In Memoriam Robert F. Butts
by Paul Helfrich

June 20, 1919 – May 26, 2008

Joanne and I received the following email on Tuesday May 27th:

Dear Folks,

As some of you may have heard, Robert F. Butts passed away just before 3 o’clock in the afternoon on Monday, May 26, 2008, with his wife Laurel Butts at his side, in St. Joseph’s Hospital, Elmira, New York, after a brief illness. He would have been 89 in June.

Up until a few weeks before his death, Rob was active and busy with his many projects, deeply involved as he was all his life with painting, writing, and directing the ongoing publication of the Seth material and the related lifework he co-created with his late wife Jane Roberts, who died in 1984. Laurel told me that Rob died peacefully, as she held him, and that she knows Jane was there also, as he made the transition from this reality to all that lies beyond.

Laurel has arranged an inclusive service for Rob as well as for Jane, scheduled for Monday, June 2nd, at 10 a.m. at St. Mary’s of the Lake Church, 5823 Wallworth-Ontario Road, in Ontario, New York, a small town just east of Rochester, N.Y. Other arrangements are pending.

I am grateful to Laurel for holding the phone to Rob’s ear a few hours before he died so I could talk with him one last time. As I’ve written elsewhere, he and Jane were not only my friends but something even more than mentors to me – they were my psychic parents, the pivotal figures in the development of my creative abilities in this life, and very likely in other lifetimes as well. My heart goes out to Laurel, who is in my thoughts every day.

Sue Watkins

We had gotten word that Rob was in the hospital the previous week, the same hospital that Jane spent her final days in Elmira, NY, and was being treated for cancer. Laurel had sent out word for well wishes to be sent there. So during our Saturday Rose group session, people signed a get well card. I was actually printing out a topic from Sethnet in which people expressed their get well wishes on Tuesday when we got the news that Rob had passed away from our friend Masa in Japan. (I later thought this to be appropriate imagery of how far and wide the scope of Rob and his life’s work reached.)

Initially we were stunned by the news, but then everything became clear. Many cancers are treated on an out-patient basis, and I realized that Rob had been more ill than we realized. So we want to join Sue Watkins in extending our heart-felt condolences to Laurel Butts. I’m glad to know that she was with Rob during his final hours, and sensed Jane’s presence as well. Laurel has been with Rob for over twenty years now, and has been instrumental in helping Rob with Jane’s legacy.

Speaking of which, where do we begin to honor the legacy of this man and his life’s work? Rob was instrumental in the Seth phenomenon. He transcribed every word in every Seth book between 1963 and 1984. He created hundreds of paintings based on his experiences with Seth and Jane. He archived all of Jane’s work after she died, and fulfilled his promise to her, with Laurel’s help, to publish all the Seth material after she died. He worked with Prentice Hall editor Tam Mossman to donate all of Jane’s work to Yale University’s Sterling Archives, where it remains one of the most popular archives visited yearly. Presumably, after Rob’s passing additional materials will finally make their way to that collection.

I was struck by Sue’s comment that she considered Rob and Jane her “psychic parents.” I felt the same way back in the late 1970s after I had discovered the Seth books. I couldn’t get enough, eagerly awaited each new book, and read them cover to cover several times. Since I had been raised in a secular family, my father was an electrical engineer and mother non-religious, I didn’t have much of a spiritual framework. So my first spiritual information was encountered during my teen years in the shamanic teachings of Don Juan as chronicled by Carlos Castañeda. But in my early twenties the Seth books blew all that away, because they provided a detailed map of All-That-Is, and further, provided exercises to check out the territory through direct experience.

Back to the psychic parents concept, I know that many people felt that way about Jane and Rob over the years. So I was delighted when I found Seth’s reference to this when The Way Toward Health was published posthumously. The following is from February 1, 1984.

(4:35. “Will you say something about the feelings I’ve had about par­enthood lately?”)

Let us take a break.

(“Okay.”

(Jane had ginger ale and a few puffs. “If you hadn’t asked, he was going to say something about your parenthood thing,” she said. We talked about how strange it was that no one had been in yet to take her blood pres­sure and pulse — not that it would have mattered if they weren’t taken. Resume at 4:40.)

Now: If you examine your feelings about parenthood in general, you will see that they bear an astonishing similarity to your feelings about your painting and our work. Only the focus is different. You are indeed both parents of an amazing body of work, and the psychic parents of innumerable people of all ages. You have set aside, however, the conventional idea of a family, as symbolized by your (car) dream of the other evening. You are actually exchanging one kind of a family for another, vaster concept, that also involves parenthood, however — but a psychic rather than a physical parent­hood. The letters you receive are often like letters children write to their parents. ~ p. 83.

Like many, I wrote to Rob and Jane over the years. While I never met Jane physically, she has been in my dreamscapes since the late 1970s. While Rob played a secondary role in terms of dreamscapes, in my heart, I still had strong paternal feelings for him and his work. In this way I considered them my “spiritual parents,” and Seth as what Eastern spiritual traditions consider a “root teacher.”

I had the pleasure of visiting the “Hill House” in Elmira, NY in 1991 and again in 1993 with my friend Bob Terrio when we made The Seth Phenomenon: An Interview with Robert F. Butts video. It remains one of the most thorough pieces ever recorded on Seth and Jane, with Rob describing his many paintings and sharing various stories about helping with the Seth books. This was also when we first met Laurel Davies.

I was awestruck during that first meeting! Rob was already in his early 70s, and the house was full of his paintings. I sat in a refurbished version of Jane’s Kennedy rocker and imagined what it must have felt like to be present during a private book as well as group ESP session. There was that famous painting of Seth. I saw Jane’s and Rob’s offices, his lined with various print editions of Seth and Jane’s books, along with the classic quote on the wall from Seth, “You get what you concentrate upon, there is no other main rule.” Laurel was a gracious hostess and made us feel at home as we went about setting up lights, cameras, and sound equipment for the shoot. Rob autographed my two aging hardback copies of The “Unknown” Reality, and they remain two of my most prized possessions to this day.

During this time Lynda Dahl and Stan Ulkowski has taken over Maude Cardwell’s Austin Seth Center, and created Seth Network International. Joanne and I would meet birds of a feather at our first conference in late October, 1996 at New Haven, CT. Stan and Lynda would go on to marshal the largest gathering of Seth-folk, over 420 if memory serves, at the now famous Elmira, NY SNI conference held in June 1997. The Seth books were back in print, thanks to Amber-Allen and Janet Mills, as well as Jane’s Aspect Psychology books. So it was a resurgent period. It’s also when we met Mary Ennis, who channels Elias, and moved to Castaic, CA to help that fledging group publish and expand the Elias forum, which in my view, expanded many core concepts in the Seth Material.

Returning to the present, we all have similar memories with the Seth books, Jane, Rob, and Laurel over the years. My memories are not special in that respect. I share them only to show the enormous respect I have for Rob and the deep appreciation for all his work over a period of forty-five years (1963-2008). The creative legacy of Rob Butts and Jane Roberts is truly a national and global treasure!

I hope that more information will become available as the years roll by, and their legacy will continue to grow. Their work was avant garde in the truest sense of the term, it was ahead of its time, and as such, remains mostly ignored and unappreciated by large segments of the current population, most of which have no clue about the tremendous influence they had on popular culture in the 1970s and onward. After all, The Nature of Personal Reality, their best seller, coined the New Age mantra “you create your own reality.” And authorship is not nearly attributed to the primary source often enough due to continued ignorance of the channeling phenomenon. Hell, even Oprah says she was “spooked” by the Seth books when interviewing to Ester Hicks a couple years ago! Ironically, I don’t think the infamous cover of Seth Speaks helped any. J

In larger terms, Rob’s passing marks the end of the beginning of a “shift in consciousness,” or what Seth referred to as a religious reformation that would center around the “Christ entity” to be completed by 2075. Many other authors and futurists imagine this shift in their own ways. For example, physicist Peter Russell called it an approaching singularity or white hole in time, social philosopher and psychologist Ken Wilber called it the centaur stage of development that features “vision-logic,” sociologist Jean Gebser called it the integral-aperspectival structure-stage of collective evolution, John White predicted the emergence of a new species of human called homo noeticus, Elias, channeled by Mary Ennis, coined the term “shift in consciousness” in 1995 which is now used by The Institute for Noetic Sciences, author Arjuna Ardagh called it The Translucent Revolution, futurist Ray Kurzweil envisioned an Age of Spiritual Machines, and on and on we go!

In any case, Seth, Jane, and Rob created their own vision of this shift and left a legacy for us all to explore. I can’t say thank-you or express my appreciation deeply enough for pointing out that the next 50-60 years will be a time of rapid change and global transformation beyond what our wildest science fiction could predict. It will be fun to see how the Seth Material stands the test of time, and what role it, along with Jane’s wonderful Aspect Psychology, will play in foreshadowing major trends and probabilities that the collective are exploring. Will any of us will live to see the following Seth quote become reality?

“This material will take its place in the conceptual and emotional life of Western civilization, and finally will make its way throughout the world. New ideas are not accepted easily. When they take fire however, they literally sweep through the universe.” ~ The Early Sessions, Book 2, p. 314.

It’s an exciting time to be alive, and in the spirit of Seth’s Practicing Idealist we are all encouraged and challenged to live, love, and laugh each day to its fullest. Thank you Rob for your creative genius, inspiration, and humble way of living Seth’s words in the life you lived.

I also want to send my condolences, again, to Laurel Davies-Butts, who was a second wife to Rob, and helped in too many ways to mention here. We also owe her a lot, and so I’d like to say a heart-felt “thanks” to you as well. We’ll await news of any memorials to Rob and ways to help support you in the days ahead. If we can do anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. In the mean time, we will carry on and do our best until it’s our time to move to that next chapter as well.

Thank you Rob for everything! We love you, and will miss your earthly presence.

Finally, as a tribute, here is a small gallery of some of Rob’s paintings that were on display during the 1997 and 1999 SNI conferences in Elmira, NY. They were shot by Rodney Davidson. Enjoy!

Farewell Rob... by Nardine Neilson

Since first I read the words you wrote
My heart has sung with joyous note
For Seth did bring into our lives
The jewels of love to help us thrive

And Jane held high her candle too
And shed a light to see and do
The living way of you create
Reality... as life we make

Your words did bring us into you
They showed us how you lived it too
So that we could clearly know
Through every day we always grow

We farewelled Jane and Seth with you
And grieved a loss so deep and true
And then a time did come again
Where loved you were as dearest friend

In Laurel’s heart you found anew
The joy of love and honour too
And as you both enjoyed your life
Your tribute to your former wife

Was a guiding light you shared
Expressing how you deeply cared
For All-That-Is and all we are
You’ll ever be a shining star

Your legacy lives on in words
In many hearts and many worlds
And Seth and Jane you meet again
Welcome home... dearest friend

Know that we who remain here
Will ever love and hold you dear
For throughout all eternity
You’ve blessed us with a light to see

An artisan of skilful craft
The beauty of your gifted heart
Today tomorrow evermore
Your spirit guides our way to soar

Bless you eternally

Spirit’s Song
by Hal Manogue

Continuous Roots Mesh
Within Me
Interlocking Consciousness Awakens
To The Sound Of Forgiveness
Ripening Seeds Of Desire
Fall Freely Through The
Fertile Soil Of Oneness
And Plant Themselves In Reality

Each Self Dances In Endless Harmony
Rotating Partners Hold Patterns
Of Remembering Tightly In Place
As The Wind Of Change
Blows Its Spirit Song
Through The Tree Of Life
I Taste One Fruit Of Gratitude
And One Sip Of Life
In The Cup
Of Being Human

Howard (Hal) Thomas Manogue, was born in Philadelphia, and is a forerunner to the Indigo children, a now age term for misfit with an intuitive nature, a desire to know his truth with a gift of giving and sharing. Hal retired from the shoe industry after 35 years of sole searching, and discovered his real soul. He enjoys art, music, philosophy, psychology, nature and people.

His poems have been published by: Mystic Pop Magazine, Children Of The New Earth Magazine, New Age Tribune, Seasons Of The Soul Newsletters, Lightship News and Writers In The Sky Newsletters. His essays can be found on www.ezinearticles.com and www.selfgrowth.com .
Hal’s Blog and Website: http://halmanogue.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"> http://halmanogue.blogspot.com/ and www.shortsleeves.net He lives in Franklin Tennessee.

Hal’s new book Short Sleeves Insights: Live A Ordinary Life In An Non-Ordinary Way will be in print in April. Visit any book store or Hal’s website to get a copy. Hal’s third Collection Of poetry: Short Sleeves A Book For Friends will also be in print in April.

Adventures in Consciousness: Seth on Birth, Death, and Afterdeath
Compiled by Paul Helfrich

“What you consider death has no more basic reality than has your idea of time and space. Death really represents a blind spot in your present ability to perceive energy transformation, and even value fulfillment. Death merely represents the termination of your own perception, that is, the termination of your understanding. Your ability here amounts to a complete dwindling of comprehension. Your senses are not equipped to perceive the transformation of energy from one form to another.

“Certainly the birth of a child is really basically just as incomprehensible, but this transformation is projected into, rather than out of, your sphere of understanding. What you call death is merely the transformation of you own energy onto a sphere that cannot be perceived by the outer senses.” The Early Sessions, Book 2 of the Seth Material, session 44, April 15, 1964.

“Birth is much more of a shock than death. Sometimes when you die you do not realize it, but birth almost always implies a sharp and sudden recognition. So there is no need to fear. And I who have died more times than I care to tell, write this book to tell you so.” Seth Speaks, Chapter 2, session 513, February 5, 1970.

“Using the inner senses we become conscious creators, cocreators.” Seth Speaks, Chapter 2, session 515, February 11, 1970.

“I am using your own terms here. By ‘dead,’ therefore, I mean completely unfocused in physical reality.

“Experiences with [the] projection of consciousness and knowledge of the mobility of consciousness, are therefore very helpful as preparations for death. You can learn the after-death environment beforehand, so to speak, and learn the conditions that will be encountered.” Seth Speaks, Chapter 9, session 535, June 17, 1970.

“Again, as mentioned earlier, an individual can be so certain that death is the end of all, that oblivion though temporary, results. In many cases, immediately on leaving the body there is, of course, amazement and a recognition of the situation. The body itself may be viewed, for example, and many funerals have a guest of honor amidst the company – and no one gazes into the face of the corpse with as much curiosity and wonder.

“Now I have told you that thoughts and emotions form physical reality, and they form after-death experience. This does not mean that the experiences are not valid, any more than it means that physical life is not valid.

“Of course, it is only because most people believe that you cannot leave your body that you do not consciously have out-of-body experiences with any frequency, generally speaking, in your lifetimes. Such experiences would acquaint you far better than words with some understanding of the conditions that will be encountered.” Seth Speaks, Chapter 9, session 536, June 22, 1970.

“In out-of-body experiences from the living state, many of the problems are encountered, in the terms of space, that will be met after death. And in such episodes, therefore, the true nature of time and space becomes more apparent. After death it does not take time to go through space, for example. Space does not exist in terms of distance. This is Angel illusion. There are barriers, but they are mental or psychic barriers.” Seth Speaks, session 537, June 24, 1970.

“This form will seem physical. It will not be seen by those still in the physical body however, generally speaking. It can do anything now that you do in your dreams. Therefore it flies, goes through solid objects, and is moved directly by your will, taking you, say, from one location to another as you may think of those locations.

“… However, you cannot as a rule manipulate physical objects. This body is yours instantly, but it is not the only form that you will have. For that matter, this image is not a new one. It is inter-wound with your physical body now, but you do not perceive it. Following death, it will be the only body you are aware of for some time.” Seth Speaks, session 537, June 24, 1970.

“In physical life there is a lag between the conception of an idea and its physical construction. In dream reality, this is not so. Therefore, the best way to become acquainted with after-death reality ahead of time, so to speak, is to explore and understand the nature of your own dreaming self. Not very many people want to take the time or energy.” Seth Speaks, session 538, June 29, 1970.

“In many ways then, you are ‘dead’ now – and as dead as you will ever be.” Seth Speaks, session 539, July 1, 1970.

“Your rooms are full now of thought-forms that you do not perceive; and again you are as much a ghostly phenomenon now as you will be after death. You are simply not aware of the fact.” Seth Speaks, session 540, July 6, 1970.

“The very words ‘life’ and ‘death’ serve to limit your understanding, to set up barriers where none intrinsically exist.” Seth Speaks, session 540, July 6, 1970.

“Ideas of good, better, best can lead you astray, for example. You are learning to be as completely as possible. In one way you are learning to create yourselves. In so doing during the reincarnational cycle, you are focusing your main abilities in physical life, developing human qualities and characteristics, opening new dimensions of activity. This does not mean that good does not exist, or that in your terms you do not ‘progress,’ but your concepts of good and progression are extremely distorted.” Seth Speaks, session 541, July 13, 1970.

“In all cases, the individual creates his experience. I say this again at the risk of repeating myself because this is a basic fact of all consciousness and existence. There are no special ‘places’ or situations or conditions set apart after physical death in which any given personality must have experience.

“Those who understand thoroughly that reality is self-created will have least difficulty. Those who have learned to understand and operate in the mechanics of the dream state will have great advantage.” Seth Speaks, session 546, August 19, 1970.

“Do not place the words of gurus, ministers, priests, scientists, psychologists, friends – or my words – higher than the feeling of your own being. You can learn much from others, but the deepest knowledge must come from within yourself. Your own consciousness is embarked upon a reality that basically can be experienced by no other, that is unique and untranslatable, with its own meaning following its own paths of becoming.

“You share an existence with others who are experiencing their own journeys in their own ways, and you have journeying in common, then. Be kind to yourself and your companions.

“You Make Your Own Reality – Wherever You Travel, and in Whichever Dimension You Find Yourself.”

“You are given the gift of the gods; you create your reality according to your beliefs; yours’ is the creative energy that makes your world; there are no limitations to the self except those you believe in.” The Nature of Personal Reality, Chapter 22, session 677, July 11, 1973.

“Each present moment of your experience is dependent upon the future as well as the past, your death as well as your birth. Your birth and your death are built in, so to speak, together, one implied in the other.

“You could not die unless you were the kind of creature who was born, nor could you have a present moment as you consider it. Your body is aware of the fact of its death at birth, and of its birth at its death, for all of its possibilities of action take place in the area between. Death is therefore as creative as birth, and as necessary for action and consciousness, in your terms.” The Nature of the Psyche, Chapter 8, session 783, July 12, 1976.

“Dying is a biological necessity, not only for the individual, but to insure the continued vitality of the species. Dying is a spiritual and psychological necessity, for after a while the exuberant, ever-renewed energies of the spirit can no longer be translated into flesh.

“Inherently, each individual knows that he or she must die physically in order to survive spiritually and psychically. The self outgrows the flesh. Particularly since [the advent of Charles] Darwin’s theories [of evolution], the acceptance of the fact of death has come to imply a certain kind of weakness, for is it not said that only the strong survive?” The Individual and the Nature of Mass Events, Chapter 1, session 801, April 18, 1977.

“But I don’t know how death works,” Emir cried.

“Of course you do,” Inspiration answered, somewhat crossly. And suddenly, surprising himself, Emir did know how it worked. He began speaking again so clearly and beautifully that this time everyone and everything listened in amazement. Was that Emir? they wondered. How did he learn to speak so well?

Emir said: “This way everyone lives in a body of a kind for a while, and then leaves its body behind so that it can be remade for someone else. That’s a very simple explanation, but it will do for now. Then all new life has a chance to live, and lots of room. Then we each take turns, so we can come back in new bodies when there’s space available. Emir’s Education in the Proper Use of Magical Powers, p. 99.

“It is not understood that before life an individual decides to live. A self is not simply the accidental personification of the body’s biological mechanism. Each person desires to be born. He dies when that desire no longer operates. No epidemic or illness or natural disaster – or stray bullet from a murderer’s gun – will kill a person who does not want to die.” The Individual and the Nature of Mass Events, Chapter 1, session 801, April 18, 1977.

“It is quite obvious that people must die – not only because otherwise you would overpopulate your world into extinction, but because the nature of consciousness requires new experience, challenge, and accomplishment. If there were not death, you would have to invent it – for the context of that selfhood would be as limited as the experience of a great sculptor given but one hunk of stone [to work with].” The Individual and the Nature of Mass Events, Chapter 1, session 803, May 2, 1977.

“Freed by death from the conventional frameworks of thought and belief that surrounded me, I have gained in death insights and comprehensions of the greatest consequence. Ironically, I wonder why these did not come to me in physical life, where certainly I could have put them to as good a use – particularly when it is obvious that they were as available in life as in death – and I am convinced that only certain beliefs and attitudes of mind make these insights psychologically invisible.” The Afterdeath Journal of an American Philosopher, The World View of William James, Chapter 1, January 25, 1977

“Death has its own pleasures, allowing you to comment in leisure upon your own time, seeing what came before and what after, and judging how many of those future developments you saw or understood in their embryonic form.” The Afterdeath Journal of an American Philosopher, The World View of William James, Chapter 3, February 7, 1977.

“Immediately following my death I slept out of habit, but gradually did so less and less as my sensations of time altered.” The Afterdeath Journal of an American Philosopher, The World View of William James, Chapter 7, March 8, 1977.

“Therefore I can say that other lives of mine are waiting to be reviewed, studied, and explored as if they were journeys taken by me in other lands in which I changed my name, occupations, and took on other family obligations and relationships than those I consider my own. I realize, nevertheless, that some of those ‘other selves’ may well consider my life as belonging to them and they may well explore the life of William James from their own standpoints as peripheral to their own intents, pursuing it as you might study, perhaps, the life and times of a favorite historical character to whom your family tree says you are related.” The Afterdeath Journal of an American Philosopher, The World View of William James, Chapter 10, March 29, 1977.

“Nevertheless, I feel myself growing out of myself in a certain fashion. My adopted characteristics are becoming too small and cramped to contain my new growth and development and I will move on most certainly to larger psychological quarters. It is not only the physical body we outlive, but the psychological house we have chosen.” The Afterdeath Journal of an American Philosopher, The World View of William James, Chapter 10, March 29, 1977.

“Two elements in my present state are particularly significant to me, when I compare it to physical life. For one thing, my psychological and ‘physical’ mobility is astonishing, and my sense of freedom feels, at least, unlimited.” The Afterdeath Journal of an American Philosopher, The World View of William James, Chapter 10, March 30, 1977.

“Nowhere have I encountered the furnishings of a conventional heaven, or glimpsed the face of God. On the other hand, certainly I dwell in a psychological heaven by earth’s standards, for everywhere I sense a presence, or atmosphere, or atmospheric presence that is well-intentioned, gentle yet powerful, and all-knowing. This seems to be a psychological presence of such stunning parts, however, that I can point to no one place and identify it as being there in contrast to being someplace else. At the risk of understating, this presence seems more like a loving condition that permeates existence, and from which all existence springs. … While I mention this presence as itself, so thoroughly does it pervade everything that attempts to isolate it are useless. All theological and intellectual theories are beside the point in the reality of this phenomenon.” The Afterdeath Journal of an American Philosopher, The World View of William James, Chapter 10, March 31, 1977.

“Specifically I have not called this knowing light an entity, in terms of personhood. Yet I am sure that it possesses a psychology far divorced from any with which I have ever been acquainted; that it knows of my curiosity and examination and is not annoyed, but invites it.” The Afterdeath Journal of an American Philosopher, The World View of William James, Chapter 10, March 31, 1977.

“Proof for the existence of the soul and its immortality cannot be found, as I once hoped it could be, by any assemblage of facts, but through direct knowing, direct experience, which can yield a comprehension of those psychic events—but in a different order of knowledge entirely. ‘The proof is in the pudding,’ and such evidence would result in a far better world, of course. But more important, in the meantime each man or woman who succeeds in rediscovering biological and spiritual faith receive evidence of that ancient heritage through a complete regeneration of body and mind.” The Afterdeath Journal of an American Philosopher, The World View of William James, Chapter 13, May 26, 1977.

“… death itself is the delivery – a deliverer – of your species and all others. It is not negative in itself, but instead is the beginning of a different kind of positive existence. It prunes the planet, so to speak, so that there is a room and time for all, energy and food for all. Because of death, life is possible, so these two seemingly opposite qualities are simply different versions of the same phenomena.

“If death disappeared on your planet [for] even an hour all of life would soon be threatened. And if all life possible suddenly emerged at once, then most surely all would be annihilated. We must admit, then, that death is indeed a part of life – and even more, we must say that death is healthy.” The Way Toward Health, Chapter 3, March 13, 1984.

Summer is Winter

Today is tomorrow, and present, past,
Nothing exists and everything will last.
There is no beginning, there was no end,
No depth to fall, no height to ascend.
There is only this moment, this flicker of light,
That illuminates nothing, but oh! so bright!
For we are the spark that flutters in space,
Consuming an eternity of a moment's grace,
For today is tomorrow, and present, past.
Nothing exists, and everything will last.
– Jane Roberts, The “Unknown” Reality, Vol. 1, p. ix.

“One can imagine how much of the fear in our society would disappear if a new view of ‘death’ were to become real in our lives—if we came to realize that we couldn’t nonexist if we wanted to.” – Willis Harmon, Global Mind Change, Legitimizing the Transpersonal

“You go to your ‘death’ singing.” – Joseph Campbell, Reflections on the Art of Living

“As a physician I am convinced that it is hygienic…to discover in ‘death’ a goal toward which one can strive; and that shrinking away from it is something unhealthy and abnormal which robs the second half of life of its purpose.” – Carl Jung

“One in full quest of the spirit knows that the goal of life is ‘death’.” – Joseph Campbell, Reflections on the Art of Living

“I intend to live forever – so far, so good.” – Steven Wright, Comedian

“What happens if you get scared half to death twice?” – Steven Wright, Comedian

A customer comes into a Pet Shop to return a parrot that appears to be dead, that he had purchased thirty minutes earlier. The sales person, who is a take off on one of those tenacious used car salesmen who will say or do anything to make a sale, vehemently denies that the parrot is dead, only resting. After going round and round for 5 minutes the customer finally shouts in exasperation: “ 'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!” The Pet Shop Skit, from And Now For Something Completely Different, Monty Python’s Flying Circus.

“Normally, we do not like to think about death. We would rather think about life. Why reflect on death? When you start preparing for death, you soon realize that you must look into your life, now, and come to face the truth of your self. Death is like a mirror in which the true meaning of life is reflected.” – Sogyal Rinpoche, Tibetan Wisdom for the Living and Dying

“Dying is truly a labor, the same term we use for birthing. Though the body may be frail, a person’s spirit near the end becomes very powerful. If we look past the throes of death, we can experience this spirit saying, ‘I am going toward the moment when I am going to break free of the body.’ When that intention arises, the grasping, fearful, undeveloped aspects of our nature have to give way.” – Nancy Poer

“The gate that gives me life is the gate that gives me death. Only a few understand this intuitively.” – Lao Tzu

“If one can find out what the full meaning of living is, the totality of living, the wholeness of living, then one is capable of understanding the wholeness of death. But one usually enquires into the meaning of death without enquiring into the meaning of life.” – J. Krishnamurti

“As, after casting away worn out garments,
A man later takes new ones,
So, after casting away worn out bides,
The embodied Self encounters other, new ones.” – Bhagavad Gita, II. 22

“True philosophers are always occupied in the practice of dying.” – Plato, Phaedo

“... all spiritual practice is a rehearsal – and at its best, an enactment – of death. As the mystics put it, 'If you die before you die, then when you die, you won't die.' In other words, if right now you die to the separate-self sense, and discover instead your real Self which is the entire Kosmos at large, then the death of this particular bodymind is but a leaf falling from the eternal tree that you are.

“Meditation is to practice that death right now, and right now, and right now, be resting in the timeless Witness and dis-identifying with the finite, objective, mortal self that can be seen as an object. In the empty Witness, in the great Unborn, there is no death – not because you live forever in time – you will not – but because you discover the timelessness of this eternal moment, which never enters the stream of time in the first place. When you are resting in the great Unborn, standing free as the empty Witness, death changes nothing essential.

“Still, every death is so very sad in its own way.” – Ken Wilber, One Taste, p. 233.

“The art of living well and the art of dying well are one.” – Epicurus

“They say that I am dying, but I am not going away. Where could I go? I am here….” – Sri Ramana Maharshi

“Who is the ‘You’ who creates ALL its reality?” – Paul Helfrich

“In my end is my beginning.” - T.S. Eliot, “East Coker”

Journey Into Light
by Nardine Neilson

Here I am in this now not knowing where to go
yet within my spirit I'm trusting in the flow
for all of us are living pledges from our heart
that set us on this journey way back in the start

we each picked out the role we wanted to fulfill
this focus learning energy feels like going up a hill
from that peak we get to see the choices we have made
to feel & know within our hearts we need not be afraid

for life is simple pleasures lived in every moment
when our heart beats lovingly we simply need to own it
we did not come with manuals that show us what to do
if anothers pain appears from something we may do

I choose and trust the process in this moment if we be
aware that what I give out always returns to me
express love and acceptance in naught need we defend
for Gods’ own higher workings are our assured end

that doesn't mean that we have nothing we need do
it means to show persistence and live each Now anew
to find our way and know in recognising that
we all can carry baggage when viewing from the back

so let us all agree that everyone of us
has valid reasons to perceive I deserve the fuss
yet that will get us nowhere in sharing love and joy
we need to feel the pleasures in this life as we enjoy

each and every moment with its triumphs and its trials
has potential always to guide us onto smiles
I would ask that you each see me as I am
a truly loving spirit growing as a human

and when I look at you there also do I see
a truly loving spirit seeking to be free
we can truly honour one another as we are
if when we look to blame we recognise the star

within each one of us eternal shining bright
that is the pledge that joins us
our Journey Into Light

A Dream, A Question, and A Promise: Chapter 3
by Pamela Gibson

Editor's note: A Dream, A Question, and A Promise is the true story of Pam's loss of her friend in a violent murder. To read the first Chapter, please visit the April 2008 Sethnet Journal.
The Day Following the Murder, Continued

After Jeff pressured me to make a statement, my mind turned over on itself in an endless loop de loop the way it does when I’m afraid. What should I do? Could I really tell the cops no? Would I have to testify? What could I do to protect myself from Jaaku? Had he told his thugs where I lived? Should I stay with friends? What should I do?

I decided to ask Dad. The habit of command still sat heavily on his retired Air Force Colonel shoulders and we often butted heads, but he was solid-as-a-rock when I needed some one to lean on.

That evening, cool trade winds gusted through the open north and east windows of my living room, billowed the yellow curtains and played a tune on my bamboo wind chimes. The living room lamps were off in case someone was watching my apartment, but the lights of Honolulu reflecting off of the jalousie glass shed sufficient light to see the numbers on the phone.

I filled my folks in. “I don’t care what the cops told you. I don’t want you to make a statement,” Dad said.

“No, dear, you shouldn’t,” Mom echoed, her gentle voice camouflaged by static on their portable phone.

For once, the three of us agreed. “I’m scared. I think Jaaku was coming to work to murder some of the supervisors. Maybe some firemen too because he thought they’d crossed him.”

“What makes you think so?” Dad asked.

“Jaaku was cock sure he’d be promoted to Captain last December but the chief gave the job to someone else The next day Jaaku went on annual leave for two weeks, then called in sick every shift for a whole month. Yesterday was the day he had to come back to work with a doctor’s excuse or be fired.”

“How does Vic play into all of this?”

“We’re guessing Jaaku wanted Vic to give him a ride because his own car wouldn’t start. At least, the hood of his Toyota was up. Jaaku probably showed Vic his .357 magnum and told him he was going to ‘blow away some shirts’ and Vic said, ‘No way!’” I couldn’t stop my voice from trembling. “They argued and Jaaku plugged him with the bullets he meant for us and—“

“Now, wait a minute, honey. You’re jumping to a whole lot of unfounded conclusions. There are a few things I want to ask you. Okay?

“Okay.”

“Did you ever go out with this Jaaku character?”

“No way!”

“Did you ever do anything to make him mad at you?”

“No. I worked real hard not to upset him because I was afraid of him.”

“Did you ever actually see him commit any crimes?”

“No. He just told me about the things he did.”

“That’s good.” The relief in my father’s voice was a balm to my frazzled nerves. “Everything you’ve told me is hearsay evidence and inadmissible as evidence in court. A man will tell a girl lots of things if he wants to impress her.”

“The police want me to make a statement, Dad. They say they’ll need it to show the judge.”

“Oh, horse feathers! Don’t you do it. The cops are lying to you, Pam. It wouldn’t be admissible in court anyway. All the things you’ve told me about are hearsay. So take my advice and don’t tell the cops anything.”

“I’ve already told them a lot, off the record.”

“Well, that’s okay then. You’ve done your duty as a citizen. But don’t sign your name to anything. Now listen to your dad. I’ve sat on a lot of court martials and put more God-damned criminals behind bars than you can shake a stick at. I know how the courts operate. Don’t make a statement.”

“Okay, I won’t.” I breathed a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to. “I’m afraid of what Jaaku’s thugs would do to me if I testified against him.”

“I can certainly see why you’d feel that way, dear,” Mom said. “And you wouldn’t want to say anything that would make him mad at you, that you’d have to repeat in court.”

I thanked them for the good advice. A few minutes later their lifeline voices were gone and I felt alone and lonely in the sudden silence. My mind turned to Vic, how humorous and upbeat and brave he’d been. How would I ever find a path through the darkness I’d fallen into without his sunshine smile to light my way?

The Second Day Following the Murder

I was working swing shift (four to midnight) on A-shift when the assistant chief asked me to call Mike, Lino, and Emilio to the chief’s office to talk to the detectives. A fireman sat in for me while I headed to the front office to use the restroom there. I spotted Jeff and Andy and waved.

“We’ve been talking to Jaaku,” Jeff said. “Have you been getting obscene phone calls?”

That stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t want to talk about that but there was no escaping Jeff’s executioner eyes so I stalled and said, “You mean, in the station?”

“Have you EVER received any obscene phone calls?” Jeff frowned. “You come in here and sit down.”

Reluctantly, I obeyed. “One. At my apartment.”

“When was this?” Jeff watched me like an owl watches a mouse.

“A couple of months ago, shortly after midnight, right after I got home from work.” I felt a flush of embarrassment at the memory and hoped they wouldn’t ask me what he’d said.

“Did you recognize the voice?” Jeff asked.

“No.” I’d mentioned it to Vic and some of the other firemen the following night as they sat in the adjoining assistant chief’s office and we “talked stories.” I told them the caller had a local accent and I didn’t recognize the voice. I now told the detectives the same thing I’d told Vic, “It wasn’t Jaaku.”

The detectives just looked at me and then at each other. A glance over my shoulder revealed Emilio leaning against the secretary’s desk in the front office, looking like he’d rather be somewhere else. “Do you want to talk to Emilio now?” I asked.

“You mean, in the station?” Jeff smiled. “Yes. We’ll talk to you later.”

I felt smug in the knowledge that he wouldn’t.

Emilio told me later that he and Lino and Mike would be subpoenaed to testify that Jaaku showed them his loaded guns when he brought them to the station. Emilio had been a friend of Vic’s and I figured that’s why he volunteered this information to the cops.

Still, the news that the firemen hadn’t told the chief about the guns stunned me. Sure, they worked as a team and depended on each other in life and death situations. But the idea that you don’t turn in your buddy no matter what he does struck me as highly unethical. Perhaps the local tendency to stick together with other locals played into Emilio’s decision to stay quiet. Or maybe he, like most of the firemen, either believed Jaaku was just a bunch of hot air or was afraid of him.

What a bunch of wusses these big strong firemen were! The only fireman I knew with certainty had not been afraid of Jaaku was Vic Lazzarini. But then again, Vic was dead.

The Third Day After the Murder

The next morning I awoke with a knot in my belly and an overwhelming feeling of loss. The pain moved into my chest and gripped me so hard that I stayed curled up in a fetal position on my futon and cried and cried and cried.

I’d felt numb since the murder, a sleepwalker propelled by adrenaline, just going through the motions of living. Now I saw Vic in my mind’s eye so clearly I could almost touch him. He crossed his muscular arms across his chest, looked at me with those azure eyes of his, shook his head at my foolishness, and dropped one side of his mouth in mock reproach the way he did when he teased me. As waves of grief rolled through me I could almost hear him saying, “Can’t you see? I’m right here, Snake.”

Hours later the waves receded and I lay like a rag doll on my tearstained mattress, completely spent, my puffy eyes covered with ice cubes wrapped in napkins. A strong impression of Vic slapping his chest, amazed and delighted to discover that he still existed, popped into my mind. Then four blows in rapid succession jarred me with a punch-like impact. It was eerie and I trembled.

Part of me wondered if I was losing it but the rest of me thought I might be experiencing a connection with Vic. I’d read in one of Seth’s books that emotional ties are what facilitate contact between the so-called dead and the living. All That Is certainly knew I was crazy about Vic. Maybe my love and grief were drawing his spirit near.

“Hi, Vic.” I don’t know why I whispered. “I think you’re here.” My head tingled the way it does when I experience something psychic in nature. I decided that was confirmation and thanked Vic’s spirit for “moseying on by” to comfort me. A feeling of peace enveloped me and I fell asleep, the cold soggy napkins still soothing my eyes.

I didn’t wake up until 3 p.m. and had to rush to get to work by four. That evening, Assistant Chief Bob noticed my bloodshot eyes and asked me if I was okay. Tears welled up and threatened to flow if I tried to speak, so I swallowed the lump in my throat and shook my head.

He pressed his warm hand to my shoulder. “I’m right next door if you need to talk.”

When darkness fell, I dimmed the lights so no one could see me crying through the two-way glass. I consoled myself with the thought that midnight was mere hours away and I’d have the next two days off.

The Fourth Day

Loud knocking on my front door set my heart racing and dashed my hopes of sleeping in. It surprised me to see Red until he told me that he was on drop day, referring to the three-day break the firemen get after they’ve worked three shifts in a row.

He folded his long, lean body into my faded couch, looked at me with his freckle-speckled face, and glanced at his wristwatch. “I called the prosecutor’s office. The preliminary hearing starts at District Court in 45 minutes. Want to go?”

“Yes! Oh, thanks for staying on top of things.”

“I thought you’d want to go.” Red smiled and cocked his head playfully, the way he did when he wanted to make me smile. “After all, you and Vic were tight. He was my pal, too, and Annie’s. He’d want us to be there.”

My eyes misted up. “You’re a true friend,” I said.

He drove me downtown in his Ford pickup. When I asked him if Annie was working he said, “Yes, but she’s going to take a few hours off and meet us there. Her brother, Grip, is already there, talking to Jaaku.”

“Grip? Like, ‘Get a Grip?’”

Red laughed. “Real name’s Pat. He used to wrestle professionally and was known for his iron grip, hence the nickname. Now he’s a deputy sheriff. Anyway, he knows Jaaku and wanted to talk to him before the hearing, about what he didn’t say.”

“How does a deputy sheriff know Jaaku?” I asked.

“I took him with me to a poker game at Jaaku’s place once,” Red said. “I think he went back on his own a couple of times.”

District Court was in a large building on Alapai Street. Red drove around for fifteen minutes before he could find parking, then we ran up the three flights of stairs to the courtroom because the elevators moved too slowly. We spotted Chief Jacobs in the hallway and he said the hearing had just started. Red pushed the heavy koa wood door open and we hurried inside.

We sat down on a long wooden bench to the right of the doorway. A dozen or so local people, most of them Jaaku’s family—mom and dad, sisters, cousins, in-laws, nephews—sat on benches to the left. Red and I were the only spectators from the fire department.

Jaaku sat at a large desk beside a short bald man, both of them wearing suits, at the front of the courtroom. I found it ironic that Jaaku had a “Buddha Head,” as he called a person of Japanese descent, for a lawyer.

I had a clear view of Jaaku’s profile and it struck me how much he looked like one of the demons that the Dutch painter Hieronymus Bosch drew into his paintings depicting Hell. Jaaku’s rust-colored hair was clipped so short it looked like he had a dirty skullcap on. His nose was large and bulbous, the skin on his face pockmarked, and a long scar zigzagged across his left cheek. His small black eyes nervously scanned the room and when they landed on me he smiled. I looked away.

I recalled how, when I was his captive audience in the alarm room, Jaaku wouldn’t look me in the eyes unless he was the one doing the talking, and then he fixed on me and never lost eye contact. I listened carefully because I knew he craved attention and if I didn’t give it to him he’d feel disrespected and stab me in the back. He wasn’t much of a listener himself and when someone else was talking his eyes scanned the room as they were doing now.

Detective Jeff was on the stand. The prosecuting attorney standing beside him asked, “And what made you think there was foul play?”

“Blood on the hand but no injury to the fingers, as there should have been if the deceased fell grasping a gun in his hand. Perfect grip on the gun; very unusual. Most of the time, the gun falls out of the hand when a person is shot in a standing-up position. Also, the two shots fired into the cement floor of the garage caused fragments to fly and lodge in the body. These fragments flew in a pattern consistent with the deceased’s right hand being on his chest, not extended out from his body as he was found. And one more piece of evidence that’s indicative of foul play—“

“Objection.” Jaaku’s lawyer stood up.

“Yes, Mr. Nozawa?” said the Chinese judge.

“I move that the detective’s judgments be stricken from the record on the grounds that he does not qualify as an expert witness.”

“I’ve been in homicide for eleven years. I’ve seen hundreds of homicides,” Jeff said. His gray eyes took in the spectators as he waited for the judge’s decision.

“This is an important point,” Red whispered. “If the detective’s opinions aren’t allowed, the State will have a weaker case.”

“The court will allow Detective Yamaguchi’s observations,” the judge said. “Objection overruled. Continue, detective.”

“The gun found in the deceased’s right hand was a pellet gun with half of the handle missing,” Jeff said. “It was inoperable because it could not hold a cartridge.”

“Jaaku planted a gun that wouldn’t even fire in Vic’s hand,” I whispered. Red nodded. A tall, olive-skinned, Irish/Filipino man sporting a handlebar mustache squeezed past Red’s knees and sat between us. He and Red whispered back and forth for a few minutes and then Red pointed at me.

The man twisted to face me and said in a low voice, “You’re Pam?” I nodded. He smiled and extended his hand, “I’m Annie’s brother Grip.” I shook his hand and he added, “I was talking to Jaaku before the hearing. Have you been getting obscene phone calls?”

“One, about two months ago. Why?”

Grip grimaced. “That lying bastard—excuse me, Pam. Jaaku was ranting and raving for more than half an hour, telling me how Vic was making all kinds of obscene phone calls to you. Jaaku said he was threatening to report Vic to the chief for harassing you and that’s what the argument was about.”

“He’s lying through his teeth,” I whispered. “The caller had a distinct local accent. It couldn’t have been Vic. Why is Jaaku saying that?”

Grip shrugged. “I don’t know him that well. I just played poker and downed some suds with him and some other firemen a couple of times. Seems like kind of a flipped-out dude.”

Jaaku’s upstairs neighbor, a thin Filipino man named Ernesto, took the stand and testified that he had heard six rapid shots followed by silence. Then he ran down the stairs that led into the garage and saw Vic lying on the floor, his head in a pool of blood, and Jaaku nowhere around.

“Where was Vic’s right hand?” the prosecuting attorney asked.

“I not too sure.” Ernesto spoke in a thick pidgin accent. “I was tripping on the blood around his head, you know. I was flipping out, just looking at all that blood.” “Ernesto’s beholding to Jaaku. I doubt if he’ll tell the truth,” Red whispered to me and Grip. “Jaaku said he scored reds and pot for the Flip upstairs.”

After Ernesto’s testimony, Emilio followed by Lino and then Mike were called to the stand. The three firemen testified that they’d seen Jaaku bring a dagger, a pellet gun, and a loaded .357 magnum to the fire station. They identified the weapons shown to them as looking like the same weapons except that the pellet gun did not have a broken handle when they had seen it four months earlier.

Grip whispered something to Red, shook my hand again, and left. “Grip said there’s enough evidence to hold a trial, no doubt about it,” Red whispered. I had assumed Jaaku would go on trial, but Red said if it had been an obvious case of self defense, as Jaaku claimed, there’d be no need.

The judge called a recess and everyone filed out of the courtroom and into the hallway. Annie, her high heels loudly clicking on the tile floor, walked over to us and Red filled her in on what had transpired. After hearing about Vic’s right hand found gripping the pellet gun she said, “Pam, wasn’t Vic a leftie?”

“Maybe he was.” I searched my memory banks. “I remember one of the ramp truck drivers filling out the fuel spill reports with his left hand. But which one? Was it Vic or Tim Johnson? Do you know, Red?”

“No. But maybe you should mention it to the detectives.” Red turned to Annie. “Speaking of hands, did I tell you Pam read mine?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “She said you’re going to marry me.”

I’d only said that he would marry by the time he was thirty or so but I let it slide. “I just know the main lines so I’m not a full fledged palmist. But it’s fun to read palms.” Then I remembered Jaaku’s hands. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Red asked.

“I just thought about the time I read Jaaku’s palm. It was a real freak out.”

“Why?”

“Because he has murderer’s thumbs.” If only I’d known to warn Vic.

“Really?” Annie’s eyes widened. “What do they look like?”

“They’re shaped like cave man clubs. They indicate a violent temper and a tendency, when angered, to reach for any weapon that’s handy.”

“Did you tell Jaaku about it?” Red asked.

“I only told him he needed to control his temper. But he blew it off. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear.” I thought about that night in the alarm room when I gingerly held Jaaku’s sweaty palm and saw those clubbed thumbs of his. The thumbs of a killer, looking exactly like the ones in my palmistry book.

I’d read Vic’s palm earlier that night and told him that his large Mound of Venus indicated he was a great lover. Actually, it only meant he had a passionate nature which could manifest in any number of ways but, hey, I was flirting. Vic gave me a skeptical look so I figured he didn’t take me seriously. But maybe he did because he talked about it to Jaaku, who soon scurried into the alarm room, waved his hands in my face and demanded, “I one great lover like Vic, or what?”

“I wouldn’t mention it to the detectives,” Red said. “They’re going to want ‘the facts, ma’am, just the facts.’”

“I know what you mean.” I kind of liked the idea of telling the detectives. Maybe they’d figure me for a nutcase and I wouldn’t have to testify.

“Doesn’t it seem like, just when things are going good, God zaps you with something like this?” Annie said. “As if to say, ‘You think you’ve got it together? Let’s see how you handle this one.’”

I was thinking about her words and wondering if All That Is would ever operate in such a capricious fashion when she said, “I’m going to talk to Mrs. Cardoza for a minute.” Red and I watched, stunned, as she walked over to where Jaaku’s family was talking by the drinking fountain.

“Why would she talk to Jaaku’s family?” I asked.

Red shook his head. “Beats me.”

I spotted Jeff down the hall, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, looking Jaaku’s family over. “I’m going to talk to Jeff,” I told Red, and he answered that he would wait there for Annie to come back.

I made a beeline for Jeff. At the same time a short, scowling local man left Jaaku’s family group and headed my way. He stopped about a foot away from Jeff and me and wordlessly glared at us both. Jeff ignored the man and raised his eyebrows at me.

“There’s something you should know,” I began. Then I paused, wondering why the stranger didn’t back off and if I should talk in the hostile man’s presence.

“Yes?” Jeff asked. He continued to ignore the man. Taking the cue from him, I told him that Vic might have been a lefty.

“Really? That would help. I’ll ask his family when they arrive in a few days.” He fixed me with an appraising look and said, “You’re not scared, are you?”

I frowned, shook my head and turned away, unaware that I was in total denial. Red told me later that the short local man was the “bad-ass brother-in-law” who, Jaaku claimed, helped him burglarize homes on the windward side.

Red and Annie now stood opposite the courtroom door, arguing. I joined them as Annie announced, “I’m going back to the office.” She marched away to the staccato beat of her high heel shoes.

“What’s wrong?” I asked Red.

He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Oh, I got mad at her for talking to Jaaku’s mom. She said she just didn’t want it to look like it’s the haoles against the locals, you know. She told Mrs. Cardoza that she felt sorry for her and her family in this time of trouble. Mrs. Cardoza told Annie that she’s really angry at her husband because he doesn’t want to put up their house to raise the bail for Jaaku but she does and they’re fighting about it. I told Annie I couldn’t care less about Jaaku’s family, and she got mad and left.”

“I’m with you. We’ve lost Vic, that’s what I care about. What about Vic’s poor family? I’d say haoles are the victims here.” I glanced at the piece of paper taped inside the courtroom door. “Two more people to testify. The other detective and Chief Jacobs.”

We agreed that we’d probably heard everything we needed to hear. As Red drove me home, I told him I’d reconsidered and decided Annie had a point, that Jaaku’s family wasn’t to blame for the murder. Red said he was thinking the same thing and was going to give Annie a call after he dropped me off.

Later that afternoon, the fire chief phoned. “Jaaku’s bail has been set for $50,000,” he said. “That’s unusually high for a murder case. It’s usually twenty grand.”

The Fifth Day

It angered me that Jaaku had told the detectives Vic was making obscene phone calls to me. He didn’t care if he destroyed Vic’s good name, didn’t care about anything except lying his way out of a murder conviction. Well, I wasn’t going to stand by for it. That obscene phone call wasn’t hearsay evidence; it was something that actually happened to me. Jeff wanted a statement, so I would give him one and, at the same time, prove to the cops that Jaaku was a liar. I called the number Jeff had given me.

“Homicide,” said a brusque voice which I recognized as Andy’s. He told me Jeff wasn’t there. I thanked my lucky stars and asked Andy if I could talk to him instead and make a statement. He sounded pleased, said yes, and made an appointment with me for half an hour later. With a little luck, I’d be gone before Jeff returned.

The central police station wasn’t far from my apartment, in an old, congested part of town where metered parking was hard to find. The peeling brown building struck me as depressingly stark. I waited on a hard wooden bench in front of the receptionist’s cubicle while one of the office girls phoned Andy to tell him I was there.

A few minutes later Andy, looking boxlike in his black suit, so wide he had to ease sideways through a narrow side door, smiled, shook my hand, and escorted me down a long hallway past several doors. He opened one of them and motioned me into a room furnished only with a small wooden table and two folding chairs.

“Care for a cup of coffee?” he said.

“Yes, just cream please.” The coffee tasted bitter and strong but its warmth was welcome in the icy-cold room. “I’d like to make a statement about that obscene phone call.”

A look of disbelief followed by disappointment traveled across Andy’s face. “Why?”

“I heard Jaaku was telling lies about me getting obscene phone calls from Vic and I want to set the record straight. And because I now think the obscene caller was Jaaku.”

“Why?” Andy repeated.

“Because it was someone with a local voice who must’ve known my work schedule because he called as soon I returned home after the swing shift. And he must’ve known that P. Gibson, as I’m listed in the phone book, was a woman.”

Andy raised his eyebrows. “If you make a statement about this, you’ll have to tell us what the caller said.”

“I have to repeat that? It’s embarrassing, you know.”

“The judge will ask you to repeat it if you’re called upon to testify.”

“Surely,” I thought, “I won’t have to testify at a murder trial about something as inane as an obscene phone call.”

He added, “You can either write it down or speak into a tape recorder.”

I opted to write it down. Andy handed me a form and I wrote, “Last December, on a Sunday night at 12:30 a.m., a few minutes after getting home from work, I received an obscene phone call at my apartment.”

“He said, ‘I want to kiss you all over, I want to smell your panties, oh, I’m coming right now,’ and other rude things like that. I wanted to scream into the caller’s ear but I was afraid he’d call back sometime and scream into mine. So I quietly hung up the receiver and unplugged the phone. The caller had a local accent and I listened carefully, thinking he might be Jaaku. But I didn’t recognize the voice.” The sound of that raspy voice, fevered and insistent, was etched into my memory.

“The next day at work, I told some of the firemen about it. Six of them were sitting in the Assistant Chief’s office, which is adjacent to the alarm room. There was Terry Henderson and Jack Lewis and Tim Johnson and Lino Badua and Keith Brown and Vic Lazzarini. When I told them I’d received an obscene phone call the night before, right after work, from a local guy, Vic asked, ‘Was it Jaaku?’ I told him no.”

Andy read my statement, rubbed his chin, and said, “Jaaku could easily have disguised his voice. Why did Vic ask, ‘Was it Jaaku?’”

“Because Jaaku’s a pervert and everybody knows it.”

Andy escorted me to the front door. He thanked me for coming down but he didn’t look happy about it. I felt uneasy at his reaction but also relieved that I’d made a statement and hopeful that doing so would get me off the hook with Jeff.

Back at my apartment, a note was scotch-taped to my door. It read, “Vic’s family arrived in Honolulu today. The funeral’s set for Friday. Red.”

“You’re the best, Red,” I thought, “I owe you.” Maybe there was something I could do for Vic’s family. I decided to drive over to his place the following morning right after I returned home from working the midnight shift.

About Pam:

Pam recently finished an article on bullying in Hawai’i’s public schools and is currently working on an article about connecting children with nature.

A few weeks ago she heard back from Barbara, the real-life sister of the murdered man she calls *Vic in “A Dream, A Question, and A Promise.” Barbara and Pam have kept in touch all these years. Barbara wrote:

“I just finished reading the two volumes you sent on *Vic’s story. I can hardly believe that he has been gone 24 years now. I enjoyed reading them, as they gave me more insight into his life. 

“I hope that writing helps you to get closure on some of this.  I wish you much luck with your songs and writings. What a wonderful way to put your story into word and song.” (Note: Barbara is referring to Pam’s song “Angel Heroes” which she dedicated to *Vic a few years ago.)

Pam says, “I’m delighted that you enjoyed reading this and that it gives you more insight into *Vic's life. Just the process of writing about those days again after all these years gives me more insight too. It’s truly a labor of love to gather my memories and former writings and weave them together into this narrative. I’m enjoying the process and I’m happy to finally be fulfilling my promise to *Vic.

“It’s hard for me to believe it's been so long too. I've got stacks of paper and three-ring binders filled with previous attempts to write this story. Once I finish this final version, I'm going to throw reams of the old writings away. Right now they’re a great resource, as I forget some details from long ago until I reread what I wrote before.

“And thank you for wishing me good luck with my writings and songs. My musical collaborator and I have a new version of Angel Heroes that we think is first rate, but he is having a hard time getting the superb singer he wants for this new rendition. Please stay tuned:)”

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Join Dale Evans each Tuesday 4-5 p.m. (Eastern) on Yahoo Instant Messenger for Group Energy Games. Connect with IntuitiveFacilitator on Yahoo IM for an hour of energy fun and games.
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Dale Evans is an Intuitive & Psychic Coach and Energy Worker who has been studying, teaching, and exploring metaphysical phenomena for over 40 years. Her teachings incorporate direct personal experience in order to foster and nurture self-acceptance and trust in one's natural abilities. Dale is also a published poet, newspaper reporter, and freelance journalist whose work is seen in print and on various websites, e-zines and online journals. Visit her website at www.ItAllBeginsNow.com.

Explore the works of Visionary Artist Shirley Hadley!

The photographs you see below were created by Shirley in her studio, and not through electronic manipulation. Each photo is available in 5x7 or 8x10 and includes a poem that goes with the photo.

Entrance to Awareness
The journey of the self is
to see without using your eyes
to hear but not with your ears.
Listen to your inner voice, it will lead you
to an awareness of new ways to view your
selves and the world you live in.

New from Sharon Hackleman, author of Marion the Magnet



MIND TIME CARDS

"Mind Time Cards are a deck of 31 inspiring positive daily affirmations created by Sharon Hackleman and illustrated by Jessica Glickman. The SOUL purpose of creating the Mind Time Cards is to teach teens about the magical powers of positive thought and the importance of feeling good about themselves-
Spirit, Mind, and Body!

$9.95
FREE SHIPPING
when ordered on mindtimecards.com

"We are all connected...intertwined...by a universal energy so divine." - Sharon Hackleman

Sethworld - A board game based on the Seth Material

Explore your beliefs! Stretch your imagination! Delve into your dreams! Challenge your creativity!

Seven years in the making, I am so pleased to be able to offer you SethWorld - The Game of All That Is! SethWorld is a totally unique game, the first metaphysical board game based on the Seth material - maybe the first metaphysical board game, ever! It is designed to explore and uncover beliefs while having fun. There are no winners, no losers, and NO RULES! A 24-page pamphlet included with the game gives a probable framework for play, 6 sample "moves," and a glossary of 61 concepts.

SethWorld -- You've never played anything like it!

WHAT A COINCIDENCE Understanding Synchronicity In Everyday Life
by Susan M Watkins

Overview:

What if all those seemingly insignificant little What a coincidence! moments you've experienced were actually connected, were part of a larger, more complex coincidence story?

What if they were hinting at something very personal and important about yourself—and about the workings of human consciousness?

Would you listen?

Susan Watkins does. For more than 35 years she's been documenting and studying the coincidences that have happened in her life. What she's discovered is that seemingly simple coincidences—thinking of an old friend and their calling seconds later, for example—are often pieces of larger, more complex and meaningful "coincidence clusters."

A former newspaper reporter and the author of five books, Watkins has always been intrigued by coincidences—what they mean in our everyday lives, and in the grander scheme of things. What, she asks, do these coincidence clusters say about human consciousness and human connection? In What a Coincidence! she presents coincidence clusters that are utterly astounding. What they reveal is life- altering.

What a Coincidence! is an exciting, groundbreaking journey. Along the way Watkins offers profound insights as well as practical pointers on how to become aware of the coincidence clusters in our own lives. She also shows us how to document coincidences so that we, too, can reap their valuable rewards. We'll never brush off those What a Coincidence! moments again.

BAY AREA SETH GROUPS

If you live in the San Francisco area you'll want to check out the new Bay Area Seth Groups website. Their calendar is chock full of events hosted by seven different groups around the Bay area.

Conscious Creation Links – Conscious Creation Publishers, Book Stores, Websites, Journals, Newsletters, Mailing Lists, Message Boards, and more.

The Elias forum - website by Paul & Joanne Helfrich contains an expansion of many of the conscious creation concepts introduced by Seth/Jane Roberts, channeled by Mary Ennis.

What if the Seth material was a foundation to be expanded later by other channeled sources? Can any perennial source ever be considered complete AND infallible?

Seth readers will want to check out:
Introduction & Overview
A Seth, Elias Comparative Overview (Updated!)
Digest: Seth, Jane Roberts

In The Rose Garden - a blog by Joanne Helfrich who channels the essence of Rose as mentioned in the Elias forum.

The Kris Chronicles - an expansion of many of the conscious creation concepts introduced by Seth/Jane Roberts, channeled by Serge Grandbois.

A Kris, Seth, Elias Comparative Overview (Updated!) - a preliminary comparison of core concepts in the Seth material, information offered by Elias, and Kris Chronicles

Otherfocus.com the personal website of Donald R. Johnson

Explore the creative worlds of John McNally and Kristen Fox Cofounders of the Conscious Creation Website and Email group John and Kristen share interests in writing, art, photography and cooking which they explore on a variety of websites:

John and Kristen's new Green blog: It Should Be Easy Being Green
Intuitive Astrology site: Psychic Weather
Writing: Mind Altering Fiction
Photography: Telepathicfrog
Cooking: Food Follies
Shop: Telepathic Frog Designs
Shop Powered By Tshirts

Kristen's weblog: FoxVox
Art & Photo Gallery: Art of FoxVox
Art & Photo Prints: Deviant Art
T Shirt Reviews Tshirt Casserole