Spirit Invictus Complete Series

by Mark Tiro

  I couldn’t even remember who I was.

  But the essential, I remember perfectly. Perfect light. Perfect love. All of it enveloping me, pulling me, inviting me.

  I walked.

  Forward, I walked down this path. Then I disappeared, off and into the light. I had nowhere in particular I needed to be. At least none that came to mind. And with nowhere else to be, I just kept right on walking. Or floating. I didn’t even get tired like I do sometimes when I walk a long way hiking or something. It was more like I was thinking my way forward, propelling myself with just the smallest, littlest thought to go on. I know that sounds weird. I know that doesn’t make any sense. But it’s true, and I thought myself forward, on down the tunnel, off into this… this… beauty.

  And so I went on alone. Kind of, I think. But… what’s that? I don’t know. What could it matter, anyway? This had to be bliss. Floating, peaceful, tranquil… bliss.

  “Who is that? Is someone here?” I asked. Or thought. My words were as much thought now as words.

  But of course not. There’s just light, everywhere. Love and light, and I don’t care about anything, and I don’t need anything, and everything is just fine. Still, I was getting nowhere fast. Not that I wanted to, because I didn’t. But after a little while, I started to wonder where this place was. And what it was.

  And so I drifted on, forward, down this tunnel of light. Or so it seemed. But I was starting to feel like a little girl, more and more lost the deeper I floated in. I kept drifting, and I began to feel more alone, more… rudderless.

  And that’s when I noticed.

  Him.

  I don’t know his name, but I saw him there, off to the side, a sort of bemused half-smile lighting up his eyes.

  “Let’s take a walk, Maya,” he said, reaching out his hand to help me get up.

  “Who are you?” I asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, I quickly added, “No thank you, anyway. I can take care of myself just fine.”

  But the thought occurred to me that obviously I couldn’t take care of myself. Heck, I wasn’t even entirely sure where I was now, and I certainly couldn’t remember how I’d gotten here. And so, obviously—I needed some help.

  The way spread out before us, and it was glowing now. Obviously, this was a sign for me, the help I needed. The way to go. I tried to relax into it. It worked, and that’s the way I went.

  That’s the way we went.

  “Are you willing to come?” the voice said. His voice. “We’ll be back home soon. And everything is still okay. I promise.”

  “Uh… okay,” I stammered in response. It was the only thing I could think to say.

  The tunnel of light shimmered and glowed, spreading out before us. It was beautiful.

  My own thoughts just about made me panic, but I didn’t get the feeling that anything here was dangerous at all. And so I put on a brave face. “Do I need shoes?” I asked. “Because if I do, they’re downstairs by the door.”

  He didn’t say anything. He just chuckled slightly.

  That’s the moment I understood.

  “Ah! I get it! That’s funny. Shoes are funny! Of course I don’t need shoes—I don’t have feet.” I laughed to myself as I looked down and saw that I was no more than light, no different than this ‘place’ with its light all around me, no different than anything around me.

  No different than… him.

  I couldn’t feel my body, and I couldn’t see it. Everything, me included, seemed like nothing more than light and thought and love.

  I laughed again. I’m not in a body! For some reason, this struck me as the funniest thing in the world. And so I laughed some more.

  My friend here, whoever he was, laughed now too, right along with me.

  After a bit of this, we both melded into a quiet, gentle calm. A warm balm seemed to fill me from inside, calming everything. It felt good to be here now.

  “Don’t forget your pad of paper,” he said.

  “My what?” I asked, confused.

  “The pad of paper. Don’t forget to grab it. And your pen, too,” he added, smiling. “Don’t forget that, either. The pad of paper wouldn’t do much good without the pen, now, would it?”

  “I don’t understand,” I pleaded. “I don’t have a pad of paper. Or a pen,” I added.

  He looked over and nodded down. I looked down and was astonished to see what he was nodding at.

  It was that pad of paper I’d found and grabbed from the room, along with the fake-oil smudged pen.

  5

  Five

  We walked on in silence.

  Me clutching my pad and paper, and him… well—I couldn’t really even see him at all. But I knew he was there. We both were.

  We went along, talking, or actually, exchanging thoughts. It was like we were old friends—no need to make small talk or introductions. And I wasn’t nervous like I usually was, talking to people I don’t know. It just seemed like we’d known each other forever.

  After a while, the thought occurred to me that I couldn’t remember his name, even though it seemed that I must. But I didn’t know it, and so I asked him. I asked him in a thought, which was effortless, and infinitely better at communicating what I meant.

  “You can call me David,” came his. It was a thought in response to my thought-question, appearing in my mind the instant I had asked him.

  Just like that, we communicated.

  David. Yep, I thought. I knew it. His name had hung out of reach in my mind before, but now that I heard it, it came rushing back to me. Of course. David. I know you.

  “We’re old friends, aren’t we?” I asked.

  “We’re the oldest of friends,” he smiled. “Good to see you again. Maya.”

  We talked a while—exchanging thoughts instead of words at what seemed like the speed of lightning—catching up on memories and lifetimes I didn’t remember had ever happened. The words seemed to flow magically, and slowly, I found myself remembering a conversation here, an image there… and then, at last—entire lifetimes.

  I had no clue, no memory at all, of any of these lives—until the instant they popped back, full-blown in every last detail, into my mind. The people I’d known, the people I’d been… then the ones I’d loved and the ones I’d hated—one after another, these gently came to mind, like the wistful reminiscences of an old man rocking gently on his porch as the sun sets in front of him.

  But there they were again now—all there. Every memory, every lifetime—must’ve been there before, unconscious, though, hidden and tucked away, in the vaults of my mind until… David made them all spring back. He had never forgotten, so why had I? Remembering, I asked myself this. I asked myself and then then floated off again, reminiscing, remembering some more.

  “It’s all coming back to me now,” I told him, even as lifetimes kept playing out in my mind. Each one distinct, I could see each of them now, playing out fully in excruciating detail. And still—this was all happening… at the same time. It was all happening simultaneously, in a single instant.

  And they were adventures.

  Not all of them, sure. Some were tragedies. And some were romances. Together, though—these were adventures. These were my adventures….

  “Do you like our adventures together, Maya?”

  “What?” I asked, thrown off balance, his question interrupting my reverie.

  “Good to see you,” he went on. I sensed he was grinning a mischievous grin, though this whole thing seemed to still be playing out between our minds. “Maya? It’s Maya this time around, isn’t it?”

  He laughed, so of course I shot him a stern look of disapproval. It was the look I’d make when I was messing with people. He’d get it. I knew he would.

  And just to make sure, I broke out into a broad grin of my own. “Good to see you again, David. So what is this pad of paper and pen that you have me toting around all over the afterlife here?”

  “Afterlife? Is that what you think this is?”

  “Well, i
sn’t it?” I shot back. “I mean—look around. The tunnel of light… the ethereal music… you. If this isn’t the afterlife, what on earth could it possibly be?”

  “Well, you seem to be in quite a bind, so I just thought it might be helpful for you if—”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, David,” I said, cutting him off.

  “Oh, you don’t remember, do you?” he answered. “That’s—”

  “I remember. Of course I remember. I remember everything. Past lives, future lives. Lifetimes with you, lifetimes without you. Ones where I was in power, and others where I was the salt of the earth—literally…”

  “Oh, you mean that mafia lifetime where you ended up dead and buried in a vegetable garden for talking too much?”

  I did remember that lifetime. The memories of how it abruptly came to an end flooded my mind.

  “’Salt of the earth’, though?” He was poking fun at me now. “If I remember, there was no salt in that earth. It was just the opposite, actually: for years after they buried you there, the tomatoes from that garden were some of the best-tasting…”

  “Stop that! David! Oh no, you didn’t just say that.”

  “Sorry. Still too soon?”

  “No! It is not too soon. But some things are better left…”

  “Buried? I know,” he sighed. “I get it.”

  “Stop it! That’s not funny!” I blurted back, trying my best to look exasperated. But I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s really nice to see you again, David. So what’s next? A new adventure? I would love to fly on spacecraft, exploring civilizations in different times, on distant planets…”

  “Hold on there, Captain Kirk. Hold on.”

  “Captain Kirk? I am not Captain Kirk.” I threw him a sideways glance, a dirty look out of the corner of my eye.

  “What? Did you fancy yourself more of a Captain Picard? I get it. A lot of people do—”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Maya, you need to see this lifetime out. It’s not done yet.” He said my name again, slowly, for emphasis. “You know—you’re still right in the middle of this lifetime.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeated. “I was some little girl in school or something. And now it’s done, I’m here. That’s what this tunnel of light and all this is about, no? What happened to me, anyway? Did I get run over by a car trying to save an old lady crossing the road? Or did I donate my heart to save a less fortunate child because… well—I’m just generous like that? It’s okay, you can tell me. I can take it.”

  He cringed, but I ignored him and kept right on going. He interrupted me. “I told you already. You’re not dead.”

  “Of course I am,” I shot back. “I mean, I’m here now, aren’t I? So why don’t we just move on? What’s my next great adventure? What can I expect from the next lifetime?”

  “I don’t think you understand… Maya.” He said the name slowly, drawing it out for emphasis. Then he went on. “You’re not dead. And you really don’t remember much, do you?”

  “I already told you—I remember everything,” I said, then repeated, “Everything!”

  “I see. Okay then. You’re right. So, can I have a moment here, to show you these things you’ve been toting around with you?”

  “These old things?” I asked, holding this old pad of paper and pen up between us.

  “Those old things, yes. Let me show you how they work.”

  I snickered at that. How they work? Everybody knows that…

  “You might want to grab a seat,” he said, motioning behind me.

  I turned around, and saw that a ridiculously oversized table and chair had materialized right where we had just been.

  “Hey,” I started to protest.

  “Too much?” he answered, grinning. As he did, it seemed to become just any normal table with two chairs. The next thing I knew, we were both sitting in the chairs at that table with two cups of Italian espresso in front of us. And actually—the delicate brown foam in each cup was frothed to a perfect golden brown.

  “Wait,” I asked, holding one of the cups up to my lips. “Aren’t I just a little girl? How old am I? Isn’t coffee going to stunt my growth?”

  “According to you, you’re already dead, so drink as much coffee as you want. You have my permission.” He paused, still grinning, for obvious effect. Then he added, “Anyway, haven’t you just been dying for a good cup of coffee?”

  I laughed out loud. We both did.

  “Okay, what is it with this old pen and pad of paper?”

  “Funny you should ask,” he started, sitting back and taking a sip of his own espresso. Then he glanced down at the pad of paper in front of me.

  He put down his cup, looked straight at me with a gleam in his eye, and said, “Before I begin, you may want to take notes.”

  6

  Six

  “Uh, take notes?” I said.

  “Yes, please. That is, if it’s not too much of an imposition for you…”

  “Eh, sorry, no. Of course not.” And so I took out the pad of paper and pen in my hand and flipped it open to the first page.

  The first page—just like every other page—was emblazoned with the familiar Shimoda Bros. Auto Repair fake oil smudge logo (Boy, that sure gets old fast, I thought), and their phone number (555-0101).

  “Hey!” I blurted out. I couldn’t help myself. “That’s not real.”

  “Yeah, I know. The logo is a fake oil smudge. They can’t put a real oil smudge on each pad of paper, now, can they? It wouldn’t be environmentally-sensitive.”

  “The phone number! I’m talking about the phone number,” I blurted back at him. “Everyone knows 555-anything isn’t a real number.”

  “Have you taken a look around lately?”

  I did. There was the brilliant glow of the tunnel that wasn’t a tunnel. And then there was the light that wasn’t a light. There was the dynamic, humming symphony-like feeling that seemed to fill my heart with a warm fuzzy feeling.

  Obviously, I was dead. Obviously.

  But I can get used to this, I thought. Heck—I already have.

  “None of this is real, you know,” he said after I’d finished looking around. His words were mostly matter-of-fact, but he still had a sort of mischievous, bemused half-smile.

  “You’re messing with me.”

  “No, I’m not,” he answered, a more serious, almost worried look slowly replacing his grin. “Is that what you think this is?”

  “Well, sure. Of course I’m dead… I mean—it’s obvious, no?”

  “No. It’s not. And you’re not dead. I thought I’d told you already. This isn’t real.”

  But this is real! I thought. How can it not be?

  “If I wasn’t experiencing all this right now, then yeah, maybe I’d agree with you. But I know what I’m experiencing. I mean, I’m sitting here talking to you. I know this is real.”

  Still, there was a part of me that was at least happy to hear I wasn’t dead yet.

  “So if I’m not dead, what am I? I mean—where are we? Is this all a dream? Am I in the hospital? It’s a near-death something or other, isn’t it?”

  “Something or other?”

  “You know what I mean… what do they call it?” I racked my brain until the thought came to mind. “It’s a near-death experience, isn’t it? That’s what this is called. I knew it!”

  He laughed. “We could go with that.”

  I wasn’t convinced. But he didn’t say anything else about it, and so I decided not to say anything else either. For now.

  “So, can we get on with this?” I asked, picking up the pad so I could begin taking notes.

  “Of course, of course. But you definitely don’t want to write on that pad.”

  “Why not?” I shot back. “Didn’t you just tell me to take notes?”

  “Well, yes… but not on that. How about this—why don’t you just pay attention to what I’m going to say first, and then if yo
u need to take notes later, we can go from there?”

  “Sure.”

  “This,” he started, then stopped. He reached out his hand, signaling for me to give him the pad of paper. I gave it to him.

  “This—this is a magic list. Never give it to anyone.” He smiled, then handed it back to me.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. How is this a magic list? And why shouldn’t I give it to anyone?”

  “Because it’s a magic list,” he said. “I thought I’d explained that. Sorry if I was unclear.”

  “That’s ridiculous. How is this a magic list?” I asked, flashing him the pad and pen, but careful to keep it arm’s reach away from him, just in case.

  “Well, technically, it’s not a list because you haven’t actually written anything on it yet. But when you do, it will become a list. A magic list.”

  I flipped through the pages one more time to see if I’d missed anything. Nope—they were all regular-looking pages, every last one of them with that same ridiculous oil smudge logo and fake phone number printed at the top.

  “See what I mean?”

  “I absolutely do not see what you mean. That’s ridiculous. What’s so magical about this list… no, about this—crap, second-rate advertising junk?”

  “On its own, nothing,” he answered. He seemed serious now. Then he went on. “On its own, nothing. But when you make a list on it with this pen here, it turns it into a magic list.”

  I thought I could see where this was going, but I didn’t say anything. He was pausing for effect, I could tell. It occurred to me that just maybe he was delusional and actually believed it. I waited for him to go on, however, because I didn’t want to steal the thunder of his big reveal here.

  “Magic list,” he repeated. “And it only has one limit.”

  “It’s only limit is the number of pages, right?” I offered. I know I was probably messing up his carefully-scripted spiel by guessing the obvious, but by now, I just couldn’t help it.

  “No. Sorry, wrong answer. The right answer, if you’d like to know, is that the limit is that it’s just one list.”