don’t want you to be flying too high. I would need to adjust your medication.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I had stopped the pills over a week ago, and I didn’t intend to go back on them. I wanted to feel emotions again, and the pills were making a zombie out of me. As I continued to watch the action outside his window, I thought to myself, It just pisses me off that I had to take a pill, just to fit into this society. To say that I struggle with mental issues would be an understatement; however, if you think about it, who doesn’t? We all seem to have problems trying to keep up with the ever-changing tide of social conflict. This story really begins too many years from the start of my career and several more before I could retire, and the current crisis of the mind started shortly after moving from a place that, for me, provided a safe and happy existence. This was a time when I had the fortune to find myself living in the Pacific Northwest. At first, this was just another stressful existence—the moodiness and rain that consumed the winters and the summers that felt like I was living under a forty-watt bulb, dim and never bright.
After several attempts at employment, I finally had the luck to be hired into a company that changed my life forever. To be correct, it wasn’t the company so much as it was the people working there. My heroes consisted of my boss and two buddies, who worked in the warehouse (and of course, I could never forget the owner’s brother). Most days were busy, and we kept the corporate machine running; other times, I just wanted to be in their presence, to experience a peace of mind not easily found. If any one of them came into a room, they wouldn’t have to say or do anything. I just felt an unmatched contentment, something I had never experienced before. This was a huge leap, and for the first time in my life, I felt safe and connected to my inner spirit energy.
Six years passed; not one moment did I take for granted. I was able to see the greatness as it was happening and recognize the moment when it appeared. All good things must come to an end, however, and this was no exception; my world was soon turned on its side. Unfortunate events forced its way into my cozy existence, and I soon found myself heading south and landed just outside the Los Angeles area, where temperatures can reach the “egg-frying degree” of one hundred twenty or more. Pulled from my family of positive light, my grief heavy and unresolved, a good friend in Calgary said, “It’s not necessarily the separation from your friends. It’s also a separation from your connection to the divine.” How often, in life, can one say that they had such a depth and quality of connection? The next few years didn’t provide any escape from the pain and anguish running rampant throughout my mind. Within weeks of arriving on death’s door or, as I like to call it, the Valley of the Dead, I discovered a marvelous thing: numbness. I never knew what relief drinking a “very large class of burgundy wine” could provide.
One night, we were dining at a local Italian restaurant that boasted “the biggest glass of wine in the valley”; arrive before five, and it would only cost you three dollars. I was hooked, leaving the restaurant; my mind was a blur, and it felt great. This was just the beginning. Soon, I found the relief within a wonderful drink called microbrews; three bottles, and I was under the table. I need to stress, however, that one should never feel that there’s a bright side to drink, there is never a bright side when falling into something that will just bring you down, causing you to lose your soul. Moving through the days, it felt like slogging through heavy mud; with my pain deep and never ending, numbness seemed the only cure. Eventually, my evenings were spent, first, applying the numb and, second, sitting in bed, watching YouTube videos until crying and tears would start to flow without abandon. This was not crying like, say, an old Italian grandmother at a funeral. No, it was just tears streaming down and running out as soon as the cycle had been completed.
Last week, during an interview with the local news reporter, the question of suicide came up. She asked, “What has kept you from just taking your own life?”
“I would never be caught committing suicide,” I said. “If I get to the point where I can’t continue, I would conjure the action within my mind, and it would just happen. No drama or mess to clean up. Unfortunately, those of us that have these abilities realize the cost to one’s soul, and I’m not ready to trade in karma just to have a quick fix.”
My list of options felt short to nonexistent, until one day when I heard this amazing musical creation that tugged at my curiosity, so much so that I had to research the backstory. This is where I found you, my hero and glimmer of hope. Digging deeper, I discovered a story that reported the struggles of Mr. Lewison, depression, drinking, and self-loathing. Looking back at his early works, I was surprised at the difference in his looks. When young, his face was full and always smiling; now, after many years of struggle, it was dark, foreboding, and full of pain. Could this be all his life had become? Had he made any progress with his neurosis?
Reading on about the path he had taken, to my relief, he had come back—deeper in soul and richer for the experience. At this point, I had a feeling that I wasn’t alone on my rutted path of life and could move forward. Eventually, I found myself stepping one foot back into the light, and to my amazement, the voices in my head returned in force. I’m sure, at this point, everyone is shaking their heads, thinking, Oh great, another nutcase. Don’t be alarmed; I’ve heard voices in my head my entire life, and I never thought it was out of the ordinary. It just seemed natural. I also see blurry forms and sparks of energy within my field of vision; many times, past friends or relatives have come by to visit and reassure the moment. I can, with an accuracy of perhaps 85 percent, control the traffic lights, guaranteeing clear passage whenever I take a chance to leave my home. If I am out in a crowded mall or in some other public venue, I can sit, away from the action, and project a positive unconditional healing force that has a near-perfect effect on anyone within my field of vision. The voices started to fill my mind with words and sentences again, and after several sleepless nights, I realized that I needed to write them down. All of a sudden, I started feeling better. The dark moodiness of the past few years seemed to dissipate, leaving a clear path to contentment. I looked forward to the time when I could sit and write my thoughts down. As the time of proselytizing the doctor was coming to an end, I was scheduled to have a short meeting with the judge in hopes of making my own decisions again. I was stubborn and didn’t want them to know that I had already decided to stick around for a while; I had committed to a project that I wanted to complete. As we walked out of the chambers, I instantly separated myself from the doctor who I could swear was the embodiment of a mushroom; he could absorb a lot but basically had no true purpose in the casserole of life.
Chapter Two
The Harvester
Many times, he had tried to contact his neighbor, and each time he knocked, the music would abruptly stop, and all would be quiet, almost to a fault. Once, when he was out walking, he caught a glimpse of the neighbor, but by the time he caught up to him, someone or something had pushed or shoved him out of the way. Clark was perplexed and intrigued with the situation since it had a mystery about it. Just returning from a tour with his band, Ice Control, he could barely keep his eyes open, due to the red-eye flight earlier that morning. He would try another time and find a way to connect with the neighbor.
*****
Thomas Powell sat in front of his grand piano, a purchase he had made—when was that? The year 1898 in London proper; yes, that was the year, a time before the last merging. And now it was here, in his flat on Acre Lane, a little street off Remington, a short distance from City Road. I am what you would call an immortal moving through the centuries, changing locations as soon as discovery seems imminent. My story begins many moons ago, or perhaps I should say, many moons to come. I was taken during the years not even thought of yet, years that still offer hope and release from the current turmoil we live through each day. Who knew that there is an intelligence controlling the universe—who knew! As it turns out, one really needs to audit actions performed within each expression we call life. I certainly had no clue, because after fulfilling a life of excessive drinking, eating, and of course, a multitude of sexual partners, male and female, I found myself in the company of what you might call the dark one. It was instant and had no chance of bargaining. My human soul was ripped from my being and forced into servitude for the other side. To clear my great wrongs, my contract was simple: harvest the souls of anyone caught up in tragic demises. Interference