by Ken Renshaw
"I have never even heard of him," I replied. "If I don't understand Einstein's mathematics, how am I supposed to understand what his professor couldn't teach him?"
"That is what we would ask for you to find out about," said Uriel.
I said to Uriel, "I think you have the wrong person. I am a patent lawyer with a science background. I have no idea what you are talking about."
Then, I heard the distant sound of the Pawnee tow plane engine, my rescue, guided by GPS satellites, buzzing out to tow me back to CrystalAire. I was using technology as an antidote to my indulgence in flying an airplane without a motor. He saw me, cut his engine, and passed over me in a wide circle to check the landing conditions. I took off my tee shirt; held it above my head, let it flap in the gentle breeze to show him the wind direction. He wiggled his wing in acknowledgement, added some throttle, flew a landing pattern, touched down, and taxied toward me.
I turned to Uriel. The speck of bright light had disappeared. I went over and picked up the broken bottle. It was only an old piece of glass. I dropped it thinking, 'no point in taking this with me.'
The pilot turned off the engine, opened the cockpit side window and stepped out onto the wing. It was Dan, a man in his thirties, wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, and a cowboy hat over ear protecting earmuffs. His face was wrinkled and dried like an old man, from years of living in the desert. He greeted me with a big smile but without a comment on my plight, pretending he couldn't converse with his ear protectors. He drew the tow cable from the reel in Pawnee out to its one hundred and fifty-foot length and then handed the end to me. I latched it in the tow hook on the bow of the glider, gave it a jerk to make sure it was latched. He gave me a silent thumbs up and walked back to the Pawnee.
When we were both strapped into our cockpits, and I had gone through my brief checklist I gave him a thumbs–up. He started the engine, edged the tow plane forward until the tow lie was taut and waited for my signal. I moved the rudder from side–to–side, the signal that I was ready to go. We accelerated, and in about one–hundred feet I was airborne, flying a few inches above the ground, waiting until the Pawnee reached flying speed. Then, the Pawnee rocked back, and started a steep climb. I pulled back on the stick and followed him as we climbed a few hundred feet and started a gentle turn toward CrystalAire.
I felt relieved. This little hot, sweaty, thirsty, and disappointing incident was over.
At altitude, I relaxed a little bit and started to think about my contact, if that is the applicable term, with Uriel. 'Maybe I am going to have to take some time off from flying until I get this sorted out. Light flashes and hallucinations may indicate some sort of neurological problem or a brain tumor. I'll make an appointment with a neurologist and maybe get an MRI to be sure. Flying is unforgiving of pilot error. I can't afford any lapses in judgment. What else was there to know about space and time? Hadn't all that been worked out by science?'
After I landed and rolled to my sailplane's parking spot, I got out, stretched, and began tying the wings down. I heard a cheery voice say, "Welcome back."
It was Tina who handed me a tall, cool can of Coors, walked over and, gave me a big hug and kiss. She was wearing tennis shoes, tan Bermuda shorts, a white tank top, and a ball cap with her red ponytail sticking out above the back strap. I delighted in seeing she had nothing on under the tank top. She opened her piercing light blue eyes and said, "I heard the tow plane come in and knew you were back." She observed, "Is something the matter? Is landing in the desert that serious? I sense something else? A big disagreement? Are we O.K?"
"Something strange happened," I said, my arm around her waist. Having her near was making me feel better.
We started to walk down the now deserted airfield to the country club trailer park. The airstrip is a mile long, paved for the middle half of its length, the rest is a sandstone colored swath bulldozed in the desert, strewn with small rocks, and bordered by desert chaparral and an occasional Joshua trees. My desert refuge is next to the airstrip, at the outer boundary of the country club.
"Right after I texted you, I took a nap in the shade of the wing. I was startled by a speck of light in a broken mason jar that appeared to be talking to me," I said incredulously.
"A what?" She replied.
I stopped and faced her: "I was taking a nap and then I heard a voice. It appeared to come from a broken Mason jar, the kind of garbage you find all over the desert where people have camped." I repeated, "There was a bright speck of light in the jar and a voice coming out of it!"
"You must have been suffering from dehydration," she said with a laugh. "It takes forty days and forty nights wandering in the desert to get mystical visions." Then impishly added, "You have always been a quick study." She looked at me for a long time and then said, "You're serious. This is really upsetting you."
"I'm a scientist, a patent attorney. I deal in hard factual physical things. Voices do not come from inanimate objects. Furthermore, I was seeing specs of light all over the place as I was landing. This all must be some kind of retinal problem coupled with a dream during my nap. I'd better see my eye doctor next week. It must be some kind of eyestrain–related thing exacerbated by flying and the desert heat."
As we continued walking to the trailer, I explained, "But It seemed so real. It said its name was Uriel." I repeated somewhat louder, "There it was, a voice coming from a speck of light. The voice said it was giving me a message from a group of consciousnesses that is not on this or any other planet. It said it, or they, want me to study something about space and time. Why would I want to do that? It was a crazy experience! It must have been some kind of weird dream."
We walked silently for a while. I kept my distance, while she glanced at me quizzically. After a very long silence, she moved beside me, took my hand.
After a while she said, "Long before I knew you, I had a friend who took me to channeling sessions in North Hollywood. Have you ever been to one?" She asked, looking askance.
Her big blue eyes were open wider than usual with her eyebrows raised. I knew she believed in all this metaphysical stuff, but I hesitated to talk to her about it. She had learned that it was not a popular topic of conversation with me. This was a no-no place we would not go.
"No, can't say that I have," I said somewhat formally. "I think I need another beer."
She linked her arm with mine and said, "OK."
We walked the rest of the way to the park in silence. Coors therapy and the affection made me begin to feel better. We walked up onto the porch of the trailer, and she steered me to a deck chair.
"Sit here big guy," she said, "Help is on the way."
I drank the second Coors and looked at the desert while she made a salad for dinner.
CrystalAire is at 3,500 feet on the upslope of the San Gabriel Mountains, about a hundred miles north of LA. From my trailer porch, I can see fifty-and sometimes a hundred-miles north, sometimes forever across the Mojave Desert. On a crystal-clear morning, I can see the blue outline of the southern end of the Sierra Range. Although it might be 105 degrees during the heat of the day, the evenings cool off and I often put on a down parka. On this night, the normal desert breeze was stronger. The soaring thermals wouldn't amount to much tomorrow.
Tina called, "let's have dinner on the back patio, sheltered by the mobile home, out of the wind."
We ate our salads and had a glass of wine without too much conversation. I was still silently mulling over the event of the day. Tina was also deep in thought.
As it grew dark we heard a pack of coyotes yipping as they pursued prey, probably a jackrabbit running for his life. Then, it was quiet.
I broke the awkward silence. "I love the evening sounds of the desert. Later, we may hear the sounds of the kangaroo rats shaking seeds off bushes. When I first came out here, I thought it was the sound of rattlesnakes, and was afraid to go outside at night."
Tina eventually said in a somewhat serious tone, "If it is not good soaring weather tomorrow, lets go to R
osamond Dry Lake and you can introduce me to your new Mason jar friend."
"I can't," I said. "It disappeared after the tow plane showed up."
Tina paused a long time and observed my expression. Then, got up from the table, walked over, kissed me, and said, "I think we should forget about this in the shower."
I woke the next morning as the sun brightly shown through the window. I could smell coffee and hear Tina working in the kitchen. I walked in. She was wearing one of my tee shirts that came down to mid-thigh, and chopping vegetables at the sink. I hugged her from behind and kissed her on the cheek.
She shrugged her shoulders and pushed me away with her head saying, "Careful, I'll cut my finger or drop this knife on your toe. Get yourself some coffee."
I drew a cup of coffee, leaned my rear end against the counter, and glanced at Tina. She had her hair in a ponytail and had her usual mischievous expression on her face. I wondered if she was putting something unusual in the omelet. She glanced back at me with a questioning look in her eyes. "I was expecting a much bigger smile this morning after..."
I interrupted, "I apologize, I was thinking about what happened on the dry lake as I was waking up." I walked over and gave her a big kiss.
"That's more like it," she said. "Is it going to be a good soaring day?"
I replied, "No I don't think so. There is already a little breeze. Those high cirrus clouds are a bad sign. Also, I am still a little distracted."
"Good," she said, "One of the ladies at the pool spoke with me about the Devil's Punchbowl in the hills not far from here. It sounded interesting. It is supposed to have an interesting energy, er, rock formations. It is a State Park with trails and self-guided tours." She showed me the State Park page she had looked up on my iPad. "Pinyon Pines, chipmunks and California Ground Squirrels. It would be fun to go for a hike. They had a spot of rain up there last week and there may be some spring wildflowers in bloom."
"Sounds good," I replied somewhat reluctantly.
"I'll pack a lunch and clean up here and pack everything into the car while you go and put your little sailplane away. We can leave for LA from the park. I know a great place on the way home to have dinner," she added with some excitement.
As we ate breakfast, I could sense her excitement. "I love the desert." She said. "Desert tortoises, snakes, kangaroo rats bouncing around at night, coyotes yipping and howling...and then there are the wildflowers."
I was feeling better. "Snakes!" I exclaimed. I mused to myself, 'Talking to spirits, forget it.'
She thrust my hat and a bottle of water into my hand and practically pushed me off the porch to get me started to the runway.
CrysalAire is nearly on the San Andreas Fault. The San Andreas Fault is like a big rattlesnake that has its tail in the Sea of Cortez between Baja California and the mainland, and makes a serpentine arc up California east of the various mountain ranges to Palm Springs, and then curves around the San Bernadinos and San Gabrials, which separate LA from the Mojave Desert. It turns north again and runs inland to Silicon Valley, San Francisco, across the Golden Gate, to it's head in Bodega Bay. Everyone fears this snake when it wakes up.
The Pacific Oceanic plate slides against the Continental plate along the fault and pushes up the coastal ranges. The Devil's Punchbowl is near the fault, where the sandstone is crunched and pushed up into jagged sky pointing layers. The park is in a three hundred foot deep valley in this contorted landscape.
"This is really fun," she exclaimed, as we drove with the top down into the hills. She was wearing brief jeans shorts she called her "Daisy Dukes" and a yellow tank top and her ball cap. "Here, drink lots of water today," she said as she took a sip from a bottle of water and handed it to me.
"I have often flown over here in my sailplane but have never seen it from the ground. The punchbowl is a good source of thermals," I said. "All that sandstone picks up heat in the sheltered valley and boils off into a thermal, sometimes the first of the day. See over there! That little wisp of a cloud must be over the Punchbowl."
Before I cold entertain many thoughts about going back and breaking out my sailplane, she looked at the map in her lap and said with excitement, "Turn left on that road up there. That sign says Tumbleweed Road. This is the way; we must not be far."
Soon, we were in the Park visitors’ center parking lot. We walked to the small weather worn visitors’ center, went in, spent some time looking at the exhibits of stuffed birds and animals and bought an area map. Outside, we began to walk down the loop trail into the Punchbowl. It was a spectacular site, a yellow sand, and gravel trail descending into a water worn valley in a jumble of broken sandstone layers pointing diagonally to the sky, with opportunistic small clumps of shrubs and bushes growing in the cracks. Tina was intent on stopping to examine the flora along the trail, reciting the name of each plant, and feeling the leaves and branches.
Tina said, "I love these Pinon Pines. They tower above all the rest of the shrubs and brush and seem to say to me, 'You can rise above everyone else if you try.'"
She turned to me and observed my far away look and said. "Are you OK? Are we OK? I feel as though you have gone away."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "I am still preoccupied with what happened yesterday. I am still trying to work out the logic of it all." I didn't tell her of my medical concerns.
"You have told me stories of landing-out on other occasions. They don't seem to bother you much. I have many friends who wouldn't think it was so strange that you talked with an entity through a spark of light. One friend has a dog that channels advice to her"
I resisted, "In your world it might be OK, but not in mine–I deal with scientific facts and logic."
"Here, have some more water," she said handing me her water bottle. "Why don't you have a nap in the shade of that big overhang while I continue to explore the trail. It only goes on for about three quarters of a mile-I'll be back in no time-and then we can have our picnic. The ranger said there were some plants in bloom up there and I don't want to miss them. Just relax. Try meditating."
"Deal!" I replied, not having any interest in desert blossoms at the time. I walked over to the shade of the big sandstone slab, which looked like a slice of tan layer cake that had been hollowed out underneath by eons of flash floods. I stretched out on the ground, put my hands behind my head, closed my eyes, and listened to the high desert silence. I started to doze off.
"Hello there!" Said a voice. I sat up with a start and looked around, but saw no one. "Over here," said the voice.
A few feet away I saw a round, tan sandstone boulder about the size of a beanbag chair. I saw the brilliant spark of light in a crack on the underside of the boulder.
"It is I, the Uriel," came the voice from the rock. "I hate sandstone, it’s so scratchy."
"Oh, no," I said under my breath. "Good day," I said diplomatically, wondering what was a proper greeting to intelligence from outside of space and time. I didn't add that I felt that this whole conversation might be a desert hallucination, or a neurological difficulty.
Uriel continued in a serious tone," You are having great concerns about your mental or physical health related to our conversation. Let us assure you that you do not need to see a Doctor of Medicine. You need to see someone with the title, Doctor of Mathematics.
"I hate to tell you, but I have thought it over I really know nothing about Einstein and Relativity. You have the wrong person."
"No, you are perfect for what we would like to see happen. We would like you to prepare for something very important that will affect the lives of many, perhaps a good part of your civilization. Think of us as a client with a mission to earth."
"That's fine," I replied. "But, what would you like to see happen?" My lawyerly questioning strategy was kicking in. "And how could I put you on the witness stand? I can hear it now, 'My client in another reality is suing for infringement damages.'"
"Let's start with incentives," Uriel replied slightly mocking my lawyerly attitude. "In this
case, you will prepare yourself to be on the leading edge of the thinking of the future and get yourself recognized as a source of knowledge. Since we do not trade in your dollars, we can promise you personal benefits to be paid in personal growth, exposure to exciting new ideas, and dreams-come-true."
I was taken aback and realized he precisely seemed to know my weaknesses. I was bored with my patent work, and had enough money to buy all the stuff I wanted, including a very expensive sailplane, but no real must-have dreams. I just wished for something different in my life.
Uriel continued with a much lighter, almost comedic tone, "We can talk about all this later. Now, how about those Dodgers."
I laughed and replied, "I'll think about it.'"
Suddenly, I was being tickled and emerging from a deep sleep. "Wake up big boy," chuckled Tina. "You were snoring so loudly all the wildlife was fleeing the canyon."
I shook my head, sat up and rubbed my eyes. I felt a surprising sense of peace.
"He's back?" said Tina after looking quizzically into my eyes. She brightened. "I have been told there is something in this desert air called 'Funk-be-gone' that works every time. This is the guy I have been dating. Come on, let's go have our picnic."
She grabbed my hand, pulled me to my feet, and began towing me up the path to the visitors’ center. We went to the car, retrieved the cooler and Tina's wicker picnic basket, and went to a picnic bench in the shade of a Cottonwood tree.
"Isn't this great! Look at the view! Feel that gentle breeze! Smell the sage!" gushed Tina as she unpacked her wicker basket. She spread a red and white checkered tablecloth on the table, spread two blue plastic plates and silverware, produced two crystal flutes, which she filled with bottled water from the cooler, and, as a final touch, placed a cut crystal vase in the center. She produced a cluster of daisies from a bag in the cooler and said, "Don't worry Mr. Lawyer, I didn't pick these in the park. I picked these in the courtyard behind your mobile home."