The Seventh Direction

PART ONE: The Flow. Episode 13

"Yeah, Doc, I am kind of tired."

"Well, look," he said, "we can talk later. Why don't you take a break. This room's going to be off limits for a while yet, anyway. If you don't mind staying, that is? In case I need you? The Media, you know? I'll lock the door behind me."

What a great idea. Kind of tired, nothing. Pooped. Forcefully whacked. Dead on my feet would better fit the bill.

"Doctor Thorpe . . . Doctor Thorpe . . . Please come to Conference Room 101, in the west wing . . . Conference Room 101 in the west wing . . ."

At the blare of the intercom, Doc stood and looked at his watch—as if he were acknowledging it was time; then he looked at me and raised a brow (of course he did) as he so often did to express himself. It was a buffoon-look that told me he was okay with everything, so far. Then he spun on his heel like a military-man headed out on a mission. The door clicked shut behind him. (What, no thud?)

I collapsed, the energy draining from me the moment I hit the sheets; and I fell instantly deep, as if into a— 'No. No. It couldn't be. Could it?' A wilful thought rose up to confront my fast-fading consciousness. But in the fade, Alaya appeared................coming closer, through the fade. And there we were. A memory: The two us (before she was Alaya)—me and Old Dorothy, a little bit misty, sitting on her bed in her room in the nursing home. I remember. It was fun.

She was showing me/teaching me to backwards read, because of a book she had given me; a book to read while she was sleeping, which at the time was hours on end—a book that when I put it down was very hard to get back into. "Stream of consciousness, " she'd said. She had had the same problem. "The Flow—" she'd said. "Same, same—" she'd said. Same book we were reading, same problem. So, Dorothy would bookmark the page and pencil-tick the spot she was at before putting the book down. Then to get back into the book, into The Flow when she picked it up again, she would backwards read, scanning quickly back (scan and quickly being key) till something twigged in her, and from that point she would start forward. So I tried it . . . later. And it worked. I know, usually you can't "try" to get into The Flow (—or The Zone, as they say)—usually it just happens. But you could try in this scenario. So at first I had to scan back a whole page, but soon after only a paragraph not much longer than this one; and then The Flow was all me over again!

'Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy, right, Aces?'

Alaya, you ARE here!

'I am, my love. And do you know where "here" is?'

Suddenly she started to fade. And not TOO surprisingly, suddenly so did I. 'I guessss so.' I murmured: 'Atomically speeeeaking, Wyllen's Ghhosssssst is probly imprinted all over thissssss bed. And so "here" is..............here is—' But there were no more words or thoughts to be met.

'Just be very careful in here...........please............my dear, dear Aces.'

Postcard pictures began to float on by. One by one. Pictures unfamiliar to my being, yet familiar just the same. And they floated by faster the further I fell in, blurrrrrred..................and a soft, mellifluous music came over the horizon. Louder it grew (as I drew further in), and rose to a hushed-pink hue upon deep, black space. Then and there I knew it was The Voice welling up. But the words were faraway, and I was drifting. 'What is this place?' (drifting) 'WHERE is this place?' (drifting) 'Is this where young Wyllen went to work through his compelling situation?'

                                      The Voice

~~~~~~~We meet here now to confirm your realizations, to embellish others, and to tell a tale to your wondering heart. A tale that you have desired to understand. A tale that you will one day, in the near-future, bring to record with your penmanship . . . for it is not at this time especially within your talents to reveal these things verbally to others, as you have recently discovered. We will help, when it comes time to tell the tale. But for now, in a moment, we must begin with your further initiation, which comes from Beyond, via vortexial current, like a whirlwind through your desire to know and grow. And far-removed is this form of development, this form of advancement, from the current regulated pace of evolution on Planet Earth. Soon you will understand. Soon you will see, for our moment together now—same as our other moments together, however long, short or otherwise as they may seem to appear—will one day, in due time, filter through to consciousness. Shall we begin then? Can you hear Us? Yes, We know that you can: