by Bob Frank
Shali looked at Clay with a puzzled look. “I’m listening to the guide, and he is saying pretty much the same thing, but from his viewpoint. All of this soul’s previous lives were so sophisticated and intellectual. How could this be? What went wrong?”
Clay sat back from his laptop and paused for a moment. The soul’s guide continued describing the life of Ezra Pound. After a few moments, Clay said, “This Ezra Pound is the same soul as all of these other famous people, and he died in our lifetime. If Pound was the only well-known life of this soul in the last thousand years, could the lasting images of these lives have changed over history? I mean, all the other famous lives were revered and placed on a pedestal. He was the father of half a dozen disciplines and played a role in the foundation of all modern religions. Could history have been distorted by time? What I’m saying is do you think this soul could have been a nut-case in his previous lives, too? And then, after hundreds or thousands of years, history has been rewritten to suit another purpose?”
Shali raised her hand and said, “Shhhh.”
The guide continued with terse, pointed sentences. “It was necessary that Ezra Pound’s writings be encoded. The world was not prepared to comprehend or utilize the wisdom within. War was dominant, hatred prolific, and society was not stable.” Shali quickly translated for Clay.
“Encode?” he whispered back. “It says here that Pound’s poetry and prose writings were confusing, almost cryptic. I looked at extracts of some his writings, here. It’s like gibberish. Does this have something to do with Jabir from his former life? Hmm?”
Shali waved her hand to shush Clay again.
“The truth was revealed to this soul by the elders. This soul documented knowledge in The Cantos. Encoded the knowledge in The Cantos — ”
Shali quickly looked at Clay and pointed her finger vigorously at his laptop. “What are The Cantos? He wrote something called The Cantos.”
He clicked furiously on the keyboard. After a moment, Clay responded, “The Cantos is a series of writings by Ezra Pound. He did these writings over his entire life. There were a bunch of different topics. It looks like he numbered them a bit like Nostradamus’ quatrains. Do you figure this book is some kind of encoded predictions or prophecies?”
“No. It might be part of the hidden secrets but not the whole thing.”
Clay looked puzzled. “You think the secrets could be hidden in plain sight, as in these peoples’ writings?”
Shali replied, “I don’t know, but on second thought, I wouldn’t think so. The previous regressions that led us to Iqbal seemed to say the secrets were physically hidden because someone doesn’t what them to be published or available. But The Cantos and Jabir’s works are certainly published and not hidden at all.”
Clay flicked his eyebrows and said, “Maybe this is like The X-Files: the truth is out there. Maybe the dark shadowy man with the burning cigarette is the one who wants to suppress the writings and the truth.”
Shali glared at Clay with annoyance. “We’ve got to get going. I can tell Iqbal’s stamina is giving out. We’ve been at this for over eight hours and his body is showing signs of fatigue. Let’s push the guide on the writings themselves or locate other living souls that can help us.”
Shali turned to the scripts for the next phase. “I would like to continue to speak directly with the guide, only.” Shali signaled and Clay pressed an extra-long shock to the Third Eye. Iqbal’s head pushed back into the pillow.
In that deep, slow tone of voice, Iqbal responded, “Yes. And what do you wish?”
Clay and Shali glanced at each other with a look of excitement.
Shali said, “We are looking for a collection of writings in the time of this soul’s present life. These writings contain great knowledge and wisdom. They are claimed to be secrets. Where are these writings located?”
There was no response.
Shali probed again, “Who has possession of these writings today? Can anyone disclose the location of these writings to us?”
There was still no response, but they both saw a slight wrenching reaction of discomfort in Iqbal’s shoulders. Finally, a response came from Iqbal’s guide. “The wisdom you seek was once in the great library on the desert coast. The library is no more.”
“Yes, we know the Alexandrian library is gone; it was destroyed. Tell me who destroyed it?”
There was no response. Shali put three fingers in the air and made a hard jabbing motion at her forehead. Clay turned up the micro-pulse dial and shocked Iqbal’s Third Eye for a long three seconds. Iqbal’s head pushed back into the chair, but no response came.
Clay hit it again. Still no response.
Shali rephrased the question, “Has any person or group been trying to destroy these hidden secrets from Alexandria after they were removed from the library? Is anyone still trying to destroy these secrets, today?”
The silence continued. Clay hit the button again. Nothing. Shali looked at Clay and shook her head. She continued with the guide, “Were copies of the secret writings removed from the library of Alexandria before it was destroyed.”
Finally, she got a response. “Three copies of this knowledge to which you refer were removed before destruction.”
“Who removed them?”
“A group of people took the documents to preserve the words.”
“Does this group still exist in the world?”
“Yes.”
“What was this group called?”
“Those who desire to preserve the words.”
Shali glanced at Clay and whispered, “Smart-assed guide.” Then she turned back to Iqbal and asked, “Today, where can we locate those who desire to preserve the words? How do we find the copies today? Where do we find those who protect those documents today?” There was no response.
Shali tried again, “Tell us which souls know the present location of these writings. Where are those souls living in bodies, at this time? Where we can find them?”
A smug look came across Iqbal’s face. “You have, in this soul, a librarian. Shouldn’t you look for other librarians if you want to find your secrets?”
“Yes. Help us locate the librarians who are living in human bodies at this time.”
Iqbal’s head, neck and shoulders tightened up. He twisted to the right and then the left, as if looking for something in the air. The guide responded, “The first and last librarians of the great Alexandrian Library are there in your world now.”
Clay noted the excitement in Shali and looked at her with anticipation. Shali briefly translated for him and then looked back at Iqbal and said, “Tell us where to find these two librarians.”
“One is on the big island to the north, in a village of the castle — the castle in the south, the castle of the holy chalice.”
Shali translated for Clay. They looked at each other with puzzlement. Clay turned back to the laptop and quickly typed in a search for ‘holy chalice, castle, island.’ Thousands of Internet hits showed up on his laptop screen.
He said to Shali. “Big island in the north could be Greenland, Iceland, Newfoundland, Britain or Ireland. I don’t know of many big islands north of Russia. Franz-Joseph Land, maybe? You’ve got to get me closer than this, and dig into this holy chalice.”
Shali asked the guide, “What is the name of the castle or village; or the name of the person living at this time?”
“A castle, no more. The name of the person is Thomas — Evan — ”
Clay gave Shali a strange look of optimistic exasperation. “From the name, Thomas or Evan, the person is probably Welsh or English. The big island has to be Britain. Wales is on the island. There are probably five hundred castles in Wales, alone, from the Internet search.” He clicked at the computer again. “But it looks like only a handful of castles in Wales may have some linkage to the Holy Grail, assuming that is the chalice. But half the people in Wales are named Evans or Thomas. We’ve got to get more specific details on the person. See if you can find out if
they are known by a different name or what they do for a living.”
Shali turned to Iqbal, “By what other names is this person called? What does this person do for occupation?
“Tommy is keeper of the castle that is no more.”
Shali asked, “How many years has this soul been in this body?”
“Fifty-one years for this life.”
Shali smiled and translated for Clay.
“Ask if this Tommy is the first librarian or the last librarian of Alexandria,” Clay said. “There could be a four to six-hundred year window around the existence of the library, and I’d bet the last one would know where the secrets were stashed.”
Shali asked Iqbal, “Does the soul in this body live in a place called Wales, and what is the name of the castle that is no more?”
They got no response. Shali asked, “Was this soul the first or last librarian of the great Alexandrian Library?”
There was a long pause but no answer.
On Shali’s cue, Clay gave a three-second shot of micro-pulse to the Third Eye, but still no response. After a few more hits to the Third Eye, Clay said to Shali, “It isn’t worth pissing off the guide or wearing down Iqbal right now. Let’s move on to the other librarian.”
Shali asked, “You mentioned that a second librarian of Alexandria is living a life at the present time. Who is the person?”
“In the isthmus between the great bodies of land, east of the water that divides the lands.”
Shali translated, and Clay pondered for a moment before saying, “The biggest isthmus in the world is Panama between North and South America. The water that divides could be the Panama Canal. If it is to the east of the canal, it could be either the Pacific or the Caribbean side. There isn’t much down the Pacific side except some stray villages and a lot of Columbian drug bandits. I’d bet the Caribbean side. Try to get a name of the area or a village or some other geographic description.”
Shali asked the guide, “What is the name of the place where this soul now lives?”
The guide responded, “They call it paraiso. Ukuptupu Kuna Yala.”
“Clay, did you get those names?”
Clay smiled and quickly jumped to Google Earth on his laptop. “I got it, Shali. I know right where this is. I spent several years in Central America when I was in Army Intelligence. It’s gotta be the Kuna Indians around the San Blas Islands on the Caribbean shore. Paraiso meaning paradise in Spanish and it really is a paradise. Try to get the person’s name, age, occupation.”
Shali turned to Iqbal, “What is the name of the living person for this soul? How old is that body now? Is there anything significant about this person?”
“She is called Sogui and has been seventy-two years in this body. She is a leader of her people. She has been tested with many challenges. She succeeded in the tests and will be rewarded. The end of the challenge is near. Soon to guide others.”
Shali translated for Clay, and they looked at each other with big smiles.
Clay commented, “This should be a piece of cake to find her. There’s only sixty or seventy thousand Kunas down there. Having a unique name, fairly precise age and some type of leadership role, we’ll find her quickly. However, it may not be easy to convince her to do the regression. The Kunas are committed to their lifestyle and beliefs. I’m not sure how we’ll get an old native Indian to go along with a regression. When we get back, I’ll make some connections in Panama to start the wheels rolling. We’ve gotten as far as we can for now with Iqbal. It is clear the guide is not going to reveal the location of the writings. Let’s wrap this up and move on.”
Shali tried to start the hypnotic decompression, but it was a too late. While they had been chatting on the side, Iqbal and his guide had also evidently felt the regression was finished. Iqbal had slumped over to the side and was now completely asleep. Clay validated this by scanning his monitoring equipment.
“Shali, we wore this guy out. He’s sleeping like a baby. Let’s let him rest for half an hour while we start tearing down the equipment. We’ll review the tapes tomorrow and get our tickets back to California.”
Later, when Iqbal started coming out of his deep sleep, Shali walked him through the decompression script and back to full consciousness. She followed the PLR75 protocol precisely to ensure Iqbal would not remember any details of the regression. They settled up on the agreed fees, and Iqbal left with a nice pocketful of Jordanian dinars. He had absolutely no idea of his own soul’s famous lives over the past four thousand years.
As they finished packing, Clay said to Shali, “I wonder if Iqbal, himself, will be another famous person, or just another Akmed Schmuck, Palestinian accountant.”
Shali responded, “No doubt the world will see more of this soul, if not from this life, then in a future life. Let’s keep our eyes on the Middle Eastern news in about twenty years. You never know.”
Chapter 8
Palo Alto, California
Late on the evening of their return to California, Clay called Shali. “Hey, are you settled in?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’ll be right over.”
“What?”
“Don’t say anything. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I’ll tell you when I get there.”
He was at Shali’s townhouse in ten minutes. When she came to the door he put his index finger to his lips and said, “Shh.” He motioned her to come outside with him to the parking lot.
“Ok, so what’s the big secret, Sherlock?”
“Bugs. I found three bugs in my apartment.”
“So get some bug spray.”
“No, not insect bugs, surveillance bugs. Listening bugs.”
Shali’s face went blank. She looked back at the door of her townhouse, then back at Clay and pointed a finger at her door with a questioning look.
“I suspect so. I brought my sweeping equipment. Let’s go check it out, but don’t say anything.”
They also found three listening devices in her townhouse. Clay removed and disabled all three devices then put them in a bag with the three from his condo.
* * * ~~~ * * *
The next morning they met for a working lunch of Chinese take-out at Clay’s now bug-free condo-turned-office. As the smell of Kung-Pao chicken filled the room, Clay opened the discussion with an air of sensitivity. “How are you feeling?”
Looking concerned, Shali responded, “I’m okay. It’s a good thing you are so paranoid.”
Smiling, Clay said, “Blame it on my past. Army intelligence makes you like that.”
Shali narrowed her eyes to a sharp focus and raised the intensity of her voice. “But I would like to know who in hell planted those things in our places while we were gone. More importantly, what are they after, and what do they want to know about us? I feel violated.” She paused, and when she spoke again it was with a lighter tone. “I mean how long have those bugs been planted in my townhouse? Were they listening in on my bedroom the last time I had wild party sex?”
Clay smiled as he threw a punch at her. “Nah. The perps were probably in elementary school when that happened.”
Shali rolled her eyes with annoyance.
Clay sensed her concern and replied in a more comforting and consolatory tone. “They obviously want to know what we are doing, or what we are digging into.”
“It has to be related to our search for the secrets.”
“No doubt. We touched a nerve somewhere. Although, we’ve been pretty quiet about what we are looking for, whatever it is. On the other hand, our regression targets know we are regressing into past lives. Any one of them could have mentioned something to a friend or associate or a priest in confession. The word must have gotten around, and now we’ve got somebody interested in our doings.”
Shali walked over to the window and stared out at the hills in the distance. “I’m concerned. The guy who broke into the hotel in Jordan, he was not just a thief. And now, why plant bugs? Why not just rob our places? There are so many open end
s. We know the secrets have been hidden for thousands of years, but by whom and who are they hiding it from? I’m worried, now. There’s a connection between the crook in Jordan and these bugs in our places.”
“I don’t know, madam. Don’t fret too much just yet. Although we have to make sure we are careful about what we do with our data and what we say to whom. This morning I checked out the devices with a friend who is still in intelligence. He said the bugs are very current technology; not top government grade, but good stuff. Damn sophisticated.”
Turning back to Clay from the window, Shali’s tone lightened even more. “Just make sure you bring your bug sweepers everywhere we go.
First, we have some guy rifling through our hotel in Jordan, and now somebody is snooping on our homes. Let’s go back to work. So, did you get anything else this morning?”
Clay nodded his acknowledgement and paused. “I kept digging for the Welshman named Tommy Evans and found him. I’ve already got our next target lined up. I searched all the castles in Wales, looking for any possible connection to a holy chalice or grail. Iqbal’s soul said the castle was connected to the holy chalice, so I figured it could be a reference to the Holy Grail.”
The corner of Shali’s mouth turned up mischievously. “But isn’t this going to shoot a hole in the Da Vinci Code theory on a blood offspring of Jesus Christ? I mean, are we back to looking for a wine cup or a human bloodline instead of hidden secrets?”
“There are plenty of myths to go around. There were stories that King Arthur had supposedly acquired the Holy Grail, the cup, which had worked its way to Britain from the Middle East. He allegedly hid the chalice in one of his castles in the Wales. Most of these legends connected the Grail to a castle on the west shore of Wales, but Iqbal’s guide referred to a castle in the south. The only castle in the south of Wales connected to the grail was Kidwelly Castle. However, that connection was only because the British spoof movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail was filmed in the ruins of Kidwelly.”
