First chapter: Book of the Destined
For entry to Lunar Awards
The Book of the Destined
by
Philip Jackson
The Astral Hall
My story began, or I should say continued, when I first found myself in the life after. I arrived after racing out of town on a moonless, wet night and rounded a corner in a grey Bugatti only to find a black Corolla stopped dead in the road. I slammed into it at 65 miles per hour. It happened so suddenly I didn’t even have time to hit the brakes. The airbag deployed, but in my haste to get out of town I had neglected to put on my seatbelt, and so I found myself pushing through the membrane of existence as I pushed through the windshield of the car.
All color was pulled from my vision, but that was very brief. Then a green light appeared after the spectrum of colors flooded back. This was followed by a feeling of weightlessness and emancipation. Then, like an invitation from someone who loved me, I felt a gentle pull into a membrane of thick, phlegm-colored, jello. I could see through the substance, but everything was blurry. What I saw appeared to be a large terminal with an immense number of people moving about. I tried to focus by leaning forward, and as I did I slowly slid through the mucus. First my face, then my head, shoulders, torso, legs, and then I stumbled forward a few steps, caught myself, and stood, dumbfounded and amazed on the other side. I felt wet, as though I had just left a shower. When I looked down I saw I was naked and I instinctively covered Tom and the Heartbreakers. The wet mucus created a glistening effect as though I were translucent. I felt self-conscious and embarrassed at my nakedness, because I was raised that way. I heard a bang on the wall, then another, and then several more. But my attention was swiftly captured by the cathedral-like hall in which I found myself.
As I stood in a gigantic concourse with tens of thousands of naked people milling about, I tried to compose myself. I looked around at the people and the structure, examining all. The people were all fuzzy and vague, even the ones who walked by only a few feet from me. The majority of the people were children, many of them alone, except the few who looked to be with chaperones. I say chaperones because they pointed them toward one end of the concourse with one hand, while the other gently held the middle of their backs. Most of them were Black or Brown, a great many were Asian, but there were many thousands of caucasians as well. I could faintly hear their conversations, and, inexplicably, I understood them all, despite some speaking languages I never even knew existed. There were quite a few who were gestating fiercely with raised, angry voices, and others who had fallen to their knees sobbing. I was part of the group standing dumbfounded.
Slowly, I turned back to look at what was behind me and saw a rippling, milky white-green wall that ran off to my left and right as far as I could see. The same was true for its height. The wall went up infinitely, and down through the translucent floor disappearing out of sight. I reached out to touch the wall and found it warm, but as unyielding as steel despite its appearing to flow like a waterfall. I pushed against it, but it was unmoved. I heard no sound of water except when someone stepped through and then there was a kind of a splash as though somebody had jumped into a pond.
When my attention returned to the concourse there was a tall woman in a bright yellow suit with a flowery red shirt and ebony skin confidently walking up to me. It was suddenly quiet. All I could hear were her shoes clicking against the floor. She walked in a formal, serious, professional cadence. She stopped a few feet before me, so close I felt uncomfortable, and stood erect with her hands behind her back.
“Sorry to be late,” she said, looking directly into my eyes, with a loving smile and in a warm and gentle voice. I reflexively lowered my eyes and was reminded I was naked. It was at this point that I realized my belly was gone and my body was fit and tight. I paused at the sight of a trim physique where once was a soft rounded belly. I actually felt healthier, too.
“Uh, hi. Did you say you’re late? Was I expecting you?”
“No, but I was expecting you. I was unfortunately slowed by the bridge. Today is a particularly big day for crossings.
“You’re confused…. It’s to be expected. Your transition was sudden,” she said through her bright, wide smile. A smile punctuated by joyful green eyes which evoked a feeling of trust to flow across me. “You have questions. I’m here to help you with them,” she added.
“Well, to begin with, can I get some clothes?” I asked.
“Certainly, if you wish.”
“If I wish? Doesn’t everyone?”
“No. Some do, but eventually, most gradually lose the desire for them…. What am I wearing?”
“What? Don’t you know what you’re wearing?”
“I’m not wearing anything, but since you’re desiring clothes you’re likely projecting them on me; it’s not uncommon, and I’m curious what you see me wearing.” Her expression changed to reveal an almost childlike curiosity.
After standing there for an uncomfortably long time, at least fifteen seconds, I finally said, “Well, you’re wearing a yellow suit with a light red shirt and red shoes.”
“Really? Fascinating. And what are you wearing?”
“I’m not….” I stopped as I looked down and saw I was now wearing clothes. I stared, dumbfounded, then said, “Okay. Well, I’m wearing jeans, a t-shirt under a green and blue sweater and sneakers.” The green shirt was one I had worn all the time that had a picture of the Looney Tunes character Porky Pig over the words “That’s All Folks”.
“Are these familiar to you?” she asked analytically, like a psychologist or an anthropologist.
“Yes. I wore them in college,” I said, somewhat dazed. “How did I get these?”
“Well, it’s complicated…but also simple. You wanted them, so here they are.”
I touched the sweater. It was soft and familiar and brought back memories of my first year in college. It smelled like weed and fast food. It caused me to remember how proud and anxious and excited I was back then. My future was in front of me and I flushed with the unlimited possibilities of university. I wanted to be an academic, so I adopted the dress that I thought made me look the most intellectual. (It was a look I had stolen from the university catalog.)
“They make you happy, don’t they?” she said with a combination of cheerfulness and certainty.
I looked at her for a moment, not really sure how to respond. I liked them, but I wasn’t necessarily happy. Going away to college had been both an escape from my family and community and a way to become someone else, someone better. For all my life I had felt ‘insufficient’, which I now attribute to the fact that I didn’t know myself at all. I’d been a stranger to myself for as long as I could remember. It was disheartening and lonely. I had tried on many different personalities, none of which fit, so college was a new place, open to me experimenting in an effort to find out who I was. Instead I ended up trying to be who I thought I wanted to be. Someone who others would like and respect.
Thinking about this brought me to a familiar place, self-pity. Then the movement of all the other people milling about returned to me and I returned to the moment and my place in the giant hall. And with that, the anxiety of being lost and confused returned. I looked around at the tens of thousands of children and seniors. Most of them were now speaking with someone who seemed to be pointing them toward one or the other of two parallel hallways that disappeared toward their infinity point.
The interesting thing was the noise. There wasn’t any. I mean there was noise, but not in the traditional sense of loud unintelligible chatter. Everyone was talking, yet it was quiet. There was also a calmness to the place. No one was in a hurry. No impatient people ranting about their wait time. No one running. Most everyone was listening and nodding, not really noticing me or anyone else. In fact, there was a solemnity that permeated the hall. Even the children were well-behaved and quiet. Most were from other countries, other continents, even other hemispheres than me. And even though I could only hear parts of conversations as they moved by—they all spoke softly and, strangely—and they all seemed to be excited about where they were.
As I looked around, taking in the hall, I also began to notice the smell of a new born baby. The whole place smelled of it, but lightly, in the background, like white noise. The scent moved by as if on a gentle breeze and seemed to carry my anxiety away with it. The air tasted lightly of salt.
Opposite the wall I fell through, the walls were taller than the highest skyscrapers. They were paneled in a dark oak, with inlays of mahogany. It reminded me of the home office I dreamed of in college. They stretched up to a high, white ceiling, or, not a ceiling really; it was like solid clouds, puffy and thick, through which light shone.
“I’m sure you have questions,” the woman reiterated, looking at me as a parent looks at a child, which I found both comforting and insulting.
“Yes. Many,” I replied. “Let’s start with where I am? Then let’s move on to how I got here? What’s going on? And who you are?”
“Okay, okay,” she returned with a chuckle. “You’re at the place between where you were and where you’re going to be. But let’s start with what’s the last thing you remember before your arrival?”
I stared at her for a moment, then lowered my eyes and said, “Not only didn’t you answer any of my questions, but you asked me to answer yours.” Then, slowly raising my eyes to meet hers added, “Let’s answer mine and then we can get to yours, okay?”
Her smile relaxed. “I will answer all your questions. But, I’ve done this many, many times and believe me it helps if I bring you forward from where you left off.”
I was a little taken aback. She had this familiarity and charm that was disarming, but also a subtle forcefulness that was intimidating. However, she was from here, wherever here was, and so I deferred.
I looked down to think. I hadn’t noticed before but the floor was blue and was moving like water on a calm ocean, but it felt solid under my feet. I squatted to touch the floor and my hand caused ripples to radiate from where my hand entered the water. The water was cold, ice cold, but when I withdrew my hand it was dry and warm. This caused me to become a little disoriented. But when I looked up at the woman waiting politely for me to answer her question, I strangely felt centered and was drawn back to our conversation.
After reflecting for a moment, I said, “Well, I was racing out of town. It had been raining pretty hard so it was misty and wet. I rounded a curve and…there was a car in the road. I heard a loud crash and then I was here.”
At this I stood slack. “I was in a car accident,” I added somberly, under my breath. “I’m in a coma, aren’t I. This is all a dream. I’m in a hospital.”
She smiled slightly, kindness radiating from her face. “Was there a light?”
“Yes.”
“Was it blue, green or white?”
“It was green. Is that important?”
Her posture straightened as her eyes went wide and the smile disappeared from her face. “You’re destined!” She said this a little loudly and several of the chaperones and guides, or whatever they were, turned our way with surprised, concerned expressions.
She reached forward with her right hand, keeping her left behind her back, and touched my shoulder. I felt a tremor move through me. My blood turned warm and my hands twitched and for the first time I felt somewhat normal. Alive.
“What was that?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” she replied with a smile.
“And you haven’t answered any of them.”
“Okay, okay. Well, first, no, you’re not dreaming. And you’re not in a hospital. In fact your body is still on the road. The people whose car you hit are walking up the road to a house for help. They’ve made a call to the police, but the police haven’t arrived yet,” she said quietly.
“Oh shit!” I blurted out. “So, I’m dead! And this is…Heaven?…Or Hell?”
She squinted, looked around the hall, then said, “Those are abstract concepts.”
“So they don’t exist?” I said with a smile.
“They exist, in the sense that you carry them within you.”
“Oh.” I was really hoping for a minute that I had escaped responsibility and consequences of my life. “So, where am I really?”
“This is the Astral Hall. This is the next phase of your existence. This is where you use what you’ve learned in the third phase so you may grow. It’s a place where you can become less of what you want to be and more yourself.”
I looked at her, my forehead wrinkled, slightly squinting. “So, not Heaven, not Hell. How do I know I’m not dreaming?”
“Does this feel like a dream?”
I thought about it for a moment and said, “No, I guess not; it feels real.”
“It’s as real as anywhere. Dreams are the realm internal where you deal with guilt and regret. Here you move beyond those, although you carry them on this part of your journey.”
“Is that bad?”
“No, quite the opposite,” she replied, misty-eyed.
“We’re all on a journey. This is just the next phase of yours,” she said as her expression changed from happy and kind, to serious and earnest instruction.
“You see, there is no death. There is no after life. There’s just life. After the third phase of life, the one you just left, you move on to the next. Life’s not over once our bodies seize, it’s just different. Once life starts it doesn’t end, it changes. It transforms. We evolve.
“When we start we know nothing of life, we are just life itself, moving through the transformation from one thing to another, always moving toward integration—a destination that’s difficult to reach—or to oblivion, which is a far easier destination.
“The move from one phase to the next isn’t always successful, and the rules commonly aren’t clear or consistent. Sometimes those who move on to this realm, commonly misunderstood and misstated as the “after life”, are able to transition easily, as they have begun to prepare before they arrive, but for others the change is more troublesome: they are killed at a very young age, or while doing one thing at the end of their life that pushes them toward a growth for which they weren’t prepared, many of course have to adjust to expectations being shattered. Others arrive unexpectedly and unprepared.
“Like me.”
“Yes, like you.”
She spoke quietly, intently, with her now hopeful eyes fixed on me. I turned my eyes down, trying to process what she was saying. None of this was anywhere near what I read, heard, was taught, or believed. It seemed everyone had it wrong. But, of course they did; how could we know anything?
“So I was unexpected? Is that because I had an accident?”
It was strange, but while we were talking it was like we were alone in a quiet, brightly lit room. I forgot where I was, or that there were people around. I was just being, listening.
“Yes. Partly. When someone dies unexpectedly, accidentally, or violently it sometimes means they have reached the end of their causal chain,” she said.
“So….an accident that had to be?”
“Yes, most people have free will. Their lives wander, meandering from one potential to the next, with no foreseeable destination. They may desire a certain outcome, but they exist moment to moment. Each new moment a destination. Others, a much smaller group, have a destination, and their path never wavers, even though it can appear as though it does to them and to others.”
It was then that, for the first time, she brought out her hand from behind her back and revealed she had a book. It was the size of a large hardcover novel, but it was covered in heavy grey cloth, with gilded pages and a belt that ran around it and through a plate of brass on the front which was inscribed with the words,
The Book of the Destined
She handed me the book and when I took it a dark emerald green color fell down the cover like mercury down a glass plate. She seemed as surprised as I was at its change of appearance. She stared at it for a moment and then looked up and said, “You’re a Green! I haven’t had a Green, and there hasn’t been one in many, many centuries. Most who have a book have a blue.”
“You mean not everyone gets one of these?”
“Yes. Most do not. But of those who do, it’s commonly a Blue.”
“What’s this for?” I asked, turning it in my hands.
“It’s for many things, but primarily it contains instructions for your journey through the realm.”
It was then that it dawned on me that there was a question I had neglected to ask. It may have been because I was so enthralled with the place and the conversation, but now I wanted to know.
“Who are you?”
“I’m your navigator. Sometimes a teacher. Sometimes an advisor. Always an observer. My name’s Kismet.” As she spoke she turned and walked toward the entrance to the hallway nearest me. I felt compelled to follow. After crossing the great hall she said, “It’s time.”
“Time? Time for what?” I said, puzzled by her haste. She arrived late to meet me, so now I had to hurry, without explanation?
“Step through,” she said, swinging her hand toward the hallway.
“What?” I asked while looking down the long corridor at what appeared to be nothing. “I have a lot more questions.”
“Step across the threshold.” She spoke matter-of-factly, gently commanding, as she pointed down the hall with her open hand which crossed a barrier and caused a ripple to spread across the opening.
I looked down the hallway again, trying to see who or what was down it, but I could see nothing. It was like trying to look through a waterfall. “What’s down there?”
“You’ll only know once you step through. No one knows what awaits them, it varies from life to life, but some can divine it if the pattern of their journey reveals itself.”
I stood for a moment pondering all this. Then I asked, “Why this hall and not that one? What’s down that one?”
“This path called. This is your path. Your journey continues down this hall. Do you not hear it?” She said with a puzzled look.
I couldn’t hear anything.
She waved her hand toward the hall again, once more inviting me in. Well, actually insisting.
“What about if I want to go down the other way? What then?”
She dropped her arm and turned back to me and said, “You can’t enter that hall. Only those with free will may choose their path. Free will is as water. It goes where the contours of one’s choices take it. Destiny is as stone. Your path is set, you will follow it.”
“Story of my life.” It always seemed I had no control. Every time I went against my instincts, or what I thought was right, because doing otherwise was too hard, or it didn’t get me to where I wanted quick enough, things always went wrong. Always. Maybe not right away, but eventually. And here was the explanation; it was because in fighting against my instincts I was trying to fight my destiny. Stone. And apparently I had been banging my head against it over and over throughout my life.
I stood, overwhelmed by everything, not really knowing what to do.
Kismet again swung her arm toward the hall and, with a twinkle in her eyes, nodded her head toward the entrance, and smiled.
“But you haven’t answered my questions.”
“The answers will come, but for now you must move forward.” She dropped her arm and the smile left her face. I couldn’t tell if she was angry, frustrated, or impatient, but not complying felt like it might be one of those bang my head moments so I let out a sigh, closed my eyes and took the step.