Psychic Warrior

by David Morehouse

  “I am honored to be in your presence.”

  “You have been led to me by a man of great wisdom and spirit, a man with eyes for this and other worlds.”

  “I am grateful, but I am frightened.”

  “You carry bear medicine; the one who brought you considers you a bear warrior, of the Bear Clan. You must be as brave here as he believes you to be.”

  “I will try.”

  “You are here to die. Did you know that?”

  “I am already dead in the spirit.”

  “You were told it would be so, were you not?”

  “I was told by the angel who watched over my father that I would give up a great deal to reveal the gift.”

  “And now you must die completely and be reborn in spirit to carry on the work of your world.”

  “I’m ashamed that I fell so terribly; I’m ashamed.”

  The medicine man laughed. “All spirits fall; it’s nothing to be ashamed of. There is nothing in the world more true than the death and rebirth of the spirit. All things in the world possess the spirit. All things in the world die and live again. I am speaking not of physical death, but of spiritual death, of the death brought on by the living of life in the pursuit of wisdom and understanding. It is as you were taught in the beginning: you will become something other than what you were. As you were told, the wisdom brought by the gift of eyes extracts a toll. Your spirit is dying because it must be reborn to soar to a higher plane; that is what makes some more than others. The fear of seeking the wisdom that brings about transformation is also what makes some less than others. You made the journey; you lay down upon the altar and gave willingly to become more than you were before the gift. So many have been offered it and refused it for fear of change.”

  “I’m grateful for your explanation.”

  “Then it is time for you to die.”

  I followed the medicine man to a gathering of elders; all were clad in sacred priestly robes. My eyes saw them as elderly Indian holy men; but I was wise enough to understand that they could take on whatever form my heart accepted. These beings, like everything else I saw on this journey, were symbolic representations of the unseen power that governs not only what is in our hearts, but also our world and everything in it. The interconnectiveness of lives and spirits; of knowledge, of life, and of death was becoming clear. For just an instant, I was blessed to see clearly the meaning of my life and the lives of all humanity. In the presence of these great men I looked into eternity to see the flow of time, and I knew my place within it.

  As I stood looking into eternity, the men encircled me, each carrying his medicine. When the circle was complete, a brilliant flash of light passed before my eyes and I fell to the beings’ feet. Spiritually dead, I gazed into the heavens of this world and watched as the beings symbolically breathed life into me, their breath becoming mine until I stood before them, reborn of spirit.

  The circle parted and the medicine man who had brought me took my arm and led me away to a place just before the veil. Here he turned to me and said:

  “I will tell you a story which you must always carry in your heart from this time forward. A war party came to the camp of their enemies; they watched from a distance to learn the ways of their enemies; and once they believed that they could learn no more, they crossed the river separating them from the enemy camp.

  “A small girl saw them crossing and alerted the warriors of her camp, who rose in defense, killing many of the war party as they crossed the river. One warrior, however, fought so fiercely that he crossed the river and made his way into the thick brush separating the camp from the river.

  “In the brush, he fought so mightily that the warriors protecting the camp backed away, afraid to enter the brush and fight the warrior face to face. Throughout the long night they cast stones and flaming torches into the brush to wound and torment the brave warrior. As the night deepened, the sounds coming from the brush, which had been war cries and whoops, became the growls and snarls of the bear, further confounding and frightening the warriors who surrounded the brush.

  “As dawn broke, the camp’s warriors rushed into the brush to overwhelm the enemy warrior, but they did not find him there. His spirit had died as he realized his calling; reborn, he was transformed in spirit and form into a fierce bear. The bear warrior killed many of those who surrounded him, and they fled the village, taking the women and children with them.

  “The spirit of the bear warrior and of what was done there has never left the banks of the river. From that day forward, whenever a people tried to settle there, the bear warrior came from the darkness in power and glory and frightened them away. From the day of his transformation his spirit and life increased through the power of his legend. Despite what he gave up, the mark he made because of his rebirth will never be forgotten.”

  Saying nothing else, the medicine man brought me into the veil. When I opened my eyes I saw the interior of the tepee; Mel, smiling, sat across the embers from me.

  “Welcome back, my brother.” His eyes misted with tears. “I prayed for you!”

  I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Thank you for knowing how to give me my life again. I’ll never forget you, in this life or any other.”

  Mel sprinkled another handful of sage over the embers, sending a cloud of purifying smoke into the air around us. “It’s over now. All the poison of the past is gone. More will come, it always does; but you’ll see it differently now. I made some things for you a few years ago; now is the right time for you to have them.”

  He reached for a blanket made of red trader’s cloth and threw it open. “This is your shield. It’s willow with deerhide stretched over it; the markings, like those on your rock medicine, represent the bear and his power to turn aside the weapons of his enemies. These five feathers across the bottom are called barred turkey feathers; the white fluff decorating them is eagle fluff; the white skin is otter, and this cloth draped to the side is trader’s cloth.

  “This is your war ax.” Mel picked it up. “The handle is wrapped in deerhide and beadwork in the black and red of the Bear Clan. The feathers are crow and red-tailed hawk. This is your lance; there are twenty-eight barred turkey feathers with eagle fluff, with bearskin and otterskin on either end of the shaft. The head is hammered metal from a wagon wheel, and the Bear Clan symbol is notched in it as well as in your war ax. I want you to have these; I made them for you to be reminders of your rebirth and of your warrior lineage.” He wrapped them in the blanket and passed them over the fire to me.

  “I don’t know what to say, Mel. You have been with me and cared for me for so long now. I’m humbled by you, and forever grateful for your love and friendship. Thank you for that, and for these wonderful gifts.”

  He smiled. “Well, it’s probably appropriate for you to say megwitch, which means ‘thank you’ in a local tongue. Maybe it just sounds better when you’re exchanging Indian gifts.”

  “Okay, megwitch … . George told me a story about an Indian warrior who became a bear and never left those that killed him alone again. Have you ever heard that story?”

  Mel stirred the embers with a stick and poured water from a clay jug onto them. “Yup. That’s a true story, by the way.”

  “Well, he told me to remember it always. Do you know why? And is it written down somewhere?”

  “It’s not written anywhere I know of, but I’m sure he gave it to you as a parable for your life. Take each part of the story and compare it to what you’ve experienced over the last seven years; I think you’ll find some parallels … Hey! You ready for a beer?”

  “Actually, I’m ready for a truckload; but one will be more than enough. I think I sweated out half my body weight.” We climbed to our feet and left the tepee. Just before I entered the house I paused to look back at the place where I had died. I smiled warmly, hoping George was there watching.

  Debbie and I got ready to leave the next morning. We hadn’t arrived with much, but we sure as hell were leaving with plenty.
I kissed and hugged Edith, thanking her for taking such good care of Mel. Debbie embraced Mel and Edith, thanking them for taking such good care of her husband.

  “Oh! I almost forgot!” Mel ran upstairs. When he reappeared he had a blanket under his arm. Unrolled, it revealed a large deerskin. He flipped it fur side down to show me a pictograph of the story George had told me. “This should be on your wall, where you’ll never forget it. I should have known that I’d have to write the story down for an infantryman.”

  “Yeah, and it’s even in pictures—no big words to try and pronounce,” Debbie said, smirking. We left Russellville and drove back to Bowie to begin life anew.

  Among those who anchored me in this world again was Mike Foley, my dear friend who was shot down in the Panama chopper crash. He came to see me in one of those moments of despair, and his words were prophetic and clear. What he and the angel said helped me to understand the insignificance of what happens here, in contrast to what we do here.

  The key to my rebirth was inside myself. Aside from the symbolic death of my spirit, the only ingredient I required, I already had: the pure love of my family. And of course, I’d almost forgotten the reason for all my troubles: to get the message out that we are more than just the body; we are spirits loosely tethered to earth, and there are dimensions and worlds far beyond what we know here. There is more than we have dreamed of—but none of that matters if we cannot grasp the significance of this life.

  You can spend a lifetime tapping into the ether to explore other realms, but you have to come home sooner or later. You can mingle with gods and other peoples and other species—and you can think yourself unique for it—but they will not be there to help you make your way in this life. What we do here in support of others is where true happiness lies. I found that out the hard way.

  There were many tearful, angry nights and days in between where I was and where I am today. At this point in my life all I want to do is tell the story of remote viewing to anyone who will listen, not because it is amazing or controversial but because it carries a message for all mankind. There are other worlds out there, other dimensions, with civilizations, intelligences, love, hatred, success, and failure, everything we experience here in our world. There are also benevolent as well as evil energies out there. Some have the express purpose of destroying or hindering our progress here, and they have spent millennia practicing their craft.

  It became clear to me that remote viewing is both a blessing and a curse. It also became clear, through the message of the angel, that truth is in the hearts of men, not in the worlds of others. It became clear in the ceremony that there is no shame in failing because you’ve stretched yourself to new boundaries, or because you’ve followed your heart and done what you believed was right. To reach beyond your limits intellectually, spiritually, morally, and ethically sometimes requires you to take on a new and fresh spirit. I learned many things over my years in the ether; now I learned that the cycle of birth, growth, death, and rebirth of the spirit is eternal.

  EPILOGUE

  In December 1995, I got on my knees and humbly asked Debbie to marry me again. After more than five years of separation, she said yes, and for a second time in my life she made me the happiest man on the planet. We plan to be married in the mountains of Wyoming, at Paint Rock Lodge. There we can stand on a rock and look out over a world we’d forgotten existed. There we can put aside all the loneliness and empty nights, and live as husband and wife. Ours has been a long and terrible ordeal, and it’s time to rest and love again.

  Debbie and I decided to discuss with the children everything that happened to me. Many of my decisions affected them in ways that they would have to deal with for the rest of their lives. Answering their questions would be the first step in the healing process. I’m not ashamed of what happened to me, but I had been out of their lives for over five years and they didn’t know me anymore. When they did see me, I was in the hospital or just coming out of the ether. They had grown up without me.

  I’d spent their childhood years in the pursuit of intangibles—ideas, beliefs, and ideals. I’d sacrificed being part of their growth so that I could continue in my work as a remote viewer, so that I could bring the gift out of hiding. I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering whether I did the right thing. Did I have a choice? Why did I choose the path that I did, and what were the lessons? And, most important: after the troubled life I gave my children, can they ever forgive me and love me again?

  I used to proselytize to my children, trying to convince them that what I was suffering and making them suffer was for the good of humanity. I tried, in the early years, to make them understand that I was engaged in an assault on the bedrock of contemporary thought. While I cannot say that I’m sorry for the path I walked, I do regret the petty way in which I held their feelings and emotions at bay. I rationalized that children get over things quickly. But what I found is that children are profoundly affected by their parents’ actions. My decisions, and the amount of time Debbie has had to spend keeping me together, indelibly marked the personalities of each of my children. I know they will replay these events again and again in their own nightmares.

  I wish that as this phase of my life comes to a close I could look back and say that I did what destiny dictated, that I did what the angel—and, I think, God—asked of me, that I followed through with a plan that was established long before I came into this world. Despite what I wish, this is what I believe: I have stolen something from my children; I have challenged them in areas no child should have to compete in; I have created scars where wounds should never have been inflicted. When I pass from this life, I will leave my children a complex and troubled legacy. Where and how they deal with those complexities is up to them, but I lament the fact that they will have to make choices about the memory of their father. I will always remember my parents as kind, wise, and loving; but I could only guess how my children would speak of and relive life with me. It was time to talk about everything.

  Debbie and I brought the children together late one evening. I could see in their faces that the pain of the past had conditioned them to quickly throw up walls to protect themselves.

  “Your mother and I wanted you to know that we intend to work very hard at being a family again, and I have asked your mother to marry me again.”

  “You were never divorced!” Mariah said flatly. “How can you get married again?”

  “Well, we are going to renew our vows, which means there will be a small wedding, where we will commit to one another again in ceremony and in the presence of witnesses.” I glanced down, afraid to look into their eyes. “I guess what I mean is, I love your mom, I always have, and being apart from her and from you has been very painful for me. I want to be her husband again. I want to be your father again.”

  Danielle’s eyes began to water, but she wiped the tears away, refusing to let them fall and be noticed. Mariah swallowed hard; she, too, was fighting back the painful memories. Michael sat bent forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlaced, his gaze fixed on the ground.

  “We want to be married again,” I continued. “We want you to be there with us, to see us recommit to each other and to you.”

  “Mom doesn’t need to recommit to us!” Michael said. “She’s always been here for us.” A tear dropped from his eye. “You’re the only one who left. You’re the one who thought remote viewing and all that other crap was more important than us. You’re the one who tried to leave us forever. What do you want from us now?”

  His pain and the truth of his words stung. Mariah’s body shook with sobs. Danielle ran to her mother and embraced her as if to say, “Protect me.” Debbie hugged her little daughter, combing her hair with her fingers and whispering comforting words. She rocked her gently to calm her, and wept quietly as I tried to find words to bridge the gap I’d made between myself and my family.

  I wiped tears from my face and struggled to speak with some degree of composure. “I know that I’ve caused a
great deal of pain in our family.” I took a deep breath and tried to focus on my words. “I cannot recreate time and relive the decisions of the past. If I had known what damage I would do by making the decisions I did, I would not have made them. But even so, I should have known what I was doing to all of us. I did what I thought I was supposed to be doing. I looked deep inside myself and thought I was doing what God wanted me to do. I have to believe that I was. I brought a very valuable thing out of hiding, and I thought I was the only one paying a price for doing that. I was foolish and selfish to think so. I should have let you all know what was happening. I should have done then what I’m doing now, and let you all decide whether to support me or not. As it turned out, I made all the decisions without you. I was wrong.”

  “You were very wrong!” Mariah sobbed. “When we were little we knew you were a soldier. We understood why you were gone, and we always knew you’d come back to us unless you died. We knew you loved us, but we didn’t know that when you left us five years ago. Sure you came home once in a while, for a Christmas visit, or you called us now and then—but you weren’t our dad anymore, you were somebody else!”

  “You were a stranger in our lives,” Michael agreed, still not looking at me. “You came and went, you tried to be our friend or you tried to tell us what to do; but”—he laughed sarcastically—“the way we looked at it was like, Who the hell is this guy to walk in here for five days a year and try to make a difference? I mean, you were our dad, but you were no different than some guy who lived down the street. I got more out of my coaches than I ever got out of you!” He sobbed, looking at me now, his eyes filled with love and pain and sorrow. “You abandoned us for something we couldn’t even see! If you’d left Mom for another woman, we might have been able to cope with that, but what you left us for was invisible. We couldn’t see your angel! We didn’t know what went on in the nightmares! We didn’t share your interest in the ether or whatever you call it. We were hurt! And we had nothing in front of us to be angry at, only a memory of what our dad used to be like.” He wiped the tears from his cheeks, shaking his head in disbelief. “Do you know what it was like for me to come to Fort Bragg and see you starving yourself? Or how about being told by the doctor that my father tried to kill himself? Did your father ever do that to you?” He looked painfully into my eyes. “Well, did he?”