Rumi's Field (None So Blind Book 2)

by Timothy Scott Bennett

  The President closed her eyes for a moment, taking some time to let the Fisherman's words sink in. "And yet here we sit, William," she said at last. She looked at the Fisherman and swept her arm in a circle, indicating the landscape surrounding them. "On the surface of Mars, and yet not really in bodies. Here, but not material. And were you to lengthen my leash a bit, as you seem willing to do whenever it suits you, I would be able to flit about the Solar System by the power of thought alone. I could even..." she stopped and examined the sleeve of her sweatshirt. It changed color in front of her eyes, flipping from blue to pink in an instant. She looked back to William. "I could even change my appearance at will," she said, a bit of amazement in her voice.

  William smiled and nodded. "Indeed you could, Madam," he said. "Which is what I meant earlier when I said that you had already 'touched the evidence.' You have already transcended the boundaries of the physical. But I dare say that, even now, you still tend to consider your physical body - the one over there in what you call the 'lobster tank' - as your real self and your real home. You might be able to leave your body for a short time, become a little spark of energy or entangled particles, say, that can explore the greater ocean of time and space, but you can only do so as long as you're tethered to your body and brain, which is the real source, the true ground of reality. Am I right?"

  Linda nodded. "It's a pretty hard shift to make, William. Even sitting here, it's like... the mental habits of physicality are still really strong."

  "And made all the stronger because your experience has been created and shaped by sources of mind much larger than your own individual ego. A consensus meta-reality is a powerful illusion, Madam. Which is why a revolution of paradigms can take so long, and why they often play out as a bitter and protracted war of words and ideas. And it's why the primary assumption of materialism in the human consensus meta-reality can be forgiven: because that meta-reality does have a certain existence apart from our individual minds. It feels like it's 'out there' and 'material.'"

  Linda stretched her legs out and massaged her thighs. She leaned forward in her chair. "So how does all of this help us understand who and what the aliens are, William?" she said, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

  The Fisherman's eyes flashed with excitement. "Here's where it gets good, Madam! Once we accept that what we call 'reality' is merely a limited consensus meta-reality created by our group of conscious entities found in this portion of reality we call 'Earth,' 'The Solar System,' or even 'The Universe,' we can then posit that there may be other groups of conscious entities existing independent of, and parallel to, our group, who have created their own consensus meta-realities."

  "Hold on," said Linda, raising a hand. "I'm getting lost in the jargon."

  William stopped. "Okay. Why don't you see if you can say it back to me in your own words."

  Linda widened her eyes playfully and inhaled. "Jesus, William," she said. "Okay. Gimme a minute." She closed her eyes to think, then opened them and looked up toward the sky. "You're saying that if what we humans think of as reality is only the reality we've created in our little corner of... uh... reality, then there might be other species who have created their own version of reality somewhere else."

  "Nicely done, Madam. And we can then posit that it is possible to bump into, visit, or tune into these other groups and their consensus meta-realities. In which case, we can begin to see that our experiences with so-called ‘aliens’ need not mean they are all just 'Spam in a can' physical beings from other planets in our reality that found a way to traverse galactic distances. We can begin to see, in fact, that we're actually bumping into complete other realities, not just other creatures inside of our reality. And that these other realities may differ from our own even down to the level of their fundamental laws of physics." William looked at Linda and raised an eyebrow, to add emphasis to what he'd just said.

  "So now we're going to throw the laws of physics out with everything else," said Linda, shaking her head.

  William smiled. "Do your so-called laws help explain how you have come to be a disembodied spirit sitting in an armchair on the surface of Mars?"

  Linda's face darkened and she glanced down at her hands. "I..." she said. She looked up at the Fisherman. "I don't think so," she conceded.

  "Then perhaps it's time to suspend your unwavering belief in them, hmmm?"

  Linda sat silent for a moment. "So..." she said at last, "how does it help us to think about the aliens in this way?"

  "It helps us in three ways, Madam," said William. "First, it helps us to understand why communicating with these alien consciousnesses has been such a confusing and challenging endeavor: we're trying to converse across realities. Second, it helps us to identify and let go of our own preconceived notions and expectations, not only about who aliens are and how they should behave, but about the nature of reality itself. Third, it helps us begin to grasp more fully what is being offered here."

  "And what is being offered here?" asked Linda.

  William smiled. "It's an invitation to an even larger party than we've so far attended, Madam," he said. "One where our consensus meta-reality gets combined with the consensus meta-realities of other groups of conscious entities, where reality itself gets redefined ever more fully, ever more grandly." He flashed his eyebrows again. "Imagine yourself off your leash, Madam, and free from any tethers holding you tightly to your body, your brain, your planet, and every notion you have that limits the possible. Imagine where you might go, who you might be, what you might do. Visit the stars and galaxies, Madam. Visit other planets, meet other peoples, see things you've never imagined, and explore powers and possibilities far beyond the reach of your physical body. That's the party to which we've been invited, Madam."

  Linda closed her eyes again. As William spoke, she'd found her thoughts stretching back to Earth, to the warm, cozy bed she shared with Cole, his gentle touch, his goofy laugh; to his three young children, so smart, so inquisitive, and so full of life; to her home, her friends, her constituents, her colleagues; to the way the morning sun used to rise over Boothbay Harbor and warm her face as she sat on her cabin deck; to the taste of lobster rolls and coleslaw and those kettle chips she just couldn't get enough of; to the way Dennis would sit on her lap and stare into her eyes in a way no dog ever had. Her heart broke open at the thought of these things. She was filled with grief. Longing. Love. Anger. She opened her eyes and looked at William and smiled. "I can hear that you really want that, William," she said, her voice heavy. "And I know you want me to want it too. I do. But right now..." she reached up to wipe away the tears that arose in response to her own words. "Right now, all I really want is to go home."

  William closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, exhaled, breathed again. He looked at Linda and smiled gently. "I understand," he said.

  13.3

  Cole sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his shoes. They'd gone back to Ken's house for the night, after taking Gordon to the local health center and saying their goodbyes to Annabelle and the others. Ken was not home, as Celia had been taken to the makeshift viral isolation ward they'd created for Greensleeves patients. Cole sighed sadly. He and Ken were now in the same situation. But at least Ken could be at his wife's side.

  It seemed that Gordon would probably be fine. He had some sort of radiation burns on his hands, but the wound to his head was not serious. Ann stayed to watch him through the night.

  The rest of them stayed up late and talked about what had happened. Watched Eddie's tape. Discussed tactics with Stan and Sten. Listened to the weather report on Ken's radio. The storm was still raging offshore, to the south and east of them, moving slowly, building in intensity. Already it was a Category 2, which was unheard of this far north, this early in the spring. Forecasts had the center of the storm hitting the southern Maine coast in about twenty-four hours. The expectation was that it would be a Cat 4 or above by then.

  Cole stood, walked to the window, gazed out over the water. The cloud cover was s
o dense that little Gridlight got through, but there was enough to get a sense of motion as the surface of the water chopped and churned. He thought about light. About the lights he imagined and the lights Marionette and the others followed as they made their way back to the boat. It was hard to believe that the two things were connected, but it seemed that they must be. As many strange and crazy things as he'd seen since Linda Travis had come zooming over that hill in her borrowed Oldsmobile, he still found it difficult to find himself in the middle of it. He was now a major player on a magical stage he didn't really understand, a mythic hero called the Wayfaring Stranger, with a purpose and a destiny, and a whole church full of believers by his side.

  He lifted his right hand, examined his fingers and the palm, then squeezed his hand into a fist and willed a light to appear. The light flared up: soft, white sparkling flames that squeezed out from between his fingers, as if he held a nugget of star stuff in his fist. He turned his hand slowly, examining the light from all sides. He willed it brighter and watched it get brighter, taller and watched it get taller, redder and watched it turn redder. He willed it to get hot and it got hot. He opened his fist and let the light roll over and under and around his fingers. He let it rest on the back of his hand. He let it spin in his palm like a fairy dancer. As he watched, a slight smile came to his face, and the light danced in his eyes. He didn't know how this light would help them. But he did know that it was real, and that it hinted at possibilities he might not otherwise consider.

  Cole extinguished the light with a flip of the mind and walked back to his bed. He crawled under the covers and closed his eyes to sleep.

  13.4

  Linda crossed her arms as she looked around the flat, rock-strewn plain upon which they sat. In the far distance rose the huge mountain she'd seen before, its sides roughly flattened like the sides of a pyramid. She turned to William. "So what's next?"

  The Fisherman twisted in his chair to get comfortable. "The UFO and alien experience was instrumental to us in unraveling the old paradigm," he said. "Eventually some of the more clever UFO researchers in the public realm came to understand what we had already ascertained: that the aliens' primary goal was to free people to think, feel, and experience beyond the confines of materiality."

  "And they did this how, William?" asked Linda.

  "With signs, miracles, and wonders, Madam," said the Fisherman, flashing his eyebrows.

  "Ah," said Linda. "You mean like having ships that fly in ways that ours could not?"

  "Oh, much more miraculous than that, Madam President, as you well know," said William. "Such ships can be explained as pushing against the limits of materialist technology alone, with nary a threat to the underlying paradigm. No, I'm speaking of things like walking through walls and floating through windows, appearing and disappearing in an instant, shapeshifting, telepathic communication, time travel, and consorting with our own dead. Things that put the lie to the dominant culture's deeply held beliefs regarding the laws of time and space and matter, and the limits of what is possible."

  "Okay," said Linda. "So... did you just say 'our dead'?"

  The Fisherman opened his mouth to speak, then stopped and frowned. After a moment he continued. "I was going to embark on a long-winded explanation of the many and varied types of aliens with whom we have knowledge, Madam. But I wish to honor your sense of urgency as best as I can, and I am not convinced that that time would be well spent. You can probably guess, given what we've talked about so far, that the reality of 'aliens' is far stranger than some simple story of physical creatures crossing the galaxy to visit us. They come from a variety of reality types or bands, from our own or other meta-realities. And depending on their integration into the Cosmic Community, they have full or partial access to the grand meta-meta reality as well."

  "And some of them actually are physical beings from our own galaxy?" asked Linda.

  "Some are, indeed, Madam. Some even consider the Earth their home. Some of the 'fairy folk' fall into the category. As does one group of Gray aliens, the Life, which is the group to which our mutual friend Spud belongs. This group was bioengineered by a race of non-material aliens many millions of years ago, and were left behind after the solar-system-wide war that also left these ruins we see about us." The Fisherman gestured at the various distant peaks that surrounded Rumi's Field.

  "So who was that man we saw back when we crossed the border into Canada? When Pooch got killed? Cole remembers him better than I. We've always assumed he was an alien."

  William nodded. "That was Zacharael, Madam. One of those whom we call the Elders, or Angels, who arose as a species in a non-material band. They've been keenly interested in Earth for a very long time, and take on an idealized human form when they visit the planet, as they have no habitual form of their own. Zacharael had a funny habit of assuming an appearance very close to that of our gone-but-not-forgiven friend Theodore Rice. But he hasn't been seen by anyone in our network since just before the Grid went up, so apparently the Angels are heeding the Life's Interdict."

  "Yeah," said Linda, her eyelids fluttering in confusion. "I could never figure out what he was up to."

  "Probably no need to worry about him at this point, Madam," said William. "Both Zacharael and Rice are long gone."

  "We can hope," said Linda.

  William inhaled deeply. "Indeed. Now, back to your question. As I indicated before, these many beings don't just show up as ETs in UFOs, even now. You can meet them in a book store, a DMT trip, a near death experience, a dream, a ghostly, demonic, or angelic encounter, as a monster in the woods, or even as the Blessed Virgin Mary. And they live in, or pass through, the various bands through which human beings traverse after death, as our dead transition between physical lives, or graduate to other levels. Some groups, Spud's included, work closely with the human dead, and it is not unusual for someone to encounter their own deceased friends or relatives in a UFO experience."

  "Okay," said Linda. "I think I'm getting the larger picture."

  "It should be easier for you than most," said William, "given your own history. I know that Obie told you of your lifelong involvement with some of these groups of aliens, Madam. But I find it curious that you've not done any work since then to recover your memories of these encounters. I would have thought you'd be motivated to better understand what had happened to you."

  Linda sighed, shook her head back and forth, and closed her eyes to think. "It was too... painful, William," she said at last. "And they had gone away. And there was so much to do. And Cole and I and the kids were just trying to be normal and happy." She looked at William and raised her shoulders. That was all the explanation she had.

  William smiled gently. "Perhaps, when all of this is finished, you and I shall find the time to uncover those things that have been hidden from memory. Such work might be healing for you."

  "Perhaps," said Linda.

  13.5

  Iain was angry. He did not like feeling helpless, and there was no greater helplessness than to be lost in the Murk. How long had it been now? He had no idea. No light. No sound. Just that weird pushing-pulling. He'd called out to his sisters, to Dennis, to Mihos, but none of them had replied.

  How was he supposed to protect people he couldn't find?

  Protecting felt like what he was supposed to do, really. He wasn't as smart as Emily. He knew that. And he wasn't cute like Grace. And he did not have her ability to know things. But he was smart. In his own way. And he did know some things. He knew that his little sisters were precious. He knew that they needed him.

  But the Murk had taken them away. Separated them from each other. Just like it had separated them from the world. And their own bodies. It was like they'd all been stuffed into boxes and put on a shelf in a dark warehouse, left there to go on thinking and wondering and wanting and worrying forever. Maybe this was what people meant when they spoke of "Hell."

  But there was that pushing and pulling. Which meant movement. Which meant that maybe... ma
ybe... there'd be an end to this. Iain allowed himself the faintest thought of hope. If there were an end, then in that moment, maybe there'd be something he could do.

  Iain imagined the others in the same situation as himself, thinking similar thoughts, worrying similar worries. He hoped that Grace wasn't too frightened. He hoped Emily was thinking of some way out. He hoped that Dennis's nose might lead him to freedom. And he hoped that Mihos might know something that could help. But hope was all he had, really, and it did not seem to be a potent force here. Hoping felt like trying to turn a light on from across the room, using a ten-foot length of cooked spaghetti to flip the switch.

  He laughed at the image. Maybe when they got back he'd draw a cartoon. He liked to draw, and was getting pretty good at it. He'd even started to wonder if maybe he'd be an artist when he grew up.

  If he grew up.

  13.6

  "Okay," said Linda. "So. There are all sorts of aliens out there, living in a bunch of different realities. You've referred to it as a big party. This Cosmic Community thing." The President ran her fingers through her hair. "So why all this interest in Earth, William? I mean... what makes Earth such a destination spot for these guys?"

  "Well, some of them live there, as I have said," answered the Fisherman with a brief smile. "Under the oceans. Underground. In some remote corners of the planet."