CHAPTER TEN: GEMS ON THE TREE

Goddess on the Bluff Overlooking
the New Golf Course by the River

CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE GEMS

   After dinner Peter dashed over to Justin’s apartment, wanting to know more about the Tree of Life. 
   "I have a blog that I publish under a nom de plume which I think you might find helpful.  You can just click on this link."
   "Why don't you just tell me about it? Please," Peter implored. 
   “Okay, here goes. Deities surround us, but Western cultures have all but lost the ability to know them, especially since the vast majority of people no longer have regular contact with nature. Because comparatively few people have had the opportunity to experience the conscious, subtle forces behind manifestation, and because science has no devices to detect them, the Gods are treated as the phantasms of primitive, superstitious minds. To a few, the archetypal figures of the Gods shed some light on the mind set of ancient cultures, but the Gods typically remain oddities for the modern, rational individual, who has never mused over their bones nor gawked at them like so many giraffes and elephants in the zoo. The spiritual significance of the Gods eludes the average person, who often only encounters them in brief retellings of myths.
   “Science has never adequately explained consciousness, let alone created a device that measures all aspects of the psyche. Science, on the other hand, has revealed that the five senses can only perceive a small fraction of the measurable frequencies of energy in the known universe. Mounting evidence also suggests that human beings have a ‘sixth sense’ that is sensitive to subtle currents of energy beyond our physical senses, resulting in phenomena that cannot be explained nor explained away: clairvoyance, telepathy, retro-cognition, precognition, and other types of extra sensory perception. These are experienced by the senses of the soul--our subtle bodies have a kind of ‘soul sense.' And there has always throughout history been faith in a spiritual dimension, a faith which develops after repeated experiences that cannot be measured but which have an immeasurable effect. All of this is not proof, of course, that deities exist; however, the most advanced cultures in the history of civilization have had their pantheons of Gods or Angels, the great Shining Ones who influence human evolution. Were those cultures simply primitive, or is modern, monotheistic humanity missing something?"
   Peter shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

Paradise Regained

   “Based on its needs in different times and places, the human mind has created the forms of deities as a way to connect with the invisible natural forces. Spiritual traditions have operated from time immemorial as if these natural forces are intelligent and willing to ensoul the symbolic forms, channeling their energy into the human mind. To those with the powers of sympathetic imagination, the Gods aid circumstances and stimulate evolution. If one is reverent enough, sensitive enough, and fervent enough, the Gods return, the form a symbolic fabrication of appropriate correspondences, the force real. If one successfully invokes a God, one can feel that humans are like amoebas in comparison; humans notice the Gods only because we are made of the same soul stuff, only much less developed. Fashioning symbolic human and animal figures simply makes the invisible forces more accessible to the human imagination.
   “The mystic glyph of The Tree of Life factors out these forces, revealing the correspondences between the cosmos and the individual. Nobody knows the origin of the fantastic symbol system known as the Tree of Life, but legend has it that a Shining One gave it to humanity. Based on my experiences, I cannot imagine that any human being could have created it. On the surface, the basic structure appears simple. As many have pointed out, the Tree on one level is like a filing system that enables one to classify the various energies within the cosmos and the human being--the macrocosm and the microcosm. Because the human being contains the energies of the macrocosm, energetic correspondences exist at subtle levels.

Path to Tiphareth

   “The Tree of Life is a map, not the terrain itself, and ultimately, every true experience of a path on the Tree is deeply personal. In order to follow the map, however, one needs to have at least a basic summary of the most important aspects of the Tree, which can be structured several ways. The conventional (and perhaps most helpful) way presents the sephiroth, or objective states of being, as spheres in three columns. The right column, known as the Pillar of Mercy, represents types of expansive force, and the left column, known as the Pillar of Severity, represents types of restricting energy. The central column, known as the Pillar of Mildness or Middle Pillar, balances the energies of the right and left columns. In the process of involution creative energy flows from spirit to matter in a zigzag from the first sphere in a lightning flash, known as the Way of the Lightning, from the heavens to the earth, from sphere one to ten in order down the Tree, each sphere, or ‘sephira,' emanating the next, until creation reaches its culmination in Malkuth, the Kingdom."
   “So are these spheres represented by the jewels on the Tree of Life?" Peter asked.
   “Yes, and that is where the magic comes in. Each jewel contains the energy of its respective sephiroth, the energy also represented by the symbolic forms of the Gods."
    “The jewels hold great powers, then?" Peter asked.
   “Great powers at all levels of the psyche. If you handle the forces well, you can be totally reborn into higher states of awareness. But the life-force flows in spate from its various states into the mind, and the individual must remain balanced or the forces lead inevitably to destruction."
    “Does the life-force when it is unbalanced become evil?"
    “It has the potential to become destructive or 'evil,' and therefore, when you deal with the Tree, you can encounter great dangers if you are not careful. The life-force stimulates whatever sphere you’re focusing on. I mentioned this before, but I should emphasize it again. Each sphere contains a virtue--its ideal, balanced state--and a vice--its unbalanced state. A person, after the influx of energy, usually has to re-establish balance within him or her self, which takes discipline and experience. If not, the energy leads to vice, not virtue. You need to take great care always when dealing with the forces of the Tree."
   “Don't you worry," Peter replied, fondling the amethyst, which made him feel incredibly psychic. Justin looked on with concerned amusement.

CHAPTER NINE: THE TREE OF LIFE

The Tree of Life with Tarot

CHAPTER TEN: THE TREE AND THE STILL, SMALL VOICE

   Several days later, as Peter was getting on his bike in the courtyard, Cashing opened his door and called him over.
   "You’re not going to tell me that we can’t do anything, are you?" Peter asked.
   "No, no, just hang on a minute. Don’t jump to conclusions. I’ve had an idea. Do you want to hear it?"
   Peter got off of his mountain bike and stepped into Cashing’s apartment.
   "Before I tell you my idea, I’d like to show you something I’ve been working on, called ROOMS THAT DREAM.  If you’d like to read it, you can just click on this link--it's got music and illustrations too," Cashing pointed at his computer.
   Peter looked at him funny, and said, “Maybe later.”
   “Okay, this is my idea. I’m not guaranteeing anything. It’s just a stab in the dark," Cashing mumbled, "and it's probably really just a stupid idea anyway."
   "Would you just tell me already?" Peter blurted out.
   "Okay. We could go door to door collecting signatures from people against the subdivision. In the process, we could hand out fact sheets, and ask people to call or write their county supervisor. We could also list a few of our landlord’s major businesses on the fact sheet. That probably would be bad for business, his business, that is. We wouldn’t ask people to boycott those businesses, mind you, because that might get us in trouble. We just want to imply that people can stand up against this guy."
   "Okay, now you’re talkin’. When can we get started?" Peter smiled.
   "Wait just a minute. There are several things to consider before we get started. First of all, you haven’t received permission from your parents. We would be canvassing in the evening on weeknights. Secondly, if our landlord finds out, he will want retribution. In other words, he will probably evict me and your family. We have to do this without letting anyone know who we are or where we live. We would have to be extremely careful."
   "Okay, first of all, my dad likes nature. He wouldn’t want to see that place developed anymore than I do. Secondly, my dad hates the landlord, and my parents are planning to move from here anyway. We’re probably only going to be here another two months or so, from what I understand. And third, maybe I can convince them that the experience will be good for me, get me out of the house, make me more outgoing, blah, blah, blah," Peter laughed.
   "You can also mention that I canvassed for three years when I was younger and no one in my organization ever had any problems, and I was asking for money in addition to signatures and phone calls and letters. If someone turns ugly, you can just turn and walk away."
   That evening at dinner, Peter told his family about Cashing’s idea. Peter’s mother was dead set against it, but Peter’s father, who knew the area that was going to be developed, changed her mind. Peter’s father thought that Peter should at least be given a chance. As Peter had predicted, his dad thought the experience would help to build Peter's character. Peter had assured them that Cashing would always be canvassing on the other side of the street and would intercede if there were ever a problem. Besides, it would be a good way to get back at the landlord. That evening, after dinner, Peter overheard his father’s prediction that Peter wouldn’t last long on the job, not more than a night or two, anyway.
   Cashing and Peter both wondered out loud what they were doing, on more than one occasion, but a month later, they were still going door to door, collecting an average of seventy signatures and ten letters a night between them. By the end of the first month, they had almost 1,500 signatures and close to two hundred letters against the project. Since it was summer, they kept canvassing until about nine o’clock each evening. People, on the whole, were indifferent. A few were nice and gave them something to drink. A few would slam the door in their faces, usually without hearing what they had to say. Justin and Peter just kept knocking on doors and finding supporters wherever they could.
   After a month, though, Cashing started getting so tired that he began to suspect something was wrong. He took several days off, hoping that a little rest would solve the problem, but after four days, he didn’t feel any better. 
   Peter meditated on Cashing’s problem. He mentally scanned Cashing’s body and found a streak of black in his lungs. Peter remembered that Cashing had smoked at a much younger age. Perhaps now, with all of the stress, cells were becoming cancerous. Peter did not want to label the problem, however. He envisioned draining the blackness from Cashing’s lung into a chalice and draining the blackness through a hose under the chalice into the earth, where it was purified by magma. Then Peter mentally filled the tainted area of the lung with blue and yellow and bright white energy. He had no rational explanation why those colors might be the best energy from his primary chakra system--he just knew it was right.
   When Peter saw Cashing next, he told Cashing to go to the doctor and have his lungs x-rayed. Cashing took Peter’s advice, and the doctor found a tiny tumor in Cashing’s left lung. The doctor wanted to operate right away to remove the tumors. Peter spent as many hours as possible meditating to rid the spots from Cashing’s left lung, replacing the blackness with blue and yellow and white energy. Before the doctors were about to operate, they x-rayed his lungs again. This time they found no sign of tumors in his lung even though they checked and rechecked the tests. They sent Cashing home and told him to return in a week.
   Justin knew that occasionally there were tears in the fabric of reality and odd things would slip in and out, sometimes terrifying, sometimes healing, sometimes downright crazy. He had little trouble believing therefore that another person could heal him with the mind alone, which he suspected Peter had done.
   Peter had helped Justin to believe in the power of telepathy. Justin had experienced “hits” before, sometimes knowing with great certainty what a person was thinking or feeling, but even though he had opened his subtle senses, he did not trust his intuitions and did not know how to harness that power. Justin was more than a little afraid of the power of a thought combined with intense feeling, which sometimes unexpectedly inspired groups into sudden, focused action as a powerful thought form swept through the crowd, making individuals do, for better or worse, what they could not have imagined doing alone. It was the power of the mob, but it was also, as Justin was witnessing, the power that an individual had to heal or harm. Since Justin was a well-educated man, he had always doubted his intuitions, that small voice in his head. Maybe what he “heard” were like the indistinct sounds that seeped through the apartment walls that he could never really label good or bad. Justin was also afraid that he just didn’t have enough faith, in the power of the mind or in himself, for the subtle senses sometimes only translate the energy of emotion and thought. Sometimes he could not even believe in his own fingers. For Peter, though, Justin was willing to take a chance, if only because it made life seem more like an adventure.
   After he got back from the doctor's office, Cashing found Peter waiting for him. "I get this feeling that you’ve been meditating on my problem," Cashing said.
   "Yes," Peter replied.
   Cashing hugged Peter. "Thank you," Cashing said. "I know you helped me even though every one else I know would think that I'm crazy for saying so."
   "You need to purify yourself spiritually, mentally, emotionally and physically every day from now on. I can't keep you healthy. You've got to do it yourself," Peter explained.
   "I will. I will. I promise," Cashing replied. "Follow me. I have something to show you. I've been debating about the right time to show you, but I think the right time is now."
   They ambled over to Justin’s apartment. After he opened the front door, Justin motioned Peter inside and opened the door to his bedroom. “This is what I have been wanting to show you,” Justin paused, his hand sweeping toward the wall. “The Tree of Life." 
   Peter could see a strange structure, about two and half feet tall, on an alter, with gems hanging from it. “You mean the Tree of Life from the Garden of Eden?” 
   “It's possible that this Tree of Life came from the Garden of Eden, but no one can prove it, of course." 
    “Are the jewels real?" 
   “Yes. There are ten different jewels, including a diamond, a ruby, an emerald and a sapphire, each of great value."
   “How much is it worth?" Peter demanded.
   “The Tree itself, as far as I know, is priceless," Justin responded. “It has another value, a magical value that far transcends its worth in gold."
   Peter squinted at the Tree, “Those jewels aren't really real, are they? You're just messin’ with me, ain't ya?"
   “Yes, they are real, and no I'm not messin' with you. Some of the most powerful forces in the world are contained within those jewels."
   “What kinds of forces?"

Tree of Life with Major Arcana of Tarot

   “The Tree of Life is a symbol of creation representing the different energies within the cosmos and the individual. It symbolically shows the universal energy field, which is mirrored by each human energy field, or aura. The Tree reveals the subtle correspondences between the individual soul and the powers of the cosmos, in other words.”
   Peter pondered Justin's words for a moment. “You mean that a person can use the Tree to gain cosmic powers? How is that possible?” 
   “That, my friend, is the mystery. Only a small group of people know how to charge the jewels with cosmic force. For some reason, my uncle left the Tree so that I would find it. I believe that my uncle was one of the people who knew, but he died before he could tell me.”
   “So," Peter drew out the vowel, “how did your uncle get a hold of it?”
   “He found it during the war, World War II, that is, hidden in a concentration camp, of all places. He showed it to me once when I was a young boy, but he didn’t tell me anything else about it. My uncle was an eccentric and seemed more than a little unbalanced sometimes. Everyone thought he was 'cranky’ because of the War, but I think now it was probably because of this,” Justin pointed at the Tree. “He wanted me to believe that he took it apart after he found it in the Nazi commandant’s quarters and that he wrapped it up and brought it home, and then put it back together in his garage and kept it hidden there for almost fifty years, but I now think it possible that he simply put it together and charged it with cosmic energies himself.”
   Peter still looked doubtful. “Why are you showing this to me now?"
   “I don't completely understand it on a spiritual level, probably because I have trouble trusting my own intuitions. I understand it mentally, but I don't fully understand it spiritually. I sometimes just feel at a loss when I connect spiritually with people or things. I can talk a good game, but when it gets down to the nitty gritty, I have trouble reconciling the logic of the mind with the logic of the spirit, which sometimes are oddly different. And maybe I'm a little afraid of the unpredictable nature of the spirit. You, if you'll allow me to be frank, are less damaged than I am and seem far more open and tuned in to the spiritual dimension. I am hoping that you will help me understand the Tree of Life on a higher level. I believe that everything happens for a reason. A wise man once said that you should treat all experience as a confrontation of God with your soul. I'm not sure I believe that entirely, but I do believe that the divine gives you signs now and then.  You are having visions of archetypal symbols that can be found in the Tarot and on the Tree of Life, two symbol systems that go together in every conceivable way. I think for that reason alone I am meant to reveal this to you.” 
   Peter looked nonplussed.
   Justin continued, “It’s crucial that the right people take care of the Tree. Try to remember Nazi Germany, for a moment. The Nazis got their hands on knowledge of the Tree of Life and conquered most of Europe, killing millions of innocent people in the process. The Tree of Life is a sacred symbol system revealing different subtle states of being. The swastika, for instance, which is a symbol of the Source of life, is associated with the top sphere of the Tree. The Nazis perverted that symbol, turning it on its side, literally and figuratively. Instead of a symbol of life, it became a symbol of death and evil. And, instead of a time of great spiritual awakening, the 20th Century became a nightmare. I’m afraid that the people now in power are more than a little like the Nazis, and if they got their hands on it, they would use the Tree to establish ‘full-spectrum dominance’ over the world, which is pretty much what they’re currently trying to do. You and I are ‘off the radar,’ so to speak, and we need to keep it that way. Whoever takes care of the Tree must remain humble, in more ways than one."
   “So you think your uncle chose you to take care of it?” Peter asked.
   “My guess is that he could see my rebellious artistic nature. All I know is that he made me the executor of his estate and must have known that I would remember the Tree and try to find it. Sure enough, I found it hidden on the top shelf in his garage.”
   Peter looked over at the Tree of Life. “How does the magic work?” 
   Justin smiled. “The gems are like the symbols in the Tarot cards, except the gems are tangible. With the Tarot cards, you have to rely entirely on your imagination to let the forces through. With the gems, all you do is touch them. When you do the cosmic force comes through and stimulates the subconscious mind. In other words, an influx of power affects your aura, and if your brain is in a receptive state, the subconscious mind will present the force to your conscious mind as an archetypal symbol or God or Archangel in the mind's eye. If you touch the ruby, for instance, you will feel the power of Mars, which can manifest as great courage and energy, and you might see an archetypal symbol such as a sword or a warrior king or God in your mind's eye."
   Peter touched the ruby and felt a wave of power wash over his sphere of sensation, and in his mind’s eye, he envisioned a king dressed in armor and a red cape who was holding a sword and shield. “Wow, why doesn’t everyone know about this?” Peter gasped.
   “The force of the gems, each of which represents a sphere on the Tree of Life, can also be unbalancing. In other words, the force of the ruby, which represents a sphere on the Tree of Life known as Geburah, or Severity, can also manifest as cruelty and destructiveness. Each sphere has a ‘vice’ as well as a ‘virtue.’ Because of the potentially unbalancing aspect of each sphere, the stewards of the Tree have only passed on the knowledge to those who are purified and dedicated. A person who uses the knowledge for selfish ends eventually ends up destroyed by the unbalancing aspect of the forces. How the individual uses the power of the forces is his or her own karma.”
   Peter reached for the sapphire, the jewel opposite the ruby.
   “Whoa, there,” Justin shouted, chuckling. “You need to absorb the energy of the ruby before you invite the other powers into your life. Give it at least a week. If you do become unbalanced in that time, you can invite the powers of the opposite sphere into your aura as a way to balance the forces. The three pillars of the Tree reveal polarity and balance. The two outer pillars represent polarity, and the middle pillar represents the balance of the forces. The sixth sphere, known as Tiphareth, or Beauty, harmonizes all the forces, and is therefore known as the ‘Christ Center.’ All of these forces can have a life-changing effect on the psyche, so you need to be extremely careful when handling them, especially since each force tends to be a higher vibration than we're used to.”
   “So do people start to think you’re strange if you do this? Is that what happened to your uncle?”
   “I’m not going to lie to you, Peter. That is likely to happen. Just look at the Tarot card ‘The Hanged Man,’ which represents one of the paths on the Tree. Most people live within a very limited range of emotional, mental and spiritual frequencies. You have to choose between being considered ‘normal’ or realizing the potentials of the self, which requires great sacrifice. This is one of the most important choices you will ever make.”
   “I guess I should think about it, but I have a feeling I know what the answer is going to be.”
   “I had a feeling that you might,” Justin laughed.
   "Before I go, I've got something to tell you, which is the reason I came over in the first place. I’ve got some bad news," Peter muttered.
   Justin furrowed his eyebrows.
   Peter continued, "The landlord has evicted us. You probably about to receive an eviction notice too."
   "That landlord has eyes everywhere."
   "My brother told him."
   "Why?"
   "Because my brother hates me," Peter sighed.
   "Did your brother ask him for money or something?" Cashing asked.
   "He said he was trying to keep the landlord from evicting my family by telling the landlord the truth. I’m not so sure why he really did it," Peter frowned. "Unfortunately, my family is behind on the rent like everyone else."
   Just then, the manager knocked on Cashing's door. "Consider yourself served," the manager sneered.
   The envelope containing the eviction notice also contained a short letter from the landlord. "Why don’t we meet tomorrow at three o'clock in my office downtown?" the note read. The address was included in the letterhead.

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE ARTIST ARRESTED

Root Chakra

CHAPTER NINE:  THE BLACK HOLE

   Peter liked meditating early in the morning when other people in his family were still asleep or just beginning to stir. In addition to feeling the security of having his family nearby, unbiased in their sleep by the beliefs that they had established about him, his dreams were still fresh, and he was not in danger of falling asleep. Often he would lie still for over an hour before he got out of bed.
   As he meditated, he intuited that the minds of many people were focused on the black cross. Some, of course, were giving up their sin and regret and suffering, but Peter also sensed others who were supporting the cross with their emotional, mental, and spiritual energy. Jesus was not the only one taking in negative feelings and thoughts in order to cleanse humanity. Many other people and spiritual entities were helping. Suddenly Peter had the feeling that he could help too. He wasn’t sure how, but he began to focus his energy in such as way as to take some of the blackness into himself, as if he were part of a large effort to cleanse the excess dark energy from the world.
   Just as he was filling himself with light to cleanse the blackness from his soul, he heard some commotion in the courtyard. He peeked out the bedroom window and saw the police dragging away the artist who lived in a second story apartment across the way. They were pushing him and nudging him with rifle butts. Once Peter had shown the artist some of his own work, and the artist had been full of praise and encouragement. Then the artist had shown Peter a work in progress: on a huge canvas one person in thirty different poses in three rows on a bright red background. Though the poses were not contorted, when Peter stepped away from the painting, the figures appeared to be writhing in torment, possibly due to the red background.
   The police also brought out the artist’s nine-year-old son, who watched his father get into the police car. The artist just sat in the police car looking straight ahead.
   "Hey, what are you doing?" Peter yelled through the window. People from all over the complex were gathering in the complex, but nobody responded, so Peter ran outside in his pajamas. He found Cashing in the crowd.
   "Apparently they believe your artist friend robbed a 7-11 last night. Looks like people around here are really starting to get desperate," Cashing said.
   "What will they do with his son?" Peter asked.
   "They’ll probably take him to his mother, if they can find her. I’ve heard that she’s a drug addict who just got out of jail. If they can’t find her, the boy will probably just go into foster care."
   They watched silently as the police escorted the boy to another police car.
   "Can we do anything?" Peter asked as the police drove away.
   "I don’t think our meditations can help him much," Cashing mumbled, putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder. "I wish there was something we could do.  I just finished an article on Archangels, which probably won't do any good anyway. Maybe you'd like to read it?"
   "I want to deal with this. Can’t we bail him out, or something?" Peter said loudly.
   "No one here has that kind of money."
   "What if everyone here gave a little money to bail him out?" Peter was no longer just talking to Cashing, but to what was left of the crowd.
   People just started walking away, shaking their heads and mumbling.
   Peter followed Cashing into his apartment. "You don’t believe that we’re doing any good?" Peter asked.
   "A famous man once said that the more you know, the more you want to crawl into a black hole and die, or something like that. I like your ideas. Really I do. I think they’re very beautiful. Maybe some ideas are just too beautiful for this world."
   Peter stared at the floor.
   "Look, I found out something else, and you’re not going to like it," Cashing said. "Our friend the landlord owns the place where we meditated the other day. He bought it a year ago from an old lady who doesn’t have any family in the area. Apparently he wants to build a subdivision on that land, an upscale housing project with a golf course."
   "Oh, no, how can that be? You’ve got to be kidding. This is too much of a freaking coincidence!"
   'Too much of a coincidence? I thought so too, so I checked it out to make sure. I told you this guy practically owns this town. I’m not kidding you."
   "Can’t we do something to stop it?" Peter asked.
   "How do you think I ended up in this hole in the first place?" Cashing blurted out. "By fighting people like him--that’s how. The next stop after this is the street, my friend. Hell, he’s probably already planning to evict me. How many fronts do you think I can fight on, anyway?"
   "I just think that we shouldn’t give up so easily. There’s got to be something we can do," Peter mumbled.
   "Like what? This might sound cliched, my friend, but money talks and losers walk. He can buy off the archeologist who surveys the land for Native American artifacts. He can buy off the county planning commission and the board of supervisors. He can even buy off the judges who preside over the lawsuits. I’ve seen it happen before, more than once. Just the promise of financial support is enough to buy the loyalty of the people who make the decisions around here."
   "Okay, okay, but I’m not going to crawl in some black hole and die," Peter blurted out. "I still think we can do something."
   Peter slammed the door and ran home.

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE ANCIENT VILLAGE

Pounding Stone After a Rain

CHAPTER EIGHT: 

THE VILLAGE IN THE WOODS

   Peter went to his room and closed the door. Fortunately his parents were running errands, and his brother was watching TV. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind. He was drifting, thoughtless, in the void when suddenly he felt a familiar touch on his face, a cross between a scratch and a tickle. Peter envisioned a ridge near Sycamore Creek where he had once found a pestle in a mortar. On that ridge a low rock formed a rough semicircle where the tribe, Peter imagined, had held rituals. Suddenly, a dirt-covered Indian with long, shaggy black hair that hid both face and chest stepped into the semi-circle. The Indian, who carried a spear, wore only a loin cloth, but Peter could not tell if the Indian was a man or a woman.
   Peter was afraid for a moment, but the Indian seemed to be ignoring him.
   "Are you my guide?" Peter mentally asked.
   The Indian stood motionless and silent for what seemed like a long time, then placed the spear on the ground, pointing toward the semi-circle of stone, which suddenly resembled horns.
   Peter opened his eyes, overwhelmed by the urge to go back to Sycamore Creek. He closed his eyes again, trying to meditate some more, but he soon fell asleep.
   When he woke up, he noticed that over an hour had passed since he had started meditating. He headed over to Cashing’s apartment to see if the meeting was over.  Cashing was just putting the final touches on a strange, dream-like story.
   "What’s that you’re working on?" Peter asked after Cashing opened the door..
   “Would you like to take a look?"
    Peter read it quickly.  “That’s pretty cool!" Peter exclaimed.
    “Would you like to read the rest? Click on this link if you’d like to read more,” Cashing responded encouragingly.
    “I’d like to, but I really came over for another reason. How did the meeting go?" 
   "This is a tough issue. There’s not a lot we can do legally. On a political level, we might stage a press conference and boycott the businesses owned by our landlord. He is a very rich man, by the way, who owns a lot of businesses here in town. There’s no reason for him to be hurting people like this."
   "Hey, you know what? When I was meditating, a spirit guide told me to go to a special place in the woods. We could meditate there, and maybe you might think of a solution to this problem. What do you think?"
   "So you have a spirit guide. I might have known. You want to go now?"
   "Sure, why not? My parents won’t miss me for awhile, at least not till it gets dark."
   "I don't want to piss off your parents again, but, on the other hand, I don’t have anything planned for today. You’re sure your parents won’t mind?"
   "They know you’re okay. Besides, they won’t even realize I’m gone. They’re out running around doing errands. Sometimes they run errands all day long."
   Cashing’s old Corolla struggled up the steep inclines, threatening to overheat, but soon they found a place to park next to an unchained gate.
   "My, my, talk about coincidence. I used to wander around on this property all the time, twenty years ago. I can probably even tell you where you’re planning to take me. Coincidence just seems to be all too common for us."
   "I’ll follow you, then, at least until you start to get us lost," Peter laughed.
   As they hiked down the trail, Justin waxed philosophical, "On one level, the modern 'magician' is a kind of shaman who not only uses symbols and archetypes to connect with invisible subtle energies, but also strives to connect with the subtle energies of visible living creatures, which requires deep cleansing of the subconscious, great empathy, and a kind of rebirth of the self. In other words, the modern shaman is reborn into kinship, relying on the ego as a survival tool but seeing beyond, through sympathetic imagination, to the deep connection he or she has with all living things, and seeing beyond also to the possibilities of indeterminacy and otherness. The shaman strives to know the element of Earth as much as any other element, to know living plants and animals as well as invisible spirits. After all, the ability to know one goes hand in hand with the ability to know the other because sympathy is required for both. The modern shaman thrives on the adventures of otherness and the creative indeterminacy of Being, which is the mercy of eternity."
   Peter just nodded his head.
   Cashing was profoundly curious but didn’t ask any questions. He wanted to see whether or not Peter had a different idea about where they should go. He led Peter down a crumbling oiled road littered by shotgun shells, dried cow patties, and buckeye seeds. Grass and milkweed were growing in the cracks created by run-off from the slopes. Finally they reached a ridge where they could hear a creek in the distance. An old trail ran parallel to the road for a few feet and then curved down toward the creek. Cashing paused.
   "So you do know this place," Peter said.
   "I know it well. Which way do you want to go?"
   "Let’s head out to the ridge," Peter pointed north.
   They crossed the faint trail, stepped over a fallen gray pine, and soon found themselves on a pounding stone overlooking the creek.
   "Notice anything?" Cashing asked.
   "You mean the house pits?" Peter pointed to five circular indentations in the ground near the pounding stone.
   "Precisely. At first I thought cattle had worn those holes in the ground, but then, after I explored the area carefully, I realized that people must have made them."
   "Do you want to follow that trail down to the creek?" Peter pointed back toward the road.
   Cashing, amazed by Peter’s knowledge of the area, was tempted to tell him about an experience that had occurred years before. Cashing had first approached the area by hiking east along the creek. As he was hiking, the sun was going down and the air was cooling off, the creek gurgling and crickets scraping out a pleasant song. Cashing had suddenly experienced the sensation that he had been there before and then felt very powerful feelings of jealousy and rage that did not belong to him. He then knew that he would find something if he kept walking on the stones next to the creek. Soon he came upon a pounding stone right next to the water. He sat down and closed his eyes. He was suddenly sure that he would find a trail not far from the pounding stone. He scrambled up the slope under the low branches of an ancient oak tree and immediately found the trail, which led to where he and Peter were now standing. Cashing, who had contemplated reincarnation as a possible explanation while hiking along the trail those many years ago, had somehow known that he would find a pounding stone on a ridge, even though he had never been there before.
   Cashing began hiking down the trail. Peter followed silently behind him. Soon they were sitting on the pounding stone next to the creek. 
   "So, is this where you want to meditate?" Cashing asked.
   "This is not where my spirit guide told me to go," Peter replied. "We need to cross the creek. It’s just up there," Peter pointed to the top of the hill on the other side of the creek.
   The water was high, the rocks were unstable, but they both managed to ford the creek without getting wet. As they were scrambling up the slope, Cashing again had the sense that he had been there before. As they reached the top, Cashing stepped on a pounding stone that was almost completely covered by dirt.
   "It’s over there," Peter blurted out.
   They found the rough semicircle of stone and sat down.
   "For some reason, I feel mighty strange. This must be the place," Cashing smiled.
   "Yeah, this is it," Peter said. "Let’s just meditate for a while and see what happens. I don’t feel like thinking about that landlord right now."
   Cashing found himself sucked very quickly into the meditative state, because, it seemed, he and Peter had suddenly tuned in to the same mental frequency. After awhile, Cashing envisioned himself before a fire in the semicircle of stone. Faces of elders flickered and glowed in the firelight. Suddenly he sensed that Peter was beside him in the vision, but Peter had a different face, not just because the firelight was flickering. They were both Native Americans, but Peter was older, a young man, not a teenager. Cashing then realized that in his vision he was looking at Peter through the eyes of a woman.
   Startled, Cashing opened his eyes. Peter opened his eyes at the same time and turned to Cashing.
   "I just saw something strange," Peter exclaimed.
   "So did I," Cashing replied. "You go first."
   "I saw both of us sitting around a fire," Peter said, "but you were a woman."
   "Don’t tell me," Cashing said. "We were both Native Americans?"
   "Yes," Peter said, "and we were both right here."
   "I think we should keep trying, and this time don’t stop even if you see something really weird," Peter suggested.
   "All right, this is just another one of those things that I'm not going to be able to explain. Let’s do it," Cashing agreed.
   Again Cashing found himself very quickly in the meditative state, but for what seemed like a long time, he sat with his mind in the void, trying to keep from thinking. Then suddenly he saw the hill at sunrise. He imagined stumbling down to the creek as soldiers were sneaking up on the village from the other side of the hill. Suddenly he heard gunfire. Men, women, and children were being shot down as they dashed around the hill. Suddenly a man stepped out of his hut with a bow and arrow. He sent an arrow straight into the chest of a soldier. Just as he was aiming another arrow, a cowboy who had joined the massacre shot the Native American in the back. Then the cowboy turned around. Cashing recognized the dead Native American as Peter.
   Cashing couldn’t continue meditating. He opened his eyes again. Peter was breathing quietly, his eyes already open.
   "I think I was killed during some kind of massacre," Peter murmured.
   "And I think the person who killed you was our friend the landlord--who must have been a rancher in his past life," Cashing blurted out.

CHAPTER SIX: CASHING'S PAST

Ancient Trail in Inundation Zone of Proposed Dam

CHAPTER SEVEN: ACTIVIST AND TEACHER

    As soon as Peter stepped through the door, he discovered his mother talking on the phone.
   "Uh-oh," he thought as he rushed to his room.
   "Peter," she called, "I want to talk to you." She opened his door and peered in.
   "Yeah?"
   "I just got a call from our minister. He said that you were there with that man--that man I told you not to talk to anymore."
   "What? I’m not allowed to pray anymore?"
   She stepped into his room. "That’s not the point, and you know it. I told you not to talk to that man, and the first thing you do is go talk to him. Is he some kind of religious fanatic, or something? Is that why you like him?"
   "I like him because he’s helping me to develop spiritually, mentally and emotionally, if that’s what you mean," Peter retorted.
   "Look, I know that you’re more spiritually inclined than most of us. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, but you have to be so careful these days. I would be happy to invite him over for dinner. Would you like that?"
   Peter suddenly imagined how his father and brother might act at dinner. "No," he whispered.
   As though understanding Peter’s thoughts, she asked, "Then what can I do? How do I know that I can trust him?"
   "We’re just trying to think of different ways to help people. Can’t you at least trust me?" Peter asked.
   "Oh, all right. I just want you to tell me if anything strange happens. I want to know more about him. I’m only watching out for you, you know."
   "Yeah, I know. Thanks, Mom."
   Peter ran straight to Cashing’s apartment after pulling his pack of Tarot cards out of the garbage can. He decided to keep the pack with him wherever he went.    When Peter got to Cashing’s apartment, he blurted out, "That minister actually called my Mom. Can you believe that?"
   "Here’s to the few who don’t care what you do!" Cashing laughed, raising a glass. Cashing had just put the finishing touches on the illustrations for a children's story he had written:

THE GREAT FAIRY PRINCESS

Swallowtail Fairy

While Mommy was making dinner

for the fairies--honey dew and nectar

and cotton candy spider webs--

Daddy made a spell to help Claire 

sprout her fairy wings.  Then Claire

stepped into the garden, calling all

the fairy folk to dinner, and one

in the guise of a swallowtail

flitted near red and yellow roses,

but then it flew away, laughing.

"Come back and play with me!" 

Claire demanded, but it kept 

flitting here and there, deeper 

and deeper into the forest.

Gnome with Tiger Lilies

Mommy had warned her not to follow 

the path into the woods, but Claire wanted so

to be with her fairy friends that she galloped 

down the path after the swallowtail fairy.

Suddenly a little man with a funny hat 

appeared on the trunk of a fallen tree. 

"Your mommy told you not to go this far. 

Watch out for the bad fairies!" he sighed.

The Bad Fairy

Soon the bad fairies came, and one of them 

waved a wand over Claire's head. Suddenly 

she lifted off the ground and drifted over 

to a flower. The bad fairies giggled 

and flitted deeper into the forest. They growled 

and screeched and made a terrible ruckus.

The Winged Tiger

The bad fairies turned into strange, fierce animals. 

Then Claire turned into a winged tiger that roared 

and bared its teeth and waved its terrible claws 

this way and that. The gnome was not very happy!

Queen of the Fairies

Suddenly, Claire saw the Queen of the Fairies

standing by a stream.  The Queen turned to Claire 

and declared, "You are not a terrible animal. 

You are a princess, and you shall rule with me."

The Banquet

Claire took her place on the throne.

Then Claire commanded the bad fairies, 

"Stop! Now join me in the feast!" 

The bad fairies gazed in wonder 

at the golden plates and cups 

on the pure, white tablecloth.

The Fairy Princess

Soon the bad fairies fell asleep. 

The Queen was suddenly 

nowhere in sight.  Claire felt lonely 

and missed her garden. She wanted 

to give her Mommy and Daddy a hug.

The Good Fairies

So she took off her crown 

and her wings and found a path. 

The good fairies helped her 

find her way.  She plodded along 

in the dusk, hearing distant music 

and smelling good things to eat

from far away in another land.

Peek-a-Boo

Just as it was getting dark, 

she found the garden 

and her Mommy and Daddy, 

and they gave her a big hug.


THE END

    Peter blurted out, "I convinced my Mom that you’re okay. I can actually talk to you now."
   "Hallelujah! Come on in then," Cashing smiled.
   Peter, who was still upset, ignored Cashing's work and stated, "My mom wants to know more about you, though. What can I tell her?"
   Cashing looked a little anxious. "Well, you don’t want to hear my life story, do you?"
   "Only the good stuff."
   "Your mom probably wants to know how I ended up in this dump. Well, believe it or not, I used to be a teacher. For many years, I taught several classes a semester at a community college. I was what they call an adjunct professor. In other words, I only taught part-time. The college relies heavily on part-time teachers in order to avoid paying benefits or salaries. So I also worked as a substitute teacher. With those two jobs, I managed to scrape by."
   "Doesn’t sound too bad," Peter said.
   "Well, it wasn’t, actually. My schedule was flexible. I could write stories and music and be an activist. I actually decided that I didn’t want to teach full time."
   "What happened?"
   "I mentioned that I was an activist. Well, I wrote an opinion piece for the newspaper. It was one of many opinion pieces that I’ve published, but this was the first one that happened to mention that I was a teacher at that particular community college. I didn’t discover until two days before the next semester began that I had not been rehired. After twelve years of excellent evaluations by students and administrators, I suddenly discovered they didn’t want me to teach anymore. They didn’t even bother to tell me--I had to call to find out why my name wasn’t mentioned in the schedule of courses. The irony is that I was at the top of my game as a teacher. In all modesty, I had never even imagined when I began that I could teach so effectively."

Inundation Zone of Proposed Dam:
Read about the Exploitation

   "That sucks. Are you still a substitute?"
   "That’s the thing. I never obtained a teaching credential. I only had a master’s degree, so strangely enough the public school district wouldn’t hire me even though I had over a decade of experience teaching at a community college. Since I was never going to be hired full-time, I finally just decided to throw in the towel. I’m now living on a rapidly diminishing retirement fund, and I'll probably need to start subbing again pretty soon. This thirty percent raise in rent is certainly not helping any."
   "God, I know. My family is freakin’ out. Everyone’s been in a really bad mood lately. My mom keeps saying that you can’t trust anyone. My dad keeps pointing out that you can’t be weak in this world, and my brother keeps calling me gay. It’s depressing."
   "Maybe we should do that little meditation ritual for our landlord," Cashing laughed.
   "Couldn’t hoit," Peter said with an affected accent.
   "Oh, but you know what? I just remembered. I’m going to a meeting on the rent increase in a few minutes. We’ll have to do our little ritual later. You’re welcome to join us. It’s just me and a couple of others."
   "Naw. I’m not really political," Peter smiled.
   "Everything is political, my friend."
   "I thought everything was sacred."
   "Okay, everything is political and sacred. We just have a landlord who believes that one thing is more sacred than others."