Then for a moment it touches, scans who Kewe is.
It has detected him listening, yet so yielding it comes again, very gently, very quietly, to touch from the rock.
Kewe hears it in his soul.
He hears the cry.
From the very stone beneath is the cry.
Chapter Seven
Earth Changes
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I
t is in the air, a disaster of some kind, a calamity that has to be coming.
All week Kewe has been uneasy. Casual remarks. Overheard conversations. Words not meant for his ears, yet in a way not specified he knows he is supposed to be listening.
There’s a journal he’s found on the bus with an article about borehole temperatures recently taken in the Earth’s upper crust. A TV show he tunes into accidentally on widespread weather changes — typhoons and cyclones rampaging the planet, equally widespread, severe drought.
Every time he turns on the TV or radio, or picks up a newspaper or magazine it’s there, bombardment of environment reports. Truth, he doesn’t know if the information is warping his judgment. He thinks someone is trying to catch his attention.
Someone is waiting for him to notice.
Friday he’s been busy all day, first with work then afterwards with shopping. Kewe stops by the gym for a couple of hours. When it closes at midnight he returns to his apartment, begins pottering around the kitchen.
For company he listens to a talk show on the radio and there it is again. “The past ten days have brought numerous reports of strange animal behavior,” the speaker reports. “A factor we notice as a prelude to even minor earthquakes.”
The topic is about the approaching full moon and an exceptional high tide anticipated. In the next few days the US Northwest coast will receive massive volumes of water pushing and riding over the tectonic plates. With the full moon peaking, the pull will cause extra stress on the slabs and could trigger an earthquake.
An accompanying series of volcanic eruptions in the so called ‘Ring of fire.’
These are the volcanoes that surround the Pacific. Eighty percent of the world’s largest earthquakes take place in the volcanoes that stretch from lower SouthAmerica up to Alaska across to Russian and Chinese Pacific coasts.
The Pacific plate colliding with tectonic plates past Japan, the Marianas, and Pacific islands including NewZealand, the volcanic chain also winds its way towards Antarctica.
Normally this is geological speculation, one more scare, but Kewe has been having personal signals. Maybe he should be listening.
He steps outside, walks to think. Perhaps he should load the car, take all he needs for a few days and head east across the mountains. He could spend the weekend in the desert town he’s been to before, return Sunday if nothing happens.
Getting away across the mountains might be a good idea. He could do with a break.
Back at the apartment, he starts to pack a suitcase with clothes, audiotapes, his favorite CD’s — just in case. He ends by zipping his computer into the carrier, loading that into the car. By three in the morning, he’s finished.
Driving out of town, the streets are empty. The interstate is deserted. Over the floating bridge across the lake, then the suburbs, up the low-lying hills the car travels. He takes a deep breath, the first since he began what seems, as the wheels turn under him, craziness turning to exciting escapade.
Snow-capped, mountains ahead draw him. Getting closer, he feels the bracing pull. At the summit, walking along the deserted road, looking up at the glistening peaks already he is in another world.
Patches of ice dot the landscape, and the chill from the breeze that whips at the ice refreshes both body and mind.
Staring up at the silvery white edges of snow, Rick’s in his thoughts. He should have called Rick. Remembering that Rick is in Kansas he will call Sue from the motel, ask if she has had premonitions. They’re the only two who won’t think him crazy.
A myriad of stars are visible out here — stars he never sees in the city.
Over the pass, heading east down the steep mountainous caverns, he spots animals off to the side. Among the trees, first a bear, then a coyote? As they wait, absolutely still, he looks again. Of course they are not animals, only dark pockets, phantoms, imagination playing tricks with shadows in the branches.
Dawn breaks opening up vistas of ravines, gushing falls, a large blue lake. An awesome moment where the sun makes its slow rise over the horizon. Why does he not do this often, he asks himself.
The view and the excitement, Kewe has to wonder about the energy leading him; if there is more to the trip he’s taking.
The descent lessens, trees surrender to flat, irrigated fields. A sign ahead points to thetown at the threshold of the desert. He pulls off the highway.
Going farther makes no sense. Hundreds of miles he could travel into the desert that will become Spokane and then the trees of Idaho, but he’s been up all night, a beautiful morning and the town of Ellensburg looks inviting. A perfect place to get some sleep he thinks, as he pulls into a motel that advertises a weekend special.
They have a room the desk clerk informs, but it’s being cleaned. Check in and it’ll be ready in an hour. He books the room, then hungry decides to find somewhere to eat. An ‘old-town’ near the university might be open.
At six on a sleepy, Saturday morning, he’s in luck. A small café is serving this early. He orders juice, eggs, and some home-fried potatoes. With breakfast finished, he’s again outside, the temperature risen substantially.
The sun beating down it’s become so hot so quickly that back at the motel parking lot he searches for a tree to park under, to give the car some shade. Unloading the car, in the sun heated motel room he turns on the air-cooler, draws the curtains closed.
By the time he’s removed the bed cover, has collapsed on the bed, he is already falling asleep. With the room cooling, the hum of the fan invading his senses, he falls into a deep, strange dream.
The mist is coming.

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but at the hotel, built on long stilts over
the sea, he'd decided to stay.

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He loves to be near the sea.

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He knows this is different because
he is no longer breathing, only
swimming in this nothing.

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Where he'd been sitting in the lobby,
tall palms towered over him.

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The hotel with its super-high, glass
triangular roof, he'd been intrigued
by the extraordinary tallness.

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What a palace, what a monument to
man's brilliance he'd been thinking
as the wave hit.

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Trying to stabilize himself, he'd reached
for the largest chunk of furniture
floating by that he could find.

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It was the oddest sight watching the
cars through the broken glass walls,
seeing them pile one on top of the
other.

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In the depths of the water.
it had felt warm.

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Instead of being afraid he couldn't
stop thinking that a womb must
feel like this, inside.

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Shadow images seem to be all around.

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People folding into the whiteness, a
whiteness that replaces them as they
disappear.

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The shadow people look numb.

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They say nothing as they slowly pass
him in their daze.

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Eerie shadows continue to pass.
None attempt to hail.

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From one of the shadows,
there's a cry of surprise
that comes into his head.

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`Kewe is that you?`

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It's a friend from his early years,
someone he never expected to see.

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`Do you think we can find my family?`
the friend asks.

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`Perhaps we need to get over there?`

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`Use your thoughts,` Kewe's mind speaks gently, softly.

`We have to be able to take care
of ourselves right now. It's okay.

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Only so many domains will present
themselves.

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The domains have
requirements, and with
all the disruption, most of the
kingdoms dislike any disruption.

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Kewe figures you
could pass really close, never
know a domain is there.

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The two of them have been moving
across these wide breezes, these
strange, turbulences of air, searching.

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The current seems to be pushing
them forward, but never an opening,
never a gateway, never an entrance.

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`If we concentrate our thoughts,` his friend says, `We can find some place
with news, surely.`

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Kewe looks for any kind of sign,
any beacon or light ahead.

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If a domain's quota is full, they close
the beacons, and right now they have
to be full -- too busy with those already
arrived.

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Through the nothingness,
through the whiteness,
he speaks to the ones
who look troubled.

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`Help will be here soon,`
his mind says to them,
him trying to look cheerful.

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`You'll reach a kingdom.
Don't worry.`

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To those who seem stalled
he tells them, `Don't worry, help is on the way.`


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`We'll be fine,` Kewe says as he
paddles softly with his hands.

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`We'll be taken.
`We'll be fine.
We'll all be taken care of soon.'

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He turns to his friend:
`We can always make our own place!`

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Waking to the air-conditioner chugging away, drenched, sweat pouring from him, in the dark he rolls over.
If it wasn’t for the snap and pop of the air condenser, the soft whir of the fan reminding him that he’s in a motel room, he’d have no idea where he suddenly finds himself.
God, what a dream!
The wave hitting.
That tremendous surge flooding everything.
The second wave carrying him under.
Some event waits ahead, Kewe can feel it, as much as if he were still worrying inside a dream.
Or is it that he’s been programmed to think of such an eventuality? Climate change, some kind of great disaster.
Climate change doesn’t it have much more to do with solar activity that anything humans are doing?
His life has been spent first accepting science or supposed science as we give it the name, then discarding. Some group coming up with altered data to produce a theory in which they believe, taken up as a way to profit, once again taking tax money off very gullible people. Science, as it passes reality into possibilities, only someone’s theory.
Clever theory to engage complexity of which those who give themselves the name scientists are capable.
Nevertheless it is theory — a concoction of possibilities, whatever you wish to name it — and theory becomes then a religion.
Prediction by a ‘scientist’ or prediction by a groping of ‘learned professors’ is as useful as prediction by television pundits — shaking dice, hoping you are lucky. Or holding your hand in the air to see which way the wind is blowing, something scientists who seek funds from corporations and governments often do.
Propagating ‘religions’ such as vaccines and pharmaceutical drugs with eye to profit by the corporation. Whether it be private money or spending by the public, those who have power to advance their beliefs, if they have them, do so while not ignoring profit.
In these ‘religions,’ public funds allied with corporations, of which policy advocates will soon work, being paid large incomes, there is no turning back. Years before truth rears its head. And the many who have been injured or who have died by the religion of proscribed drug or vaccine ignored.
Religion has nothing to do with God, and predictive science, where statistics can always be adjusted, has nothing to do with science.
Matters not that media takes that which it relays to the masses, its coverage from policy makers in government who take information from a few predictive scientists without a check into that which other scientists say, accepting such policy as real. We then all get into the act, absorbing whatever we watch or listen to, or read, the message fixating in our brain. Us now absorbing fact that isn’t fact. We relaying in our words that we assume to be real.
Would this dream he had be a succumbing to such brain-programming? Government and corporate propaganda, so much of it.
But he is under a sense of doom, if only for this part of the country. Could this feeling of doom trigger a dream, a scenario that combines fears the mind-inside- the-brain has?
Yes! He believes it could!
Bed sheets soaked, Kewe shoves them off his body. The ice in the bucket has melted. Kewe slips on fresh jeans, a shirt and sneakers, grabs the room key, steps out for a walk to the shop taking money for gasoline.
At the store, after buying a cold drink of fresh orange he asks about someplace cool he can visit. The attendant points on a map to a nearby river, but in his room after finishing the drink tiredness takes over. He falls again asleep.
Hours later he wakes. It’s early evening. He turns on the TV to see if there’s any mention of earth movements. CNN has a story to do with angels, supposedly serious, on how we can be visited by angels, nothing about a nearthquake.
He starts to call Rick, then remembers Rick is away visiting and he doesn’t have the number. He tries Sue. She doesn’t answer. He leaves a message.
Showering, he decides the old-town should be lively Saturday night, worth a visit.
At a restaurant with a food counter he stops for a meal. The booths are full. He picks a stool, sits alone at the counter. Each time the server passes, she laughs.
Distracted with his thoughts, he smiles back. Paying the bill, he asks if there’s any place he can drive away from the town. There is a lookout point, if that’s the type of thing he means, the young woman tells him. It’s not far.
In the last of the evening light he follows the directions, climbs into the barren hills. Reaching the lookout he gets out of the car walks across to the edge of the embankment.
He can see the whole vista of the desert below. As he’s watching, the night sky suddenly fills with light. Specks, showers of meteors passing like waves are shooting across. Tiny meteors leaving an incandescence trail, a split-second of fading light each flowing towards the south. The wave flickers and ends. On the desert hill he has stood and watched this brightness.
No idea if it means anything, he gets into the car, drives back towards the town. He keeps looking up at the moon, at the stars, expecting to see more flickering, but there’s nothing. In town, he stops at a bar where a band is playing.
A Dylan song is followed by a Joni Mitchell tune. One beer becomes another. He likes the tunes, and the singer is great.
He remains in the bar until the group starts to pack their gear. It’s a little before two when he’s back of the motel in his room. Drowsily lying on the bed he watches TV, but soon the movie is no longer there.
He's staring at a small boy
playing in sand.

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A mountain is forming, and
as he watches he sees the boy
remove the top, scoop a caldera
out of the well-packed sand.

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Then he is drawn away,
far into the dream.

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From the viewpoint he has,
it looks like molten iron flowing.

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A thick, sticky, substance oozes
along, and fierce flashes keep
going pop, pop, pop.

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The hot ooze is making contact
with side water, creating instant,
extreme brilliance.

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Suddenly a huge volume of sea
begins to pour down, and as the
flood touches the ooze, a massive
jet rises.

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The water is mixing
with the orange-yellow heat and
it's a jet with fire inside.
other.

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The fire is shooting up, ripping
through the very rock itself.

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Sulfurous smoke, acrid smoke
wraps everything.

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Now the orange yellowy discharge
has becomes a massive gas cloud.

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Kewe in his dream in the haze
and stench follows the gas as it
spews out through the rock.

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Someone is mentioning the
ancestors.

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A
tale about when fish are killed by
the rock, then it will be time to
leave.

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He hears one person say the
scientists have taken laser
readings.

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A small pocket is
expanding and the ground is
cracking.

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People are talking
about mud pots boiling, gasses
seeping from the springs.

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It's
not like the mountain they
know any more.

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The air shudders violently.

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Shock
waves, waves of energy are
discharging.

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Lava is erupting.

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In
the eerie sense of power that
exudes all around, dense clouds
of ash and dust and boiling rock
shoot into the air.

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Huge fragments are falling back
from the clouds melting the snow.

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The snow seems like it's burning.

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Kewe in his dream is back in
town watching the slow
procession of cars aa they crawl
away.

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Earthquakes are creating
intense panic.

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There's a
horrendous blast.

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A large quake
has struck miles below.

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Within seconds a huge lifting
takes place off the peaks.

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Massive
amounts of rock and sulfurous,
billowing ash spread into the air.

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Blobs of glowing fire thousands of
feet up into the sky create an
astonishing pyroclastic display.

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Crimson lava massively expelling
up and over the red-hot melting
surface.

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Suddenly the mountainsides
themselves start to move, and
from thousands of acres, a wall
advances. 

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Super, high-speed
boulders are racing down.

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Like
vaporous steam, a living carpet
rises up.

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Snow, ice, gravel, soil,
an avalanche of ashy, snowy mud
roars over and across the forests.

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Churning balls of debris, lava,
rock, are being pushed into the
trees.

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Animals are gone, fish are gone,
birds are gone.

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All vegetation on
the surrounding hills, all the
remains of the forests are being
pulled inside.

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Dense currents of intense wild
tear down and up.

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Sloshes of
huge destruction whip back to
the remaining tops, to the
stumps that are left of the crests.

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The blast that took off the cone
has made all the seismic stations
dead.

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Blind, having no
instrument data, scientists can
only guess at the extent of the
destruction.

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Helicopters attempt
to fly, but the air is no longer
breathable, and ash chokes the
engines.

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Hours later, an enormous volume
of dust and ash continues to rise.

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There are volcanic clouds
hundreds of miles thick.

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It's being reported that two
hundred miles around the
mountain has zero visibility,
north, south, east, and west.

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Numerous earthquakes continue
through the night.

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A tsunami
crashes on through Hawaii to the
Asian coasts.

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As the spreading
cloud blankets into Canada,
special instruments show a protracted surge of eruption.

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The mountain continues to spew
huge spires of tephra into the
western sky.

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Days later, over the mid-western
United States the enveloping
cloud blocks all sunlight.

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This
expands to envelop all the eastern
states; then reaches and covers
Europe.

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Just before dawn, Kewe wakes. Then sleeps. Then he dreams again. He keeps dreaming this same dream....
Waking, he can’t quite accommodate the fact it is morning. A dread plunges over him. The dream, is it a foretelling?.
He tries to make sense of it. Dreams are illusory, he knows that. They could be as Ebenezer Scrooge seeing Jacob Marley says, “from an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato.”
Sometimes they might be more!
Showering, dressing, he tries to equate the experience as a state of unrest in himself. He tells himself it is his unconscious sorting out symbols.
He decides to wait another day.
Drawing back the heavy curtains, he can see the heat rising from the asphalt.
He stands staring at the desert beyond, it’s only morning yet it looks hotter than hell out there. Spending the day by the river under the shade of a tree, it will be better than staying in town.
He doesn’t have far to drive. Barely a mile out of town, along the west road, he comes to the turn of the river. When he stops under a sheltering cluster of trees it does feel good. He watches the anglers throwing their lines. The water gurgles and ripples and the panic of the dream lessens.
Relaxing by the water, he sees overhead a flock of birds flying towards the mountains.
It’s been at least an hour since he sat down and he thinks he’ll follow the birds in his car. He’ll drive back to the freeway go into the eastern foothills, there’s a small town that’s only thirty miles back in the hills, he can stop there for breakfast.
After eating, he buys water and candy at the store in the town, discovers a track nearby that takes him right into the bushes. It’s a dusty hike but enjoying the slow climb, he treks for hours into the hills.
When he stops to sit in the wildgrass, his mind is on the dream. Thoughts churn. They might not be his nervousness. The plates that are constantly being pushed one to another, are here underneath these mountains.
Huge reservoirs of magma lie beneath. All have conduits where the magma can rise.
It wouldn’t take much of an earthquake to open these conduits. Is the dream telling him an earthquake will unblock a blocked system? If so when?
Sitting there on the side of a hill, he asks for a bearing on the dreams and the messages he’d been receiving at home. ‘Speak to me Spirits,’ he asks. ‘Speak to me please, the Spirits who are watching, who are guiding.’ As he asks, he gets the sense to look up. Directly about him is a contrail etched by a plane. A straight line starts over the spot where Kewe sits. The line is going south.
Kewe shakes his head. ‘South!’ He stares at the plane that had made the contrail, now a distant speck.
Treading down the dusty hillside, in the late afternoon heat his jeans cling. A warning of events? Not subconscious internal process that is based upon his own fears.
Confused, he steps through the trees. At the motel, he showers, changes clothes, gets back into the car drives to a burger barn.
It is still ninety degrees.
Sitting at an table outside he watching the cars pass. There is a special quality to early night in a desert town that’s always excited him. The way the heat rises. The way lights sparkle in the vapor.
The town a university town he decides to make his way to the campus. The last time he was on university grounds Robert had spoken.
Although intuition is telling it’s not going to happen, he’ll try.
Seated on a bench his thoughts call out, “Are you here, Robert ?” He’s drawn to the power of the unease he has felt this week and it seems to leave him. But the call he sends in his mind... there’s no Robert.
Only a soft wind. Even that seems to want him to shush.
A night bird coos. There is no Robert.
He sits a long time under the large tree that gives him sanctuary. Tranquility under the leaves, a quietness in the lights of the broad, sedate boulevard.
. . .
All the evidence available tends to show
that Rainier is an extinct volcano.

Translations of Discussions with The WE. TheWE.cc It belongs however to the explosive type of
volcanoes, of which Vesuvius is the best
known example.

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There is no assurance that its energies may
not be reawakened.

Israel C. Russell
US Geological Survey, 1896-97

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Kewe stares at the sheet at the bottom of the drawer. Reference to an old geological survey has been left here in the motel room!
It doesn’t matter. The plan decided upon in Seattle is to spend the weekend this side of the mountains, and if nothing happens to go home. Nothing has taken place. It’s Monday morning. He’s going home.
Joking with the receptionist, he asks if she’s heard of any quakes over Seattle way. In case he might have to stay a few more days. She looks at him, not sure whether to smile.
He smiles anyway. Going home feels right. He’s scheduled to work late afternoon and he just hopes the highway will not be too busy.
A strange thing happens when leaving. Not familiar with the road from the motel, where the highways intersect by mistake he turns to the wrong road. Miles along when he sees a sign for Yakima, only then he notices the error.
He’s traveling south, not west. At the next U he could turn around, but now in it as much for the adventure, he continues south.
This part of the road to Yakima either side is surrounded by desert buttes. There are no houses. The sparse desert is very different from the coastal green plains that make up the west side of the mountains, and it’s a brown, dry change, the scenery — every-where uninhabited, unoccupied bluffs.
A total surprise when the peak of Mt. Rainier appears on the right. The mountain suddenly standing out like a picture postcard.
Looking amply solid, encased in the many layers of ice he thinks, not at all due for such a change.
When the highway begins to curve, and the view of the mountain disappears, blocked by the downward hill, he follows the signs as the road takes him into the city.
The temperature outside is a hundred when he parks in a mall lot near the city center. He goes into the mall for a drink, to rest and think.
Sitting at a café table he remembers he never did get in touch with Sue. She’ll be at work now, but he has her office number.
He’s over in Yakima, he tells her. Taking the long route. Sue says she did get his call. It was late when she arrived home, that’s why she didn’t call back. What a surprise, she says, to hear he’s in Yakima. Come for dinner she tells him.
Her son Dan has a game he’s playing tonight, and she has to pick him up, but her younger son Steve will be home. She should be back by seven. Kewe thanks her for the offer of dinner. He calls work, tells them he’s been delayed, won’t be in, then on his way out of town stops at a tourist office for the direct route.
“You take this road,” the guide says, looking at the map that Kewe’s holding. “Turn off here and the pass road is to the right. Once you’re over the pass, follow the signs.”
Kewe has to bring up the weather, the fact it’s so hot. “All we’ve had this year is clouds and rain,” the woman answers abruptly as if she has some thoughts but won’t express them. “It’s been most unusual.”
“Is that so,” Kewe smiles. “It looks like you have summer here now though. This is too hot for me.”
Driving away from the sun-drenched town, he decides to stop off in the mountains and perhaps take a walk. It’s not yet twelve and the distance to Sue’s house is about a hundred miles. He has all of the afternoon.
Leaving the Yakima desert behind, soon he’s surrounded by ponderosa pine, a duskiness to the road with the conifers. Through the stands of trees, sunlight streaks.
The ponderosa pine goes on for miles and miles, the temperature drops. He decides to turn off onto a dirt lane.
Past a marshy lake full of flowers, at a bridge over a small river, he pulls into the side grass, gets out of the car. From the bridge the riverbed looks shallow, surprising him, a thunderous roar is coming from somewhere.
Crashing through the wild undergrowth to explore, he beats his way through the bush, follows the sound.
Thick jungle clears to a trace of a path and as he follows he must be getting closer, the sound is becoming much more intense. It seems so strange to have this booming volume and he wants to see where the roar originates.
In a natural clearing he sees a large boulder cracked at the center. A piece of rock five feet high with a tree growing through it.
The tree has split its main limb so that one trunk grows upwards. The other trunk is growing across the cleft of the boulder.
The roar is behind the sideways limb, the thick foliage.
Inching his way along, Kewe pushes though the leaves and branches, climbing the sideways trunk at its almost horizontal angle.
Suddenly he’s realizing the ground no longer is a few feet beneath him. The limb has grown over a huge abyss. Water is arching over a waterfall, plunging, two, three hundred feet below.
He’s perched right over the open side of the fall, with nothing to hold either him or the tip of the trunk, which is now more like a branch, and the limb is swaying.
Deep and powerful is the deafening boom created by the plummeting water. Spray right in his face.
With the clouding mist he can barely make out where the drop is, cannot see the actual depth.
But if the branch cracks it will certainly kill him. He dare not move.
The limb sways, shakes, and begins to sag precariously.
He’s thinking it’s not going to hold. Then, just when he knows he’s going to crash into the fall, the weirdest thing happens.
Lifted by some force, he’s brought back from this part of the limb to where he can clamber onto the solid cleft of the rock.
As he jumps off the rock, as he makes his way back through the bushes, the shock hits.
It isn’t that he could feel himself in the air, not actually being lifted. It is just one moment he is on the branch over the waterfall, then the next he is by the rock.
Off guard, he tunes to an inner voice telling him he needs to be on his journey. Powerful energy surrounds him. He can feel the wave of power as he gets into the car.
Something is being added to his presence as he drives back along the dirt lane and turns to the pass.
Soon the road begins to twist and wind and the car weaves between rock face one side of the road and forested slopes the other. As the car ascends the steepness, water slides down the sheer rock face — deep furrows etched into the gray.
The higher he climbs, the forests give way to dramatic drop offs. The more he climbs, the more he senses the freeing.
His ears close which brings on a sort of ‘other world whisper.’ As if outside the car is rarefied non-air and inside, a quieter zone, a pocket, and whatever physical matter remains, is the car.
The car windows, the drone, the soft engine burr, a screen protecting the body.
The other energy is there also, creating its own powerful rush.
Snow patches, icy clumps show at the side of the road. The ascent is steep now.
The sweeping expanse where the trees have given way, a panoramic sight opens of glaciated peaks.
Then at some moment as the car climbs it’s like being sucked through pores of a skin. He’s a bubble entering into some world, where this non-seeing presence is all around.
Some state, too light, too ephemeral is taking hold.
It’s so quiet.
Time to stop! You can pull over.
He hears the voice, the mind-words, and as the top of the pass comes into sight he pulls into the parking area stops the car.
Time as he steps outside becomes extremely vague. Space seems to flatten.
He’s walking along a rocky edge of a cliff, and the two worlds smooth into one. In the physical world, the long narrow ridge halts at a stone obstruction. He clambers over the stone, a slab juts out, a slab of rock that the sun has warmed that has no snow.
Kewe climbs onto the slab, sits, sits cross-legged in front of the vastness.
And he knows in this other domain he has arrived. He is here and they are watching. They are waiting in their time behind their screen.
In front of him is the edge of the world.
Listen!
Kewe tunes to the swooshing, fanning air that whispers. Inside the most delicate music.
Utterances seem to be dancing as they prance inside his head.
Utterances telling him to use his mantra.
“HU,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,” he begins to chant.
“HU,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u.”
The mystical prayer reverberates deep into this other heaven.
“HU,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,” he sings.
“HU,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u,u.”
All around a delicate aria, and in the tone, in the increasing clearness of his mind he absorbs the power.
From the rock, from the air, from the slab where he’s perched, thousands of feet nothing below, his mantra and then a new sound.
It rises slowly, the new throbbing.
From the depth below it comes, an uncanny, strange element etching into his body.
Through him it spreads, and for a moment it touches, scans who Kewe is.
Yielding it comes again, gently to touch.
Kewe hears it in his soul.
As shimmering phosphorescent light begins to pour though the open spot on Kewe’s head, in this delicate, incredible feeling he reaches for the inner HU.
A peace descends.
The waves, the flooding of absorbing light, he feels the presence from below leave.
How long he sits, he doesn’t know. When he opens his eyes, a profusion of hues surge through his vision.
He sits, gazes, remains still as wind whistles.
The wind, the rock, and him, nothing more.
Wandering back, two people hold hands by their car. Valleys, cirques, the steep, scoured out stone below....
He thinks he still hears the music.
He looks at the mighty snow-capped peaks.
For a time he has been in the in-between.
The earth will not move today.
© Kewe   All rights reserved.