Coattail Karma

by Verlin Darrow

  Sam added a Disneyesque castle on top of a nearby peak. She made it turquoise—to match her pants, I guessed.

  I imagined a fleet of impossibly long silver zeppelins and a red suspension bridge that spanned a wide valley to our right. I sketched in quite a few details, but the creation still resembled a thrift store painting more than an actual place.

  Is all this real? Sam asked.

  Before I could formulate a thought in response, Lannie was standing in front of us. Her samadhi persona was exactly the same as she had appeared in the boat. I hadn’t conjured her as far as I knew, so perhaps she was the one manifesting her image. If so, she was clearly better at this than I was. Every detail was sharp. And she’d portrayed the interplay of light and shadow on her skin to render her image more three-dimensional than ours.

  I can answer your question, Sam, Lannie thought. Yes, this is real. It’s a new world that you’re bringing into being with your thoughts that aren’t thoughts.

  What are they, then? I thought.

  Where is your mind? she asked. Here? In this space? And who would be thinking these thoughts? The Sid and Sam you no longer are? Energy is expressing itself through you. You are administering power that is beyond individual mind. Thoughts are stories we tell ourselves about the world—about ourselves. They embody far too low a reality quotient to generate any traction with the elemental aspects of existence.

  I considered this—apparently not with my mind, although it felt like it. I guess Sam thought a question I hadn’t heard, because Lannie looked at her and spoke again.

  Yes, this is how worlds are made—how illusion comes to be. It’s all completely real to those hawks—and it would be to any beings in those aircraft if Sid had created pilots or crews. She gestured at the zeppelins in the sky. Several of them were ramming into one another.

  Oops, I thought.

  Your consciousness is now aligned with the universe as a whole, Lannie thought. The energy fields that constitute so-called matter will dance to whatever tune you hum.

  Are we humming now and we don’t know it? Sam thought.

  Exactly. Let me help you sense it. She raised an eyebrow, and then I could hear a symphony of humming—all sorts of tones and textures. Some of it was coming from me.

  It’s vibration that animates matter, isn’t it? Sam asked.

  Yes, of course.

  Clearly, Sam had more background in all this than I did. That insight would never have occurred to me.

  What feels like thought now, Lannie projected, is really a refashioning of Om energy—sound, vibration—whatever word you like. None of them do the phenomenon justice, of course. So it’s a kind of internal humming that’s responsible for the grunt work of creation.

  But we were just playing, I thought.

  That’s all it ever is, Lannie thought. It’s just play.

  She looked down at herself and imagined black velvet overalls and a yellow satin shirt. Her hair was in a thick braid now that was tucked into the pocket of her overalls.

  I wondered what I was wearing. I hadn’t thought to look—or whatever the eyeless equivalent of looking was. It turned out I was nude.

  I wasn’t about to say anything, Sam thought. I’ve been enjoying this.

  I manifested jeans and a white T-shirt.

  Lannie manifested a chair-shaped rock in front of us and sat on it. Her attention to detail created a remarkable contrast between her hyper-real rock and our pallid mountaintop. If something could be more than lifelike, that’s what her creation was.

  You have more questions, she thought to Sam.

  Yes. Who are you?

  This one will not be easy for you to hear, Lannie began. Much as you are the energy beings who have created these mountains—this partial world—I am the being that created yours. For billions of years, I’ve been tending to it, nurturing your kind, and all the other creatures on it.

  So you’re God? I asked. I felt a wave of awe. It wasn’t an emotion. It was a realization that I was about an inch tall and I sat across from the infinite.

  Call me that if you wish, Lannie thought. But it’s only the illusion of time that sets me apart from you or anyone else. I unfolded from my constricted sense of self into the energy I really am on a very different time line. That’s all. Five billion years ago, I sat on my proverbial mountaintop as another energy being explained all this to me. Eventually—or at least it seems as if it’s eventual since constricted beings believe in events and time—everyone graduates from the physical realm.

  This is hard to absorb, Sam thought.

  Yes, Lannie/God agreed. Even when we cease to believe in our tiny, false selves, we’re still resistant to the notion that our true nature is god-like. We’re afraid of owning our own magnificence. But when events force us to question what’s real—and if anything is—then we’re drawn to the truth. She looked at us with loving eyes as she thought this.

  I love you, I thought.

  I love you, too, God thought. We are love. All of us. But we need more than an intellectual recognition of this. At some point, we need to develop an abiding, full awareness of the love in each moment, and most of us also need to receive energy transmissions to complete our work here. Then we cross from the mundane world to the energy realm. There are various ways this can happen. Sam’s path has been traditional; Sid’s has been unique. But sooner or later, all of this comes to pass for everyone—or will come to pass—or did come to pass. Language is inadequate in these matters.

  So everyone becomes a creator? Sam asked.

  Yes.

  I was having no personal reaction to any of this now. Unlike Sam, I wasn’t finding it hard to absorb. On the contrary, it was deeply satisfying to hear—more like the experience of snapping down the final, missing jigsaw puzzle piece of a seemingly unsolvable puzzle. And I knew—absolutely knew—that Lannie was God and God was speaking the truth. Her thoughts perfectly explained why my life had unfolded the way that it had—why the psychological rug kept being pulled out from under me. It had simply been necessary—preparation for something else. Something more. This.

  None of us projected any thoughts for several minutes.

  I realized that the mythology of being a person—living in a body—created a tyranny of continuity. When we believe that we inhabit a solid, real context, subject to time and the “laws” of physics, we stay trapped in an absurdly finite realm, where suffering rules.

  I sat in this new world we’d begun to make, and I felt a freedom unlike anything I could’ve ever imagined. I was now a peaceful, limitless expanse of love energy, One with everyone and everything. Consciousness was infinitely variable. I was consciousness. I was free.

  I completely opened up my mind—or whatever it was—and Sam heard it all and then shared her experience with me. It was almost exactly the same.

  Why me? I thought to God. I’m not surprised that Sam is ready to move on. But why me? Aren’t there people who are far more worthy—who wouldn’t have needed so many weird events and energy transmissions to be here with you?

  Of course, Lannie thought. But I was Charles Singh’s niece.

  What?

  I was your mother, Sid. In my last body. I was a girl named Amrita—Charles Singh’s niece.

  Oh. I’m sorry.

  She waved her small, graceful hand in the air. Your karma has always been unusual, she told me, even compared to your two brothers.

  I don’t understand, Sam thought.

  I opened up and filled her in on what I’d learned about my birth in Charles’s office at the golf course.

  Sam turned to God. So you incarnate in bodies like the rest of us?

  Yes. I’ve lived for over three decades as Lannie Chow, running things from that body, waiting for you both to develop. More recently, I was temporarily Lanai Tu, as well—“Lannie, too,” Sid. I thought you might get that one. Wasn’t that hospital chaplain’s energy familiar?

  Now that you mention it, yes.

  Sam thought something ne
xt. Who else have you been? How much have you participated in human history?

  It’s a common misperception that I incarnate as headliners. I wasn’t Buddha or Jesus or Mohammed. I wasn’t even a world-changing figure like Alexander the Great or Lincoln. I’m usually behind the scenes—operating without public scrutiny.

  But you’ve been involved in my life all along, haven’t you? I thought.

  Yes. I worked with your parents quite a bit throughout your childhood. As a therapist, you know that it all starts there. I also helped shape Marco, Bhante, and several others so they could play their roles. You needed Marco’s inimitable head-on teaching style to confound your mind and help you find your heart. You’ve been trapped in your head for many years. Meher Baba played an essential role, as well.

  Even though he’s been dead for decades? I thought.

  Yes. That doesn’t matter. I also fed energy to various other people so they could pass it on to both of you.

  Andrea talks about feeling guided, Sam thought. And I’ve often felt energy routing through her that she seemed unaware of. For that matter, I’d never even have met Sid if another member of RGP hadn’t been so ill the morning after Paul’s appointment.

  God smiled. Bad yogurt. Bacteria hardly need any nudging at all.

  So do you intercede in human affairs quite a bit? Sam asked.

  Not really, God thought. Most of what you’re wondering about is simply generated by the natural flow of energy. If you were to keep creating this world we’re visiting—and this is not your destiny—you’d see how much illusion simply flows once you’ve applied a gentle push. Those hawks below us, for example—good job on those, Sid—will mate and make more hawks. Over time, their species will evolve, and then someday a new type of creature will supplant them. There’s a great deal of turnover in the animal kingdom.

  That sounds like a major personnel issue, I thought.

  God laughed. Yes, of course. But remember, none of this requires effort or magic tricks. Life unfolds. It’s much the same with both your spiritual paths. One thing has led to another, for the most part. If you have a role to play, events will maneuver you into that role.

  I thought another question. So when people tried to kill us, the universe didn’t let them?

  That’s right. You’re both part of a higher spiritual priority. Unfortunately, a side effect of this phenomenon is that the hostile energy directed at you comes back onto your aggressors.

  So what Marco said about Frank and the others is true?

  Yes.

  What’s the deal with all these enemies, anyway? I continued. Why do gangs, terrorists, and cults all want me dead?

  There are real mystics in the world, God thought. And real psychics, real prophets, and quite a few very good guessers. Your existence, Sid—your energy, your upcoming role—these have been accurately envisioned by a host of people. It’s hard to stay sane when you have these abilities and you live in a logic-driven culture, so many of these people are also somewhat crazy. Hence, their irrational, violent approach to what they consider to be a threat to the spiritual status quo. They have no reason to trust someone like you—an outsider with alarming spiritual power.

  So getting back to your role, Sam thought, if all that’s so, then why have you helped us so much? Why didn’t you just let nature—karma—run its course? Sooner or later, someone else would’ve ended up here in samadhi with you, right?

  Is it because the universe needs new worlds? I added.

  There’s no such thing as need, God said. That’s just a human construct—a projection of your psychology. No, the reason I’ve stepped in is I’m ready to merge into diffuse consciousness—into Love. It’s time to abdicate my role here as creator and maintainer.

  Do you get a good retirement package? I asked.

  God smiled. I knew Chris would be a bad influence on you.

  I laughed.

  So what does that have to do with us? Sam thought.

  You two will be my successor.

  You mean, successors, right? I asked.

  No. I’ll explain in a moment.

  One of the zeppelins veered toward us, and I waved it away. Then I manifested a robot pilot in each of the aircraft’s cockpits. Another zeppelin immediately steered clear of Sam’s turquoise castle.

  Typically, God began, the evolution of creator beings does follow a more gradual, natural course. Souls are ready when they’re ready, which isn’t very often. The average soul incarnates eight and a half million times.

  Yikes, I thought. Are there enough human bodies for that?

  Your species has always been so human-centric. There are rocks, bugs, lizards, other mammals—they’re all imbued with various levels of consciousness. And that’s just on Earth. It’s always the same energy everywhere—this energy—organized into various patterns—some simple, some more complex.

  Oh.

  So I’m not in the habit of directly accelerating anyone’s spiritual growth. But even my energy isn’t limitless or permanent. It’s winding down, and it has been for centuries. I’m no longer able to do my job in the manner I’m accustomed to. I don’t believe this world will thrive if my hand remains on the helm.

  And that’s where we come in? I asked.

  Yes. I couldn’t afford to wait until a suitable candidate evolved. So I created one—or two, as it happens.

  Sam projected a thought. So if we’ve gone through an anomalous process—an acceleration—what does that say about us? Are we different from other energy beings—other creators? Will we still be able to do what you do?

  No, accelerated souls are not capable of creating viable worlds. Look around you. Of course it was only your first effort, but this is a completely derivative reality. There is nothing original here. Even if you became more creative, you wouldn’t be capable of manifesting what you imagine—only what you already know.

  I’ve never seen a zeppelin before, I thought.

  You’ve seen photographs. You just made yours longer and sillier-looking than the ones in the photographs. And by the way, your robot pilots are very unhappy.

  I took a moment to improve their mood.

  Do you see what I mean? God thought. Do you really think your attention to detail is sufficient to construct an entire world?

  No, I guess not.

  Sam thought, So are you saying that as a team we could maintain the Earth even if we couldn’t create it? Is that what you mean?

  Yes. Together, you can. You’ll need to remain human on the surface. You’ll eat, sleep, have a job, and all that. While we’re in bodies, we have ordinary business to attend to. You’ll perform most of your spiritual work at night. While others sleep, you’ll enter a different samadhi—a particularized creation state. Unlike here on this mountain—and I will erase this soon—the equivalent realm back on Earth is not a blank canvas. It’s already populated with my work. You’ll see.

  So how would this work? Sam asked. Would we divvy up the maintenance responsibilities—I’ll take Asia, Sid takes South America?

  No.

  We could take turns, I suggested.

  I’m sorry, God thought. I’m afraid there’s only one way this can work. You must cohabit one body—literally merge—or the world will be lost.

  Holy shit, I thought.

  Ditto, Sam thought.

  Which one? I asked. Sam’s or mine?

  Sam’s. Her body is fitter than yours, and her heart is stronger. It will last fourteen years longer.

  Oh.

  Sid’s body will have to die so both of you can live in Sam’s. Again, I’m sorry.

  So if you were God, you’d draw up a very different blueprint…oh wait, I interjected.

  There’s that inner Chris acting out again, God thought.

  Why aren’t we freaking out? I asked. I don’t seem to have any emotions anymore.

  No, God agreed. They’re gone. But you can have them back if you want to—once you’re in charge. It’s always a balancing act between personhood and
godhood.

  So it’s my call? I thought. About feelings and all the other details?

  Our call, Sam corrected.

  Lannie nodded.

  Is there any demigod couples’ counseling we can do? I asked. We’re already disagreeing on pronouns. And something tells me that if we take any internal votes, we might end up deadlocked.

  I’m sure you’ll work things out, God said, smiling again. It was an achingly sweet smile. But here’s the real question, she continued. Are you ready to sign up? Do both of you agree to this?

  Do we really have a choice? Sam asked.

  Yes. Truly. If it feels as though it’s a sacrifice, please say no, because that would indicate you still have too much ego in you to do the job properly.

  I looked at Sam lovingly, and she returned the look. I could feel her love bathing me with blissful energy. We mutually decided to merge our minds—just long enough to think We agree, in unison.

  It was an odd sensation. Perhaps it would feel more natural once we were physically united.

  Good, God thought. So here’s what comes next. Both of you will wake up in Sam’s body in the boat, next to Sid’s corpse. This will be a shock. Remember, though, that there was never really a Sid in the first place. We are energy, not matter.

  What did I die of? I asked.

  What would you prefer?

  An aneurysm?

  We can do that, God thought. In fact, you can do it yourself if you like. Just wish it right before you go back.

  Will you be there? Sam asked.

  On the boat, no. I’ve been seen in two places at once before. It’s messy to clean up. I’ll be back in New Zealand finishing out Lannie’s brief life. The aneurysm idea is appealing, Sid, but I think I’ll fall off something. I’ve ended some of my favorite lives that way.

  So how will we know what to do? Sam asked. Don’t we need guidance—training? I’m imagining it will be very challenging at first.

  Yes. Go stay with Chris. I’ll help you integrate, and then I’ll teach you how to run things. I’ll be working through Karma the dog.

  Really? I thought. Karma the dog?

  Yes. Spot isn’t bright enough. Karma was originally a spirit dog, too, but she’s much more now. How do you think she wrote a message to Chris using pieces of dog food? Do you really think Marco could manage that? She’s been helping you for years, Sid.