Sethnet Journal: November 1, 2008

2008-10-31T07:11:00Z

A monthly e-zine that highlights the creative energy of over 1400 souls exploring the work of Jane Roberts and Rob Butts.

Volume Forty Nine

Morning Light by Nardine Neilson

In This Issue:

The Flowers of Men by Christine Gherardi

A Dream, A Question, and A Promise: Chapter 8 by Pamela Gibson

A Vast Field by Michaela Sefler

Excerpts from Revelation: Joseph’s Message channeled by Michael G. Reccia

Announcements, Links and Shopping

The Flowers of Men
by Christine Gherardi

I Laugh at the Wind,

Make Fun of the Trees,

Play with the Flowers,

And Watch them Grow - Pleased.

Watch me now ~

Away I go,

To Tear down a Mountain,

Or Make the Rain ~ Snow.

Gone away now ~

Here Back again ~

To Make Love for my Children,

The Flowers of Men.

Christine writes: When I was sixteen years old (1966), I awoke one morning with two lines of a poem in my mind, so I wrote them down. Two hours later, I had the next two lines to the poem pop into my head, and every two hours until the poem was finished.

Years later, when I was twenty-three, I told a security guard, where I worked, about my poem and how it came to be.

That security guard suggested that I read Jane Robert's "Seth Material," which led me to a whole new way of understanding this world.

A Dream, A Question, and A Promise

Chapter 8 (Continued)

5 March, Monday

My head hit the pillow at 8:30 a.m. after working the Sunday midnight shift for Gertrude, another dispatcher. We’d switched shifts, my swing shift today for her mid last night, and I was still catching zzzs at 4:30 pm when the phone rang. Since the lumpy, bumpy furnished mattress in the bedroom hurt my back (my stingy landlord refused to replace it), I crashed out on my fold-up futon on the living room carpet. Now I crawled toward the phone jangling on the bottom shelf of the TV stand and struggled to shake the cobwebs from my brain.

“Pam, this is Gertrude.”

“What’s up?” I yawned.

“The chief asked me to call you and tell you Jaaku’s out of jail.”

That woke me up faster than three shots of Espresso. My heart instantly pounded to a staccato beat. “Oh, no! When did he get out?”

“About half an hour ago.”

I could barely choke out the words, “That’s awful!”

“Yes, I know. Jaaku’s parents put up their house for him. The chief got a call from the security police, who got a call from one of their friends who’s a prison guard downtown. The guards just released Jaaku to the custody of his parents.”

“Th…th…thanks for letting me know.” My hand shook so badly I could barely place the receiver back in its cradle. Jaaku, out. Free, right now. Dear God, they’d let a murderer out to walk the streets. I had to tell Jeff.

Remarkably, Jeff answered the phone. “Homicide,” he said in his characteristically rough voice.

I blurted out, “Jaaku’s free!”

“Oh? He made bail?” His voice was conversational, unperturbed. “No one told me. Who told you?”

My voice shook like a dry drunk with the DTs. “Gertrude. A dispatcher from work. Chief Jacobs asked her to call me.”

Jeff didn’t say a word. Neither of us spoke until I finally broke the silence, sobbing, “I’m scared!”

“Pam.” Jeff’s voice was stern, authoritative. “Live your life. If he bothers you, call the police.”

“Okay.” I deferred to the certainty in his voice but thought, “As if I’d have a chance to call the police.” However, I felt too freaked out to voice a thought that would contradict the word of The Law. Indeed, I hardly breathed, immobilized as I was by fear.

I thought about Vic, how he stood no chance against a man who had no conscience. I thought about Jaaku, probably forced to live with his parents now but knowing where I lived. Well, I wasn’t going to let that lowlife sneak up on me in the dark. I’d stay with friends for the next six nights and only come back here to pack during the day.

These thoughts led me to dial my good friend Robin. She and her staff sergeant husband lived on Hennessee which, I reasoned, offered some protection because a sticker was needed to drive on base. I asked her if I could hang out at her place, maybe take a nap before work that night, “because Jaaku just made bail and I’m scared silly.”

“Of course you can,” Robin said. “Come on over. And you can spend the night until your place closes, except for a couple of nights when we’ll have guests.”

“Thank you, thank you, a thousand times.”

“Oh, no problem. You can sleep in the den; I’ll put a futon down. After your nap I’ll make coffee and we can talk.”

“You’re a true friend, Robin. I’ll never forget it. Never, ever.”

When I broke the connection by hanging up I felt broken too. I curled up on the futon in a fetal position and watched my mind turn over on itself in an endless loop-de-loop of fearful thoughts, including that it was madness to lie here, to stay in this apartment one more minute when Jaaku might kick the door down at any second.

I managed to pull myself out of that head space long enough to think about what I should take with me to Robin’s. The mundane activity of cutting up carrot sticks, wrapping them in saran wrap, and placing them and some oranges and soda crackers in a paper bag settled me enough that I could think more rationally. I decided to call Mom and Dad and tell them where they could reach me at night so they wouldn’t call here and worry when I didn’t answer.

“Stay cool,” I told myself. “You don’t want to upset them.” I took a few deep, yoga breaths to center myself but couldn’t stop shaking so I slowly chanted “Om” several times. After all, Seth said that repeating “Om” tunes up every cell in the body, and I figured my cells and I needed all the tuning up we could get. A few minutes later I felt calmer and, after some slow yoga stretches and more deep breaths, sat down on the couch and dialed my parents.

“But Pam,” Dad said, “I still don’t see why that man would have any reason to bother you. You have told us everything, haven’t you? Is there something you’re holding back?”

“Dad.” I felt proud of myself for keeping my voice steady. “We think he was coming to work that morning to kill people. And even if he wasn’t, a rational man doesn’t murder his best friend. Who knows what he’s thinking or what he’ll do now? Remember, I did have him kicked out of the alarm room. He knows where I live. His apartment’s right around the corner. I’m not staying here alone at night. I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I’ll stay at Robin’s or other friends’ homes for the next six nights until I move.”

“You go right ahead and stay at Robin’s if it makes you feel better,” Mom said. I felt guilty at the worry in her voice and told her I was undoubtedly overreacting, just like Dad said, and she must know I had a tendency for high drama. And that I came by it honestly; just look at Dad. That made her laugh and Dad say, “Oh ho, ho, ho, Miss Smarty Pants,” both of which made me feel better. I gave them Robin’s phone number.

Dad gave me the phone number and address of his business partner, Mark Hamilton. “I already called him and told him what happened with that nut case you worked with,” Dad said. “You can stay at his house any time; he already talked it over with his wife and its fine with her. And—“

“They have an extra bedroom,” Mom interrupted. “So you just give them a call if things don’t work out for you to stay at Robin’s house every night.”

“And give us a call tomorrow,” Dad said.

I promised I would and thanked them for their help and just for being there for me. After I hung up the phone I leaned back on the threadbare brown couch, listened to the roar of traffic on Ward Avenue, and thought again, “How can they let Jaaku out? They know he’s a murderer but they let him out.” I started shaking all over and thought again, “I’ve got to pack up the rest of my work stuff and get out of here.”

But fear immobilized me. “The cops don’t realize how sinister, how evil Jaaku really is,” I said out loud. “He murdered his best friend and planted a gun in his hand. Now he’s out free. God help us all.”

The thought popped into my head, “Talk to a priest.” Why, I don’t know. I’m not Catholic. But at that moment a priest represented the strongest, most direct link to God.

I felt faint so I slid off the couch and crawled to the yellow pages phone directory on the bottom shelf of the TV stand. I located a Catholic church nearby.

“St. John’s Directory,” a woman answered, her voice loud and bureaucratic.

“I must speak to a priest. It’s urgent. Right now, if I could, please.”

“Just a moment.” A long pause followed before the woman said, more softly now, “You may come and speak with Father Daniels for a few minutes. But he leaves for a meeting in half an hour.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Moving as quickly as I could on legs that felt like rubber, I added a coffee cup, contact lens case and solution, and a book to my bag of snacks; slid a belt around my jeans and tucked in my blouse; locked the jalousie windows, then the door behind me; and wobbled down the stairs to my VW bug. I felt safer in the car with my hands clutching the wheel, and breathed a sigh of relief as I pulled out of the driveway and away from Jaaku’s ability to find me.

Father Daniels was fifty-something, stocky, with white hair and a kind face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle and his eyes kind as he watched the tears stream down my face.

“Father, a demon has come into my life.” Briefly I told him what had transpired. He asked me if the police knew about all of this and I told him, yes; in fact, I’d just phoned the detective and told him Jaaku was out.

“Well, I believe in the devil,” the priest said. “But I also believe in God. Do you believe in God?”

“Oh, yes.”

“God is stronger.” The conviction in his voice grounded me and I told him yes, I knew it was so.

“Now, I want you to visualize a huge tree in your mind’s eyes, with roots going down deep, and branches reaching into the heavens.” I closed my eyes and he asked, “Do you see it?”

“Yes.” I pictured a glorious, green and growing tree whose branches stretched high up in the sky and whose brown roots burrowed deep down into the ground.

“That’s the Tree of Life, God’s tree. This is God’s world and fear is the great destroyer. You cannot live with such fear as you feel now. Trust in the Lord and He will protect you. Have faith.”

“I do,” I whispered. The tingling sensation in my head (I call them truth bumps) reassured me that the priest spoke the truth.

“Now, I want you to say the Lord’s Prayer with me. Then I will bless you with this holy oil and you will be under God’s protection.”

We prayed together and some of my fear dissolved. Then Father Daniels dipped his finger into a little vial filled with yellow liquid. He rubbed a cross of oil on my forehead, handed me the vial, and said, “Keep this Chrism oil with you. It has been blessed and will protect you. Anytime you feel fear overtaking you, rub this oil on your forehead and pray for the Lord’s protection. And now, I must go. May God bless you.”

“Thank you, Father,” I said and thought, “If I die, at least I’ll be in a state of grace.”

As I drove away from the bright city lights of Honolulu toward Hennessee, I looked up at the night sky sprinkled with stars and thanked All That Is that I was under protection. I felt calmer than before, my hands now steady on the wheel. I relished the feeling of anonymity, nestled as I was within the safety of my VW bug, racing through the cool black night, farther and farther away, I hoped, from the evil that was Jaaku.

Robin’s front door stood open. I knocked on the screen door and smiled at the sight of my godchild, three-year-old, auburn-haired Rebeka, running toward me on little chubby legs. “Mommy! Auntie Pam!” the little girl squealed.

“Give auntie a kiss.” I swept her up in my arms and gave her a hug. She giggled and planted a wet kiss squarely on my lips.

“Hi, Pam.” The wide smile on Robin’s round face lit up my night like a lighthouse beacon. I sat down beside her at the kitchen table, her little girl in my arms. “Rebeka just had her bath and is ready to go night night.”

“No, Mommy!” Rebeka protested, clinging tightly to me. She started to cry.

“Oh, all right. You can stay up for fifteen minutes and visit with Auntie Pam,” Robin relented.

Rebeka immediately stopped crying and started playing with my earring. “Care for some coffee now or would you rather take a nap first?”

It felt so comforting to sit there in the midst of Robin’s family, feeling safe, feeling that little girl’s love for me, that I decided to forego a nap and accept Robin’s offer of coffee. “I just hope the java doesn’t make me more shook up than I already am,” I told Robin. “I even went to see a priest just now.”

“Why? You’re not Catholic.”

I admitted that was odd, said I didn’t know why I did it, that I’d just had the strongest urge to see a priest. That in my terrified state it seemed that a priest was more powerful than a minister.

“Who knows? Maybe I was Catholic in a former lifetime and terror brought the connection back.”

“Could be.” Robin shared my belief in reincarnation.

We talked until I left for work shortly before midnight. When I arrived at the fire station, Gertrude told me that the firemen had checked out all the keys to the bunkrooms. “Everybody locked themselves in for the night,” she said. “That way, if Jaaku comes out here, at least he won’t be able to walk in on anybody unannounced.”

“That’s going to be real cute in the middle of the night if they have to respond to an emergency,” I said. “They’ll rush to their doors and won’t be able to open them. Then they’ll yell, ‘Who’s got the damned key?’ There’ll be a mad, chaotic scramble. I can see it now.”

Gertrude laughed. “Yeah. Or if somebody wakes up and has to go to the bathroom, they’ll have to wake up whoever’s got the key. But I understand how they feel. They’re scared out of their wits.”

I allowed as how that was so and I felt the same way. “Tonight I’m going to keep the lights in this alarm room turned down low so I can see outside but nobody can see in,” I said. “And I’m going to keep a close watch on this place.”

March 6, Tuesday

The jangling phone jarred me out of a sound sleep. I opened my eyes to a blurry close-up vision of my couch’s squatty, splintered wooden legs, which cued me in that I’d crashed out in the living room on my futon. Then I remembered heading for home and sleep after finishing work at 8 a.m.

I squinted at the clock. One p.m., not nearly enough sleep. My disgruntled “Hello?” prompted Red to ask, “I didn’t wake you, did I, Pam?”

“Yes, but since it’s you, it’s okay.” My resentment instantly metamorphosed into interest. “What’s up?”

“Sorry to wake you. But I thought you’d want to hear the latest about Jaaku.”

“You bet!” I pulled myself onto the couch. “Do tell.”

“He came on base this morning. Drove right up to the Security Police at the main gate and told them who he was. Said he needed to go to the credit union and take care of some business. So the S.P.s scraped the base sticker off of his windshield and escorted him there and back in one of their police cars. After Jaaku split, they called Sergeant Maxwell and told him what Jaaku said.”

“I’m all ears.” I carried the phone with its long cord into the kitchen and placed a cup of water in the microwave for coffee.

“Jaaku was rattling on the whole time, talking nonstop; you know how he does. He told the cops that he was innocent, that Vic came at him with a gun, and that Vic was getting in the way of Jaaku and Jaaku’s girlfriend, who Jaaku was planning to marry. Jaaku told them he’d saved up $5,000 for the wedding but now he was going to have to spend it on a lawyer. Imagine somebody agreeing to marry Jaaku.”

“Nobody’s crazy enough to marry that lunatic worm.” I liked the “worm” word. “Jaaku’s the crazy one. Where does he get this stuff?”

“Beats the hell out of me. Get a load of this. He tells the cops he called his ‘friends’ at the fire station and they’d all forgiven him.” I snorted at that and Red said, “Yeah, I know. And he told them, ‘Hey, I gonna be back at work in a couple o’ months, when dis whole t’ing get cleared up, you watch.’ Mind you, the cops didn’t ask him a single question. He just volunteered this malarkey and ran off at the mouth the whole time.”

“That’s unreal.” I poured hot water through coffee and filter. “We all forgave him, huh? This is too freaky. Jaaku sounds demented, like he’s off the deep end.”

“My thoughts exactly. No telling what he’ll say or do next.”

I wondered if Jaaku was psychotic enough that the judge would rule him insane.

“Pam, we need to find out if the trial’s still set for June 4th so at least we’ll know how long he’ll be running around free. I’ve got to go on a standby now. Why don’t you call Jeff or Andy? They should know.”

“Okay.” After Red hung up I dialed homicide. I felt embarrassed at my loss of control the night before and hoped Andy would answer. He didn’t. I responded to Jeff’s brusque “Homicide” with a subdued, “This is Pam, calling to find out if you know if the trial date for Jaaku is still June 4th.”

“No.” Jeff’s voice was gentle. “Pam. I don’t think you people have anything to worry about.”

I whispered, “You don’t?” and thought, “Unbelievable.”

“No. By the way, the police didn’t drop the ball. We didn’t know he was out. You’re the only one who told me.”

“Oh, he’s out, all right. He came on base today.” I was powerless to keep the trembling out of my voice.

“Jaaku doesn’t know what you told us,” Jeff assured me.

I felt relieved. “That makes me feel better.” I took a deep breath. “I didn’t know. I don’t know really how the system works. I heard there were several bail hearings but—“ “Jaaku won’t know until the trial,” Jeff interrupted.

I wondered if I would be safe until then but only said, “Who can I call to find out the current trial date?” Jeff answered that the prosecutor’s office might know.

The prosecutor’s secretary put me on hold for a few minutes. Then a deep authoritative voice said, “Paul Carpenter, Deputy Prosecutor. How may I help you?”

“Hello. My name is Pam and I’m a dispatcher at Hennessee Fire Department and…”

“Oh? Is there a fire?” I laughed politely and he said, “Are you one of the people who’s worried about that fireman who just made bail?”

“Yes.” In spite of my best effort to control it, my voice shook. “We think he was coming to work to kill some of the supervisors that morning.”

After a long pause, Carpenter said, “Well, he certainly is a belligerent individual. If it’s any consolation to you, these criminals rarely repeat a crime. They know they’re being watched and that the first wrong move will land them back in jail.”

That sounded hopeful. “Oh, will he be under police surveillance, then?”

“No one will be specifically assigned to tail him, if that’s what you mean.”

“What are the conditions of bail?”

“Mr. Cardoza was released on what is termed a liens pendance. His parents pledged their house for the $50,000 bail. Their home is appraised at $120,000, with no liens or encumbrances; in other words, it’s paid off. If he doesn’t show up for the trial, his parents lose their entire home, not just the $50,000. He had to put up $5,000 in cash.”

“Do you know if the date of the trial is still set for the week of June 4th?” I hoped Jaaku’s dad would keep him under lock and key but doubted that he could.

“Coincidentally, I’ve got the calendar right here,” Carpenter said. “Let’s see. Yes, it is. However, what with the enormous backlog, trial dates are often postponed. The next court calendar comes out on March 15th. You can call back and have my secretary check the schedule for you then.”

I thanked him for all the information. Wide awake now and sure that further sleep was impossible, I resumed packing a cardboard box already half full of kitchen stuff. A few minutes later, the phone rang. My “hello” was answered by a click of the receiver. “How rude not to at least say wrong number,” I thought.

Continuing to pack through the afternoon was soothing to my frazzled nerves. At least I was accomplishing something measurable; the amount of items to pack dwindled and the pile of taped-up cardboard boxes grew quickly. “I’ll eat fast food for the next five days,” I thought as I taped up the fourth cardboard box stuffed with pots, pans, plates and utensils. “Or maybe eat a few meals with friends.”

It started raining. The repetitive plop, plop, plop of water dripping off the roof and the cool air soothed and refreshed me. The phone rang and again a click was the only answer to my hello. But this time my mind screamed, “Jaaku!” and the receiver shook in my hand as I slammed it down. I steadied my fingers enough to dial Robin and asked her if I could come over right now. That angel said, “Oh, sure.”

Five minutes later I slung a backpack stuffed with work clothes, oranges, carrot sticks, and soda crackers across my back. I locked the warped wooden door behind me and nervously scanned the landscape horizon to horizon. A murderer could easily hide in the vacant lot behind my apartment, overgrown with wild Kiawe bushes. Or aim a high powered rifle at me from across the parking lots and windows of the high-rise apartment buildings to both sides of my low-rise.

I told myself, “You’ve got to quit thinking like this.” I wanted to run but the cement stairs turned slippery when wet with rain. So I stepped cautiously down them and then sprinted the length of the walkway behind the landlord’s house to my blue VW bug parked in the driveway.

Again I scanned the neighborhood, the cars speeding up and down busy Ward Avenue, the people strolling along the sidewalk in front of the landlord’s house. “I’m going to hit rush hour traffic,” I thought as I drove down a circle of streets that passed Jaaku’s apartment on the way to the freeway on-ramp. His blue Toyota was missing from the garage; I breathed a little easier. Hopefully he’d stay with his parents out in the sticks on the windward side.

As my VW inched along, bumper to bumper on the freeway, my mind flashed back to a time at the fire station when I’d inched my way through the buffet line. Someone shouted, “Boosh! Boosh! Boosh!” and made me jump.

I turned around to see what was happening. Jaaku stood beside one of the vinyl-topped dining room tables and acted out one of his badass stories for five or six firemen as they gobbled down greasy fried chicken from the chow hall. “I went tell dat fuckah, hey, brah, you mess wit’ me, I gon blow your ass away!” He turned his right hand into a pretend gun, the thumb, forefinger and middle finger pointing straight, the other two fingers curled under. Again he yelled, “Boosh! Boosh! Boosh!”

He looked around to assess the effect of his words on his audience before continuing, “I wen told him, mess wit’ me, you messin’ wit’da Costa Nostra. Brah, I tellin’ you, da dude so scared, he almost shit in his pants. Hey, no lie, braddah. He wen’ split out of dat bar so fast, his barstool still spinning when he out da door.” Laughter followed, the loudest coming from Greg, a young local fireman who idolized Jaaku.

“No kidding, Jaaku?” Greg said. “Hey, you bad, man!”

I whispered to a friend of mine who stood in line ahead of me, “What a gross guy, talking about blowing people away.”

“Yeah, and Greg’s a moron to think that kind of action’s cool,” he whispered back.

I remarked that Greg was young and dumb but Jaaku was spooky. It disturbed me that so many of the young airmen hung out with Jaaku. I figured it was either because they were young and dumb or because Jaaku supplied them with drugs or both.

As I inched my VW toward Hennessee, I wondered if Jaaku was on drugs the morning he murdered Vic.

March 7, Wednesday

After taping up my last cardboard box and writing “linens” on the outside, I decided to check out the dumpsters at a nearby shopping center for empty boxes. I was driving down Ward Avenue when the traffic light at Kapiolani Boulevard turned red. When I pressed my foot to the brake pedal, nothing happened. My foot hit the floor and my VW didn’t even slow down.

Panicked, I pulled up on the emergency brake and the car screeched to a halt. My heart mimicked the tick tock of a metronome set to presto as I drove the four blocks to the repair shop where I regularly had my car serviced. The mechanic humored my request to check my brake lines to see if they’d been cut. They hadn’t. I felt relieved and decided I’d been paranoid to imagine that Jaaku might have cut my brake lines like he’d cut Bob’s. After all, Jeff had told me Jaaku wouldn’t know what I’d told the cops about him until the trial.

Since I needed my car that night to get to work the manager agreed to squeeze in the brake job and finish by 5 p.m. but I had to leave the car right then and there. So I did. But, after walking three hot and long city blocks toward home in my rubber slippers, blisters started forming where the straps rubbed against my skin. I wished I’d worn tennis shoes, felt sorry for myself for the unexpected $300-plus repair bill staring me in the face, and wondered, assuming I made it home in time, how I could possibly find boxes today.

The sight of a pay phone at the corner of Ward Avenue and Kilohana Street gave me an idea. A few minutes later I was pleading with my friend Janey, who lived nearby, to pick me up and drive me around to look for boxes. I peppered her with reasons—less than a week left to pack, too scared to stay in my place after dark with Jaaku, that little worm, out on bail, blisters popping out on my feet as we spoke. I offered to pay for gas.

She told me she was on her way to baby sit her husband Charlie’s kids by his ex-wife at his parents’ place. I asked if she would at least give me a ride home and offered to call and tell Charlie’s parents that she’d be a little late. She said no, she’d promised she’d be there shortly and she wasn’t the sort of person who went back on her word.

“I would have changed my plans for you,” I said, and slammed the phone down. Immediately, I regretted it. Half an hour later, after walking the long slow blocks back home, I limped up the stairs, plopped down on the couch, and dialed Charlie’s parents in anticipation of apologizing to Janey. When Charlie’s mom told me Janey wasn’t coming over that day to baby sit or for any other reason, I bit my tongue and told her I must have misunderstood something Janey said.

I chalked her off as a fair weather friend and felt doubly thankful for genuine friends like Robin and Vic. Four months earlier, when I’d asked Vic to take my bike apart so I could ship it to my ex on the Big Island, he growled, “I’m a busy man!” but he did it anyway, partly because I gave him a good laugh (I’d built a cardboard box around the assembled bike in my living room and it was huge and weird looking and I couldn’t get it out the door) but mostly because he never let himself get too busy to help a friend.

Steve Winwood’s lyrics popped into my mind: “Here’s to all the strong ones who don’t care if they win.” I wondered if someone like Vic inspired Steve to write those words. “The kind I’ll never see again.” Oh, how I missed Vic. The down and dirty blues rained down on me and wet my sun-sore eyes.

The sound of people talking made me flash on the retired couple who lived in the apartment next door. Seconds later I knocked on their front door. They said they couldn’t drive me around to look for boxes because they were leaving soon for their son’s place.

“I understand.” I bit my lip to hold back the tears. After they closed the door, I whispered, “What now? I sure could use a helping hand.”

I walked back to my apartment door. Something, I don’t know what, an impulse, perhaps, made me take a few more steps until I stood at the top of the stairs leading to the walkway below. I glanced up and down busy Ward Avenue beyond my driveway, my gaze finally coming to rest on the two-story apartment building directly across the street.

A large, open garage filled most of the street-level area of the building. Because it was empty of cars, I could see something bulky piled up high against the back wall. I squinted and then gasped, first in disbelief, then in delight. A tower of at least 30 large, empty boxes leaned against the wall. Thirty boxes! Cardboard manna from heaven indeed.

A feeling of joy shot through me like electricity running through a lamp. The very air around me seemed to vibrate with joy. I laughed out loud and, once again, felt Vic Lazzarini very near.

“You’re still being my friend, aren’t you, great heart?” I said to no one that anyone could see.

“Other friends fail me but you never do. Not even now.”

Cautiously I crossed busy Ward Avenue and said a silent prayer of thanks to All That Is for the boxes. They were stained with produce but perfectly intact. It occurred to me that perhaps I should ask someone’s permission to take the boxes. But the garage was empty, I didn’t know who to ask, and who was I to question the providence of Heaven? I therefore decided those boxes had my name on them. One of them actually did; “Pam” was written in bold black letters across the side. Several trips across the street and back landed about half of them in my living room where I wiped them down and packed them with sheets and towels, clothes and the like.

Later that night, over a cup of coffee, I told Robin what happened. “I feel like I’m under protection. I felt Vic’s presence with me today.”

Robin nodded. “Well, you asked for protection. And the Bible says all you have to do is ask.”

Thursday, March 8

Two a.m., the wee-est hour of them all, when sane people lie under covers and sleep. Bars lock their doors and cops making their rounds find only drunks, puking and stumbling toward their cars, on their heels drug addicts, prostitutes and their Johns, and various and sundry outlaws.

Two a.m. The fire station is usually quiet unless an alarm sounds. I thought of the station as a microcosm of the outer world; anyone awake for anything besides a bathroom or kitchen run would usually be up to no good.

With this in mind, I locked the alarm room door to prevent unannounced visits from drunks who sometimes stumbled into the station from the nearby military airline terminal. And I dimmed the overhead lights to prevent the sleepy firemen who shuffled by on their way to the bathroom from peering through the picture window and seeing me cry.

The darkness soothed my sore eyes and I liked the way the console looked in the darkened room. It reminded me of an airplane cockpit with all the small red, yellow and green lights shining in the black surfaces of the instrument panels. Red digital numbers glowed from the clock above the slowly turning magnetic tapes in the back of the room. The letters on the radio alarm screen shone with a bright green luminescence. A red scan light ran continuously across the ten radio channels, only coming to rest when someone spoke on the radio.

Tears blurred my eyes and turned all of the little lights into indistinct circles. My thoughts kept running along their sad tracks, “Nobody will come forward and tell the truth for Vic, though they called him friend. Though they fought fires by his side; though he saved some of their lives. Oh how I miss him.” I leaned forward, rested my head on my crossed arms atop the console’s narrow ledge, and sobbed.

A few minutes later I heard the door open to the adjoining assistant chief’s office. A line of light shining brightly underneath the alarm room’s closed door caused me to look through the peephole into Assistant Chief Bob Henderson’s sleepy face. I blew my nose and wiped the tears from my eyes before answering his knock.

“Why’d you turn the lights down?” he asked curtly.

He probably thought I was sleeping. But as his eyes became accustomed to the dim light he must have seen my bloodshot eyes because he added, “What’s wrong?” Then, “Can I help?”

His kind words made the tears rise and pool in my eyes again. “I’m depressed. Mark Stiver saw Jaaku point a loaded gun at Sergeant Maxwell’s back when he rode away on his bicycle. Jaaku bragged to The Skipper about his creepy friends who drove a brown VW van and chased people down who had “crossed” him, and beat them up, or worse. Jeremy Tolofa saw Jaaku pointing a loaded gun at Vic under the table when they were nightclubbing one night. But nobody will breathe a word of any of this to the cops.”

Bob plopped into the chair behind the back desk. The look on his face metamorphosed from concern to disgust. “I’ve called the whole shift into the training room several times, asking that everyone who knows anything that might be incriminating please come forward. But, so far, no one has.”

“They don’t realize that the more information the police have, the less chance there is that Jaaku will go free.” I blew my nose. “At least, that’s what the detectives told me.”

“Right! These guys just frost my petard.” Bob’s voice turned angry. “The management here bends over backwards to provide for the firemen. We give them comprehensive training programs, a great weight room, special privileges. And now that they have the opportunity to make a stand, to do a community service by coming forward and telling the truth, they’re all sitting back, literally shaking in their shoes.”

I felt bolstered up that Bob’s sentiments echoed my own. “Several firemen have firsthand knowledge of some of Jaaku’s criminal acts. But only Emilio willingly came forward. When he and Lino and Mike testified at the preliminary hearing, Lino and Mike only did it because they had to, because they were subpoenaed. I don’t blame them for not wanting to. I don’t want to go to court either. But, if I do, how is it going to look if I’m the only one from the fire department to take the stand?”

Bob smiled. “Like you’ve got more guts than all these big, brave firemen put together.”

I shook my head. “Thanks, but I don’t. I’m scared, too. And if the attorney asks me why Jaaku only talked to me about his crimes I’m going to say, ‘He told these stories and more to the firemen too but they’re too scared to say anything.’”

“It’s possible that might change.” Bob leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. “As the day for the trial approaches, some of these guys may regret keeping quiet and come forward. Do you know if anyone’s heard from Jaaku?”

“Maybe me. I don’t know for sure. I’ve received phone calls at my apartment every day since Jaaku made bail. The phone rings but when I say hello the caller hangs up without a word. But I can’t imagine why he’d be calling me. Maybe I’m wrong. I hope so. I’m sure glad I’m moving in three days. Is it still okay to use your van on Sunday?”

“Sure.” Bob smiled. “Providing it’s running at the time.”

“Great. Seven or eight of the firemen promised to help me move. I told them I’ll have lots of pizza and beer waiting for them at my new place after the move.”

“Better make sure they don’t get to the booze until after the work’s done,” Bob said. “Or else you’ll never get moved.”

Friday, March 9

I dragged my feet down the long, stark hallway of the police department and over to the wooden counter fronting the homicide division. A woman looked up from her desk stacked high with papers and asked if she could help me.

“Good morning. My name’s Pam and I’m here to see Detective Miyashiro.” I tried to keep my voice businesslike but the tremor was unmistakable.

She glanced at a desk calendar and frowned. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I admitted. “But I phoned a few times and left a message. The detective is very busy, I know, but it’s important that I talk to him.”

She dialed a number, spoke too softly for me to hear, and said, “Please have a seat. Jeff will be out shortly.”

Sweat from my blouse—it was a hot, muggy day, no tradewinds blowing—stuck to the slats on the hard wooden beach. The door behind the woman’s cubicle opened and Andy stepped out, his arms full of papers. He sat down beside me and, in response to my “How are you?” answered, “Too busy,” then added, “We don’t have time to finish the paperwork for one case before the next one crops up.” I nodded and hoped he didn’t have to step out into the day’s heat in that suit and tie. He added, “Right now we’ve got five cases we’re working on.”

The door opened again. Jeff stood in the doorway across the hallway from Andy and me. He leaned against the doorframe, crossed his arms across his chest and, in a clipped, unfriendly voice demanded, “Yes?”

“One of the firemen at work saw Jaaku point a loaded gun at Sergeant Maxwell’s head, several mornings, when he rode away on his bicycle.”

Andy stood up. “What’s this fireman’s name?” he asked.

“Mark Stivers. And, as I mentioned in my last statement, another fireman saw Jaaku point a loaded gun at Vic under the table when the three of them were out nightclubbing.” My heart pounded like a sledgehammer but I felt sure the detectives would be interested and pressed on with, “Another, a bunkmate of Jaaku’s, heard Jaaku threaten to send these criminals friends of his after—“

“So when are Mark and these other two firemen going to come in and tell us about it?” Jeff interrupted, frowning.

I shook my head. “They won’t. They’re scared.”

Andy glanced at his watch, stood up, and walked away.

Jeff’s frown deepened and he hissed, “Emilio says it might have been the same gun he saw at the station that Jaaku shot Vic with. Lino and Mike say they can’t be sure. They’re all panty over there; is that what you’re trying to tell us, Pam?”

“Yes. That’s right, they’re panty.” I hadn’t heard that expression before but it seemed an apt description of the way these girly men were acting. “I know because I work with them.” Instantly I regretted my smug tone of voice.

Jeff’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, yeah? What about you? Four times you came to us!”

Embarrassment heated my face until it felt red hot and glowing. “I know,” I said in a small voice.

“I was scared, too.”

“I told you before, I can’t use secondhand information.” Impatience and anger radiated from Jeff’s voice. “You telling me what Mark saw doesn’t do the police any good. Mark has to tell us.”

“But Mark told me. Won’t that do?” Stubbornly, I held on to hope.

“No!” Jeff looked exasperated at my hard headedness. “I told you, we don’t accept secondhand information!”

“But mine was secondhand,” I thought. Heresay, every bit of it, because I didn’t actually see Jaaku perform the crimes he bragged about. In the face of Jeff’s anger I didn’t dare voice these thoughts. Instead I asked, “Well, then, why don’t you ask Mark? He won’t lie to you. You’re the police.”

An expression of amazement followed quickly by utter disbelief traveled across Jeff face. “You lied to us,” he accused.

I felt stunned. “I didn’t lie to you.”

He just stared at me and shook his head as he hissed, “Tsk, tsk, tsk” through his teeth.

My cheeks felt like they were burning as I admitted, “I didn’t tell you everything right away.”

“A lie of omission!” Jeff declared.

“But I did tell you everything. Finally.” My heart sank to my stomach and the rest of me wanted to sink deep into the ground, far away from the heat of his righteous indignation. “Even though it did take me four tries at it.”

“Why did it take you so long?” Jeff pressed. “I told you that fear was just fear.”

I felt like he held me by the collar and shoved my back against the wall. I was at a loss to explain how hard I struggled, how fear trampled me under its hooves before Vic’s spirit came to me in the nursery. How feeling his pain gave me the impetus to tell my whole truth.

I remembered Jeff saying that most accidents occur in the tub but you’re not going to stop taking baths because of that, are you? But I didn’t think my fear of being murdered was the same sort of fear that made people afraid to risk a fall when they were bathing. Words to explain what I was thinking escaped me and all I could summon up to tell Jeff was, “It’s not the same.”

My answer seemed to enrage Jeff all the more. “Fear is just fear!” he insisted. I felt faint underneath the heat of his anger, struggled to hold back tears, and wondered why he was coming down so hard on me. Jeff seemed to understand how I felt because his voice became gentler when he added, “No, Pam. The information you’re bringing me today, I can’t use. It’s secondhand. We don’t operate like that. We don’t coerce people who aren’t willing to come to us.”

The change in his tone of voice gave me the courage to voice my thoughts. “What about what Jaaku told me? That’s secondhand, too. Will that help?”

“Possibly.” Jeff didn’t elaborate.

I felt too intimidated to pursue this line of questioning. Instead I said, “Lots of us are scared with Jaaku on the loose.”

The anger faded from Jeff’s voice. “What are you folks doing to protect yourselves?”

“Well, for myself, I’m getting an unlisted phone number and a post office box when I move to Wahiawa in a few days.”

Jeff nodded. “That’s good. Take precautions.”

Disappointment seized me and I looked down to try and hide the tears that sprang to my eyes. I was sure, since Jeff refused to question the “panties” at the fire department, I would be the only one to testify against Jaaku. With my purse clutched under my arm, I felt like running down the hall, away from this disdainful detective and his refusal to help me. Instead I forced myself to say,

“Anyway, thanks for listening.”

Jeff was saying something about fear but I shut him out, hearing only my own frightened thoughts, feeling pain pulsing like a wound inside of me. As I walked away down the narrow hallway fetid with stale cigarette butts I wondered if Jeff was trying to prepare me for the way the defense attorney would interrogate me when he got me on the stand.

Outside the police department, the bright sunshine seared my tired, bloodshot eyes. I pulled on sunglasses to defend against the glare. How I wished I had some kind of defense against the river of sadness that flowed through me and sent tears streaming down my cheeks to wet my blouse collar. I hurried toward the cool anonymity of my VW bug a few parking meters away.

As soon as I entered my apartment the phone rang. I almost didn’t answer but decided, no, I wasn’t going to be a wimp, wasn’t going to let Jaaku scare me into not answering my own phone. Happily, it was Mom, calling to ask how the packing was going and if I’d been able to find enough boxes. Her kind, nurturing tone of voice was balm to me after Jeff’s acerbic manner. I told her the story of the huge amount of boxes that Vic had helped me find across the street.

I described how I’d felt Vic’s presence by the tingling in my head, the feeling of expansion in my heart, and the way the wind picked up until it practically blew me across the street. “It was the eeriest thing, Mom. One of the boxes had ‘Pam’ written in big black letters across the side. That box literally had my name on it! And I had the most wonderful feeling, like the air around me was charged with joy. I knew Vic was there.”

Mom politely said, “Oh, really?” and “I see, dear,” but she couldn’t disguise the skepticism in her voice. After our conversation ended, I felt a bit deflated. A few minutes later, the phone rang again. With some trepidation, I answered it.

It was Mom. This time her voice quivered with excitement. “Pam! The most amazing thing just happened! As soon as I hung up after talking to you, I heard a crash coming from the garage. I ran out there and saw that the wind had knocked two cardboard boxes off of a tall stack of boxes.

I went to pick them up and I saw that they had ‘Pam’ written on the side of each one. Those are the only two boxes I have of yours! I think that’s a good omen. You’re very powerful.”

“Not me, Mom. I have a powerful spirit friend.” Again I felt that head tingling, heart pulsing feeling I associated with Vic’s presence. “Remember how I told you Vic can do things with boxes and with the wind?”

“I believe you, dear,” Mom said in that soothing way of hers. “But let’s not tell your father.”

Pamela welcomes feedback on her story. Please feel free to email her at lyricpam1@yahoo.com.

Pam writes: October was a time of milestones and celebrations involving two of the people in this chapter. Assistant Fire Chief “Bob Henderson’s” retirement party at Mid Pacific Country Club was accompanied by accolades and hilarious roasts, well wishes and warm aloha at a party that will go down in history as one of the finest ever for one of “Hennessee’s” finest chiefs. Thank you, “Bob,” for your friendship and support throughout the years, and especially during those dark days when a murderer was out on bail and trying to contact me.

My godchild Rebeka, now a lovely woman of 27, was married to her true love Zack in a gorgeous little white chapel on the grounds of the Hilton Hawaiian Village in Waikiki. She asked me to write a wedding poem (I often write verses for friends and family for special occasions) and read it at the ceremony. So I attended the rehearsal and the feast afterward at Phuket Thai Restaurant, was part of her picture-perfect wedding (she planned it for over a year), and danced with young and old after the heartwarming and joyful reception at the Hale Koa Hotel. What a delightful

celebration! Best wishes and congratulations to the starry-eyed newlyweds.

I’m especially grateful to my good friend Robin, Rebeka’s mom, who asked me to be Rebeka’s godmother 27 years ago. Thank you, Robin, for connecting me to future generations of your family, especially since I have no future generations of my own. Thank you for being a genuine friend for nearly three decades now; your spunk and can-do attitude continue to inspire me. And thank you for giving me a safe haven when I needed it most.

See the April issue of SethNet Journal for the first chapter of “A Dream, A Question, and A Promise.”

A VAST FIELD
by Michaela Sefler

A vast field,

contained;

singular in beginnings

vast in finality.

Expression of different forms

origination from one;

two attempting to restore

singular expression.

Within is the ability,

acknowledged and expressed

in love rooted

in long ago.

Contemplation remains,

as a resource;

realization

remembered, for expression yields.

Michaela Sefler is a metaphysical poet living in Montreal, Canada. Her poetry is spiritual and esoteric and her poems allude to ancient ideals. In her poetry, she draws on ancient writings, to convey a message of hope, and survival describing present realities in the light of ancient truths.

She has six published compilations of poetry. Still true, A fortress in my heart, The sun is hot, Through the ages, and Seven stars. Healing tree. Michaela's seventh book To Summon Angels will be out in January with Redlead Press an imprint of Dorrance Publishing. http://msefler-inspiration.net msefler@vdn.ca

Excerpts from Revelation: Joseph’s Message channeled by Michael G. Reccia

The Seed within the Human Soul

Joseph: We wish to talk about beginnings today, and about the seed that is within the human soul; for the soul is not the seed, it is a covering, a vehicle for the seed and not the seed itself. The seed is separate and comes into being of its own volition. Yet there is a paradox here, because it does not have that volition until it becomes separate. So we ask you to consider that God wishes separation in order to grow. The volition first comes from God but, at that point, the seed becomes aware of its own purpose. In other words, God at first thinks of separation and, at that point, the separation exists. Again, the paradox is that the separation is a concept of God, and therefore a part of God, so actual separation never – in terms of your understanding – exists.

So each seed is separate and yet contained within the whole that is God, but God allows the seed to experience growth through the illusion of individuality. The seed is then clothed in various radiations that allow it to interact on a physical level with that physical level. These can be compared to ‘skins’ or fields of various energies that complete the illusion of separateness from God. From the inner to the outer, the skins become more dense, but they are nothing more than shades put around a light and, within those shades – and particularly within the outermost three – the Earthly perceptions and consciousness reside; but these are nothing more than an illusion, a field which is tissue-thin.

What we are saying is that everything you perceive to be dense, permanent, vast and ‘real’ is contained within these three outer skins or fields, and that these are permeable, which is why we are able to contact you from our level of ‘reality’, which is also a projection – although a less dense one – that is around the seed, that is always a part of God.

This is what is meant by ‘In the beginning was the Word’. In the beginning was the concept, and the concept was separation in order to experience. Following separation, there is growth of what is perceived as the individual. And the amazing thing is that the field energies that lie within the three outer skins are shared by all beings on Earth, but the field energies are all there is – there is nothing else on this level of consciousness. The level itself does not exist, only the perception of it, as shared by the consciousness of all living things. This is the true nature of creation on your level. So everything is contained within the individual and the individual is contained within God.

Therefore, all projections by the consciousness into the perceived field energies within the three skins are dominated by mind, not by substance. It is the mind that creates and which manipulates the field energies; it is the mind that creates the illusion of separation, and it is the mind that presently fills the fields with the darkness we have to penetrate from within in order to reach you.

We are trying to dispel the concept of God as being ‘outside’ of this physical universe. Or above it. Or below it. Or separate from it. Because, in actual fact, the physical universe only exists as a field of consciousness, created by God as the individual rather than God as the whole. In other words, the seed was made flesh and the seed required substance around it in order to interact with itself. And so the consciousness from the seed created the fields. It is God-consciousness, yes, but God-consciousness given to the seed to do whatever it wishes with, to create whatever it sees, whatever it feels it needs to create to express itself.

Often the seed, the individual, cries out to God in prayer to help it in areas that God has not consciously created, but that the seed, the individual, has created. This does not mean that the seed is separated from God, but, rather, that the seed has been given God-power to create whatever it perceives to be true, which we hope goes a little way towards helping you to understand why there is such chaos within these three perceived fields. Because the seed, although not separate, has lost its memory of where it began and, in doing so, has allied itself with the fields of perception rather than with its true heritage.

Our task in contacting you is to peel back the layers of misconception that separate the seed from its greater whole and, in doing so, to create an increase of God-power within the fields, so that the growth that is expected of the seed by God in projecting Itself into individuality can take place.

We have to warn mankind that this expected growth is not taking place at this time. The individual is taking part as a player in the same ‘play’ – is playing and replaying the same play again and again without understanding why it is here. And the souls who are being born back into this illusion of individuality time and again are causing their reincarnations on Earth by their own desire, and not by any volition on the part of God for them to return to this planet. Therefore, many souls are choosing to reincarnate into the same conditions they left when they passed on (into the spirit worlds) in order to replay exactly the same type of experiences they crave, and that is not the purpose of the three fields.

The purpose of the three fields is to allow expansion of God-consciousness, to bring the seed to a point where it becomes more than the seed and can produce seeds of its own. It is no coincidence that reproduction on your level within the three fields is a matter of the seed issuing from the seed. It is exactly the same process on a God-level, with the expectation for the seed being that it bring through further seed, allowing growth of the original seed and the God from which it came. This is not taking place, however, and because God does not oppose God – how could God oppose Himself/Itself? – there can only be gentle direction given from our point of view, rather than coercion. Whilst the seed involves itself in the illusion to the extent that all else is unimportant, the Source can do nothing until such time as, via instruction, the seed loosens its grip on perceived reality and reaches within to perceive absolute reality, not the projection.

This is why this communication is taking place and we hope that what is said today gives you some measure of the severity of the situation, and the need for perception from within to take place within the seed.

Professional medium, Michael G. Reccia, from Rossendale, UK has channeled spirit communication for over 23 years - during which time he has conducted thousands of private readings, given countless public demonstrations (including trance), held workshops, taught meditation, produced spiritual books and CD’s and is regularly involved in spirit rescue.

He firmly believes that the true importance of spirit communication is not simply to prove evidence of life after death but to provide a blueprint for a better life before death through channeled spiritual teachings that will make a difference to this World. With his life-partner, Jane, he co-authors a free website offering uplifting spiritual teachings from his guides (www.michaelandjane.co.uk).

Michael regards his book Revelation: Joseph’s Message, as his most important contribution to spiritual awareness to date (see www.thespiritguide.co.uk. for excerpts and further details) and is currently channeling the second book in this amazing trilogy.

Announcements, Links and Shopping

Introducing Wisp E-Zine

Though we are no longer in the age of the stylus and clay tablets, there is still some truth remaining in the Latin saying "verba volent, scripta manent" (spoken words fly away, but writings remains). Especially in our fast paced world of instantaneous communication where written words can become as fleeting as spoken words once were.

Brought together as a group of people with similar interests, through social networks of all kinds, personal acquaintances, chatrooms and newsgroups from all over the world, we soon found out that there was a fascinating magic at play in the beautiful interweaving of our stories.

And it often all happened so fast, that time for contemplation was reduced to a few seconds.

So we decided to start some new adventure, to let us expand this natural beauty, and give it a fertile ground to thrive.

A sort of lively garden nestled in the swarming buzz of the city, where time is suspended and true sharing can occur.

Thus, Wisp was born. Wisp, like a flock of birds, or like a wisp of smoke...

Wisp is above all a playground, where everyone desiring to share about his or her own adventure is welcome.

It follows the flow of the energies involved in its creation, and the good-will (o'wisp) of its contributors.

The next issue is planned for November. Till then, feel free to browse the archives at http://wisp.focusphere.net and who knows... you may want to get involved :)

Online Energy Games

Join Dale Evans each Tuesday 4-5 p.m. (Eastern) on Yahoo Instant Messenger for Group Energy Games. Connect with IntuitiveFacilitator on Yahoo IM for an hour of energy fun and games. Free and open to the public.

Dale Evans is an Intuitive & Psychic Coach and Energy Worker who has been studying, teaching, and exploring metaphysical phenomena for over 40 years. Her teachings incorporate direct personal experience in order to foster and nurture self-acceptance and trust in one's natural abilities. Dale is also a published poet, newspaper reporter, and freelance journalist whose work is seen in print and on various websites, e-zines and online journals. Visit her website at http://www.itallbeginsnow.com/Home_Page.html

SUMARI SHOPPING
A collection of products and services offered by Seth fans around the world.
If you have a product or service you'd like to see listed here, feel free to contact us at mailto:SNJ@newworldview.com

Explore the works of Visionary Artist Shirley Hadley!

The photographs you see below were created by Shirley in her studio, and not through electronic manipulation. Each photo is available in 5x7 or 8x10 and includes a poem that goes with the photo.

Entrance to Awareness
The journey of the self is
to see without using your eyes
to hear but not with your ears.
Listen to your inner voice, it will lead you
to an awareness of new ways to view your
selves and the world you live in.

Rainbow Dimension
Mysterious shadows suspended in the sky
rainbows connected, self-awareness is reflected.
Shades of color and dimensions of light,
holographic images, illusions of night

To see the full selection of photos and for purchasing information please visit Shirley's Gallery.

New from Sharon Hackleman, author of Marion the Magnet

MIND TIME CARDS

"Mind Time Cards are a deck of 31 inspiring positive daily affirmations created by Sharon Hackleman and illustrated by Jessica Glickman. The SOUL purpose of creating the Mind Time Cards is to teach teens about the magical powers of positive thought and the importance of feeling good about themselves-
Spirit, Mind, and Body!

$9.95
FREE SHIPPING
when ordered on mindtimecards.com

"We are all connected...intertwined...by a universal energy so divine." - Sharon Hackleman

Free Seth CD from New Awareness Network
This CD contains additional Seth excerpts that are not on the sethlearningcenter.org website)
This CD contains selections of Seth speaking on a variety of topics along with explanatory notes by Rick Stack, former student of Seth and Jane Roberts and President of New Awareness Network.
For ordering information, Click here.

Sethworld - A board game based on the Seth Material
Explore your beliefs! Stretch your imagination! Delve into your dreams! Challenge your creativity!
Seven years in the making, I am so pleased to be able to offer you SethWorld - The Game of All That Is! SethWorld is a totally unique game, the first metaphysical board game based on the Seth material - maybe the first metaphysical board game, ever! It is designed to explore and uncover beliefs while having fun. There are no winners, no losers, and NO RULES! A 24-page pamphlet included with the game gives a probable framework for play, 6 sample "moves," and a glossary of 61 concepts.
SethWorld -- You've never played anything like it!

WHAT A COINCIDENCE Understanding Synchronicity In Everyday Life
by Susan M Watkins

Overview:
What if all those seemingly insignificant little What a coincidence! moments you've experienced were actually connected, were part of a larger, more complex coincidence story?

What if they were hinting at something very personal and important about yourself—and about the workings of human consciousness?

Would you listen?

Susan Watkins does. For more than 35 years she's been documenting and studying the coincidences that have happened in her life. What she's discovered is that seemingly simple coincidences—thinking of an old friend and their calling seconds later, for example—are often pieces of larger, more complex and meaningful "coincidence clusters."

A former newspaper reporter and the author of five books, Watkins has always been intrigued by coincidences—what they mean in our everyday lives, and in the grander scheme of things. What, she asks, do these coincidence clusters say about human consciousness and human connection? In What a Coincidence! she presents coincidence clusters that are utterly astounding. What they reveal is life- altering.

What a Coincidence! is an exciting, groundbreaking journey. Along the way Watkins offers profound insights as well as practical pointers on how to become aware of the coincidence clusters in our own lives. She also shows us how to document coincidences so that we, too, can reap their valuable rewards. We'll never brush off those What a Coincidence! moments again.

Party Like It's 2012

Just one of the great metaphysical t-shirts, bumper stickers, greeting cards, buttons, mugs and clocks available from the Conscious Creation Shop by Kristen Fox and John McNally

SETH CONNECTIONS

Meetings of both the physical and non-physical kind.
If you have a Seth group or are planning a get together for Seth fans, and would like to see it advertised here, email us at SNJ@newworldview.com

BAY AREA SETH GROUPS

If you live in the San Francisco area you'll want to check out the new Bay Area Seth Groups website. Their calendar is chock full of events hosted by seven different groups around the Bay area.

Seth Network Japan

Dear friends, I'm happy to announce that Seth Network Japan,was created in December 2005 by a small group of Japanese Seth fans. We also have a website that introduces the Seth Material to our visitors.

If you know any Japanese speaking person who might be interested in Seth books, we'd be glad to welcome him/her on the site. For those who feel like having a look at Japan, we have a small slide show that presents different parts of the country.

So, you are all welcome. :-)

Cheers,

Masa

Greetings from the Portland-Metro Seth Readers' Guild

We meet the 2nd and 4th Tuesdays of every month. Our first meeting of the month is for reading aloud and commenting. Right now, we are reading "The Seth Material" in the first half of the meeting, then we take a break for drinks and treats and conversation. During the second half of the meeting we have started reading "Seth Speaks".

We end the meeting variously with a psy-time, or reading from the Seth deck of cards. Of course the reading goes slowly, because we always have a reason to stop the flow for comments--current events, family or personal tie-ins, etc. This is how we use the material, and it seems to work.

Our second meeting of the month is what we call the experiential meeting, which can range from a past-life hypnosis psy-time, to a video of interest on a current topic, or a time of general discussion. We did some remote-viewing experiments with pretty good results.

Our meetings start at 7 PM and go to 10 PM. The host provides tea, coffee or other drinks, and we bring finger food. There is networking, friendship, and stimulating talk on all kinds of subjects during the break. We aim to keep our focus on our primary reality, and learn from each other how to deal constructively with the secondary reality of our greater world.
Drop-ins are welcome--call Marie 503-232-6469 or email harakne@yahoo.com for our meeting locations or any cancellations."

Cool Conscious Creation Resources on the Web

2008 Conscious Creation Calendar of Events
Sethnet Basics - get the most out of Sethnet
Sethnet Archives - lots of free articles and material
Random Seth quotes

Conscious Creation Links – Conscious Creation Publishers, Book Stores, Websites, Journals, Newsletters, Mailing Lists, Message Boards, and more.

The Elias forum - website by Paul & Joanne Helfrich contains an expansion of many of the conscious creation concepts introduced by Seth/Jane Roberts, channeled by Mary Ennis.
What if the Seth material was a foundation to be expanded later by other channeled sources? Can any perennial source ever be considered complete AND infallible?
Seth readers will want to check out:
Introduction & Overview
A Seth, Elias Comparative Overview (Updated!)
Digest: Seth, Jane Roberts

Essence of Rose Website - The new website for the entity Rose as channeled by Joanne Helfrich. For more about the nature of Rose, see the essence of Rose in the Elias forum.

The Kris Chronicles - an expansion of many of the conscious creation concepts introduced by Seth/Jane Roberts, channeled by Serge Grandbois.
A Kris, Seth, Elias Comparative Overview (Updated!) - a preliminary comparison of core concepts in the Seth material, information offered by Elias, and Kris Chronicles

Otherfocus.com the personal website of Donald R. Johnson
Explore the creative worlds of John McNally and Kristen Fox Cofounders of the Conscious Creation Website and Email group John and Kristen share interests in writing, art, photography and cooking which they explore on a variety of websites:
John and Kristen's new Green blog: It Should Be Easy Being Green
Intuitive Astrology site: Psychic Weather
Writing: Mind Altering Fiction
Photography: Telepathicfrog
Cooking: Food Follies
Shop: Telepathic Frog Designs
Shop Powered By Tshirts
Kristen's weblog: FoxVox
Art & Photo Gallery: Art of FoxVox
Art & Photo Prints: Deviant Art
T Shirt Reviews Tshirt Casserole