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PATRICK HEARS VOICES by KATHY VIK

Copyright, 11-2-2013

**********Patrick Hears Voices, Chapters One through Four******************************

This novel is being written and posted in real time as part of NaNoWriMo 2013. Each year, writers around the world set aside November as the month they will write a 50,000+ word novel in 30 days.

This is my attempt at this bizarre feat. It is a novel for lightworkers, talking about stuff that matters to me, and it is my offering to you.

My work can be found on the web at www.deeplyawake.tumblr.com, www.lightworkers.org, www.citiyofshamballa.net, and www.templeilluminatus.com as well as patrickhearsvoices.wordpress.com.

If you are moved to support me with donations during this time of creativity, please contact me by private message. Any support at all will be greatly appreciated.

Yours, sincerely,

Kathy Vik

*************************************************************************

CHAPTER ONE

“I sat there, Ellie,” Joan continued, “ Stunned. I was just stunned. It was like the whole thing got real, real still, and I could see all the way through this problem I've had with Ken. It was the weirdest thing. I mean, I could see how I hurt him, some of it really surprised me, actually, and I could see all the outcomes neither of us expected, and I could see we really do love each other, more than we can admit, I'm afraid.”

“But the thing, is, Ellie,” Judy said, “I felt so much disappointment for all the bad, mean choices he keeps making. I mean, how long will this go on? Good night!” Judy shook her graying head slowly, thinking thoughts she was sure no one else could fathom

“I saw this last nonsense as a last straw, though, Ellie. I think I'm finally at the point of saying 'fuck it.'” Judy, quite improbably, giggled at that.

They looked over at the duck in the grass. This was their favorite park, where they usually ended up when they found time for one another. The geese waddled by, their bills making that wooden clacking sound, squeezing out an occasional honk.

“So,” Ellie asked, “He just keep repeating the same pattern?”

“I've been indulgent, been willing to be ok with him pursuing other people from time to time, I mean, it was embarrassing, but I put up with it.” Judy clucked her tongue. “I did what I had to do. But this?”

Judy had not shared the details with Ellie. Ellie was sort of glad.

“You're always welcome with us, Judy. We have four vacant rooms, now. Just consider it an open invitation. We're around if you need us, ok?”

“I know I say no to your invitations more than I say yes, Ellie, I think I’m going to take you up on it this time. I think a little time away would be good for me.” Judy surprised herself with how forceful her 'yes' felt. She turned away to look at the pond, and felt so many emotions, all at once, she found herself only being able to surrender to the moment. From her left eye, a tear bubbled and flew onto her cheek. Surprising, the force of that first tear.

“I think I might finally be ready,” she sighed, feeling oddly relieved. “ Jonathon won't be back until spring. He's in Bolivia, did you know?”

Ellie reached out and took Judy's hand.

“I thank you. I just...” She drifted into silence, and they sat in her stillness. Then they hugged, held onto each other, until it felt right to let go, which was a very long time, indeed.

Judy had been her friend for many years, but had always been held at a considerable distance. Judy was a proper lady, a saint, Ellie had thought, more than once. Ellie was devoted to her Jonathon, her son of 21, in college, happy, debt free, a junior at Denver University, studying art in a place she'd always longed to travel, mysterious South America.

She had decided when he was born that she would love him regardless. That this would be her stance, her gift to him. Regardless of his behavior. Regardless of his tantrums, regardless of really anything, really. Regardless of what she might have to do to give him what he needed to be just as fulfilled as he could be, to grow up with every advantage. Regardless. And so, perhaps it is my time, Judy thought, drying her eyes and wiping her nose on her sweatshirt sleeve.

CHAPTER TWO

Ellie was a social worker by day, and a bit of a mystic by night. She and her husband Bill lived in an ancient Victorian on Capitol Hill in Denver. They lived in the attic apartment, had made the space funky and intimate.

In the morning, they'd emerge from their happy privacy into layer upon layer of crazy house. All deep mahogany wood, brass and stained glass. It was all sort of shockingly impressive, when they first moved in.

She imagines the wood saying, “Hey, you know, you really should take me much more seriously than you do.” The sea green tweed wallpaper the wood offset often whispered to Ellie, “You know, you should listen to him. He's very respectable.”

Other things in this old house said different stuff to her, the red velvet in the dining room her favorite, because of its sense of humor.

Bill was her husband of, now, 30 years. They met in college, typical cliché. They'd clicked from the start, though, and there it was. Undeniable. Rock solid.

They had deliberately decided, as a team, after they'd landed their first jobs, that they liked and respected each other enough, trusted each other enough, to leap off the cliff that was making a big, rowdy bunch of little monsters.

They wound up having five, and there were often sometimes more than two to a room, because Bill was, at the start, a high school art teacher, and she was pulling nearly volunteer wages as a social worker.

Through the years, Bill gained recognition for his free lance projects, and his former students, and Ellie got smarter in squeezing nickels out of purses. She roamed her industry for jobs, taking weird gigs shift to shift, doing hospice, even, until she finally got in with a school district.

When things were their worst financially, the month they were closest to actually sinking financially, actually, Bill's parents had been on a ski trip. They were jet setting types, and had great fun at home, mountain hiking with senior clubs. They frequently vacationed in places his mom thought “looked pretty on the interwebs.”

There had been an accident on the way home, and although both of them survived the initial injuries, his parents both succumbed to complications. Bill took it real hard. Ellie was working hospice at the time, which helped a lot, Bill always said, when thinking on those days.

In the estate, there were many surprises. It was good, sort of healing, when Bill and his brothers sat around the table and looked at what their parents had done with all that they had. There were rental properties, bonds, donations to a number of charities none of them had ever heard of, trusts, and three old Victorians, one for each of them.

Bill, Tom and Ted were three salt-of-the-earth types. They'd pursued different interests, Tom a mechanic, and Ted a salesman. They got together “often enough,” they each said, and each had a hunch they'd be seeing less of each other now that things had changed so drastically for each of them.

Bill and Ellie and their kids soon had enough leisure to pursue hidden interests, and all of them developed a far more open attitude toward life. It was funny how knowing she had cash in her pocket, that she could afford anything, really anything at all, her focus narrowed and expanded all at once.

It became easier for each of them to just relax a little bit, and it had been, they all agreed in the end, a big fat miracle. Bill's folks were loved by their family in life, duly grieved, and nicely honored With the passage of time, things got back to a whole new normal for the Benz'.

Bill and Ellie, over time, nicknamed their humble little mansion “The Light House.” It was a happy place to be, the kids a constant wonder, a never ending loud parade of emotions and situations and conundrums and firsts. Bill added a studio to the property, and worked from home. Ellie worked part time at the nearby high school, just two day s a week.

And then, one by one, their birds flew the nest. The house was still warm and bright, but Ellie had come to see they were lacking discovery, belly-laughs, conflicts and resolutions, that only a big clan can provide. “Contrast,” Ellie muttered, thinking these thoughts from under her down comforter, in the pre-dawn moments between night and day. This was her favorite time of day, and was glad she woke up to enjoy it today.

She wouldn't wish that sort of hurt on anybody, Judy's sort of hurt. That's a hard road to walk, Ellie thought, studying the skylight that had fascinated her all these years, the tree's branches bumping up against the wall, like fingers on her skin.

To have a guest! This is wonderful!

CHAPTER THREE

Ellie was essentially a happy sort, not too brought down by things, and this trait got stronger as the years progressed. She was often asked what her secret to happiness was. The only thing she knew to say was a little story, one she only told those who asked her persistently for details.

It was her first year in college. She was burning it up, just tearing it up, gobbling up knowledge like a beggar at a feast. It was the year she came into herself, in a way, and she says to those who ask, it was one spring night on the quad, when she realized that this dream really could come true, that she could spend three more years here and then do what she really felt called to do. She had sat there and realized that everything that had led her to this moment on this quad, that it was all ok, and it was all over.

Ellie did not go into social work because she was ill adjusted and seeking help. She got into it because she had been raised in a family that was hard on her, critical and unkind, abusive. She had her horror stories, but, during her first year in college, it was as if there had been a group exorcism. Many of her peers began to see, with each success and triumph, done by themselves without help or intervention, that they were capable people.

She was surrounded by other privileged white kids, many who'd started that first year with haunted eyes and fear in their step. Day by day, her group of friends became more confident, and so it went.

Ellie sat there that night and decided to just forgive it all, to let it all go, and to be done with it. She said she imagined digging up the quad, there in her prayer, and burying every single sadness and terror she'd ever known. But the thing was, when she went to the box where all of the sadness was, and she lifted the lid, she saw a flash of silver, and then all of those problems just turned into butterflies, and floated off into the moonlight.

“I had to decide,” she tells those who ask, “Is it going to be ok to be weird, to stick out, because I love it all? Can I do this, just be ok with everything, love everything, see the good in everything?” Then, she always concludes with a shrug, and a smile.

Ellie, being a tender-hearted soul, was fortunate in meeting so bold and creative a man as Bill. He loved teaching, and what started as a study partner became the guy whose shaving goo she scoops off the sink every morning.

She'd been in deep reverie, thinking on that crisp spring night all those years ago, when waking up this morning. When be began to stir, she wrapped herself around him, greeted him joyfully and skillfully. Now they were laying side by side, holding hands, listening to morning's birds and heavy traffic.

Their thoughts went forward into the day at hand, each mentioning things they wanted to get done before they laid down together again.

Bill was lecturing at the history museum today, and Ellie was going to school.

Through the years, it had come to feel less like a war zone and more like a prison, at this high school. She'd worked prisons. She could feel the oppression when she parked her car outside of the massive school. She looked into the rear view mirror before lumbering out of her Mini Cooper, “I hold light in dark places,” she said. Then she winked, smiled, and gathered her purse and lunch.

It was gray today, ice on the ground, the first of a forecasted week of early cold. Odd, to have this sort of deep freeze in October. As unpredictable and changeable as Denver weather could be, she'd gotten used to its cycles. Things felt like they were changing yet again.

After her requisite sarcasm and banter with Doug, The Security Guy, something she did daily, she settled into her office. Her first day on the job, she thought it looked more like an attorney's than a counselor's office. She charmed a few folks, and soon enough, she had nice lighting, two old, beat up leather reading chairs, sitting at just the right angle, eastern art on the wall, and an adequate sound system. Why not.

She dealt with the usual heart breaking stuff, a lot of just dumb acting out, and then, just once in a while, she encountered someone unusual, someone she knew she was there to meet.

She'd had this experience with kids before, just a couple of times. Kids in transition, in terrible scrapes, some of them. It took finesse and discretion, and knowing how to play the game correctly, but the kids who most needed The Light House, got The Light House. She and Bill had raised what Bill affectionately called, “the strays,” kids whose story line just somehow ended, and yet, they still needed to go on.

Henry had parents who had to relocate for a job, but he was in his senior year and didn't want to leave his friends. He was living in an apartment when Ellie met him, getting stoned and shaking in his shoes, most of the time. Ellie found out he was living on next to nothing, his parents' hopes having not panned out. Henry moved in, bunked with the boys, and within a couple of years, was at Metro State. He went on to be a police officer.

There had been others, through the years, but it had always been a situation that could have but one outcome, she and Bill helping. Bill was good at negotiating things, and when the kids were underage, he did the legal things that made everything on the up and up.

The day she met Patrick had been like any other, tending to the calendar, eating lunch in the cafeteria with a handful of kids who would have otherwise probably eaten alone, but quietly.

She was in her closet, locking her file cabinet, when there was a knock on her door.

Darkening its frame was a pimply kid of no less than 6'6”, bulky, muscular. Dressed in a letter jacket, leaning slightly to the left, because of a huge, overstuffed green backpack.

“Hi,” Ellie started. “How can I help you?”

Patrick didn't say a word. He later explained it was because he couldn't.

He made his way, without invitation, into the armchair below Ellie's only window.

Ellie closed the door, and took her place.

“Can you speak?” Ellie asked.

Patrick slowly hung his head, shook it, and sighed.

“OK.” Ellie adjusted herself. “You may have heard, I am a bit of a talker. But I can see that the best thing here is to just be still. Can I hold this space for you? Is that ok?”

Patrick slowly nodded, and his head came up, his face smiling a reserved smile.

After what was an impossibly long silence, no music, no thinking, just silence, Patrick shook himself awake, and Ellie saw a spark of who this kid might be.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Benz,” Patrick stammered. “That was really weird.”

“Can you tell me what was going on just then?” Ellie asked. “I'm just curious. You don't have to tell me.”

“No, it's good,” Patrick began. “I was at the locker, putting stuff in my backpack. And I was just standing there, and then, I just got the weirdest feeling. I felt really, really good all of a sudden. I mean, really, really, really good.”

Silence again.

The school bell rang. Day's end.

Patrick roused himself. “So, I was standing there feeling this weird, just full on weird happiness, and then it was sort of over. I didn't recognize where I was right at first, when I came out of it. Things looked sort of weird. And then,” he blushed, “I got the craziest idea that I had to come in here. I had to sit here. I didn't even know this was here, this chair and stuff. Oh God, this is weird.”

Ellie leaned over and patted Patrick's arm. “It's not as weird as you think. I know what you're talking about. I've had that happen to me, too.”

Patrick's eyes were green, with a star burst of golden yellow, surrounding his pupil. Although they were sitting in their respective chairs, they got a real good look at each other, just then. Patrick saw a short, vibrant woman, sort of a cross between Kathy Bates and Robin Williams.

He asked, “Well, besides you, do you know of anybody who has had this happen to them, this weird feeling thing?”

“Yes, I do. I have many friends who have had something like you are describing also happen to them. It's not that weird, you know,” Ellie said. “Not a lot of folks have it happen, but more do, every day, and people get hits of it, little hits of it, all the time. Some don't let it in. Some do. At least,” Ellie paused, “At least that's what I think. You were ready, that's all.”

“Well,” Patrick stirred, kicking his backpack awkwardly, “I guess that's it.”

“What is your name?” Ellie asked.

“I'm Patrick. Patrick Sweet.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Judy's room was on the second floor, across from the bathroom. Her room's recessed french doors opened to a small patio overlooking the back yard. She was glad of it. This was a busy part of town. She'd spent nearly forty years in Bel Mar, a sedate and established tiny community in Lakewood.

Judy liked her porch, with her bird feeder and cafe table and chairs. They were currently covered in snow, so she sat in front of the windows, looking at the larks. She could dumpster divers in the alley.

Judy had never worked, although she'd tried her hand at a few trades. She was a hobbyist in life, and until now, this had suited her very nicely.

She thing she enjoyed most was travel. She'd amassed scrapbooks, and now, memory sticks, full of pictures of where she'd taken her family through their time together. She had an unusual pep in her step this morning. She'd gotten the idea that the best thing for her would be a trip.

She'd recently learned there is a word describing the fluttery, excited feeling she got whenever she was planning a trip. She couldn't remember the word just now. She liked feeling this again.

Her husband was leaning toward a quick and painless divorce. It appeared she would be handsomely rewarded for putting up with his shit for as long as she did.

Ellie and Bill had made things easier than she'd expected. Most of her belongings would wind up in storage, but what was around her she enjoyed, and she felt comfortable, planning the next little bit, under their roof.

Ellie had mentioned, over dinner last night, how she wanted to go to Laughlin again someday. They both loved to gamble, penny slots and poker. Neither of them did it often, but they had, through the years had a few adventures, chasing jackpots. They had agreed, last night, that they were overdue for some fun.

Sipping her coffee, listening to ruffians flip over dumpster lids below, Judy smiled and switched on her netbook.

PATRICK HEARS VOICES IS COMPLETE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PATRICK HEARS VOICES, THE LIGHT HOUSE By Kathy Vik

***Facebook, Temple Illuminatus, Saviors of Earth and City of Shamballa don't allow such long posts. Please, please, go to the wordpress or the lightworkers.org site to read the novel, ok???***

Here it is, my lighthouses! This is a novel about unusual people, people like me, like you, those who are harmless, kind and awake.

This is a book written for NaNoWriMo, an annual event with international participants, a bunch of dreamers who decide to use November as the month to write a novel, 50,000 words in 30 days.

Please keep in mind, this is a sfd, as Anne Lamott would call it. It's the first draft, and it's rough, but it sings, it really really sings, and the changes I'll need to make will be minimal.

Please enjoy this work, share it, but PLEASE, include the copyright, include my websites, and include your thoughts on it.

Writing is less a solitary act than I'd been led to believe. I feel more populated, more in-company now than at any other time in my life. But, hearing form you, knowing how you feel about what I've done, this matters to me. It matters.

Please be generous with your thoughts, and if you are in a position to do so, please consider donating to me. My shift work dried up this month, allowing me to write this, but, guys, I'm in a world of hurt at present.

I know that this is what comes next, and I am unworried about how things will proceed. I feel confident about Patrick, Ellie, Bill, Bernie, Daniel, Indra and Kevin. I know where they're going, and as I write this, they are all laughing and saying,”That's what you think.”

Tell me what you think, and if you want to tell me with your credit card, I won't turn your generosity away. I'll celebrate over it, and probably cry, and pee, a little bit.

I love you, my dear reader, and hope that you find joy and love in the story in front of you. It is given to you from my heart of hearts, and I send it out, now, with profound reverence for what I have been blessed to give to you, my dear dear friend, someone I want only to comfort, encourage, embolden and soothe.

You can follow my work at

on facebook under Kathy Vik and Deeply Awake,

www.deeplyawake.tumblr.com

www.lightworkers.org/magartha

www.ascensionfieldnotes.wordpress.com

and

www.patrickhearsvoices.wordpress.com

You can donate to the cause by emailing me at amissvik@gmail.com.

PATRICK HEARS VOICES, Chapters 22 - 26 , By Kathy Vik NaNoWriMo

While writing this for all of us, a novel to and for and about lightworkers, I am asking for whatever financial help you feel moved to provide me. Private message me, or contact me at amissvik@gmail.com. My PayPal account is under amissvik.

Follow my work at:

www.deeplyawake.tumblr.com

www.facebook/deeplyawake

www.lightworkers.org/magartha

www.cityofshaballa.net

www.saviorsofearth.com

www.nanowrimo.org/amissvik

and

www.wordpress.com/patrickhearsvoices

As I am re-writing, for continuity's sake, as I go, so I will post this as a book, in case you haven't been reading a long, on my wordpress site. It's fun to just read along, bit by bit, but also fun to read the thing in one block, if that's your thing.

And here were go.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

By seven, the hall was filled and there were a few folks seated on the floor. A few were sipping coffee, others were already meditating.

A calmness came over the gathering, and folks naturally became still, having stowed away their refreshment in that odd place between not being ready, and being ready.

Kevin came from the lobby area then, and slowly walked up the aisle between the folding chairs. He looked at everyone's heads, and began to feel more and more expanded as he walked.

By the time he;d taken his seat on the stool, his vision was blurred, and he could appreciate huge colorful hazes coming from each of the participants.

He'd been told by what he called The All, to say his prayer out loud. It was important, she'd written through him just recently, for others to see how it is he communicates to The All.

He settled himself on his stool, smiled, got every person's eyes for just that one moment of connection, and then, he closed his eyes, and began to speak.

Afterward, he always felt invigorated, almost giddy. So far from his usual social stance, it had taken time for the others to trust his altered demeanor. Within about an hour, the energy seemed to dissipate enough to become more reigned in, less enthusiastic. Kevin found that enthusiasm worked best on established friends. He'd found early on that he overpowered folks unaware of his abilities if he didn't dial it way, way back. He'd taken to the gifts of silence, and it was only after a transmission like this that he felt no filters, no social constraint.

He was just coming off this state when Patrick came to him, looking troubled.

“How did you know?” Patrick asked.

Kevin remembered little of what had gone on this night. He'd been called away, farther away than usual. “I'm sorry, Patrick, but I have no recollection of what was said, at the moment. Some of it filters back to me with triggers, but it's inaccessible to me at present.” he studied Patrick, the relief that seemed to wash over him. “Do you want to tell me what was said? I'm always curious, when I get so knocked out. You telling me is the only way I have of recapturing it, sort of.”

Patrick was considering this when Kevin added, “But, hey, don't tell me anything you don't want me to know. It's yours, if I'm gone. You own the message, I'm just a messenger, you know? Some letters from home you just don't feel like passing around, I get it.”

Patrick saw how Kevin’s face seemed to glow, a happiness crowning him somehow. His eyes glittered, in that simple building, with its retro lighting and weird grandma smell. He wondered just how much he should let Kevin into his own mind.

Patrick thought, then, about the message he'd been given, and he felt a stirring he could neither explain nor argue with. Without editing himself, without worrying what Kevin might think of him, he began.

“You were explaining The All, and this beautiful concept that The All is The One, and The One is The All. It was so beautiful. And then,” Patrick hesitated, thinking on the event, “You opened your eyes, looked right at me, and told me things only me and my mom know. It was like she was in the room. I could smell her, man.”

Patrick shook his head, and continued. “You told me, or she told, or, oh my god, I don't even know how to talk about this stuff!” Patrick exclaimed in frustration.

“Try this,” Kevin said. “If you feel it was your mom's essence that talked to you, you can just say that. Or just say 'she.' That's fine.” he patted Patrick's shoulder and urged him to continue.

“She looked at me and told me she wanted me to have proof that we go on. She said she wanted to be dead before I got to the hospice, so that she could embrace me as I found out. She told me her nurse and she used to be married, and she wanted to spend those moments making things right with him.” The words tumbled out of Patrick without filter, one long rush of disbelief.

Patrick took Kevin's hands then, and asked with all of his heart, looking inky those murky eyes of his, “How?”

Kevin disengaged from Patrick, shrugged, and said, “I don't know. I'm willing, I guess. I'm glad you got a direct message. Usually things aren't quite so pointed. It's unusual, really. Are you doing ok?”

Patrick smiled broadly, and told Kevin exactly what was in his heart, “I don't think things could be better, Kevin. I really am ok. Thanks for this, Kevin. Thanks a lot.”

After Valerie and Indra got done cleaning up the kitchen, stowing the coffee urn in its moldy spot in the broom closet, they joined Kevin and Patrick folding the last of the chairs. The building was chilly, the heat having been turned down a half hour ago.

Indra said, “That was quite a time, Kevin. I don't know how to thank you.”

This never ceased to puzzle Kevin, in a vague way. Kevin was asked to do for them something he so enjoyed, he knew in a real way that he lived just week to week, session to session, on some days. He felt honored for being invited, and here was someone thanking him!

“Really, honestly, the pleasure is all mine,” Kevin said, as he bowed low, like an English gentleman.

They locked up as a group, and walked over to their parked cars, the last four in that part of the parking lot. The liquor and grocery stores were still getting traffic, but at this end of the mall, businesses were already closed for the night.

“Oh, say!” Kevin said, “I forgot to bring in the applesauce I canned. Would you girls like a few?” he pushed a button, and his Jeep beeped, letches unhinged, and the lights came on. He popped open the back, and took out two huge Ball jars filled with chunky applesauce. He handed them to the Indra, and then went back for two more. “I've got more than this, if you can eat it.”

Indra laughed as she said, “Kevin, I'll give you forty bucks for six. Not a penny less.” She turned to Indra and said, “This stuff is amazing. I don't think I've had any around for you before.”

He walked a box of six over to Indra's car, spoke to her and hugged her, Patrick saw from the jeep. Valerie was hanging around with Kevin, although she didn't know why. She was tired, and had an hour drive ahead of her.

Kevin returned empty handed, smiling. “That's quite a girl you've got there,” Kevin said. “You want some applesauce now? I have plenty?”

“No, Kevin,” Valerie said. “Indra and I live together. I'm set. I like baking with it.”

“You're not into this channeling stuff, are you, Valerie?” Kevin said, as he was closing the back of his jeep.

“I can take it or leave it, really. I think it's all just rearranging chairs on the Titanic. It makes people feel like they are doing something purposeful, but, really, they're just trying to calm themselves in the midst of disaster. But,” she said, “That's just my take on things.”

She said good night, and thank you, but the conversation had been over with the word “disaster.” Neither Kevin nor Patrick felt welcome in her presence after her speech, and they excused themselves politely, Kevin then pointing to Patrick's car and mentioning his long drive home.

At the car, Patrick asked Kevin how he felt about what Valerie had said.

“To each their own. There's a lot of people living in despair, and it's nearly always impossible to argue them out of it. I just wander away. It gets to bouncing off, after a time. She's mad at something, but it ain't me.” Patrick smiled, liking this old guy more and more as the evening progressed.

“Why don't you come by the house this weekend?” Kevin said. “I mean, Ellie's house. Bill is a basketball fan. There's always a game on.”

“I have to get back to school on Monday,” Patrick remembered. “If I can bring over my books, I'd like that. I have an essay due, and I've been putting it off.”

“What's your dad doing, kid? Would he like to join in? Sports fan?” Kevin trailed off.

“He works on Saturdays, all day, and on Sunday he golfs all day,” Patrick said, suddenly aware of his situation. Now that mom's gone, he thought, there was little for him to do, outside of hanging with friends. But there was no one in his circle who felt equipped to deal with what Patrick had been facing with his mom. A few had grandparents who'd passed on, but no one he knew had lost a parent yet.

Kevin's invitation was accepted, plans were made, loose ones, and they shook hands. Patrick lingered in his dark car for awhile after everyone else had driven off. It was a full moon tonight, and he looked at it through his windshield. He thought about what Kevin had said, what she had said, his mom, tonight.

He slept deeply that night, using his old cat Pal like a farting pillow, and dreamed of worlds he was yet to see.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

“What the fuck?” Bernie said angrily, as she slammed her laptop shut.

“What the fuck, what the fuck?” answered a heavily accented, deep voice.

“Oh, there's an eBay seller who sold me a broken camera,” Bernie explained, “and now she's moved the goal posts regarding her return policy. Shifty little bitch.”

“How much was it?” Daniel asked.

“Three hundred and change,” Bernie reported, matter of fact. “It was a relic of a Kodak. Here. It's in the box.”

Daniel picked up the thing, and played with it, unlatched a gizmo, pulled a couple things, and the camera looked as it did in the eBay printout lining the box.

“There's your problem,” he said in his measured way. “That, and your temper.”

“Whatever, old man,” Bernie said flippantly.

“Oh, I see how this is going to be today,” Daniel said, coming up behind her, putting his arms roughly around her waist. “Old man, am I, today? Luscious.” He nuzzled her neck. “Just luscious.”

“Old,” Bernie said, her words catching in her throat, “old and twisted.”

The two had been on and off again lovers since the mid seventies, day trippers, in and out of psychedelia and new sciences. He traveled in a more esoteric crowd. They rendezvoused once a year at the MUFON conference, and got together whenever his traveling permitted. He lived in New York, summered near Avesbury, and lived most of his time on the road lecturing about ancient civilizations.

They had dinner that night, on the 16^th Street mall downtown. He'd wanted pizza, she'd wanted Subway, so they got their food and ate on a bench. They ate watching passersby, listening to steel drums playing a couple blocks away. It was chilly out tonight, but spring was in the air, something neither one of them wanted to ignore. It had been a particularly harsh winter, in both of their home towns.

Bernie knew that Daniel liked to go the bookstore to visit his own publications. He swaggered even more than usual after such a visit. Bernie just happened to dig him even more when he swaggered.

What was not well known about Bernie was that she was a bit of a groupie. She took the guru thing just a bit further than most, and most people she idolized wound up feeling the same about her. She'd followed rock bands, comics, intellectuals. She'd been able to travel a lot, and had more stories than most decent people have. She was usually proud of her accomplishments, until she hung around someone like Ellie's house guest, Judy. Judy took one whiff of Bernie's story and shut the door. She'd been called a starfucker more than once, and Judy seemed to secrete this word into every conversation they had.

She looked at Daniel, and knew that what was contained in his navy pea Coat was just a scrap of what she was in love with. He was connected. She could feel it. She loved being around him, and others like him. She lived for it. Judy, she thought, can go fuck herself.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

“What are you smiling at?” asked Daniel.

“Just thinking about a friend,” Bernie replied.

They each had an armful of books by the time they'd made it to the ground floor of the massive building. Bernie went to an unoccupied counter and rested her books there, as the patrons in front of them wound through the ropes, shuffling toward one of just two cashiers manning the downtown Barnes and Noble.

Ahead of Daniel was a severe looking woman, dressed in a flannel shirt and work pants. Daniel bumped into her while moving forward in line, and the woman looked at him with distaste. She said, “excuse you” to him, and went back to gazing out into space.

Daniel and Bernie looked at each other and smiled.

At the counter, the pimply clerk ran the lady's cards, and handed her a slim bag, telling her, “You saved ten dollars today, Valerie.”

Daniel and Bernie left the store with four plastic bags, and headed for the train station.

Waiting for the train heading west was the rude woman at the bookstore. She saw Daniel and Bernie approaching, and muttered, “Aw, shit.”

Bernie and Daniel leaned against the handicap ramp, happy to poke through their bags while waiting for a train back to their car.

“Excuse me,” a voice from behind Daniel called out.

Approaching them was the lady from the line, Bernie saw. What joy, Bernie thought to herself.

“Say,” the woman began, “I really wanted to apologize for my behavior back then.”

Daniel stood from his bags and extended a hand, “Not to worry,” he said, in his lilting Scottish brogue.

“Ireland?” the woman asked.

“Scotland. Live near Avesbury now,” he added.

“Well, I'm sorry for being such a jerk. There's something about lines in stores that makes me put my hackles up,” Valerie explained. “I'm Valerie. And you are?”

“Daniel Wheeling,” he introduced himself, “And this is my lovely companion, Bernie.”

“Nice night for it,” Bernie said, lighting a smoke.

“Could I bum one while we're waiting?” Valerie asked.

“If you don't mind unfiltered. I took these off my brother,” Bernie explained. She turned to Daniel and said, “While you're in town, we should go see Ellie. Kevin called me last night and told me they're all getting together tomorrow for, for sports viewing. I know that's not your thing...”

Daniel smiled and thought about The Light House. “I haven't seen Ellie in, wow, has it been two years already?” Daniel said. “Yeah, that sounds good, in the afternoon, though,” Daniel said, smiling what Bernie knew to be a wildly wicked smile.

Valerie boggled at their conversation.

“I'm sorry to intrude,” she said, “But are you talking about Ellie Benz?”

“Yeah,” Bernie said. “She's my sister.”

“You're probably not going to believe this, but,” and with that, Valerie explained of this odd urge she'd been having to call Ellie, go see her, this insistent thing she'd been putting off doing, much like she'd since been putting off her laundry.

By the time the train had arrived, they'd made arrangements for the next day. Bernie insisted Ellie had an open door policy on game days, and Valerie was free to bring a guest.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Ellie long ago made peace with Bill's sports fanaticism. She'd drawn the line at sports radio, but everything else was fine, including letting the weekends be game day at their house.

She used the weekends to work on the house, doing odd projects and major makeovers. When her kids were small, they'd had modest homes, many of them rented. Once they moved into the Light House, Ellie came to discover her love of decorating, puttering, and DIY'ing. She'd gotten all the kids involved, when not doing things with friends, as they began to mature. Those who found themselves at home learned to make wreaths, sand dressers, clean carpets and shop.

Ellie and her kids frequented ARC's, Goodwill’s' and Salvation Army's on weekends, taking advantage of weekend specials, when projects were less compelling than finding a good bargain. Even when the family was no longer living paycheck to paycheck, their passion for deals continued.

Today was not a shopping day for Ellie, but she and Judy had plans to rummage the next day. Today was a game day, and the sooner she got cooking, the sooner she could do her own thing.

Although Bill was the official cook of the house, Ellie had perfected a few recipes, and because they were crowd pleasers, she made massive quantities of them on Saturdays. Visitors usually came with something in their hands, more often than not beer, and it had become the norm that Ellie would provide food for those who strayed over, until 7. The house closed up at 7, that was her other rule.

Today she was making Spam sandwiches, an old family recipe, that tasted incredible even though it shouldn't, and even though everyone knew they were eating Spam, she nearly always ran out on game day.

She ground the Span with her ancient steel grinder, and wondered to herself what she should do today. She'd finished a waterfall dresser last, and it now held the mail, leash and two drawers full of junk, in the foyer. Something fun, she thought, something no one might even see. Maybe I should try watercolors?

She removed her rings and kneaded the pink mixture, her hands red with ketchup. She smiled, thinking how her mom only made these sandwiches for “company.” They were like our good chine, Ellie thought to herself.

She'd started a stock pot of French Onion Soup first thing, and was just going to make a couple boxes of cornbread mix, and then that would be that. She thought she'd go poke around in Bill's studio for supplies while things were cooking. Once the sandwiches were wrapped and in the oven, the meal was on auto-pilot.

Although she'd made enough for twelve today, she really just anticipated a quiet day with Kevin, and maybe, peripherally, with Judy. Bill and Ellie had discovered that Judy preferred her own company when at home, but spent most of her time elsewhere: at adult education classes, church, the rec center, the library, the Y. She'd become more vague with Ellie about her various pursuits as the months had passed since Judy'd moved in. The last time they'd talked was over breakfast a week ago, and Ellie realized Judy was looking like a different person these days, relaxed and unworried. Ellie idly wondered when Judy was going to be moving out.

The doorbell rang, and thankfully Bill answered it, elbow deep in Spam as she was. She looked at the clock and was surprised to find it was already 11. It felt to her, suddenly, as if she'd just gotten out of bed ad dressed. How could it be 11? she asked herself.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

She was washing her hands in the sink when Kevin and Patrick came into the kitchen. Patrick was holding a grocery bag full of vegetables, and Kevin came with two pies.

“How goes it, guys?” Ellie asked.

“I'm doing better. I saw Kevin channel. It helped a lot,” Patrick said, surprising himself with his eagerness.

Ellie wondered what condition Patrick was referring to having seen improvement. She didn't push the boy, but let conversations about these sorts of things be guided by his openness. She was glad he was so comfortable with their odd world.

Kevin made another pot of coffee as he talked about the evening he'd channeled. He'd let Ellie into his channeling after he'd established himself at the Temple. He’d given her one of his notebooks and had asked her to look it over, one night last year as he was leaving after a game day. She called him later that night, and they'd had an amazing conversation about Kevin's abilities. Something had settled between them, from that conversation to this day, something even stronger than the family bond they'd once had. They both liked the change, and encouraged it now, when they spent time together. Mostly, Ellie thought to herself, it still comes down to letting him be mysterious. Ellie grinned, and went over and hugged her brother, just because she was moved to.

Ellie's cell phone rang. It was Bernie, she saw. “Hey, sister,” Ellie said.

“Hey, I wanted to let you know me and Daniel want to come over today,” Bernie said. What do you want us to bring over?”

“What time?” Ellie asked.

“Say 4, give or take.” Bernie said. Ellie could tell Bernie was happily distracted.

“Looks like you get fruit,” Ellie decided. “Just buy it whole and come by 4:30 so I can make it into a salad, ok?”

Ellie heard Bernie muffle the phone and talk. When Bernie came back on the line, she sounded like she was in the bathroom.

“You're not going to poop while you talk to me, are you?” Ellie asked.

“I can wait,” Bernie said. A god-awful sound echoed. “OK,” she said. “We met a woman last night who overheard our conversation at the train station. She says she knows you. I forget her last name,” Bernie hesitated while she flushed, “Wait,” she said.

“You know, that is just so gross, on so many levels,” Ellie said. “Why do you do that on the phone?”

“Poor executive function, I guess,” Bernie said off-handedly. “Anyway,” she continued, “Her name is Valerie something. I forget her last name. It's in my phone, but I don't know how to get at it when I'm talking on the phone.”

“Executive function deficit,” Ellie said, and Bernie laughed.

“I guess you're right. Anyhow,” Bernie said, suddenly bored, “She's short, dressed like a stone cold butch, in her fifties. Ring any bells?”

“A dyke named Valerie,” Ellie said affectionately. “Nope, no bells.”

“well, then, this could get interesting,” Bernie said. “I told her about game day. I guess maybe I should have called you first. I told her she could bring a guest and come over any time after 4.”

“Thank God for that. I'll have to think about it,” Ellie said. “What are you doing til then?”

Bernie was thankfully less graphic about her plans than she was about her bowel movements. Ellie knew Bernie would be more mellow than usual when she came over. Daniel had a wonderfully sedative effect on her sister.

“Well, have fun, Bernie,” Ellie said. “Patrick and Kevin just showed up, and I need to tend to them. See you no later than 4, Bernie, ok?”

Bernie was routinely late to events, and again silently thanked Daniel for being around. He couldn't tolerate being late. “Tell Daniel four sharp, Bernie,” Ellie asked. “I'm sure I'll remember this Valerie, but it'll be a lot less awkward if you're here to make the introduction, in case I don't know her.”

“Oh, I know you do. She talked about you, your house,” Bernie trailed off, “Well, I guess we'll just see. Bye for now.”

Kevin was in the fridge, looked for sandwich fixings. Patrick asked if he could set up his computer in the breakfast nook. “I don't study very well if there's a TV on,” he explained.

“Well, I'm thinking you might like to set up in the den, or the cabin. The cabin gets cold, but there's a lot to look at. The den is just off the TV room, but the door is pretty solid,” Ellie explained.

“How long are you going to be in here cooking and stuff?” Patrick asked.

“Well, I like to use my game days to craft,” Ellie said. “I was thinking about trying my hand at watercolors today. I like doing that in here,” Ellie pointed to a far corner. “I have a card table. It's in the mud room.”

Patrick seemed lonely to Ellie today. She saw him as a lost kid today, Ellie realized. She had trouble shaking feeling bad for the boy. She didn't know why.

“Let's work in here together, if that's ok, Patrick,” Ellie suggested.

Ellie turned to her brother, “What are your plans, Kevin?”

“Kevin took a beat up copy of a Carlos Castaneda novel out of his back pocket. “If you've got food and coffee, I'm good anywhere.”

The three of them passed their day in relative silence. KBCO played, and each found it comforting to be around people who felt no need to fill the air with words. Each pursued their joy silently, happily.

Patrick didn't tell Ellie, during their quiet afternoon, just what had caused him to feel so peaceful. He felt odd about feeling so at peace with his mom's passing, and didn't know just how to bring it up. Ellie never pushes me, Patrick thought, as she began to put away her painting supplies, readying for the dinner meal.

PATRICK HEARS VOICES, CH 17- 21 By Kathy Vik 11-17-13

While writing this for all of us, a novel to and for and about lightworkers, I am asking for whatever financial help you feel moved to provide me. Private message me, or contact me at amissvik@gmail.com. My PayPal account is under amissvik.

Follow my work at:

www.deeplyawake.tumblr.com

www.facebook/deeplyawake

www.lightworkers.org/magartha

www.cityofshaballa.net

www.saviorsofearth.com

www.nanowrimo.org/amissvik

and

www.wordpress.com/patrickhearsvoices

As I am re-writing, for continuity's sake, as I go, so I will post this as a book, in case you haven't been reading a long, on my wordpress site. It's fun to just read along, bit by bit, but also fun to read the thing in one block, if that's your thing.

And here were go.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Kevin was in the kitchen when Patrick and Ellie got home. He said, “Hi,” in a general way, and went back to cutting up apples. On the stove was a stock pot, steaming, boiling water waiting to make the applesauce Kevin was known for within his circles.

Ellie made the three of them lunch, and joined the boys in the TV room. They'd put on a documentary about wolves. Ellie sat with them, and actually got into it. Turned out there was a marathon of documentaries on the wildlife of The America's, and by the time they'd all had dessert, Kevin and Patrick were asking if Patrick could stay and watch. It reminded her of her days as a mommy. Sure, Ellie heard herself say, that's fine, sure.

Kevin had run lunch and dessert out to Bill, who preferred to work through creative impulses. On this early afternoon of an early spring-feeling day, Ellie now checked on Bill.

Through the short hall with its tiny bathroom and closet, into a cramped but charming log kitchen, and then through to the studio, a greenhouse, in some respects. In the middle of the room was a half-realized hunk of fused metal bits. Ellie liked watching projects come together, thinking on her time with them as snapshots. The finished project always stunned her. She was curious to see how he was going to pull a rabbit out of a hat with this, though. It was in an awkward phase, certainly.

“What medium is this, Bill? Are these bits of nuts and bolts?” Ellie asked.

“Time intensive thing to do, but, yeah, I got some junk yard stuff, played with it, sort of like tossing a salad, and then, there's this.” He looked at his work so far and frowned, looking puzzled, and frustrated.

“Where do you see it going, honey?” Ellie asked.

“Hell if I know,” Bill said. “I want to go look for some copper. Joseph has a great supplier, but I'm not sure the discount would be extended to me.” Bill came over to Ellie and gently brushed bread crumbs off her blouse. “Thanks for lunch, my sweet Ellie. How goes it with you?”

“Patrick's here. He's troubled. He wept in the breakfast nook. I held him like a big kid, and he hasn't wanted to talk about it since. I don't want to push.” Ellie looked into Bill's eyes, and felt that old familiar calm, a certainty, a joy. Bill. My Bill.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Bill asked.

“I think it's best to have Kevin hang with him. They make a good pair. They're watching Animal Planet together. I think they're going to order pizza later. It's a marathon, I think” Ellie said distractedly. “Are you going someplace now, or are you going to stay here?” Ellie asked.

“I'll go see Joseph, see what I can work out. I have a couple ideas. I should be home by six or so, I think” Bill said, looking at his watch.

“I'm going to go upstairs, then. I think it's Chinese for dinner tonight, ala carte. At least,” Ellie smiled, “At least, that's the plan.”

“Spoken like a true retiree,” bill said, giving her a little goose as she left his studio.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

There were many things about Ellie that only Bill knew. And then, there were things that only she and someone else knew, but, she reflected, always, upon entering her meditation room, always, there was one person who was always there. “I was always there,” Ellie said, while removing her shoes. “I have always been. I shall always be. My moment is This Now Moment. I am that I am.”

She then walked to her little altar, made from a discarded bookcase and a fancy tablecloth, touched her little icons, and said her word for that feeling, of before, after and now. She said, “Seylah.”

She'd never heard anyone else use that word. But it meant worlds to her, and she used it before she sat in her meditation room to think.

It was a simple place, with bright murals and colorful tapestries. She liked Song of India incense for these times, when she was going within deliberately.

She needed to get right with something that had been bothering her since walking out of East High for the last time.

She considered her blessings first. She'd long since reconciled with the notion that she was on a vacation now. She had had difficulties, but not horrible ones, and she'd known true happiness and peace, more and more, since all those years ago in college.

She considered her marriage, her deep sense of sexual satisfaction, she thought of her home, her absence of debt, her positive bank account. She thought on her unusual, colorful friends. She considered it all, sitting there on that march day, and realized that she was blessed, that she was loved by something so benevolent, sometimes when she thought about it too hard, it made her dizzy.

She felt her life breaking off, into two worlds. She was done with even part time work now. She is retired.

“Now what,” she asked silently, in her room.

She had to admit that her imagination had been slumbering. Somehow, having a place to report had satisfied her, and she realized only now that she'd said “no” to many friends and opportunities, just because she wanted to be at a job, among kids, helping.

And she'd rarely asked what might come next. She'd been happy to be surprised, up until now.

And yet, here she was, mind suddenly busy, thinking on images of what might the fun to do next, flooding her with imagery and even a few whiffs of foods she began to feel a hunger for, music she'd never quite imagined.

She opened her eyes, and looked at her favorite “thing” in all the world, a four feet high ceramic Ganesha that her friend Pauly had shipped her while he was over in India. It was so satisfying to her. She felt full, centered, clear, in this state, looking at that statue. Pauly had said his guru had blessed it. Ellie liked the thought.

“Tell me now, Babaji, tell me, what do I do now?” Ellie asked the glittering idol. “I know you to be me,and within me is the remover of all obstacles. It is my intent for the next bit to be reveled to me. Let me see things bigger, and show me what you all know of my path, what I need to know, where I need to go. Be loud, be clear, be humorous, be gentle, to everyone involved. Allow timing to run smooth, and Babaji,” Ellie said, “Give me the gift of divine patience in the meantime.”

She felt better, after her prayer, but was aware of no new plans, no visuals, no words. Silence in the house, Ellie could feel the stillness in the house.

She allowed herself to become this stillness. She shed all ideas then, unfettered from what she bemoaned she knew all too well.

She soared, and become a crackling, surging column of light then. She bathed in this, as she was it, it her, and she suspended each and every thought, every care, each concern, puzzle and worry. They were meaningless here.

She returned quiet, still, serene, once again ready to argue for the compassionate action in each situation, once again only able to see benevolence, unable to recognize anyone but the creator's eyes in everyone she met.

She went to her little window, opened the cold latch, and let the chill of march's new air bring her to life. She saw the old Oak, just now budding again, once again, my dear old friend, she said quietly, in her mind. Now she began to feel expectation, the curious sense of opening she sensed each and every spring. She breathed it in, bent her head low, and laughed out loud. She looked up again, at the clouds now, and realized she was famished.

She was ready for whatever came next, now.

CHAPTER NINTEEN

The group had decided on using her shredded potatoes for latkes, and they'd eat pizza for dinner. They watched two hours of animal documentaries in the evening. Bill received a call during the last commercial break of the evening, taking it in the library, off the TV room. Ellie gathered dishes and boxes as the last segment aired, a nice recap of all the creepy crawlies living in a Californian desert.

Patrick followed Ellie into the kitchen, and helped her load the dishwasher.

“Did you have a good night here, Patrick?” Ellie asked.

“It really hit the spot, Ellie. Thanks for letting me stay.” He hesitated, and then asked, “Are you sure I wasn't a bother?”

Ellie had been repeatedly struck with how hesitant and unsure of himself Patrick seemed to be. She was glad to know he was open to mothering, and that this was,in fact, what helped draw him out of his shell.

“You were the opposite of a bother. Had you not been here, lad, “ Ellie said, “We'd have just sleepwalked through our usual routine, with the exception of the change in cuisine.” Ellie handed him a huge casserole dish for the bottom rack. “It was wonderful having you here, it was a gift, kiddo.”

Patrick blushed and smiled as he rearranged things for this huge pan.

“Let's just run it, Patrick. Here's the soap,” Ellie said, handing him a big bottle of sweet smelling goo. Patrick squeezed, closed the door, and searched the console for the “On” button. Bill had insisted on state of the art appliances two years ago, and now Ellie herself often forgot how to get the things going.

“I have just a few more things to hand wash, and then I'm free,” Ellie said. “Do you want to stick around, or are you headed home, Patrick? It's getting late.”

Patrick checked his phone. Nearly nine. He'd forgotten to call his dad. “I need to go, but thanks again for everything.”

Ellie walked him to the front door, and watched him walk to his car. She waved at him as he drove away, curious what thoughts Patrick didn't feel he can share. Let him be, Ellie heard. Let him be. He'll be back.

Kevin was loading his Jeep when she made her pass through before going up to bed. She gave him a kiss and a hug, and watched him drive away, too. Locked, still, silent, the old house stood, feeling contentment, feeling full, somehow, Ellie thought, as she made her way to their bedroom.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The next evening, Patrick drove to a little building tucked behind a strip mall on Colorado Boulevard. The meeting as at seven, but Kevin told him to meet him at Sunrise Sunset diner at the north end of the mall. They would have dinner, and then go to Kevin's event together.

Kevin and Patrick had gotten to know each other between TV commercials at Animal Planet marathon at Ellie's the day before. Patrick had felt reassured by Kevin, sensed him as a kind and solid man, and, locking the car, he hoped he was right.

Kevin took a booth two doors into the modest restaurant, and when Patrick showed, a low, “Right here,” was all that was needed to hail the kid. Kevin didn't like to call attention to himself, and was glad to find someone similar in Patrick.

“I'm glad you showed up,” Kevin said. “The food's good here.”

Patrick squeezed into the booth, tried to look comfortable, and looked around for a waitress.

Kevin said, “You know, these tables are too skinny. Do you mind if we move to a table?”

Gratefully, Patrick agreed, and awkwardly extricated himself from the booth he'd squeezed into. A table felt more exposed, but would be easier to sit at comfortably.

“I had your bulk once. I played college ball. CU. We did the usual damage to CSU while I was there,” Kevin smiled, considering telling Patrick about his senior year championship, but he held back, wanting the kid to feel less self conscious. Patrick said enough to let Kevin know he followed college ball.

“So, tell me again what it is we're going to tonight,” Patrick asked, after they'd put in their dinner order.

Kevin gave himself permission to speak, something he often withheld. Patrick looked like he could handle it.

“Every week, a group of us meet over at the Temple of The Third Eye. Norma Henges, she's an old psychic who started the thing going on thirty years ago.” Kevin began. “It's a Theosophical Society. Do you know anything about Theosophy?”

When Patrick said no, Kevin fished a think book out of his inner coat pocket and gave it to Patrick. “I don't... I'm not...” Kevin stammered. “Listen, kid, this is just one way to go, and I don't take any of it too serious, but I thought I'd bring you something from White Eagle. Norma gave me one of their books the first time I went to a meeting there.”

In Patrick's hands was a thin volume with a colorful dust jacket, called White Eagle, on The Divine Mother.

Kevin got out his phone as Kevin flipped through the book.

Patrick was drawn to a passage in a chapter about Mary.

“See the glory of the original Light, itself like a sun, the most beautiful light and radiance. See that which has been conceived and born from previous systems, from a previous cosmic life. Imagine the whole cosmos in the form of light and radiance and life.”

Patrick let these words fall through him, felt himself heat up, and, without calling it to him, he began to feel, once again, how he felt for those few minutes, in front of his locker.

Patrick studied Kevin then, trying to get a handle on what this fellow was up to. He was balding, wore glasses, an overbite, and a thick, solid body. His clothes were worn, and his yellow coat looked like it needed to be retired.

“Find something in there that speaks to you?”Kevin asked.

“I did. This is really nice stuff, Kevin.” Patrick said.

The food arrived, and they ate in silence punctuated by talk of baseball, college basketball, and Kevin’s work. Kevin explained he was a plumber by trade, a handyman now, living down the street from Ellie as an apartment building sup.

Kevin paid the bill at the counter, got them both a packet of Lifesavers Pep-O-Mints, and walked to Patrick's car.

“I prefer walking over to the Temple from here,” Kevin said. “It clears my head. My car's over there.” Kevin pointed to a silver Jeep three cars down. “Never had a problem just parking it here. Come one with me.”

On the way to the Temple, Patrick asked about what to expect.

“Well, I thought you might need some guidance. You strike me as ready,” Kevin began. “But, I'll tell you, it's not for everybody.”

Patrick let this statement hang in the air between them. He'd tried three other times to get Kevin to tell him something concrete about this “meeting to like minds” Kevin had asked him to attend. In the distance, a tan clapboard structure was coming in to view. Patrick again asked for specifics.

“OK. Patrick, do you know what channeling is?” Kevin asked.

“Channeling,” Patrick said. “No, I can't say that I do.”

“That book I gave you was channeled. White Eagle is an energy that comes through people, and they feel moved to write the words that come to them, when under that influence.” Kevin said. “You know all those books people refer to as 'the word of god?', the Bible, all of it? Channeled, I think.” Kevin fished a Camel out of his coat pocket. “I don't think God came down and wrote those books. Men did. Men who were channeling.”

Patrick tried this thought on for size, and found he didn't have a problem with it. It seemed to make a lot more sense than taking words in a book literally. He liked how roomy Kevin's thoughts were.

“So anyway,” Kevin continued, “A couple years ago, I kept being moved to start a journal. I don't write, and I don't like journals, but, there I was, sitting in front of a notebook I found lying around the house. I started to write, and what came out, with some practice, was pretty surprising.

I showed some of it to Ellie. She encouraged me to keep at it, and I did. I started to get comfortable with it. I found I was sometimes really surprised at what came out. I'd sit, start writing, and then, a couple h ours later, I'd have pages and pages, and it all made such good sense.

I'd ask real specific questions, sometimes, and I started to take the advice this voice gave me, when I came to the notebooks with specific, like, life questions. And that led me back here.”

They were standing in the parking lot of a simple building, a weird orphan of a building. Between an upscale neighborhood to the north and a busy strip mall to the south stood n incongruously simple structure, nicely ringed by fir trees.

Kevin finished, “I'd not been here for a long time, busy with work and stuff, but I came back one night a while back. Norma's daughter runs the place now, and I handed her my last notebook. She put me in front of everybody that night, and I've been coming back every week, now, to channel for folks. And for myself.”

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

The meeting hall smelled faintly of smelled of mothballs. There were twenty or so beat up chairs lining the hall, pointed in the direction of a little altar. On the walls were large portraits, in bright pastels, of people Patrick had never seen before. He wandered over to the artwork. St. Germain, Archangel Raphael, Sananda, the brass plaques read.

Kevin went up to the front of the room and put his coat over a bar stool that stood to the right of the little altar. He went over to Patrick, studying a portrait of St. Francis of Assisi. “I want to go find Indra. I want you two to meet. If you want coffee, there's some right past those double doors,” Kevin pointed to the meeting hall's lobby. “Indra usually has some snacks set out, too. I'll go find her, and see you in a minute.”

Indra was a tall, athletic woman in her mid forties. Her graying blonde hair was in a tangle of dreads, and the simple blue shift she wore was part of a nice set she'd scored at Nordstrom Rack. She was a study in sharp contrast, and never failed to confound Kevin. He liked her contradictions, and enjoyed her company.

“I'm so glad you came early, Kevin,” Indra greeted her friend. “I wanted to see if you'd be up for a psychic fair I'm putting together for the solstice. Do you have plans for it yet?”

“I hadn't thought that far ahead, to be honest,” Kevin smiled. “I'd be honored. Are you having it here?”

“Actually, we scored a bigger place. Jeff has gotten us the conference space at Denver Center for Exploratory Awareness. Have you ever gone there? It's called the DC, for short.”

Kevin had been going to the DC, on and off, with Ellie and Bill, for years. Kevin had been there just the week before for their monthly drum circle. He was surprised they were letting little groups like theirs join in.

“It's sort of a conference of all the smaller groups around town this year,” Indra said, seemingly responding to Kevin's thoughts. This often happened in her company, and Kevin had gotten used to it. “It's gonna be two days of channeling, classes, tons of food, lots of music. Jeff and the band are going to do a kirtan, even.” And with that, Indra sang a little bit of a favorite chant of hers, moving her body as she quietly sang, mischievous smile on her face.

“Oh!” she said, “Look who's pulling up! This is quite a night, Kevin! Come see!” She led Kevin by the hand, out to the parking lot.

Valerie saw Indra from inside the building, talking to a an overweight, balding man who looked like her uncle. She lit a smoke and waited for her girlfriend, leaning on her car, waving at the two of them as they approached her. The sun was setting, and the colors were gorgeous tonight.

“Valerie,” Indra said, almost a prayer coming from her lips. “How was your drive, sweetheart?”

Kevin watched as the two women greeted each other with hand holding and smiles.

“This is Kevin. He's out featured guest tonight,” Indra told Valerie, while presenting Kevin with a flourish.

“I've heard about you,” Valerie said. “Indra refers to your channeling quite a bit at home. It's good to finally meet you.”

Kevin shook Valerie's hand, and then remembered he had also brought a guest. “You know, I could use a smoke before we get going,” Kevin said, “But I left my friend inside. You mind hanging out til I go check on him?”

Valerie nodded, mentioned something about not minding another one, and Kevin went back inside to find Patrick.

Patrick was sitting on a couch in the lobby, reading his White Eagle book. “Why don't you come outside for a little bit, Patrick?” Kevin asked. “I want you to meet a couple folks.”

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO