by Lee Baldwin
“Okay, Chris, if it’s that important.”
“It is. I apologize for losing it. I just had a very bad time with Solberg.”
She’s silent. Her hand rests briefly on his shoulder.
He takes a deep breath. “One of the Whalesongs I unpacked. It’s a convo among our team.”
“So?”
“It was about something Next History hasn’t done yet.”
“What?”
“Sami, I showed you that first article, how much information the Whalesong can possibly hold. I unpacked some single messages up in the six thousands. One is a conversation between Carl and Gary. Thirty-two years from now.”
“Thirty-two… you found another message supposedly from the future?”
“I did. It’s convincing. A transcript. A convo in a coffee shop near the office, a place that’s not there yet. An algorithm of Carl’s. It uses psychological data and some mathematics that’s completely new. Purpose is to guide a person so they do well at a task.”
“So if we have a history on a person, you can predict… But how did the whales get it?”
“That’s why we’re seeing my fortune teller, as you like to call her. The whales dream about it.”
Sami sits up straight, leans close. “Wait, you’re telling me that with no technology, the whales can retrieve the information written in… what? DNA?”
“What it sounds like. I expected to find a design for a machine, a decoding device and algorithm. Instead, I found meditation techniques.”
“Chris, no.”
“Yep.”
“I’ve been meditating since I was fifteen,” Sami says quietly. “An hour a day every day.”
Strand looks over with a grin. “Well, genius, why do you suppose I wanted you along? It’s in your bio.”
They pull up in front of a well-kept home on a wide street of broad lawns and trees. The dark SUV parks discretely behind. Strand and Sami head up the flagstone walkway. At the door they are met by a small man with silver hair and an infectious grin. “You’re here for Grace?” The way he says it, grace could be a name, or a state of being.
“I’m Chris Strand, this is my partner Samantha Lang. We called.”
“She is here, please come in.”
They are shown to a comfortable living room and left alone. Sami looks around. “Good taste. The psychic network must pay alright.”
“Shhht. Philistine.”
She frowns, makes like she’ll stick out her tongue, thinks better of it. A smiling woman enters the room, short cropped white hair, silver jewelry.
“You are Mr. Strand? I am Grace Cooke.”
“That makes two of us,” Sami laughs. “My middle name. Call me Sami.”
“So I was told. Sami, then. Please come.”
They follow to a spacious sitting room with a neat desk and armchairs, tall bookshelves on every wall. Mullion windows frame a lighted garden. Grace takes a comfortable high-back chair, gestures them to sit around a stone coffee table.
“How was your drive up? Roads alright?”
“Not bad. A little lighter. People are staying home.”
“One cannot be too careful these days. A lot of energy is being released.”
Strand looks at her carefully. “Yes. Grace, before we start, can you tell us what you’re hearing on the news?”
The woman smiles. “Oh, we don’t watch much television. But we’ve heard the Pentagon was evacuated. The explanations aren’t clear. We’ve heard a delegation of priests is traveling to Virginia. Frank and I are Catholic, we’re being asked to pray tonight.”
“Really,” Strand says. “Priests. I missed that one. How does that come up?”
“It is about the Pentagon, a visitor they can’t get rid of. I see many disturbances in energy fields.”
Sami settles in her chair. “We’re seeing that too.”
“Mr. Strand, on the phone you wanted to know about the Akashic Record. What brings you to that question?”
“I confess I am completely ignorant about this, the Record, in the way you spoke of it. I am a scientist. Information has come to me from a very unusual source. I don’t want to waste your time. If you can convince me in five minutes that you can give me substantial guidance, I’ll pay you well for the next two hours of your time.”
“Oh my,” Grace says. “You certainly do know what you want. Fine. This might interest you. We’re approaching a time of fundamental change. More people are prepared, the veil of the Record is lifting. Human consciousness is absorbing the light of Spirit at an unusual rate. This infusion has already brought radical upheaval in all areas of life. We are seeing that over recent weeks, even on the news. I feel you can tell us more, Mr. Strand, if you’d care to. Friends are concerned. I’m sure there are many things which are not made public.
“But whatever the energy, this turbulence is intended to bring us into a closer alignment with divine reality. You came to ask about the Akashic Record. The Record is one of the supreme tools for development of human consciousness.”
“What is the Record?”
“The Akashic Record is a dimension of reality that contains vibrational traces of every soul’s journey, and much more. Location and time do not affect the Record. It is written by every conscious being, and watched over by beings unbounded in time. Humans have been interacting consciously and unconsciously with this information during all of history.”
“Grace,” Sami says, “you said beings not bound in time?”
“Yes. It’s about consciousness. There is a single consciousness in the universe, which gives rise to all beings, mortal and supernatural. This consciousness is shared.”
Sami takes a deep breath and waits. Her eyes shine.
Grace goes on. “The Akashic Record is referred to in nearly every major religion. Some call it the Book of Life, the Book of God's Remembrance, the Mind of God, the Book of Decree, and so on.
“In Hindu mysticism, the Akasha itself is seen as nature’s fundamental substance, from which earth, air, fire, and water are derived. It’s believed that historical saints and mystics could retrieve information about the origins of the universe and the human soul. Indian and Tibetan yogis, Persian and Greek oracles, the Druids and shamans of Mayan culture may have received insights from this universal source. The Akasha is the pregnant space where all possibilities arise.”
“The womb of time,” Sami breathes. Grace looks at her with clear recognition, their gazes lock.
Strand looks from Sami to Grace. “So in your view, this is well-documented?”
“Yes, Mr. Strand. For forty-three years I’ve immersed myself in these concepts. I have a Masters from Northwestern in Comparative Mysticism, and I travel extensively and lecture through India and Indonesia.” The intensity of Grace’s look is riveting.
Strand removes from his jacket a sealed envelope, places it before her. “We would like you to continue.” He sits back with a smile. “Only the good stuff.”
Grace places two fingertips lightly on a corner of the envelope. She smiles. “You are very generous. If you like, we can have some hot tea.” Grace rings a tiny musical chime and continues.
“There are multiple levels of Akashic information. The higher ones do not store thought-forms, they are a distillation of design, of purpose, on the level of creation throughout all forms of matter. Lower Akashic forms store human memories and include concepts such as the religions, the philosophies, ancestral memory, genetics, and survival strategies. Much of this is accurate, although mixed with folkloric or cultural belief. Or politics.” Grace laughs.
“Where are the Records stored?”
“Why, in the rocks, of course. In the crystals of Earth’s crust, primarily quartz. The Records are also stored in the moon, planets, asteroids, in the sun and in every star. The physical universe. The means do not matter. When I use a term like Mind of God I mean that the Record contains all information that has to do with the creation of the universe and the life path of every being in it. It holds
every instant, through all of space and all of time, all non-local and timeless realities. What came before the universe and what will be here after the universe is gone. It is best understood through the concept of a non-personified consciousness. Not through a Man-in-God’s-image theosophy.”
Sami finds her head spinning, dealing with the concept that the universe could be one day gone, but that history will continue. There would literally be no place. In the depth of her consciousness, a switch is thrown. Beings that can move outside of time, to an instant years away. The whales?
“For a consciousness to read the Akashic Record,” Grace goes on, “it must first be able to receive this information deep within its physical being. The process is a tuning of self to the vibration of the crystals in the vicinity. Readers of the Akashic records include the prophets of world religions. There are many others.”
“How far back does this Record go,” Strand wants to know. “And how far forward?”
Grace turns a warm smile his way. “Oh Mr. Strand, this is difficult to explain. It is a time period that is immeasurable.”
“The universe is 14 billion years old. How long will it last?”
“Oh no. I mean immeasurable. We are not talking about billions of years. The universe goes through many phases, all are stored in the Record. Trillions upon trillions of years will not contain it. There is literally no number for it.”
In Strand’s mind echoes the litany of nonsense syllables. Giga, tera, peta, exa, zetta, yotta… It replays in a cascading multiplicity of powers of ten. In that field of deep time, the complete lifespan of the current universe is a dot. Vertigo.
Sami clears her throat. Lips slightly parted, face intent with concentration and wonder, eyes misted with excitement.
“Grace,” Sami says, “we follow information. We have what you might think of as a telescope that can focus on the future. We are detecting great change, distilling huge amounts of information, finding clues to advanced technologies, and unusual events.”
Grace nods, returning Sami’s gaze. “There is an upcoming change in the Akashic energies, a transition to a higher energy level. People in large numbers will soon find themselves more willing to support the survival of the planet, not merely to satisfy their immediate wants. At present, and for the last ten thousand to thirty thousand years, human beings have sought higher levels of self-awareness. Many feel a pull toward spiritual development. This is the plane of love, where feminine energy resides.
“The Record can be accessed by means of a simple prayer. When a person recites this prayer, there’s a shift in consciousness that responds to the Record’s vibrations. The Record is available to anyone, anywhere, who comes with correct intention and focused concentration. This consciousness is accessible via spiritual means. The effective path is not via material agents. It is through the goddess feminine.”
Strand is thinking what the psychic lays out agrees in broad form with the article from over a century into the future, that the Akashic Record can be accessed spiritually, through prayer or meditation. His computers are accessing it scientifically at this time. He stops himself. No, it was the whales. The whales accessed it, provided it in a form his computers could digest. But how did the whales retrieve it?
“Grace,” Sami says slowly, “would it be possible that other species besides human could…”
The psychic nods. “My dear, the information you are processing now was delivered by the whales, wasn’t it? To the Navy ships in the south Pacific.”
Sami and Strand share a look of shock. We were absolute black. Yet someone outside of Next History knows. Grace’s words confirm that for beings who can inhabit every possibility, access to the Record is no hindrance.
Grace is silent, nothing more need be said. The windows are black with night. Sami steps around the table, draws Grace into a warm hug. On their faces a soft contentment of being exactly where each in that moment ought to be. Sami steps back, a hand on Grace’s shoulder.
“I’m coming back, dear Grace. To work with you,” Sami whispers, turning away. Grace reaches for Strand’s handshake.
“Thank you, Grace. You have been a great help. May I stay in touch?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
In the car, following their headlights down the leaf-strewn residential street, Sami leans against the window, fist pressed to her mouth. She stares silently into the night for the entire drive back to Georgetown. In the mirror, the dark SUV shadows close.
Mind chasing along many lines of thought, the quiet suits Strand perfectly. Grace Cooke confirmed his intuition, pushed him to a mental calculation he’s battled since finding future events in decoded Whalesong. The Whalesong is simply too dangerous to hand over, whole, to any military. He must ensure that does not happen.
Tharcia Spills
Lillian is gone. The day is a thoughtful one around Clay and Tharcia’s place.
Making his bed with fresh sheets Clay asks himself what he and Lillian would have come to, if Tharcia had not announced his lady friend wasn’t real. On some level, Clay had expected it. Because it was so damn good? Clay is not that kind of fatalist, aware there are subtle ways of knowing. But he’s sure he’ll never see Lillian again. His only concern is that Tharcia get out of the mess she’s in. Her pictures all over the news!
Tharcia spends much of this day alone in her room. She has removed her sleeping bag and other items from his bedroom, and slept in her own bed for the first time since the freeze. Both unhappy to be alone, neither spoke of it.
The sky is darkening and she’s still in her Panda pajamas, in the kitchen frying an egg. He comes from his shop to grab a beer and make a sandwich. They bump around exchanging monosyllables until Clay sees that she’s going to eat standing up.
“Lian told you about the Annetka killing. What did he say?”
“You know how most murders happen between people who know each other?”
“Yeah. Crimes of jealousy, rage, passion.”
“Lian and Annetka are both angels. Only he is a supreme one, he says, same as Lylit. Annetka was an angel who came down to Earth, let go her wings. She was still superhuman. I suppose it accounts for her voice and her dancing.”
“And her looks.”
“Did you think she was sexy?” She gives him an inquisitive look.
“Did you like her singing? Not my type.”
“Oh ho. Exactly what is your type?”
Clay gives her a half-grin. “Large marketing organizations pay big bucks for that information.”
“Oh, be that way.”
“But why did Lian kill her?”
“The Annetka angel with a hundred of her friends captured and tortured Lylit. Many times, so I’m told. They made a sport out of killing her. Once he got here, Lian was able to take care of them. It keeps him busy when he’s not annoying me.”
“Doesn’t he come whenever he wants?”
“No. He was forbidden from being here.”
“Ah. Forbidden by…” He expects that you are such a dweeb look of hers, but it doesn’t come. She’s intent on the last of her egg.
“The Creator. Who else?”
“So, Lylit. Who is she?” It doesn’t bother him so much this afternoon, although he is not much impressed by how she used Tharcia.
“Lylit is Lian’s female half. Shortly after she was created, they were separated. Lylit was imprisoned on Earth.”
He touches lightly her shoulder. “I am still waiting for an answer to my other question.”
“Mm?”
“How exactly are you going to save the world?”
“Oh. My bet.” Tharcia’s face darkens. She sits on the couch, one leg folded under.
“Clay, I threw down everything I had in exchange for one wild notion. What's gonna happen is he will put everybody to sleep, everyone. He’s going to announce it, before it starts. During that night Lylit’s demons will go around counting votes. Do people want good in the world, or evil? Some question like that. He said everyon
e together can determine the outcome. After that night, the world will continue on, in the way most people vote for. That's the bargain.”
“Lylit has demons?”
“Yeh. Think of them as angel valets. They only do what she says.”
“So what did you ask for yourself, to bring your mom back?”
“I did ask to bring Mom back, but it's complicated. She’s not anywhere. He says there is no hell. She’s barely who she was anymore. I didn't ask anything for myself, just for people to be able to control their egos, mostly that. Cooperate. Not kill each other. Some other stuff.”
“So that's if you win, right? If you win the bargain?”
“Yes.”
“What if you happen to lose, what did you put up?”
“I spend eternity in his special school.” Mouth turned down, she doesn’t look at him.
“Tharcia, you soft-hearted little nut case! Look me in the eye, tell me, did this really happen?”
She gives him a gaze that is solid, truthful, meant only between him and her. “Truth, Clay. All this came one thing after another, I never planned it. It blew out of all proportion. Just trying to get with my mom. Strange thing is, now I want to heal her. But it's out of control. I don’t even know if it’s real!”
“What's going to happen during the sleep?”
“It's been happening already. All the stuff on the news. The killings, the epidemics, the public sex. There will be more. The worst violence is inside ourselves. Lian says our minds are more powerful than natural disasters.”
“Natural disasters,” Clay whispers.
“We don't know what we’re capable of. Everyone in the world, every person from every religion in every country will participate. We will make our new reality. But the transition will be killer. It’s going to come howling out of every single person, they'll try to satisfy their deepest wants, everyone will sense that big change is here. They’ll have stuff to protect, they’ll want to settle scores, want to have sex with people. They will be eating and drinking and stealing everything they see, all the things people usually crave. Some of it will remain in dreams. Some will actually happen. Many people will become more spiritual. He said expect loss of life.”