It seems strange to me; this little walk with Jackie and Leo, but then again - my life has always seemed a little strange.  I wonder if the others feel the same?  One thing about life, you never really know if you’re in the middle of reality or just flirting around the edges of it.  Take these black words against this white background and reverse them and what do you change?  Makes me think of that question can a leopard change it’s spots?  I think so…. But I wonder if it really wants to?

 

Everything seems real to me… here.  The ground is firm beneath my feet, the air is fresh, though a little crisp; Winter must be lurking close by.  We seem to be in a valley of some sort, making our way up a little rise.  I can hear music, faint but distinct; I even know the song that’s playing, as Jackie sings it lightly under her breath; we pick up the pace a little it seems.

 

I have no idea where I’m at, or what’s going on, but I leave where I’ve been without thought, either good or bad.  A lifetime of searching is coming to a conclusion, and I’m reminded of Emily, reminded of those words she wrote so long ago; The world is not conclusion….. A sequel stands beyond…

 

Everybody wants to believe that - in one form or another, but I’ve always known it to be true; I’ve always known of the sequel; just couldn’t find it.  How can I say that?  Because the story about the lost thirteen was not just a creative process for Ice, it really happened, pretty much the way I’ve told it.  I lived in 1846, breathed the air, and walked on the surface of the planet over a hundred years ago, without a clue; that is till I ran into a woman named Jackie.  She too, was not exactly who she appeared to be; to those of us who knew one of her secrets, and certainly not to those who knew none of them.

 

How does one describe the single most significant moment in their life?  When I first met Jackie, she appeared to be a man, and indeed, I would think of her as one for more than a month, before on a rare day when the sun was a friend, she lowered an unseen shield, and bathed in warmth I’d never felt before … I knew.

 

Only to lose it all when the riders came.

 

For it was then I chose to not believe.  I was scared, and felt that I was soon to die.  She’d told us that we’d have to believe with every fiber in our bodies, that she would need all our help to accomplish the feat she was attempting.

 

I ran.

 

Chased by two men on horses so big I thought them eerily unreal, though their heavy breathing through nostrils dripping in foamy spittle, only intensified my situation, and I thought my heart was near exploding.  Running crazily through shrub bushes, while wishing for a forest, I knew the end was near.

 

I could see the wagon from where I’d ran, several men were dismounting from their horses and piling into the back.  I could hear screams, and gunfire. 

 

And still…. I ran.

 

Into a small ravine that was wet and muddy, I remember hearing my boots splashing in water, and watching over my shoulder as I scrambled up the opposite bank, I saw one of the horses lose its footing, falling head first to the ground; its rider sprawled in the mud.  The other rider tried to keep from trampling both horse and rider, but instead, rode his own horse into the horse already on the ground, and fell into a crumpled heap - and I ran.

 

Into a mist, thick like a fog, and I remember being stunned by my good fortune as I ran harder into the fog, wanting to be enveloped completely into it’s beautiful lost essence. 

 

I could hear the men cursing and shouting as they remounted their horses, I heard a gunshot, and I fell to the ground, trembling and immobile. 

 

I gave up.

 

Her voice came out of the fog, and her words caused me to jerk my head up from the ground. 

 

I’m going to have to leave you here, but I’ll be back.

 

No!  - Don’t leave me!

 

Get up, and walk toward me.

 

Somehow I stood up, and trying to figure out from which direction her voice had came from I started walking.

 

This way.

 

Turning in the direction of her voice, I walked toward it….

 

Into a world from which I’m now leaving; after all this time.

 

Better a reality nearby than a dream afar.

 

 

 

 end

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inside the wagon, a dim, yellowish light flickers in the darkness, flittering around kegs of flour and salt; I wonder why we’ve not thrown them out like Jackie ordered. The familiar odor of stretched canvas above, and around me, intertwining with the aroma from the kegs, mixes past with past, while the future defines the time from which I now exist.

 

An existence I find hard to place, loose in an unworldly world, lost in a universe of abnormalities; of Jackie, seated on a knee-high pile of quilts and mattresses, her legs tucked beneath her, and Leo and me on the patio of a beachfront house, while wagons roll endlessly on a lonely day without a sun, and the sound of mounted horses echo in my brain.

 

A small wooden box, with writing on it, familiar, yet unreadable is in front of her; a white candle, the source of the light sits on top, all alone, except for Leo and me, inside the flame which I know to be reality.

 

“Our past affects our present, and sometimes predicts the future.”

 

This thought is in my mind, and from whence it comes I have no idea, but I know the past, present, and future it speaks of is not mine alone; it’s everyone’s.

 

And now, as I hear the heavy hoof beat of many horses being reigned in, and feel the ethereal clash of leather with metal, angry voices from outside pulsate into the confined space of the wagon, as Jackie looks into the flame; into my eyes, my soul, and with a quick intake of breath … blows out the candle.

  

“Dan….. A long, long, time ago,” her voice is soft, and yet strong, and seems to be all around me in a nothingness cocoon without light or darkness, “a long time ago,” she continues, “in this very wagon, we, - you, me, Leo, and 9 others, stepped from the bounds of an existence we never asked for, escaping certain death, but in doing so we were cast adrift into a place although strange to us, was not that much different from where we came, and like that previous existence, this new place was full of strife and struggle, as well as joy. But we always knew, although could not prove, that there was a place of comfort and relief; a place where questions ceased, and knowledge flourished.  Now this very same “time” has evolved back, to what was our original predestination, and as we embark on this journey you will remember everything that has transpired, but will care nothing of this past, secure in the knowledge that to whence you travel, is your destiny.” 

 

In the darkness I feel the presence of many, the thoughts that abound, mix with my own, giving strength and wisdom; I feel my body rising up in a darkness where I can see clearly, and opening the folds of the canvas, I step to the ground, and walking past the men gathered at the back of the wagon, I sense their anger, and fear, as they stare from whence I’ve just come; at an emptiness that mocks their selfish desires, leaving a faint scent of things to come.

 

Ahead of me, far into the distance, I hear faint sounds of those who have come before me, and those to follow, all at the same place, in the same time.  Music and song, like poems read at bedtime, foretell of the coming rain, and walking through a grassy plain, toward this source with a confidence never before felt, I welcome the smell of rain, inhaling its essence as it engulfs me, reminding me of a past that now joins with the present, foretelling a future previously undreamed of which mere words cannot describe, nor were meant to.

 

And as worry, doubt, and fear fall from me, I look to my right and see Leo, as always, walking beside me, while to my left is Jackie, a smile playing across her face as we move closer to the gathering in front of us.

 

It’s begun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nowhere man         Leo was awake… eyes open, with a look of seeing something unseen.     I didn’t know how long he’d been awake, for I was lost in thoughts about Jackie.   Worried about meeting Jackie, eh?    Leo wasn’t speaking, he was thinking, and it was his thought that intruded on my own.    I made myself relax and thought, yeah, I'm worried.   Do you prefer to speak or is this ok with you?   In the silence I rolled his thought over in my mind, thinking I’d rather speak out loud than do the telepathy thing.   “That’s fine, he said, as he sat up and looked around. It’ll be easier that way when Jackie gets here.”   “When is that,” I asked?   “Actually she’s already here,” he said, as he fished in his pocket for his smokes.   Adding… “Her presence must of woke me up.”   I looked around, a little nervously I must admit, but couldn't see anything from my vantage point at the back of the wagon.   Just then I felt movement from the front of the wagon, someone was climbing down from the driver's seat.   and looking up front - I saw….   A booted foot first - followed by a faded Levi covered leg, and then, another foot and leg, similarly outfitted.   Suddenly I was watching her jump to the ground, boots stirring up a little cloud of dust, as the rest of her slid in place, not unlike a photo on a slideshow.   She was taller than I’d expected; about 5’6” - her hair cut short, which coupled with the levi’s, and a brown khaki shirt made her almost look like a man, but it was not difficult to see that she was female… not difficult at all.   For though I would later say that the most striking thing about her was – an eerie, electric aura - at the time I could no more of not noticed her breasts, - it was as if she had no shirt on - as I could of not noticed a beautiful sunset, or a night sky full of bright stars.   They were not about largeness; but were formed in a perfection I’d never seen, nor thought of before, and when I began to take in her whole presence, breathing became something I had to consciously make myself do.   She looked to be in her twenties, but could have easily been 35, with a body “athletically” hard bodied, and a tan that spoke of tanning booths, or several months on the Riviera.    Coal black hair, contrasted strangely, by a set of cat-green eyes that seemed to bore into my psyche effortlessly, and which I accepted without alarm.   In the end, it was the “aura,” that gave me the most pause. It projected an animal magnetism that cloaked her entire being like a protective cocoon, and caused me to feel a great sadness at knowing I would never know her.   “Dan, she said, her voice strong, yet soft in a musical way - get in the wagon.”   I stood dumbfounded, till she parted the canvas at the back of the wagon, and I saw the light from inside, a lantern I thought at the time.   Foot on the rail, head first I went into the wagon, feeling her right behind me, not thinking about anything, anything at all.   “Focus,” she is saying without preamble, as I try to get my footing, the floor of the wagon seemingly a spongy maze of something soft and pliable.   “Focus on me and the stone, she says, her incredible eyes searching my own, as thoughts fill my head, memories escape my mind, and an unworldly awareness fills the void.    I hear a “whooshing” noise, and think irrationally so, about - “Alice in Wonderland,” riding a tornado back to Kansas, and then just as irrationally I see us, together again, on the trail, trying to get away from the riders.

We do not seem to be moving at all, as fear runs back and forth in our eyes.  My legs are shaking so bad I wonder how I manage to stay upright.   Jackie is up front on a white mare, no saddle, turned sideways; she looks behind us into the sinking sunset.   We know they are close, Jackie says there are at least 8, maybe more, and they’re riding hard, been riding hard for a long ways.   We are pitiful, moving as if in slow motion, across the rough terrain; four in the one wagon, Jackie on our only horse, seven of us half-running, half stumbling, while trying to hold onto the wagon.   Finally, to my immense relief, Jackie reins her horse to a stop, holding her hand up to stop the rest of us.   Sliding easily off the horse, she jumps on the back of the wagon, opening the flaps in the same motion, and says, “in the wagon, now!”   We crowd into the small space already crowded with kegs of flour, salt, and other supplies; Jackie is yelling now, “throw all the crap outside,” she says as she’s tearing a box of some sort apart.  Turning a small square crate upside down, she places it between her feet, and removes a large white candle from the box in her lap, and setting it in the middle of the crate she looks at us and says, “find a match, hurry!”   After the candle is lit, I look around, and in the flickering light I look at each of the others, and seeing my own fear in their eyes, my hands start to shake.   Jackie is staring into the fire of the candle, the quietness outside marred only by a faint noise in the distance; horses coming, hard.   The “shaking” that started in my hands has moved back to my legs again, and I cannot keep them still, even as my gut begins to churn, and I feel like I’m being turned inside out.   I wonder if the others are as scared as I am.   “Everyone hold hands," Jackie says, and as we obey the order, I hear my own voice, shrill and weak, “what about Pierce?”   “Pierce is no longer one of us, Jackie says, he’s leading those who come for us.”   “But,” I begin, only to be shouted down by the others, “be quiet!”   Pierce and me had come a long ways together, and though I’d wondered, and worried about his disappearance a fortnight before, never did I dream he would be trying to harm any of us.  I couldn’t believe it!    It fills my head, and even though I know that it’s only his thought I’m hearing, not actually his voice, I hear the calm, measured cadence of Leo’s voice, as he says, “Jackie, it’s time.    Do it.

 

..... cont'd from "The New Residencia." 

 

 

 

I waited for his explanation, noticing as I did, that the wagon had stopped with us, and for as far as I could see - it was just the wagon and us.

 

The thought of who was up front in the wagon floated through my mind for a second, but quickly vaporized as Leo started talking again.

 

“What did you think about Roger’s story of the old man; the fact that he knew all that stuff about Roger, and that he talked about your blog on the stream? Did you get the part about 256 people on the Blogstream that they couldn’t trace?”

 

“I thought it was nuts, you know that, we laughed about it. As for the 256 bloggers that they couldn’t trace, hell, I thought that was bullshit too.”

 

“Well, your friend the District Attorney wasn’t fibbing about it; 256 bloggers are un-identifiable, but the ‘trick’ is - there are actually 31,777 bloggers who are un-identifiable, give or take one or two, as the membership changes.” 

 

“What in hell are you talking about,” I managed to garble out.

 

“31,777 + 13 = 31,790 total members on Blogstream, or said another way, just ‘subtract’ 13 from the total membership at any given time, and you will have the total number of bloggers who cannot be identified.”

 

“Don’t you get it, Dan? The stream was a ‘set-up’ from the beginning. The only real bloggers are the lost 13. The rest are being ‘run’ by the District Attorney’s office.”

 

I stared at him.

 

“Leo, I said, what are you trying to tell me?”

 

“Dan, my man, just think about it for a second; your friend Roger, the District Attorney of L.A., all of a sudden develops a interest in an old school chum, who he’s not seen or spoken to in over 3 decades. Where do you think that interest came from?”

 

As I try to comprehend everything Leo is saying, he continues, “Come on man, he’s been after you for a long time. It’s just since the reunion that he’s been out in the open. The deal is, the ‘stream’ was set-up to attract the lost 13,” and as Leo pauses, the implications of what he’s saying begin to process through my brain, and as a weak ray of sunlight begins to lighten a life-long darkness, I’m still un-believing. 

 

“You’re saying the only real bloggers are the lost 13, and all the rest are fake, and that I’m one of the lost 13?”

 

The astonishment on my face must have been a “bright light,” for Leo squinted his eyes at me and said, “I really thought you had that figured, Dan,” as he brushed a hand across his face. Do you really think I can be in my sixties in 1962 when you first met me, and yet, today I still look the same as then? And, do you think I would bounce in and out of your life for nearly 40 years without a reason?”

 

The “rush” that rolled over me, just then, buckled my knees, and if it hadn’t of been for the wagon, which I held onto with a death grip, I’d fallen to the ground; it was realization so strong, so intense, that I knew, without any doubt - that it was real, and, just as I lost consciousness, I remember seeing the brightest light I’d ever seen.

 

When I next knew anything, I found myself propped up against one of the wheels of the wagon, a damp cloth on my forehead, and Leo sitting cross-legged on the ground, staring at me as he smoked a cigarette.

 

“Roger, I said, he’s the ‘thirteenth,” isn’t he?

 

“Yeah, we knew all along he was after Jackie,” Leo is saying, as his eyes search the distant horizon. 

 

“And, he’s still after her,” I add.

 

Leo just looks at me.

 

“How long before I remember all of it,” I asked.

 

“It’ll take you awhile, but eventually it’ll all come back, sometimes almost all at once.”

 

“Can you tell me?  As my question went unanswered, I let it go; I already knew the answer anyway.

 

Leo finally moved, taking a drag of his cigarette, but still not saying anything.

 

“The mental telepathy should have been my wake-up, right? I asked.

“You just had a hard time coming out of it man, don’t beat yourself up over it,” he said, leaning back on his back, straightening his legs, and staring up at the sky.

 

“Leo, I said, how come you’ve been out of it for so long, and not me?”

 

“It’s involved man, it’s better if Jackie tells you herself.”

 

“You mean, I won’t remember that part?”

 

“No, none of us do, or will, it’s part of the process.”

 

“I remember her telling me that she could change the present into something else, that she could somehow alter the future.” As I stopped talking, and looked at Leo, I remembered something else too.

 

“She was an ‘Alchemist,’ they thought she could change worthless metals to gold, Leo said, with a shrug of his shoulders.  “They didn’t have a clue though,” he finished.

 

“The Philosopher’s Stone,” I said, and watched as Leo’s eyes seem to brighten, and I detected movement not connected with him. Looking around, there was nothing to see, but I felt the chill of something, as I continued, “she had it all along, didn’t she?”

 

Leo smiled a little, as he stirred the dirt with a long twig, drawing figure 8’s it seemed to me, and as he drew the 8’s he said, “do you remember what she always said?”

 

I didn’t, but in the silence, it came into my mind effortlessly.

 

“Everything that happens once will never happen again, but anything that happens twice will surely happen a third time.”

 

 

 

 

 

Adventures of the   Nowhere man………   “Whistling past the   cemetery,” was   what Leo was   doing.  Most of us   have done that   before, haven’t we?      As for me … I was   walking, rather   “stumbling” along   beside him, in   sheer wonder, as   the sounds, the   sights… and the   smells - assaulted   my senses - in an   incredible new   way.     Think about it for   a second….Put   yourself back in   1846; walking with   Leo and me, as we   navigate the hard,   rugged dirt below   our feet.  Feel my   need for a “bath,”   feel the burning   sensation in your   own crotch because   you’ve not had a   real bath in weeks.     Know with a   certain futility,   “that you do not   know - what will   transpire in the   coming minutes   and hours; you   only know that it   will be something   truly exceptional,   like nothing you've   ever experienced   in your life.     Also know that   technology as we   know it, does not   exist.  “Cars” -no!   “Flying things in   the air,” are you   crazy?     Some of you    will not have a   problem doing   this, you will   slip backward so   easily that you   won’t even know it.     For a few seconds   that is, and then   you’ll  "feel it,” as   it encapsulates   you, "wrapping   dusty arms of the   past” around you,   drawing you   backward in time.     Yeah, a few of you,   “eleven” - to be   exact - will not   have a problem   returning from   hence you came   You will remember what  “James Clyman, a well known guide of the times, said at the “Big Blue River,” - when coming upon the stone used as a tombstone for an elderly woman.    ''This stone shows us that all ages and all sects are found to undertake this long, tedious and even dangerous journey for some unknown object never to be realized, even by those the most fortunate. And why? Because the human mind can never be satisfied, never at rest, always on the stretch for something new, some strange novelty.''

And, you will know   of the “strange   novelty” you chased   back then, and you   will know that you   gave it up for a   chance at a   “different novelty,”   stranger than   anything one could   ever imagine.     A chance to go   somewhere that on   the surface scared   you to death, and in   fact, became    responsible for it.      With that   momentous decision   ...you ... “one of the   lost thirteen” ,   entered into a   convent just now   beginning to reach   for its fulfillment.   So as we celebrate the 1st Anniversary of the “Blogstream,” remember that it is also the anniversary of something else too.