s place for a visit… her mom is really excited about the baby, and as the date gets closer she’s spending more time over there.
I look to the left of the door and see Danni’s work materials sitting by the door. She’s here — why can’t I hear her? “Danni!” I call out, “Where you at, babe?”
I walk quickly down the dark hallway towards the bedroom. Maybe she’s exhausted and decided to grab a little nap. The bedroom’s empty, but I know she’s here. The silence doesn’t feel right. I run to the kitchen, calling out her name again.
I round the corner and look into the kitchen. I don’t see her here. I flip the light on and walk around the centre island towards the sink. My foot hits something and I look down.
Oh, Christ.
She’s lying there on the floor, pale as a ghost and not moving. She’s curled up into a tight ball. Oh, God, please be okay.
“Danni!” I yell and drop to my knees. She’s so cold! I put my head to her mouth and hear a slow, faint breath.
I’m already dialing 911. I don’t know what to do. Please don’t die, Danni! Damn it, please don’t die!
I’m in hell.