Remembering Earth Mission

by Sharon Riegie Maynard

  "I'll be right down. Give me five minutes," Rory said.

  He placed the phone back in its cradle and scooted his feet around in search of his shoes. Dr. Rory James grabbed his car keys and rushed out of the door.

  Five minutes later, he pulled into his parking space at the Center. He walked briskly down the sanitized corridors to room 20 A. This young woman had been brought in by a friend of his on the police force. She had been living on the streets, had broken no laws, but indicated that she wanted help. Wanting help was enough to get space at the Center if it was available.

  Rory's entire career was about assisting those who needed support. And yet, for a reason he did not understand, the woman in 20A had sparked something very different. He knocked gently on the door before he turned the knob and entered.

  The young woman he knew only as "Pam" huddled at the head of her bed. Her arms wrapped around her knees, she was softly crying and rocking. Her pain failed the small room. Rory's heart went out to her.

  "Pam,"' he spoke her name softly.

  She seemed not to hear him.

  He had found it very beneficial to just be with his clients, let their actions be as long as there was no possible harm. He pulled up a chair. "I am here," Rory said and then just sat and witnessed her slow rocking.

  Pam's eyes stared ahead as if seeing through windows to a scene he could not reach. He sat quietly, observing. Now was not the time to try to change or fix what she was experiencing. It was not the time to ask her to put words to her feelings.

  More time passed. Rory sat and noted his recognition of similar pain from other clients: the sadness, the helplessness, and the sense of no hope so many had felt. Then, the emotions were his own; for friends lost, for patients untouched, for society's limits. These he moved through as a professional. Being present for his patient.

  Slowly, Pam's rocking ended and her crying stopped.

  Her eyes focused on Rory as if seeing him for the first time. He looked back into eyes that had haunted him from his earlier encounter, Azure eyes, with depth and wisdom and deep sadness. A sense of loss lay within the blue, and again he felt pain for all those he had not been able to reach. A bubble rose up from deep within his heart and gave way to a sigh he could not suppress.

  At his releasing breath, she turned her eyes to the window, laid her head upon her knees and wept. Slowly, composed, he reached out and placed his hand gently on her head.

  “I would suggest that you not go. We have the safety that you need. The Center is your place to be for now," Rory assured.

  His heart swelled with some unknown love and familiarity. Words tumbled from his mouth, "We need you here."

  "I know," she whispered and lay down on the bed and slept.

  Although Pam was calm enough to sleep, Rory's concern for her and so many like her continued. Situations such as this are what had moved him to open the Center. Situations such as this were what made him see the value and limits of his work. Situations such as this is why he was restless with his career and why he wanted to know more.

  Far away, in a more serene setting, Bob was gathering firewood as he walked the trails; it was an excellent way to keep dead branches cleaned up. Back in his camp, he placed the smaller branches over a nest of kindling; he felt such satisfaction when the campfire lit with just one match, a carryover from his scouting days, no doubt.

  The fire caught and lapped up the teepee of twigs. Bob added larger sticks to the glowing fire. He watched the flames twist and turn, change shape, reach out for more fuel, and finally settle into a steady source of heat. The gyrating fire mesmerized him. It was part of the intrigue and healing of these weekends.

  Then the beautiful azure eyes came back to haunt him. They danced as the smoke curled. They laughed as the embers burned. The eyes became heavy and sad and slowly disappeared into the dusk of night.

  This waking vision shook Bob. It was as if the cry of the woman he had loved at some point in his Earth lives sounded from across the world to him. He heard and was unable to run to her side. Not a religious man, Bob was a very spiritual being. He called out to all he knew that was good, the trees, the birds, the stream and the moon hanging low in the sky, "Take care of my love wherever she is tonight. Keep her safe. Whisper my love to the depth of her Soul."

  He stared into the fire as tears fell from his eyes. Loneliness, from some deep inner place, spread throughout his chest. Bob sat next to the fire and sobbed. What did it mean? Where would he find her? Was it even possible?

  Sitting with his questions, embraced by the beauty of the Mother, Bob spoke words that emerged unbidden.

  "For eons as High Priest, I have held the vision for the Earth as well as for the original Ancient Ones in their mission. My heart calls out into the silence of this great planet. I call for all to search their hearts. "Are you a part of this mission?"

  "I need others to hold these visions with me. I long for them to come forward. I call for the circles that can stand together in strength and clarity. Our planet and its inhabitants are crying for healthy caregivers. She needs those who hear her cries to powerfully say, "No" to the invaders who deceit, control and use tyrannical power.

  "Not only is the Earth being damaged, but our societies are in great danger. From individuals to schools systems, from businesses to governments, the effects of destructive attitudes and behaviors are everywhere.

  "The current moment is the place to stand with the enormous power of personal voice. From this point in time and space, we can bring all dimensions to wholeness, transformed powerfully. We have the right to demand a return to free agency, uniqueness, love, and peace. I declare our Divine sovereignty!

  "Please open your heart and join me!"

  CHAPTER 8

  We Need You There

  Pam's dreams had taken her back to where it had begun. Pain pounded in her head with the memories of father's beatings, the rape, and the powerlessness. She had blocked those days to survive. Pam closed her eyes, and last night the foggy memories forced their way out. The doctor sat, heard her cries, accepted her pain and had stayed. Was there finally someone who could sit, listen and possibly understand? The thought that there might be safety was almost more than she could bear. He had come, he had witnessed, and he had stayed. Tears welled up and spilled down her face with the enormity of the experience. Pam closed her eyes and drifted.

  It was dusk when she finally awoke. For a few moments, she lay very still, orienting herself to the room. A soft knock. She looked up as a woman in her mid-fifties looked in through the partially opened door.

  “Hello, you have been sleeping for quite a while. How are you feeling?"

  Pam cleared her throat.

  "Actually, I am a little hungry."

  "Well, that can be remedied. There was homemade vegetable soup for dinner, and the cook makes wonderful rolls. Would you like milk or coffee?"

  Pam closed her eyes. How long had it been since she had tasted fresh soup with homemade rolls?

  "Milk would be wonderful, thank you."

  The door closed. Pam slowly sat up and looked around the room. Her bundle was where she had left it. Her coat hung in clear view in the small closet.

  She swung her feet off the bed and eased up to make her way to the bathroom. At the sight of the mirror, she quickly turned away. Pam avoided mirrors. They reflected what she did not want to acknowledge.

  She felt dizzy. Pam sat to relieve her body and held her head until the swirling stopped. Then she stood to wash her face and run her fingers through her short brown hair. She almost laughed. Her vision of long auburn curls flashed through her mind. She paused for a moment before opening the door to move back to her bed.

  There was a knock on the door as the same woman opened it carefully. Balancing a tray of food that made Pam's mouth water, she said, “Here you go.”

  "By the way, my name is Mary Ann." Pam smiled at the slight Southern lilt, and she shifted so the tray could fit over her lap. "If you need anything, just push the bu
tton on your bed. Dr. James will be in after you've eaten.” Then straightening ups, Mary Ann asked, “Is there anything else I can get you?"

  Pam shook her head, "No, and thank you."

  Mary Ann closed the door softly. Pam's hands shook as she broke a piece from the roll, dipped it in the hot soup. Putting it in her mouth, Pam savored every part of the small bit of bread.

  "Oh, please let this be the time," she whispered and slowly ate the delicious food, a symbol of a new start.

  Finished, Pam lay back on the pillow. She stared past the tray, past the wall, into scenes beyond this room. The words came back. Words she had often heard during the very hardest times. "We need you there."

  When the anguish and hurt had been more than she thought she could bear, she had sobbed and asked why." Why was she in this family, in this life?"

  And there was a quiet voice, "We need you there."

  She had stayed when she would rather have given up.

  And what had the doctor said, or was that just another dream?

  Pam cleared her mind and brought back the memory. "No, it wasn't a dream.”

  He had reached out to touch her hair and then he had said, "This is your place. We need you here."

  Tears welled up in her eyes. What did it all mean? Could her life be put back together? Would she be able to do it all?

  She slid down carefully under the bed tray, lay facing the wall, and closed her eyes again.

  Pam was slightly aware that the dinner tray was being removed, but she was at some faraway place, walking in woods. Not alone, but who was with her? She felt safe, happy and she didn't want to come back.

  Pam went further into the dream.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Past Made Real

  From the beginning, Gerri had felt like a foreigner. Not much in this world made sense. She knew that her parents were concerned. She spent too much time alone. She avoided people. Hard to make friends that way.

  She wouldn't go to church either. She told her parents that she could not believe in the God their minister described. A benevolent being would not judge and punish. When she was about five-years-old, she had shared some of her ideas with them, the colors around everything, friends that no one else could see, music that filled the air. They had been shocked and told her never to speak of such things. And so she had held all that was so real and valuable to her inside. Why would anyone prefer this life of fear and blame to the one that was so real to her – one of joy and acceptance?

  In her world, differences were acknowledged and celebrated. No one would hurt another. One's thoughts and emotions either added to or diminished every other being. Everyone was responsible for monitoring their mind and feelings to bring benefit. Encouragement lifted everyone. No, she would not accept life as crazy as the one she saw around her where blame, divisiveness, and all forms of 'isms' existed. If it meant being alone in this strange, hostile place, so be it. Although her school grades were excellent and college seemed to pose no problem, at times, Gerri felt depressed.

  Gerri sat on the grass of the University quad. Her fellow students moved around campus. Some were in groups, others alone. Couples held hands as they walked or chatted under trees and by their cars. Couples sharing and laughing touched someplace inside. Today she felt empty. Would there ever be someone with whom she could feel safe? Would there be someone who didn't demand that she change, who could listen to her dreams and ideas without judgment or ridicule? If not, she would be alone, and the hope of partner would remain safely tucked away.

  No one would guess at the pain she sensed radiating from the campus. She felt it, had always felt it. It was a burden and blessings. It kept her on guard, protective and yet separate. Feeling like such an alien made for a lonely life.

  Gerri had avoided people for so long that she wondered if she would ever be able to make friends. Sometimes she missed that part of life, and at other times she was glad she didn't have to worry about all the pitfalls. But today, for a reason she did not understand, a great sadness engulfed Gerri. She gathered her books and headed for the parking lot.

  A small group of young men was ahead, walking on the sidewalk toward her. They were laughing and jostling each other. She tucked her head down and quickened her pace. As she approached, they whistled and one voice called out to, "Nice tits!" Perhaps encouraged by the raucous response from his buddies, another voice called out, "Hey sexy, want to come home with us?"

  She made her way around the group feeling like her clothes were being pulled away, her body exposed. Gerri pulled herself so deep into her core that her heart and lungs constricted. These intense feelings were the burden of her sensitivity beyond hearing the words. As she rushed around them, she caught the jeering eyes of one young man. His eyes only confirmed her judgments.

  Fuming, Gerri flung her books onto the back seat of her car. What a harsh world. She climbed behind the wheel and slammed the car door. She laid her head against the steering wheel and gripped it until her fingers turned white.

  "I'll never, never, never be a part of this sick society!" she spoke through clenched teeth. She was surprised at her rage and alarmed at the undercurrents of fear that she felt.

  Starting the car, Gerri drove quickly and soon pulled into the driveway of her home. She opened the car door and pushed up the seat to retrieve her books. A sense of invasion and derision stayed with her. The tall blond was the leader. She could tell by the look in his eyes. His glance wasn't in any way innocent or playful. His menacing eyes stirred something inside her. Gerri wanted nothing to do with him.

  She turned and ran up the stairs to the front door. She stopped to check the mailbox on the porch before opening the door and going inside. Gerri hadn't noticed the small foreign car following her from school. Its driver traveled a safe distance behind. He parked and watched as she pulled into the driveway and opened the door. The tall, blond man smiled to himself as he made a note of her address and drove away.

  Gerri had no idea that eyes watched her. They watched during the day: while she played with her dog, walked to the neighborhood store; lounged in the backyard; noted when no one else was at home; and her late hours studying at the school library. He watched, and he waited. The young man wondered at this obsession with this strange woman. He had been with others. He found great pleasure in the conquest and their subservience. He moved from one to another, taking pride in the trail of hurt and anguish he left behind. Life was a game – a game of the powerful and the powerless.

  He was determined to be powerful and take all that he could. When the time was right, he would make his move, and she too would be his. He smirked, excited at the thought.

  Weeks later, Gerri was studying late. The library was more crowded than usual. "Must be last minute cramming for mid-terms," she thought. She looked up at the clock. Only fifteen minutes before the library closed at 10 p. m. There was one more book she wanted to check for information; there was no time to read through it here.

  "I'll just find the book and check it out," Gerri reasoned.

  She rose quickly and moved to the book aisles. Scanning the top shelves for the title she wanted, Gerri missed the movement of someone behind her.

  "Hi, gorgeous!"

  Gerri whirled, narrowly missing his chest with her pen. She looked up into the eyes of blond from the whistling incident weeks before. Her jaw set, and she turned back to the shelves of books.

  "Thought you might like someone to walk you to your car. It gets rather dark this time of night."

  His crooked smile had deceived many, but not Gerri. Her whole body sensed danger. Her eyes shot him her answer, and she turned to walk away. He put out his arm to stop her, but it was too late. He stood feeling angry and embarrassed as he watched her gather her books and leave the library.

  Her refusal was not what he had expected, not what he would accept. Something deep within took over. He moved swiftly and quietly out the door. He knew her driving path. He knew the shortcut she always took through the small al
ley.

  Driven by some compulsive determination, he climbed into his small car and sped ahead with his blood pounding. This woman was his, and he would have her.

  As Gerri slowed her car to turn into the alley, the driver’s side door was yanked open, and a hand reached for the keys to her car.

  Later, looking back she thought, "I should have screamed; should have fought. What's wrong with me?" But it all happened so quickly, so unexpectedly.

  Pulled from the car and held from behind, Gerri felt a dirty cloth forced into her mouth and she was pushed to the ground. The rough gravel of the road tore at her skin, and her blouse ripped open. Gerri struggled against the strong hands that fondled her breast and forced her jeans down.

  The pain of the rape, the threat, the fear and the shame pierced a curtain over a long-ago memory. Her emotions rose and ripped open a chamber she had sealed off lifetimes ago. Light-exposed the picture and pain echoed throughout her body. Faces flashed on the ceiling of her mind, and when the terror and cries stopped, she felt as silent and cold as an ice cave. Gerri went inside that cave, burying herself where no one could reach her.

  The blond man had collapsed on her, entirely spent. He hurriedly raised his body, zipped his jeans and buckled his belt.

  The woman had her face turned away, eyes closed. In the light of the moon, he could see the blood where her cheek had hit a rock. For a moment he was confused, as if coming out of a bad dream, but he pushed that aside.

  "You tell anyone, and I'll kill you," he snarled, as he moved to his car, hidden in the alley. "She asked for it. The bitch! Just like all women. They have to be taught their place," he mumbled as he walked away. He turned the keys to his sports car and sped toward his home.

  In his cozy apartment, Rory had just finished reviewing some ideas he had to discuss with the Board of Trustees of the Center. It was 10:25 pm, very little evening left. He got up from his desk gathering the papers he would need for tomorrow's meeting.