The Journey Home

by Lee Carroll

  He stopped again for a moment and looked behind him for the first time. IT WAS THERE! The green blur darted at lightning speed behind an outcropping of boulders. This time Mike had seen it. It had substance and was huge! Feelings of apprehension swept over Mike’s tired body as he realized that this apparition had not gone away since he had visited the last house. He remembered Orange telling him that it was dangerous and could hurt him. As he rested, he positioned himself to face the rear so that he could observe the path behind him at all times. He knew that he must stay alert. He had no idea how alert.

  The wind picked up, making it more difficult to walk. An unencumbered person would have had no difficulty at this point, but the new battle shield acted almost as a sail, strapped to his back as it was. If he hadn’t had all the baggage, he would have simply held it in the balancing position he had practiced and would have probably moved much faster—holding it against the wind to stabilize himself. But that was not possible while carrying his satchels. Mike knew that he would have to find a place soon that would protect him until this unusual weather calmed down and returned to the balmy conditions he had been used to so far.

  Mike had never seen anything like it. The weather was changing drastically within a very short period of time! Constantly on the alert for his pursuer, Mike noted to his horror that the thing was gaining on him despite the wind and the driving rain. It was quick! How could it move so fast in this wind?

  The increasingly inclement weather prodded Mike to take action. Things were changing too fast! Mike plodded forward in a crouch, trying to present a smaller profile to the wind. Finally, he stopped and huddled on the ground—forward motion becoming utterly impossible.

  The storm was starting to take on a personality of its own as it began to groan and wail with the increased wind velocity. Where he was not protected by his armor, the rain felt like so many needles drilling into his flesh, as it was propelled horizontally with hurricane force. Mike knew he was in grave trouble. He sneaked a peek at the path behind, which was now practically obscured by the driving rain and fog. But he could clearly see the dark green figure, now standing tall, its eyes appearing to glow red. It was starting to move forward! It wasn’t affected by the storm. How could this be? Mike was fearful.

  Blue’s voice was unmistakable as once again it prompted Michael from within.

  “USE THE MAP!” The voice was so clear, Mike thought! He is indeed with me. The storm’s fury was beginning to rival anything that this Minnesota boy had ever witnessed. He felt like he was inside the funnel of a twister. He was now flat on the ground and was still trying his best not to be swept up by the incredible force of the storm. The flatter he could get, the better. The screaming of the elemental bombardment had grown—the noise was deafening! Mike’s fear could have been destabilizing and might have gripped him with terror, but somehow there was sense in all of this. If only he could reach his map!

  Unfortunately, Mike didn’t have the ability to retrieve his map; he was too preoccupied with just staying alive. The fierceness of the elements was like an attack on his very being, and he was literally hanging on to the plants of the earth with one hand and his precious cargo of books and photos with the other. The map bag had been slung around his neck and was crumpled beneath him—safe, but completely out of reach. Momentarily, he felt his body lifted by the driving, howling wind and the sail-like qualities of the shield on his back. Like a bullying personality, the fierce storm poked and prodded him to action. Mike forced his body closer to the ground, and by sheer will, he anchored it by driving the toes of his feet into the mud and hanging on to an especially obstinate weed with one hand.

  It was completely dark now; the billows of black clouds that had developed in the sky had descended to the very area where Mike was lying—making sight a thing of the past. His eyes were barely slits, trying to protect themselves from the attacking wind and rain, but there was nothing to see. He was even having difficulty seeing the ground beneath him! Where was the dark thing? Was IT coming to get him? Did he dare move, or would the storm blow him to his death? Like bells in a fire drill, Mike’s every cell vibrated with an alertness he had never experienced before. Fear? No! His will to survive and fight the situation was dominant. He was committed. He had to find a way to get to the map!

  Orange’s voice inside Mike’s head was an incredibly welcome sound. How could a soft sound be heard when there is so much noise? Mike thought.

  “Michael Thomas, let go of the baggage!”

  Mike knew it was either that or he would die. His clothing, even beneath the armor, was thoroughly soaked now, and he was starting to shiver. Through the shriek of the attacking wind, Mike heard and felt a tremendous, percussive wallop. What was that new sound? He felt its vibration through the ground. Was it coming closer now? He had to do as Orange advised. He knew it was coming!

  One by one, Mike slowly but methodically let go of the bags that he had so carefully packed with his precious cargo of memories. First went the books. By uncurling two fingers, he released the strap of the first bag. The satchel was snatched by the storm like an angry power tool just waiting to shred it. Mike felt it being ripped from his hand as he let go. He wondered if his finger was broken. He could hear the tearing of the bag’s seams and the heart-wrenching flipping sound of hundreds of pages being torn to tiny pieces only feet from his head. It was the most awful sound he had ever heard. His precious books! Without thinking too much about it, he let go of the other bag by opening the thumb of the same hand. This was even worse! The storm had the violence of a mad prize fighter standing over him, wrenching the case from his tentative grip and pummeling him to the ground. He actually wondered at that point if the dark thing had finally arrived and had begun to overwhelm him and tear him apart. The battering from the storm was like a team of drill sergeants jumping up and down on his back!

  Unlike the books, the photos disappeared without a sound. They were simply gone in an instant—and it made Michael Thomas angry. His entire lineage and the priceless, beloved memories of his dead parents were being scattered over the landscape by an uncaring force of nature, while he continued to be hammered by the same wrathful force.

  The pandemonium around Mike was fierce. He tried to raise up slightly so that he could slip his now-free hand under him to grasp the map. He almost lost his grip as he was again lifted slightly by the force of the wind and the battle shield still strapped on his back, but he timed it well and was able at last to grasp the scroll beneath him. Using forefinger and thumb, he managed to gradually unroll the map so he could see the spot where the red dot was. Working on instinct alone, he slowly inched the parchment up his chest, pulling with it the wet earth and dirt that was being scraped along between the hard metal of his armor and the wet ground. It was an interesting balance—pressing his body down as hard as he could against the dirt, yet allowing his hand and the map to travel up his torso. He scraped his hand on a small rock, trying to bring the map up to eye level. But how was he going to be able to see the map once it was high enough? It was pitch black—he couldn’t see anything! Even if he could see it, would the writing be washed off? The deathlike grip of his other hand on the weed was beginning to loosen against the bombardment of rain and wind. His arm was growing numb. Michael was losing his grip.

  IT WAS NOT AFFECTED by the storm. As a low-vibration visitor in a high-vibrational land, the wretched creature was not touched by the wind, rain, and turmoil that pounded the earth around IT. IT easily stood up to full height and slowly made ITs filthy, dark way to the middle of the path, striding toward a prone and groveling Michael Thomas, who was barely hanging on against the elements—elements that had no influence whatsoever on IT.

  IT was not swayed by the incredible force of the howling wind. Nothing the weather did seemed to affect the dark figure, except the lack of visibility. As IT approached Michael, with the casual ease of a stroll in the park, IT began to feel that fate had indeed presented a gift this day. But the darkness of the storm
was having an effect, and soon IT could not see any better than ITs prey. Nevertheless, as IT moved closer to Michael Thomas, IT was prepared to finish what the odd storm had started. IT was prepared to scatter the various parts of Mike’s body to the farthest corners of this nonsensical fairyland that IT despised so much.

  Mike’s intuition was correct, for IT was close now. Darkness had raced in as if the entities there had requested a personal blindfold. But IT was moving on instinct, sensing where Mike was on the ground. IT attacked with great purpose and power—only to find itself tearing apart a section of the earth very close to where Mike was lying. Mike had heard IT, but IT had also heard something else—the flipping of pages and the tearing of fabric as Mike lost his books. IT quickly turned to face the new sound. Now IT knew where Michael was! IT was pleased.

  IT came closer, and finally in the dimness of the great raging storm that IT could not participate in, IT barely made out the shape of a helpless Michael Thomas with one hand under him and one hand grasping a small resolute weed. If IT could have smiled, IT would have at that moment.

  IT descended on Michael Thomas’s back with a vengeance, slamming down with the force of 12 grown, muscular men. Instantly, IT felt a million darts pierce ITs wart-covered carcass. In a blinding flash of pure white light and a gleam of silver, IT was repelled by a tremendous force. Like being shot from a cannon, IT traveled a long trajectory and landed unceremoniously in almost the exact place where IT had started. With ITs exterior smoking from contact with something extremely hot, IT tried to take stock of what had happened. IT was dazed, to say the least, and was momentarily weakened by the force that had thrust IT away with such power.

  Michael Thomas’s shield had been firmly strapped to his back, and it covered most of his body. The item that Mike thought was going to be his undoing—his shield—had suddenly became his protection. It had done its work even without Mike’s direction. It was part of him. The intermingling of the dark creature’s low vibration with the high vibratory rate of the shield had immediately caused a powerful physical reaction. Like two powerful forces of opposite polarity, the shield of knowledge had repelled the attack.

  MICHAEL THOMAS HAD managed to bring the map up to throat level. He peered down into the darkness of that small pocket, hoping he might be able to see something in the blackness. Suddenly, there was light! To Michael it seemed like an especially violent blast of wind had hit him, but with it came a miracle—a light so bright that it didn’t matter that his eyes were almost closed as protection against the wailing wind and rain. It was a light so intense that it illuminated everything around him long enough for him to clearly see through the slits that were his eyes. The section of map he had so carefully unwrapped while the storm had raged was indeed there! His eyes danced over the map and quickly found the YOU ARE HERE dot. Michael ignored the sudden smell of smoke and ozone around him. The map showed his path, and right around the corner was a cave. A few yards east, and he would be safe!

  In retrospect, Michael Thomas thought that God had brought him a close lightning strike in that needful moment. He never understood that it was a negative force bent on undoing him that synchronistically was responsible for his miracle of illumination at the exact point he needed it most. Michael Thomas of Pure Intent had experienced his first co-creation, and he didn’t even know it. Orange had instructed him on the use of the gift that would help him be “in the right place at the right time,” but Michael never dreamed that this could have been the right place that day.

  It was an act of sheer strength and will that allowed Mike to crawl at a snail’s pace from weed to weed and rock to rock—planting his toes firmly every few inches to maintain stability and direction. It took almost 20minutes to accomplish this task, as he hugged the soggy earth and was flattened against the dirt by the fierceness of the storm. All this effort just to travel a few yards eastward—but Michael had to do it. Even in almost total blackness, he found the entrance to the small cave that would be his respite from certain death had he remained in the elements. With each agonizing pull of his body along the ground, he thanked God that the dark entity behind him had not come closer. Even as he slowly pulled himself into the opening, he heard the storm intensify. He was astounded by what he heard going on around him. This magic place is not immune to trouble, thought Michael.

  All seemed quiet in the cave, but Mike was a mess. His hand was bleeding where he had scraped it on the rock. His clothes were soaked with mud and dirt, but it was still too cold in the cave to remove them. Slowly he arose and took stock of the situation.

  You might think at this point that Michael Thomas would have felt overwhelmingly grateful to have escaped the storm—and the mysterious enemy that came so close to claiming its prey. Instead, Mike was angry! He shook, not from the cold, but from his sudden anger and fury at the situation. His precious belongings had been ripped from him. He knew who controlled the elements, and he blurted out his rage to anyone who would listen.

  “You have tricked me!” He went to the mouth of the cave and yelled at the still-howling wind. “Do you hear me?” His face was twisted with fury. His indignation at being forced to give up his priceless objects were paramount in his thoughts. He had been victimized by those who controlled this seemingly sacred place.

  “Now I see how it works!” he continued to angrily shout to anyone who could hear him. “If I don’t take a suggestion from one of the angels, then they just DO IT TO ME ANYWAY!” Mike shook uncontrollably from both his rage and the cold as he continued to face the mouth of the cave. He felt the sting of grief at the loss of his parents’ photos. He began to sob uncontrollably—wracked by emotional pain—until there were no tears left. He felt violated and robbed.

  Mike felt a sensation of warmth behind him and could see the subtle flickering of a small fire on the walls of the cave. He turned to look as a gentle voice spoke.

  “I gave you good advice, Michael Thomas of Pure Intent.”

  Orange was standing in the back of the cave. In front of him was a small fire, inviting Mike to feel its warmth. Mike had calmed down now, and slowly came over to the fire and sat before it with his head down in resolve. In time, still with tears in his eyes, he finally looked at Orange and asked the questions.

  “Was all this necessary?”

  “No,” said Orange. “That’s the whole point.”

  “Why did you take away my things?”

  “This is still a land of free choice, Michael Thomas. Despite what you think, the human is the focal point, and the human is honored above all creatures in this place.”

  “Free choice!” exclaimed Mike. “If I hadn’t let go of my bags, I would have died!”

  “Exactly,” stated Orange. “You chose not to relinquish the bags at a point when you had the chance. Had you taken my suggestion, you could have learned more about these things. The bags would have been safe. You cannot understand the overview of this place. That is why we are here, and why the new gifts and tools were given to you.”

  “I still don’t understand,” countered Mike. “Why couldn’t I simply keep a few things I loved? They wouldn’t have hurt anyone here. They meant a great deal to me!”

  “They were inappropriate for your journey, Michael.” Orange sat down on a rock on the other side of the fire. “These things that you carried represented the earthly part of you. They pull on your old self and keep you in a place that is not comfortable with the new vibration that you are studying and accepting. All of you is changing, Michael, and we know you feel it.”

  “Why didn’t you simply tell me this? It would have saved so much trouble.” Mike looked at his bleeding hand and ruined clothing.

  “You rejected the opportunity, Michael Thomas; and so your lesson had to be personal.” Mike knew there was wisdom in what Orange said.

  “If I hadn’t let go, what would have happened?”

  “You could not have gone forward on the path carrying the old energy objects,” Orange answered. “The wind would have
carried you back to a place of old consciousness. You would have eventually been safe, but you would have lost all that you have learned and gained so far on this sacred path. It would have been the death of the new Michael Thomas, and you would have left this place.” Orange paused for a moment for effect, then continued.

  “This is important, Michael Thomas of Pure Intent. You cannot embrace any part of the old energy—even the seemingly precious things—and move forward into the new. The two are not compatible. You are actually moving into a new dimension, and the physics of the old do not mix with the physics of the new. Let me ask you this.” Orange came closer to Mike. “Does part of you still hold love and remembrance for your parents even though the physical items are gone? Or did you lose that too in the storm?”

  “I still have it,” replied Mike, knowing where this conversation was going.

  “Then where is the loss?” Orange inquired.

  Mike was silent. He realized what was being taught. Orange continued, like a wise father imparting simple wisdom to an inquisitive child.

  “The memories of your loved ones are in the energy of your life experience—and not from any old object. When you wish to remember, then do so using the love consciousness and gifts of the new Michael Thomas. When you start doing this, you will even find that your perceptions are different from what you thought was there in the past. You are gaining new wisdom about who your parents were...and who you are. The new tools and gifts will actually enhance your memory of these things. Old memorabilia simply draws you backward to a time when you could not understand the overview.”

  Mike still didn’t understand all this new language and Spirit talk. Orange knew his thoughts and spoke again.