by T. Anderson
“The Fifth Circle,” he said rather smugly. “The guard? He’s a secret member. And the receptionist? Also a member. I told you, we’ve got people everywhere. They’re all counting on us tonight. They all want the same thing. We all do. Right?”
Vern wrestled with himself to reconcile his feelings. He gave it one last try. “Gunnar, Erling—wait just a minute. Not everyone wants this. Stella doesn’t want it. She told me.”
Stella finally spoke. “It is not up to me anymore. I have realized that. It is up to all of you.” She grabbed the attention of every face in the room. “All of our souls are connected. It is how we move through the worlds. Never alone, always in groups. Our group has been struggling for centuries. I have been lucky enough to skip forward much faster than the rest of you. I cannot explain how or why you have managed to make it possible. There is no sensible explanation for it, other than to offer you the opportunity for change.”
“I don’t get it,” Dane said, the most innocent of them all, his intentions and emotions so naked and raw. For him, it was the most confusing. And whatever intentions Erling had, as evil as they might be, he also kept silent, waiting for Stella to finish. He was hoping for something.
“Let me begin again,” Stella answered. “It doesn’t matter if I live or die. My individual soul is ready to decarnate. But souls are not meant to leave flesh for spirit alone. We are a group soul, of a group mind. We will not leave this earth until each one of you is ready. You may not reach that quintessence in this lifetime, but you would certainly be closer to it by making better decisions. It is difficult for a soul to change its path. Each change is measured. Do you not remember what the Aeon Project stood for, what its meaning is? An aeon is a measure or step cycle in the maturity of a soul. In your efforts to push a soul forward, have you ever stopped to think of the maturity of your own souls? Are you evolving? Do you wish to evolve?” She left them all speechless, waiting.
“A change can be as small as choosing your motives differently, even if your actions remain the same. What motivates you to continue your cycles? Is it greed? Power? Fame, wealth?” With this question, she’d directed her eyes to Erling, then Gunnar.
“Erling. You were once a great King. You had the power to make these changes of which I speak. But you could not. You allowed yourself to be influenced by others. By a dark veil of evil. And here you are, once again, lost in your obsession. You display signs not of evolving, but of devolving. Your progress is nearly non-existent.
“And Gunnar, the Alchemist. You have such potential to be a great leader. A teacher. A prophet. Your curiosity and daring nature allow you to take risks and believe in the unseen. In previous lifetimes, your discoveries have changed history. You have the ability to do that again, but only if you choose to do so. You must achieve your goals without help from evil sources. Taking from the darkness is much too easy.
“Petra has already seen her faults. She made her choice. It wasn’t perfect, by any means, but it was a small step forward. Cybele’s soul is a caretaker. She watches over us, without question, as does Dane’s. Dane, my dear brother—tread lightly. You chose wisely this time. Your protective nature drives your soul. Do not allow it to overtake you. Keep your intentions in mind.”
Stella paused and turned toward Vern. “Verner, your unconditional, undying love is your virtue. Never let anyone take that from you, from us. Do not look to others for approval. Find confidence in yourself. Unlock your soul. It is waiting to be freed.
“And Aron—our illumination. You are the empathic fiber that weaves through us all. Sensitive to our emotions, your insights are your gift. Listen to the cosmos—they speak to you. Trust in yourself. In this lifetime, you are truly a light. This time, you possess the merkahah, the portal. It is your choice to use it. Choose judiciously.”
After addressing them all, Stella struggled to stand. Aron and Dane reached to assist her. Erling made no move to stop her. He knew that it was already in motion, the fuse still burning. She wasn’t leaving. Her physical body just needed a break. Stella was very sick, probably hours from death. How she’d managed to survive this long, he wasn’t sure. As if a light had been flicked on, Erl became miraculously ready for change. He considered Stella’s suggestion of his downward spiral, and what his next life would be like if he continued—and he didn’t like where it was headed. Unlike Myra, who would be more of a challenge to reach in the next life, he was able to face his obsession. And although it would be hard to resist, he was willing to try. He wondered, for a moment, how many lifetimes they’d all lived together—how long it had taken them to get this far, and how much longer it would be for them to attain freedom. He thought of Myra, her soul seeming impossibly closed to change. Hers would be the soul that may take the longest. Unless…unless he could harness Aeon and use it in the way it was meant to be used. Yes! That’s what Stella was telling him. In that moment, he promised himself that he would change. He believed in the possibility of it.
Gunnar and Vern had come together, whispering in hushed voices as Erling approached their little huddle. “If you need me, my experience…I am offering it,” Erl volunteered.
They exchanged looks and Gunnar said, “This is all you and Vern. Vern?”
“Only if Aron agrees. Everything is resting on her shoulders. She decides.” They glanced over at her, cradled in Dane’s arms. She knew the gravity of the decision she was making.
As Stella shuffled back into the room, Aron began to speak. “I’ll do it.” Everyone moved closer to her, forming a circle. “We need this. All of us do. And we all need Stella. I don’t want to wait another lifetime to see her again. So I’m in.” She buried her face in Dane’s chest.
“I’ll prepare the instruments,” said Erling.
Gunnar looked at the clock. “It’s nearly seven p.m. I think we should wait a few more hours.”
“Why?” asked Vern.
“Have you realized which day it is?” Gunnar retorted.
Erl provided the answer. He knew full well. “December 20th, 2012. At midnight, it will be December 21st, the single most important date of our lifetime.”
Gunnar explained, “I believe the significance of this opportunity has great meaning for us. For mankind. The Fifth Circle was founded on these beliefs. Stella, do you think you can wait?”
“Yes. We’ll wait,” she answered.
33
Seeing the Light
STELLA
I lay peacefully on the table five minutes before midnight. The journey that brought me to this point had been a challenging one. I looked into Vern’s eyes and saw endless, limitless love. It might be years before I realized this love again.
I looked to my side, across to the other table and found the eyes of my twin. I could hear her thoughts and she was chanting to herself, “Om Namah Shivaya.” I could not have hoped for a more perfect companion in this lifetime. I only wish I’d met her sooner. The next time she would be my mother. “Let virtue and goodness be perfected in every way,” I told her.
She flashed her luminous smile at me. “Happy birthday, Stella.” It was the last thing she said to me.
Dane, our valiant protector, stood watch over us with worry written on his face. I saw doubt in his eyes. One day he would reconcile that doubt. But not today.
Gunnar was busy checking the video camera. It hadn’t stopped recording from the moment Erling had turned it on. The documentary would be used, this time hopefully in the right way. The Fifth Circle would learn from it and Gunnar would deliver the message.
Erling had prepared the surgical set. It was his laboratory and he knew every detail of its workings. He was methodical in his set-up, sterilizing each tool with precision. Every necessary instrument placed carefully and orderly—including the tiny vial of mercury. I’d watched him closely. There was hope for him, even in this lifetime—what was left of it for him. But he would not be performing the surgery this time. Someone else had requested the responsibility.
No longer merely the Ass
istant, Vern sat confidently over my head. He was ready. The fate of all my lives now rested in his hands. He was ready, Aron was ready, and I was ready.
Gunnar signaled the team by stating for the recording “December 21st, 2012. 11:59 p.m. Aeon.” He said nothing else.
Erling finished the surgical set for Vern just in time. He placed the long, thin needle meticulously on the tray with the other sterilized instruments. It had to be at least a foot long. I tried to look away, think of something else. I was about to die. Again. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. A new life was waiting for me. I was faced with many uncertainties. There were only two things that I was certain of. My name will always be Stella. And my fate will always be the same.
It happened quickly. I was jolted from my peaceful reflection and hurled into a wormhole with a violent snap. Twisting, turning, all colors bursting and coming together as one radiant bright white light. Never before had I been aware of this part of the process. It was new and different for me. Awesomely beautiful—beyond worldly description.
As suddenly as the wild ride started, it ended when I landed with such force that it seemed amazing I hadn’t killed her from the impact. I was born into this life at 12:01 a.m., December 21st, 2012. I heard sounds of a muffled ocean, sloshing and wave-like, and the reassuring, steady beat of my new mother’s heart.
The only sensation she would have was not a physical one, but a sudden awareness—a “knowing” of my presence within her. I knew her already, in this life, and in the past. As her blood coursed through my veins, each cell of my body could read every one of her thoughts, feel her emotions, view her memories.
When the sensations began to fade, I grieved. I didn’t want this moment to end, this feeling of purity, beginnings. But it did fade, slowly into nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
I had no idea of the passage of time. No use or need of it. Time was nonexistent, eternal. It wasn’t really like waiting at all—it was more like an extended meditation. I’m not sure when the light reappeared, but it began as a tiny speck in the distance—like seeing a remote star far, far away, so far that you’re not even sure if you’re really seeing it at all. Like maybe it’s just in your imagination. But steadily and slowly the star grew brighter until it filled all of space.
“Stella…” an echo of a voice beckoned to me. I knew the voice, but didn’t care to place it. Nothing seemed important or worthwhile, nothing but the light. “Stella, Princess? Can you hear me?”
Stella…I knew that name. Princess…I knew that word. The voice…yes. The voice. I began my climb to the surface. Ascending toward the voice. I began to feel sensations. The cells of my physical body were responding. Chill, warmth, smell, thirst. So much thirst. What was that thing I craved? What was it called again? Yes, water…
“Wa-ter,” I had spoken. My mouth formed the word. I heard my own voice. I felt the delicious liquid moisten my lips, my tongue, my throat. I knew my eyes were open, but I was just now beginning to see through these pupils. Everything was so bright. Something squeezed my hand. It was another hand, someone else’s. Bigger, stronger than mine. I felt like a small child, somehow aware of my learning curve, the memories we can never seem to remember as adults. My instinctive thirst and hunger. My developing eyesight. My first word.
“Stella? Can you see me? Do you want another drink?” The same voice. Male. Monotone. Professional. But suddenly emotional. I heard him weep. Not from despair or sadness, but from joy. I knew it was happiness that caused his voice to falter. Now motivated like never before, I fought to focus my sight. The figure of a person began to take shape beside me. The edges sharpened as I followed the outline of the form, smooth and more detailed. And my pulse quickened because at the same time I began to feel my own body—its size and state. But the proportions were all wrong. I was not a child. I was me. The same me I was before.
“Stella. You don’t know how happy I am to hear your voice,” he sobbed. Confused, I tried to make sense of it all. Had Aeon not worked? What was happening? I didn’t have the strength to ask any questions.
He leaned into me lovingly, gently kissing my forehead. “Princess. I’m so glad you’re back. I’m going to get your mother. Don’t go anywhere, okay?” he said with a stifled laugh. He’d made a joke. Dad had actually made a joke. Had I been transported to some kind of alternate universe? He left the room and sleep overtook me once again.
“Stella, honey?” My mother’s voice. I opened my eyes, this time with greater ease. “Stella. I’m here. Oh sweetie. We’ve been waiting so long for you. No matter what they said, we didn’t give up for one moment. We knew you’d come back.”
I made words. “What? What’s…going…on?”
“Stella, you’ve been through a traumatic experience. Do you remember anything?”
“Uh…remember…” I was too weak to continue.
“You’ve been unconscious, Stella—almost four months.”
“Four months? That’s…it?” It seemed like much longer. It seemed like years. And what did she mean—unconscious? What was Petra talking about?
“Your first night at Berkeley—don’t you remember? Someone found you at the bottom of the stairs in the dorm. You collapsed. You had a seizure. You were rushed to the hospital. That’s when they found the tumor.”
I remembered the tumor. “Yes. Tumor…”
“We flew out to get you. You didn’t wake up. Your Father insisted on surgery. I was so worried, and it was successful—but you still didn’t wake up. Erling hasn’t left your side. He’s been with you every minute, through everything.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, your dad. Hard to believe, I know. When we almost lost you…well, it changed him. He loves you so much, Stella. He’s a different man.”
“Different? Changed?”
“Look behind me.” Petra moved aside. “He pulled his favorite armchair in here the first week you came home. He’s been reading to you, faithfully, every day.”
“What…day is it?”
“The date? Well, it must be past midnight, so I guess it’s…Friday. December 21st. Happy birthday, honey.” She brushed the hair from my forehead and kissed it.
“Time?”
My mother laughed as if my questions seemed inconsequential. “Well, it’s the middle of the night. We usually take shifts. It was your father’s shift.” She held her watch to the bedside lamp and squinted to see it. “It’s… a quarter after twelve.”
EPILOGUE
The winter of my recovery was a strange one. As the swirling snow blew in from the lake, I stood staring at the antique thermometer mounted outside my window. Day after day, I never grew tired of watching the mercury move as if it were alive, haunting me. My dad left his armchair in my room. I liked it. I spent a lot of time curled up in it, thumbing through some of his books. The dreams never stopped. Of the island. Or California. Sometimes Vern. Always Aron.
My parents were supportive and ecstatic to see me thriving—things had really changed. I didn’t have the heart to mention any of it to them. I didn’t want to upset them. I didn’t share anything with Dr. Hadrian, either. She came to visit me once. I forced myself to behave and thanked her for all she’d done for me.
By the spring, I had regained some strength and by summer I was physically back to normal. But I would be forever changed. I questioned whether the experience I had while I was unconscious really meant anything. Was it a vivid imagination—possibly suggestions I heard or buried thoughts? A near-death experience maybe? Was the island a glimpse of my past? I contemplated digging into the old Norse legend to see if there was any truth to it, but was afraid of what I might find. Whatever it was, I felt different, more alive. Awakened.
My parents encouraged me to re-apply for college. They supported me one hundred percent. But I wasn’t ready. I felt there was much more in the world that I wanted to explore. I wanted to see and experience everything. When I presented my idea of traveling for a year before going to school, both my parents full
y supported that as well. We had all realized the immediacy of fulfilling goals. How our precious lives teeter delicately between life and death. How this balance can so easily be forgotten and pushed aside. They didn’t want me to take my gift of life for granted.
One full year later, on the anniversary of my original departure, my backpack waited for me in the car. Mom and Dad personally made the four hour drive to the Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport with me. I was destined for Norway. I wanted to explore the culture—the only thing I knew about my background. As we said our goodbyes at the curb, Dad handed me my plane tickets and then slipped a sealed envelope into my hand.
“What’s this?” I asked, assuming he was pushing more cash on me.
“It’s you. Your choice,” he answered.
Mom added, “We thought you might be curious. And you deserve to know. You shouldn’t have to ask for it. If you don’t want it, don’t’ open it. Throw it away. But if you want to know who you really are, who and where you came from—it’s all there.” We embraced one last time before I turned to walk into the terminal.
At the check-in counter, a man inspected my documents—tickets and passport. He asked, “Final destination…Oslo?”
I was nervous and excited. “Yes.”
And then he made a curious comment. “Taking a detour, I see.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant at first, so I just smiled politely and moved along. I sat at my gate waiting to board, unable to digest anything I tried to read. I’d brought along one of my dad’s books, On Tycho’s Island. I couldn’t concentrate on anything except the brown unmarked envelope. It was whispering to me, ‘Stella…look inside.”
I boarded the plane and after I found my seat, I tapped an attendant on the shoulder and asked, “Am I on the right flight?”
“What do you mean?” She seemed confused.
“I’m…going to Oslo.”
Her expression was muddled. “Let me see your tickets.” I handed them to her. Then she asked, “Are you going to visit someone before leaving for Oslo?”
