by Bob Frank
“So do you think any of the writings survived?”
“Don’t know, especially after the Catholic Pope Gregory tried to finish destroying them. According to the history books, four hundred years after her death he destroyed what was left of the empress’s library. He called the writings ‘philosophical chaff’. The Christian churches, particularly the Catholics, always seemed threatened by philosophies that challenged its authority, even if they didn’t pose an immediate threat. A copy of Philostratus’ book called The Life of Apollonius, managed to survive the Christian destruction. That book is still preserved today in the U.S. Library of Congress.”
“If you think this might be Apollonius’ soul, where do you want to go from here?”
“Philostratus lived about one hundred and fifty years after Apollonius. When we’re done poking around Philostratus’ life, try again to find out who was attempting to destroy the writings, and then we’ll try to move backward one more life. If we’re lucky, we might get Apollonius.”
She moved forward through the regression scripts for fifteen minutes.
Iqbal’s soul, as Philostratus, reminisced about past lovers, philosophical rivals, obnoxious family members and confidants he had known during that life. His soul began to ramble endlessly about its experiences in this life, so Clay and Shali left him to babble along while they stepped aside to talk about the next steps. Because the sessions were recorded, they knew they could pick up any missed details after transcription.
Clay leaned over to Shali and said, “Many historians believe that Philostratus escaped to Athens in his forties when the Empress Julia Domna died.”
“Why? Was he in danger, or threatened?”
“Perhaps. He may have felt he was a target because of his association with the empress.”
Clay began surfing his computer for more information on Philostratus. He searched Wikipedia and several university websites for any descriptions of Philostratus’ life. “There was speculation he spent his last years in Tyre, a coastal city in Lebanon,” he told Shali in a low voice as he read. “There are purported events but nothing definitive on his later years on how or where he died. Let’s see if we can fill in the gaps in the history books.”
They went back to Iqbal, and for the next fifteen minutes Shali continued to question him on events in this life that had been historically documented. They compared historical claims against what really happened, as described by Iqbal’s soul. They joked at how documented history had distorted much of the subject’s life.
“Shali, let’s get to the end and find out how he really died. There is a lot of debate on that. The regression should clear it up.”
Shali prompted Iqbal, “Move forward to the last moments of this life.”
She waited five seconds. “Are you there?”
There was a long pause. Clay pressed a shot of micro-pulse to the Third Eye, and the expression on Iqbal’s face became serious. This reaction was normal for the first death or two experienced by any subject in a first regression session.
“Yes. Yes. I am there.”
“Tell me what you see. Where are you located and who is with you?”
“I’m on the side of a hill. I am outside of Athens. I was walking, early in the morning. I only went for a walk in the hills — No!” Iqbal shouted.
“No! Ahhh!”
Shali quickly injected, “You will not be hurt by what you see. You will not feel pain or suffer in any way. You can float away from this body and look down on it at any time. If this becomes painful or concerns you, move out of the body and watch from above. Now, tell me what you see.”
“I was walking, a simple walk early in the morning. I fell off the path in the hills. I was just taking a walk to the top of the hill to enjoy the view of Athens. I fell off of the side of the path and rolled down the hill. That was so stupid. My back, it hurts badly. I broke my back and my neck. It’s broken, and I can’t move. It doesn’t hurt any more, but now I can’t talk, I can’t move, I can’t feel anything. I cannot even yell for help. There is no pain now, but I cannot move. I can hear people walking on the path to the top of the hill, and I cannot call to them.”
“How long are you there on the hill? Does anyone come or did anyone help you?”
“No. Two days, three days. I lay there three days — three very long days. No one can see me or hear me. I cannot move. My body is paralyzed. No one hears me. The nights are cold but it doesn’t bother me because I cannot feel it. Only my face is cold at night. My mind is so full, so active. I have so much to say, so much to do, so much to write. I cannot tell anyone. No one can hear me. I do not want to be finished with this life yet.”
Iqbal’s facial expressions showed that he was not pleased with this experience. However, Protocol 75 would suppress this bad memory after the regression.
“You said you were in Athens. Are you sure you are in Athens and not Tyre?”
Iqbal smiled and laughed out loud in a muffled tone. “They think I am in Tyre; they did not know that I slipped away and came back to Athens. I had to hide from them for many years. I was safer hiding under their noses in Athens than living in Tyre.” The smile turned to a grin that poked out of the corner of Iqbal’s mouth despite the obvious stress he’d witnessed in his past life.
“Who are they?” Shali prompted tartly. “Who are you hiding from, and why do you have to hide?”
Iqbal did not answer. Again, he turned his head hard to the right, as if trying to hide.
Shali asked again, “Who are you are hiding from?”
Clay pressed the button for another micro-pulse the Third Eye.
After no response, Shali asked, “Are these Christians who are looking for you? Are they Greeks? Romans? Who are they?”
“They came to great power in the last fifty years. They do not like my writings or my words. I know what they did to the empress.”
“What did they do to the empress? Did the empress kill herself, or did someone else kill her?” In a frustrated and commanding voice, Shali said, “Tell me who these people are; tell me now.”
After a short pause, “Hmphh,” was his only response. Iqbal’s head suddenly reeled back in his chair, as if escaping from the regression. He ignored the question and said, “I died. I left this body. It is over, and no one is there with me. But that body was old and sore anyway. I was ready to move on, ready to see my friends; I missed them. There is always the next life.”
Shali looked at Clay and shrugged her shoulders. Iqbal’s soul was obviously avoiding her questions. She leaned over to Clay and whispered, “Kind of a gruesome way to go on that hillside, huh?”
“Yes, but not as bad as cancer or diseases in the old days. Think of all the stories we have heard about different ways to die. Souls take sickness very differently than they take a sudden death like this. Some belabor the diseases.”
“You’ve been doing this a lot longer than me. Do you ever get tired of all the death you see while doing regressions?”
Clay broke into a big, joking smile. “Nah. It’s just part of life. Everybody dies. It’s just that you and I get to see death firsthand, at the end of every regression. As soon as you let me regress you through a couple dozen deaths, you’ll see. I’m telling you, it’s no big deal. After re-experiencing your fourth or fifth death, it’s pretty easy to take. After that, if you get to see some wildly violent war death or criminal death from your past, it’s almost exciting, a bit like a movie. Remind me to tell you about the time I was nearly sliced in two in North Africa.” Clay chuckled under his breath. “Damn Barbers.”
Shali glared at him and snapped back in counter jest, “Clay, you’re sick. You need a shrink, and maybe even a regression session to work out your underlying issues.”
Smiling, Clay pointed to their subject in the lounger and nodded for Shali to continue. She turned and focused her attention on Iqbal. It was time to dig for soul mates. “You spoke about seeing friends. What friends? Who are they?”
“I don’t know who t
hey are or what they are. I just know that I will see them again, soon, after this death.”
Shali leaned over to Clay. “This soul seems to be longing for his pod mates.”
“That’s good. We can look forward to the LBL phase; that’s where we’ll get the good stuff. If this soul is unencumbered by a weak and prejudiced human subconscious, it could be a gold mine. But we’ll never get there without building some rapport first. Let’s get on to the last of the script.”
Shali turned to Iqbal, “What did you learn from this life?”
Iqbal slowly and deliberately responded. “That the teaching of others was my purpose for this life: to communicate ideas but not to push so hard as to alienate others. I learned that to be a teacher of new ideas, you must walk the fence of the lions’ cage. You must keep your balance or the lions will feast. The one called Apollonius showed me the way. Apollonius could taunt the lions to frenzy but would not fall into the pit.” Iqbal’s face flashed a guilty grin. “I have fallen into the pit so many times before this life, but I gain more balance each time.”
When Shali translated for Clay, he became hungry for more details. Clay slid forward in his chair and almost fell into the table of electronic gadgets.
Shali picked up on his curiosity and gave him a look of “What do I do next?”
Clay signaled she should keep digging.
She continued. “Tell me more about the lessons you learned.”
No response. Five seconds later, Clay pressed the button to send a shot of micro-pulse to the Third Eye.
“Did you learn everything you were supposed to learn?”
No response. Clay leaned over to Shali. “We’re not getting any further on this, so let’s go to the scripts on the secrets.”
Shali flipped to a section in the back of the script book and turned back to Iqbal. “Did you ever hear of hidden writings, secret writings, secrets of life, or secrets of the world?”
Clay gave another long hard micro-pulse shot to the Third Eye. After a few seconds, Iqbal responded, “Yes, there are secrets, but few people know about them. They are written, but they are hidden. The secrets are hidden in the words; the words are hidden in the hills. I do not know where. I do not know how. I just know — I just know.”
Clay whispered, “I don’t think this soul knows where the secrets are hidden, but keep pushing. There’s a link here somewhere, so we have to get to his soul mates. We’ll do that in the LBL.”
Shali nodded and continued questioning Iqbal. “Do you know of anything that might be called a secret doctrine?”
He gave no answer.
“Have you heard of the seven keys or the seven secrets?”
There was no response.
“Do you know of the Chinese writing called Yih-Ching?”
No response.
“Do you know the source of Kabbalah?”
No response.
This closing script continued for five more minutes as Shali grasped at straws at the end of this life’s session. Iqbal simply did not respond to her fishing expedition. Clay handwrote a quick note for Shali with several spontaneous unscripted questions.
“When you were an older man in this life, did you know or meet a young man named Plotinus? Perhaps you met him in Rome?”
“I have heard of him.”
“What do you know about him? What have you heard?”
“I did not meet him. I was told that he was well-traveled, educated and knowledgeable. His was a Greek-Roman but he came from Egypt. He was educated in Alexandria, but he later traveled and battled in Persia. His ideas and thoughts were interesting, so I was told. I was hiding in Athens when he came back to Rome from Egypt, so I never met him. He was not popular among the powerful leaders either.”
Shali translated for Clay, who wrote out more questions for her.
Shali asked Iqbal, “Have you heard of a man named Ammonius Saccas? In Alexandria. Did you ever know him or hear of him?”
There was a long pause, but Shali finally got a reply. “Yes, Ammonius was an Egyptian; he lived in Alexandria. He was a well-known scholar and a very popular philosopher, but he did not write much. I did not know him. I only heard of him.”
The back-and-forth questioning continued for another five minutes, but Iqbal gave no more responses. Clay knew Iqbal was finished talking about this life for now. It was time to take a short break and let Iqbal’s mind roam in memorable reverie while they regrouped to prepare for another life of this soul.
While Iqbal rested, Shali pulled Clay into the next room.
“Clay, what are you after with this Plotinus guy? You keep asking about him.”
“I’m not really sure. I picked up his name several times in the regressions that got us to this point. Both Plotinus and Ammonius Saccas have a connection here, somewhere. A lot of these philosophers and scholars seem to be interlaced at the soul level.”
Shali gave her partner an intense look. “If Iqbal has Apollonius’ soul, I need to know more so I know what to dig for. You’ve got to fill me in on this guy and explain how you think he is connected to the secret writings.”
“I really have no idea how. In fact, I don’t even know that the secrets are writings. That was a speculation because they talk about knowledge. I figured knowledge has to be writings of some sort. I assume the soul of Apollonius knows what the secrets are, or perhaps where they are hidden. Even if his soul doesn’t have first-hand information, maybe he can link us to one of his soul mates who may have the key. I’m counting on the fact that souls hang around in pods in between lives and experience many lives together as soul mates. We’re getting close, Shali. If Iqbal’s soul is not Apollonius, then I’ll bet our good ol’ Apollonius is in the same pod. Here in this chair lies the soul of Philostratus, the foremost authority on Apollonius. There has to be a connection, I know it. You’re closing in.”
“The eternal optimist, you are. So we are close to Apollonius. That still doesn’t help me ask the right questions. When we get to the LBL-phase and the guide opens the Akashic records, you know they are only going to give us what they want us to know. I have to coax it out of them almost every damn time. I know you’ve been holding back, but you’ve got to give me more details on the secrets. Where did you ever find out about them and who or what is leading you there? Oh, and by the way, who the hell do you think this guy is so afraid of?”
Clay paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. “First, I don’t really know who he is afraid of, but we consistently see this when we get mention of the secrets. Somebody doesn’t want the secrets to get out.” Clay hesitated and sat back in his chair. “As to the details, I apologize for being so tight with the secrets since we’ve been together. I know I have to give you more to work with.” Clay paused again. “Alright. You know I got all my wealth by doing regressions for several years before we met. But you don’t really know how I made that money.”
“Yeah. No joke, Sherlock. You’ve been playing a mystery game with me for almost two years. You’ve held back, I know. I didn’t want to push you, but I need to know more or I’m working half-blind, here. We’ve finally got a good lead. So, come on. Fess up.”
“Well, when I first started, instead of playing the psychologist game and doing regressions to solve individuals’ personal problems, I did them to seek out lost or misplaced items from their past lives. You know, like finding buried treasure. I had a couple of big hits early on. I’ve found war booty, stolen gold bars from cargo shipments, stashed diamonds. That’s why I use Protocol 75. I didn’t want to compete with my subjects in running for the hidden treasures. Perhaps it was a bit selfish, but now that I’ve got plenty of money I can pursue treasures for the good of others. Sorry I haven’t opened up before, but after what happened between us when we first got together, I just didn’t know if I could completely trust you.”
“I’ll give you that. I could have ended up as your competition. So move on. But hidden treasures from past lives? What’re the odds of finding that? I figure you
’d have a better chance of winning the lottery.”
“Oh, no, my dear lady, you’d be surprised. It seems like almost every soul has hidden something in a past life. They might forget about it while living or maybe they would die before recovering it. It must be impressionable on a soul to have hidden something in some earlier life without ever benefitting from it. During my early regressions, I’d just ask my subjects to go directly to a life where something like this happened to them.”
“But there just aren’t that many rich people in the world. How’d you get to the big money?”
“You’re right. I’d get lots of little things, like a wooden toy that a child hid from his sibling in 300 BC. There was a small bag of coins a woman hid from her constantly drunk husband in 1300 AD, Russia. He killed her a few years later and that soul never got to retrieve the coins. Things like this are just not worth pursuing though. I waited for big ones.”
Shali asked, “Like what? What were your big hits?”
“I had one regression on a subject in Australia. This woman’s soul was once a member of a small band of Mexican bandits who robbed a bank in Flagstaff, in the Arizona Territory, in the late eighteen hundreds. The band fled south toward Phoenix with eleven saddlebags of gold coins. That’s worth tens of millions of dollars today. That same night, they were ambushed by the Flagstaff Sheriff with an aggressive posse who killed most of the bandits in the gunfight. A few of the Mexicans escaped on horseback with ten bags of the gold, which they buried in the Arizona desert so they could dig it up later. They took off for Phoenix to let things cool down, but they were captured by US Marshals and hung a few weeks later. No one ever found the gold bags — until I came along.”
Clay sat back and smiled before continuing, “This woman’s soul was absolutely eager to tell someone where it was hidden. I only found nine bags, but that was enough to get me jump started: instant wealth. I sold the coins on eBay, a couple at a time.” He smirked. “I am speaking to you in confidence, because I trust you, now, okay? I have several more good finds but I’ll have to tell you those another time.”
Shali kept pushing. “But how did you find out about these secrets that we’re looking for — the supposed secrets of the universe, as you say?