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Beyond the Island

by John W. Steele

Chapter 21

part 2 of 2

Roger sighed. “Yours is a difficult situation, my friend, and despite all I’ve endured, I did not have to learn what you must know. Your purpose in the body of the Unborn must be unique. I consulted with Lord Nagual, and he has allowed me to tell you this:

“Let’s say you were driving down a street in that civilian war machine that you adore so much. Let’s also assume that you’re not speeding or doing anything foolish. Your eyes are on the road, and you’re driving along carefully. From behind a parked car, a child emerges and runs directly in front of your vehicle. In this case, you are unable to stop in time, and the child is mortally wounded.

“Now, let’s say a jury finds you innocent of any wrongdoing. You are not charged with a crime. Are you innocent in your own mind, or would you suffer a guilt that would torment you the rest of your life?”

I measured Roger’s words. “I’m not sure how it would affect me for the rest of my life, but I think I would always feel cursed that such a calamity occurred. I believe I could rationalize the event intellectually but I don’t know how it would effect my emotions afterward. After all, accidents do happen.”

“A famous psychoanalyst who existed in your coordinates says otherwise. His name was Freud, and he claimed there was no such thing as an accident. But regardless of his opinion, everything beneath the veil of Id has a cause. There are no accidents, my friend, and your cause in this incarnation was a drop of sperm and an egg. But let’s take this one step further. What if you were on your way home, and the child you killed was your own, then how would you feel?”

I needed no deliberation. My feelings were painfully exposed. “I would feel guilty the rest of my life. I don’t think I could live with myself.”

“Carry that thought with you, Brian. This allegory is all I am allowed to share with you. Sometimes the innocent are called on to act as the hand of death.”

Roger’s thoughts filled my awareness. I weighed the power of his words. From deep in the present, the sound of the most beautiful bells I had ever heard flooded the mindscape. The melody of their chime sounded like the chorus of a thousand angels.

“Do you here the bells, Brian? The bells are the impeccable voice of death. They tell me that soon they will ring for you or someone you love. But even the Lord of Death is to be pitied, because it is confined to the realm of Id and cannot move beyond Id until every dreamer has transcended the walls of the island.

“The Lord of Death is the most powerful entity this side of Id and has chosen this horrendous task that all islanders may transcend the wheel of becoming. The Lord of Death is able to see the past lives of all beings and weigh the effects of causes they’ve created. Death rules supreme in the realm of Id, and all lesser Nagual’s are subservient to its will.

“Death sometimes chooses an assistant to aid it in its mission. The assistant is often blameless of any crime but implicated in a circle of energy that is discordant and distorted. When a great imbalance exists in the law of cause and effect, that which is unstable cannot find peace and is forever distressed.”

Roger paused a moment, and I could see his aura dim. His face grew stoic. I knew he was thinking. He rubbed his chin, and I sensed he was measuring his thoughts.

“I am not sure whether I’m allowed to share this or not, my friend. My purpose is to help you but there is a fine line about words, because there are nebulous misinterpretations. But silence is not always golden. Sometimes it’s yellow, and to be forewarned is to be forearmed.”

Roger sat cross-legged on the ground and I sensed he wanted me to do the same. I didn’t feel comfortable facing him so I sat a little to his right side. We sat in silence for a long spell. I savored the presence of his company.

I knew that Roger existed on an octave that I could achieve with right speech, thought, and action. The thought of evolving to be an Angel like him filled me with hope. His aura regained its luminosity and shone with authority.

“The spirit of the Unborn cannot be found in words or letters,” Roger said, “and all that exists in the writings of great teachers who are now extinct is little more than an empty shell. Anything of value understood by the awakened ones died with them. What they left behind are like bones bleaching beneath a scorching sun in a desert.

“The impossible spirit of the Unborn had no beginning or end. It cannot be defined or conceptualized. Id is a dream, and like all dreams, it will pass away. But the Unborn cannot pass away because it does not exist. It is beyond existence. If it existed, it could be defined with borders, boxes, dogma, discrimination, and a psychology. In the end, the Unborn would be used as a purpose for hatred and war.

“The Absolute is beyond creation and is outside the walls of imagination. The Unborn is beyond imagination, but imagination is not beyond the Unborn. Good and evil are mind-created states, and what you perceive as real are only opinions derived by the conditions of your island.

“I’m going to tell you something that I wish had been revealed to me during the battle for my mind. It would have saved me a great deal of tribulation. But words interpreted incorrectly can cause more harm than good. Even if I revealed a great mystery to you, it would make no difference if your mind were too clouded to receive it. In the end, the sin would be mine, and I’d have done you a great ill turn. Listen, and weigh these nuggets carefully.

“The island is an intermittent hell world. Mara grants its slaves just enough freedom and satisfaction to keep them numb and sedated with the illusion that a paradise exists on the island and it is within their grasp. But the root of the island is in hell, and all of the forces on the island are contrived to convince the awareness that this is otherwise.

“What Mara will not reveal is that the realms of lower vibrations are far more despicable than the island. In these dimensions the misery is continuous, and there is no respite from the torments. The island of self is known as the last chance. Those who turn their back on the opportunity to evolve choose darkness of their own free will.”

Despite his noble intentions, I found Roger’s ideas distasteful and I was confused. His reasoning defied the laws of my conditioning. I wanted to tear his words to shreds and blame all that did not correlate with my understanding of my subjective concept of good and evil, but I could find no flaw in his reason. I could not look at the island objectively and accept the world was not a hell, because when I was not suffering, I felt the injustice of those who were. Regardless of the conditioning instilled in me since the day of my birth, the evidence was overwhelming. I knew Roger had nailed it and I hung my head.

“The spirit of death is hated by everyone,” Roger said, “but it is the most compassionate of all powers. Without death man would suffer eternally and there would be no escape from the island.”

I thought about what my ally said, and I could not fathom why the meat body had been created. It seemed to me to be little more than a temple of craving. I could not envision that liberation from such a curse was possible.

“It makes little difference now anyway, Roger. I could never live up to the standards required to evolve beyond my island. I am just a flesh and blood man. I don’t really care for people. I’m not saint material.”

Roger laughed deeply. “Saint? Who the hell says you have to live as a saint? Saints are overrated, and many saints only think they’re saints while their deeds reveal many imaginings. The saints often create standards they could never live up to, and the motives of these tenets are rooted in the craving for glory and power.

“Precepts were written when the voices died and are for those who are so hypnotized, they can no longer hear them. Just do no harm to others, the world, or yourself, and you will begin to evolve. It is no more complicated than that, though many try to make it so. The deed is the karma, Brian, and to harm others is to harm yourself.” Roger’s voice rumbled like a reverberating thunder. “That is fear, boy. That is the cornerstone of wisdom.”

I sifted through Roger’s words and searched intently for a fault in his ideas.

“What if I’m attacked? I would certainly defend myself or someone I cared about. I would feel no remorse if I killed someone who was trying to kill me.”

“Defense is the most noble form of combat,” Roger said. “And if you did not defend yourself, you could not survive in your animal body on the jungle world of your island. Just remember, an angel never attacks but staunchly defends.”

I sensed my time with Roger would soon come to an end and I wanted to ask him something that had been troubling me a long time. “It seems there is a different doctrine for every continent on my island, Roger. Which one is correct?”

Roger ran his hand along the thick bristles of his Mohawk, and I noticed a dribble of amber light in the corner of his mouth.

“It is wise to study,” he said, “and a great deal can be gained by the words of others who are of a like vibration, as long as you don’t cling to them. But don’t trust the words of anyone until you’ve explored them carefully and determined if they are indeed expressions of compassion or are merely myth, fairy tales, or propaganda.”

“Do you mean I can only trust my heart?” I asked.

“That is a difficult question. There is no definitive answer, but the desires of the heart have lead many a fool to destruction. Its yearnings must be weighed carefully. I’m sorry, Brian, but the heart cannot be trusted. To trust the heart alone can lead to great despair.”

“If you can’t completely trust your own heart or the words of others, what can you trust?”

Roger let out a long sigh. “It’s not easy to swallow, Brian, but the only teacher on the island is pain. The Lord of Reformation is the most revered teacher in the realm of Id, because it cannot lie. It exposes areas on your island where you have created an imbalance in energy. Even the Lord of Death listens to the voice of pain and is often influenced by its effect on the islander.

“Pain is loyal, and it will never betray you. Most people fear pain, but it is the only power that can awaken the dreamer and lead him to a higher vibration. A life without pain is a life of no progress. Pain is the great benefactor of those who desire emancipation from the prison of self.”

I saw a tear form in Roger’s eye. “Learning through suffering and scars is the solid path that leads beyond the island, my friend. If you accept karmic retribution, you can learn from your trials and move beyond the island. Even the greatest angels suffer because they feel for those who are suffering. The paradise realms are filled with angels who still desire to help others even if they were only once the angel’s own love.”

The portal of awareness began to contract, and the diamond light started to fade. Roger began to dissolve. The sincerity in his smile was unforgettable. I felt tremendous gratitude that I had a friend such as this. I wanted to confess to him and to apologize for what my island had done to me, but like a blink of lightning, he disappeared.

When I returned from Samhanna, it was 9 a.m. I’d accomplished nothing to save Karen and I knew tomorrow would be the darkest day of my life. I looked over at the bottle of Stone Haven, cursed the world, and went to bed.

To be continued...

Copyright © 2009 by John W. Steele

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