by Wm. Barnard
“That’s my great grandfather, Chief Barking Bear.” Bill pointed at the picture.
“Great name,” I said.
“I think he got it from being a legendary snorer.”
“Nice,” I laughed.
Bill grabbed a small drum off the mantle and slowly eased his big frame down toward the floor. Finally resting a few feet from me, he said, “I think this is the perfect time to show you how to pray to your guardian Ancestor. Are you ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Okay. Now it’s all about getting the right set of mind. You want to be receptive to the message your Ancestor has for you. I prefer to sit cross-legged like this and methodically beat my drum to pace my breathing and relax my mind. But you don’t have to do that. You can just inhale and exhale deeply, and slowly. And as you sit there, try to not think about anything; just let your mind go.”
“Is this where the peyote comes into play?”
“No jokes Zach. We gotta focus on absolutely nothing,” he said, smirking.
Patting his drum softly, Bill began taking a series of long, deep breaths through his nose.
Rotating my shoulders in attempts to relax as much as possible, I followed Bill’s lead and breathed in deeply, which reminded me that I now smelled like a horse. It didn’t take long to discover that trying not to think about anything was extremely difficult. My attempts at this sort of meditation only made me more conscious that I was thinking about not trying to think.
I considered some of the many questions I wanted to ask The Ancestors, the same ones that had seemingly perplexed the rest of mankind for centuries. After sitting for at least thirty minutes in the warm room, I finally felt like I could start to focus on nothing, but it only made me ready for a serious nap.
Bill startled me when he spoke out loud and said, “Ancestor, thank you for joining us here. We thank you that you give us guidance and wisdom. Zach is searching for knowledge and we hope you can help him. Go ahead, Zach.”
“I, uh, yeah…” I paused, peeking out one eye to scan the room. Bill seemed unfazed by my hesitancy and sat completely still with his eyes closed. Unable to spot anyone else in the room, I shut my eye again, hoping this would somehow help me to sense the Ancestor’s presence.
“Well, I want to know what happens to us when we die.”
Since I hadn’t heard anything yet, I expected Bill to relay this answer to me, but then I distinctly heard a voice that sounded much like Shanda’s.
In a smooth, soft tone, the Ancestor replied, “You never actually die – your spirit simply moves on to another level where you continue to grow.”
I like that answer, I thought.
“What about all the different religions? Why does there seem to be so many different opinions about who God is?” I asked, wondering if he would even have an answer.
“Many religious masters were good teachers and many of their principles and dogmas can be helpful in life. There are certain ones who understood the essence of holiness. They recognized the reality that we are all gods. Unfortunately, many of their teachings have been changed and distorted over time, which is why they cause so much division. We must warn you, you will encounter opposition for what you now know is true. People will come against you and say all kinds of evil because of us. Practice compassion for all will come to see the truth one day. Remember, we are always with you.”
After a few seconds of silence, I opened my eyes and Bill smiled at me while he unfolded his legs straight out in front of him.
“So, what’d you think, Zach? Probably not what you were expecting.”
“Definitely wasn’t sure what to expect. But that was really eye-opening,” I chuckled. “I almost felt like I was going take a siesta before you started talking to him.”
“Yeah, it can be a little ‘too’ relaxing. Sometimes it takes me forever before I can even establish contact and sometimes I can hear from them without even trying.”
Taking in a deep breath, I reflected. “I liked what he said.”
“Just keep searching, Zach. You’ll find the answers you are looking for,” Bill said, pushing himself up from the floor.
“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to add this into the story right now. To me, that was more mind-blowing than when we saw The Ancestors land right in front of us.”
Bill laughed. “Whatever you think is best. We trust your judgment.”
WHILE OUR CHANNELING SESSION HAD delivered a deeper understanding of the metaphysical, it had also given me a glimpse of how much the story would actually challenge the world-views that many held onto so dearly. Even with all the physical evidence we could provide, people had shown throughout history how stubbornly they held onto superstitions and fables.
Thinking of my own sister, I wondered how she would react at hearing the story and how it would impact her and other religious fanatics. Even though the information was a great deal to comprehend and misunderstanding was to be expected, I hoped it would ultimately help her and others in their own spiritual quest. Knowing I would be facing an uphill battle at times, I realized it would take great resolve to remain empathetic toward those who questioned the validity of my account.
I looked forward to future conversations with our Ancestor, something Bill liked to call “surfing the universe.” The experience proved to be extremely invigorating, and I headed back to finish off my story with a boost of energy.
AFTER COMPLETING THE ARTICLE A few days later, I shared it with Gloria and Bill who both read it while I took a long walk around the ranch. They both told me they were well pleased. With their blessing, I emailed an agent friend who began working on a unique deal with a publishing company that would pay handsomely for exclusive rights to the story once I provided the video evidence. It took less than thirty-six hours to work out the deal with New Fountain Media and the story hit the major media outlets as I left the ranch on Friday morning.
Departing the ranch after almost a three week stay, I thanked Bill and Gloria for their hospitality and requested we get together soon. After Bill returned my cell phone and laptop, we shook hands and I noticed Gloria’s eyes had moistened. As I reached over to embrace her, she momentarily buried her face in my shoulder.
Gathering herself, she said, “I made you something, Zach.”
She held out a piece of titanium rainbow quartz about half the size of her small fist. “It will help you meditate and keep calm when life gets tough.”
“I appreciate that, Gloria. It means a lot to me.”
This time it was only Peter and I who began the long drive back south to San Diego. Once we made it onto Highway 5, he told me I could take off my blindfold and sit up front. Pulling into a gas station to refill and stretch our legs, I recognized some road signs and knew I would be home in only a few hours. I expected my answering machine to be full of calls from every media source I could think of and amused myself as I imagined Harry begging me to come back to the magazine.
Wanting to make the most of this great opportunity life had afforded me, I envisioned plans of speaking engagements and a TV talk show tour to coincide with places I had always wanted to visit. I also mentally outlined a screenplay in hopes of making still more money.
When our van finally pulled onto my street, I observed several cop cars lining the street and countless camera crews posted throughout my yard.
“Let the games begin,” I said to nobody.
Sinking into my seat below the window line, I told Peter not to slow down and keep driving.
Not really knowing where to go or even what to do next, I finally instructed him how to get over to Vanessa’s place so I could come up with a plan. Knowing full well how much attention the story could generate, I still foolishly underestimated the cost of my new-found fame. Somehow I had been naïve enough to imagine that I could dictate when and where I would speak to the media. Confronted by a lawn full of reporters, I realized I wasn’t ready yet to talk to all of these people.
Over the years,
I had tried to withhold resentment toward those in my profession who had invaded people’s privacy in the pursuit of a story. Now forced to acknowledge that these bloodhounds would most likely ensure that my private life met an early demise, I felt a plague of bitterness creeping into every fiber of my being.
LOCATED IN ONE OF THE city’s oldest neighborhoods, my sister’s small stucco home was situated on one of the few streets in Southern California where everyone’s yard has at least one big tree. As we pulled up to her house, a group of kids playing Wiffle ball out front scattered to the side so we could enter her driveway.
The front porch light still burned dimly mid-afternoon, meaning she had probably left for work before sunrise again. With her unpredictable schedule at the San Diego Police Department, there was no telling what hour she would return home, but I still lugged my bags up to her back patio. Despite the apparent vacancy, I knocked on her door before reaching for the spare key hidden under a neglected plant in a small clay pot. Slowly jiggling the lock open, I walked in and slid my bags across the wooden floors of her cluttered living room. Reaching out the back door, I waved good-bye to Peter.
I hastily turned on the TV and began flipping through the channels to see what kind of reports there might be on my story. When I saw CNN recapping the day’s top news stories, I plopped down on a pillow on the floor and rested my back against the couch.
Apparently a terrorist organization had successfully detonated a bomb on a ferry boat right near London Bridge, killing at least thirty-six people the previous day, with a branch of England Islamic United claiming responsibility. Such stories had become so commonplace the past few years that it simply numbed the senses.
The newly appointed anchorman who ostensibly acquired his position through striking good looks and his ability to adequately read a teleprompter smiled awkwardly before going on to the next story. “There is still much uncertainty about the account of an extraterrestrial encounter released by New Fountain Media today.” The camera broke to the scene outside my house, causing me to sit up and lean forward.
“Reporters are eagerly awaiting the arrival of Zach Miller, the former Essence Magazine writer who claims to not only have been an actual eyewitness of alien aircraft, but to have also made physical contact with alien beings. According to Miller, the aliens gave him a message of hope to all of humankind that they will come and help create a new world order where peace and unity will reign forever. New Fountain Media claims that later today they will release actual video footage of the event. As of now, experts are still examining the photos you have been seeing to check their authenticity. Government officials are making no official comment at this time except that they would like to interview Mr. Miller. For more information on the story, log on to our website at CNN.com.” The anchor smiled smugly, no doubt pleased with his performance.
I heard the hum of an engine pulling up the driveway and hit the off button on the remote so I could hear more clearly. The faint squeaking of brakes caused me to crawl across the floor in the kitchen, before peeking out the window. Relieved to see my sister’s Honda Accord, I wrestled to jar the window open and yelled her name so as not to startle her at finding someone waiting in her house.
“Zach?” she said, stopping as she rounded her car.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Oh my gosh,” she said before hurrying to the house and meeting me at the kitchen door. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”
“I just got back in town and didn’t want to deal with all the media in front of my house right now. I’m assuming you read the story.”
“Of course; it’s all over the news. Everyone at work was talking about it.”
“So what did you think?”
“Well, I’m still just blown away. I can’t believe my kid brother was there to see it.”
I laughed and said, “Yeah, it still seems almost surreal to me as well. But it was such an amazing experience!”
“And you went to this ranch not even knowing what you would be reporting on?
“I had no idea. Once I got there and found out what was about to happen, I was petrified. I actually tried to escape out of there before it all went down.”
“You did?”
“The more I thought about actually meeting extraterrestrials, the more freaked out I got. Fortunately as I was trying to leave, I got turned around and witnessed the whole thing. I wished you could have been there.”
“Some news reporters actually called me at the precinct asking for a statement. I was wondering if anybody would show up here.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I don’t know why I didn’t expect the media to set up camp at my house. I’m gonna get my agent to set up a press conference after they release the video so I can answer as many questions as I can at one time.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” she said, unfastening her belt holster, and opening up a cabinet drawer to lock up her Glock nine pistol.
“Is it okay if I stay here for tonight?”
“Of, course. That’s fine.”
A knock at the door caused me to raise my eyebrows at my sister, as I wondered if the media had found me.
“Oh, that’s probably Jason,” she said and hurried over to the door.
“Hey, come on in. Let me introduce you to my brother Zach.”
Jason looked surprised that I was there as I stood up to shake hands with him. Vanessa then informed me that Jason worked with her at the same precinct. A middle-aged detective, Jason certainly looked the part with his freshly shaven face, clean-cut hair neatly parted to the side, and casual-business attire.
“Hi, Zach, nice to meet you,” he offered.
“You as well.”
“Hey, that was some story you wrote,” Jason said bluntly, and my sister shot him a look, attempting to get him to avoid the subject.
“What’d you think?” I asked.
“Well, I’d love the chance to discuss that with you more. But I think Vanessa wants to get over to the restaurant right now. Do you want to join us?”
“No, thanks. I’m gonna lay low and take care of some things.”
“Okay, I should be back around ten,” Vanessa said, edging Jason out the door.
“I’ll probably be knocked out,” I laughed.
Dialing my landline’s answering machine to retrieve my messages, I ended up skipping past the ones from the New York Times, The Enquirer, and The Wall Street Journal. I finally stopped when I heard a deep voice say, “Mr. Miller, this is Alex Yelle from NASA. I would very much like to talk to you at your earliest convenience.”
I saved his number into my cell phone and thought about all the different bureaucratic departments who would be clamoring to talk to me. Dwelling on this for a moment caused me to feel slightly paranoid that I might be followed by the F.B.I. and other agencies. No wonder nobody at the ranch wanted to bring this story to the world.
I called Johnny to see if he had the misfortune of dealing with the crowd outside my house and he picked up on the first ring.
“Johnny!”
“Zach, where are you, man?”
“I’m over near downtown,” I said, trying not to reveal my address or my rising state of paranoia.
“I read your story this morning. What’ve you been smoking, bro? Johnny asked, laughing.
Comments like this reminded me I would now also be fair game to every comedian known and, even worse, people like Johnny who thought they were comedians.
“Johnny, I don’t need comments from the peanut gallery right now. Let me cut to the chase. What’s up with my house? Have you been by there today?”
Changing his tone, Johnny said, “Sorry about being so flippant; I didn’t want to deal with that zoo over there. I drove by this afternoon and just kept going.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“But man, I’m sure glad that you didn’t listen to me and went up there. That was the most amazing story ever!”
“Well, thanks. It was hands down
the greatest experience of my life.”
“Yeah, well, when are you going to introduce me to these Ancestors?”
“Actually, that’s a real possibility. I can teach you how you can contact them.”
“For real? That’d be outrageous,” Johnny’s voice got louder.
“I need to ask another favor. Can I stay at your place for a couple of days?”
Hesitating, Johnny said, “I don’t know, Zach, I don’t want the press corps hounding me.”
“Okay, I get that.”
“Hey, you can make a killing on the talk show tour.”
“Do you think Scooter’s Scandals will invite me on their show?”
“Yeah, maybe. You’ll have to say that you had an affair with an alien girl.”
“Who said I didn’t?”
“Oh man, I knew you had it in you,” Johnny quipped, and we both laughed loudly.
“What’s sad is that people would probably buy that story more easily than the truth,” I added.
“Well, like they say, only in America.”
“Alright, so can you check me in at the Hilton tomorrow around noon under your name and I’ll just pay you back?”
“That’s fine. I should be finished up with my web design for this furniture store by then. I’ll call if I’m gonna be late.”
“See you then.”
THE NEXT MORNING, A PICTURE of The Ancestors took up almost the entire front page of the San Diego Chronicle newspaper that lay on my sister’s dining room table. The headline read, “Close Encounter of the Real Kind?”
“Do you want some bacon with your eggs?” She asked.
“Love some,” I said.
Sliding the bacon onto my plate of eggs, Vanessa sat down next to me. She bowed her head quickly, saying grace for her food while I ate and continued staring at the photo.
“So, now that you see this, what do you think?” I said pointing to the newspaper.
“To tell you the truth, the more I think about it, the more confusing it gets.”
“What do you mean?”
