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“Our only life,” he said, “is the expression of the Is, of Love. Not what we do, but love itself. You have no way of understanding this, while you live in the world of spacetime, the land of beliefs of harm and death.”
“You’re telling me I can die any time?”
He laughed. “The love you know, it can’t die. The annoyances, the hatreds, the wish that things could be different, gone the minute you let go of the world that seems to be. Gone. What’s real, what does not dissolve, that’s yours forever.”
“Soon as you realize you’re immortal,” he said, “declare the power of Love even when it seems invisible, you’ll go far beyond the illusions of space and time. In all history, the one power you never lose is your power of letting go of space and time, the joy of dying that is no wicked thing, it comes in love, to everyone.”
“Then, who are you? Are you an image, a friend who’s just a thought-form, comes around when I’m ready to die?”
“We’re all shifting out of the belief of mortals,” he said. “I’m shifting, too. “
“What do you look like? When you’re not wearing your thought-form for me?
“I look like nothing. No form. Maybe a faint little sparkle of light, maybe not.”
“Some day that’ll be me? I’m a friend of yours, has no form?”
“Some day? How about now?”
Chapter 13
I don't pray for the Is to recognize me.
I pray for me to recognize It, perfect everpresent Love, way beyond my silly beliefs
After eleven months of believing the power of Love, I thought I was pretty well invulnerable from failure. I could walk, run, I felt light and healthy, didn’t want to be what I was before.
My assistants, those dear souls who had helped me every day, were gone to other patients, the story of my success part of their own.
I was cooking my little meals, exercising on my own, caring for the Shelties.
Thinking back, as I did every day, I wondered. I understand there’s no such thing as death, the total end of awareness. I understand we can shift from one consciousness to another, a smooth easy switch, easy as keeping, easy as losing a dream.
Why, though, did I have the event in the room/dirigible, with no one to say a word for me? Everyone else, dying, had some kind words from the people here. Yes, someone had printed the Please don’t fall out of the door sign. Honestly, though, I didn’t need the sign. I would have welcomed a guide, explaining what I saw:
“Welcome to your dream of the after-life. I am your conductor for this ride. We wish we could have supplied an airplane for you, but considering the haste of your journey, my idea of a flying machine had to do, so we hope you’ve been comfortable. You will have three chances to stay here, or go back
to Earth…” someone was correcting him: “…or go back to the Earth you know. Please speak clearly for your three answers.”
“Some of your tour you will not recall, as those may suggest different choices from your designed lifetime. We hope you have enjoyed your tour, and hope that you will not share it with anyone. Your tour has been solely designed for you and will not be a journey for others.”
Dreams done, back now to my decisions as a mortal.
I saw my friend Dan Nickens after I had healed from the crash. He offered me a guest room in Florida, at his house and Ann’s. I don’t do that often. Ever. Yet meeting the tests and the obstacles two years ago, with him flying our little seaplanes coast to coast…the worst was the sharks in the Gulf of Mexico, the sands of Death Valley…that’s a different story, but we were friends.
Our adventure now was to discover whether I still knew how to fly.
Dan and Jenn, his own airplane, a twin to Puff, how important they are for us! After the crash, Dan had flown the same path that Puff had flown. Almost, since the wires had been reconnected.
“No way you could have seen them,” he said. “They were blocked by the sun, they were sitting up on the final approach. Your only choice was to have flown final approach the other direction, in a tailwind.”
“Makes no difference,” I said. “I was responsible. I was flying the airplane.”
“I know. You just couldn’t have seen the wires.”
Dan mentioned, by the way, that Jenn had a spare set of wings and tail feathers…would Puff like to have those? She’d be welcome to them, if she did.
Amazing, I thought. Puff’s right wing was mostly wreckage, her tail was smashed, an accordion crushed against the ground. Yet, the two airplanes had flown together across the country, they shared all those miles together, lakes and rivers and deserts. Now Puff was down. Jenn, her sister, offered life of her own.
