The festival music is taking him higher and higher, and that’s why he doesn’t eat the bread.   He’s stoned already from the vibes at the retreat.   He doesn’t want the bread to bring him down in the middle of this new high.
           Chapter Three — KEWE
Waiting for the plane, Kewe reflecting on events has to agree: it was a week that had brought many surprises.   The settled shock of finding himself out of the body, then the following day observing a new—as Kewe thought—a better him.   There was something else that came that week too, an intangible energy, a power that had quietly made itself present in the group.   A power with a quality at so many levels.

In the final days of the retreat, it was possible to observe people as they became receptive to the presence.   Difficult to describe, people would sit talking on the deck, see the mountains become golden or red as the sun rose or set.   They would watch as the trees and the green fields took on lustrous sheens, elegant colors that each swore they had never noticed before.   This state, it filled everyone with awe.   It was mystical and elusive, yet at the same time it brought an unbelievable freshness.

Kewe, used to visual imagery, to thought imagery, as an entry into these other beautiful world states, now observed a power that seemed to add to the completeness of each.   A whole new way of being would substitute.   People would sit watching the sky, and the trees and the scintillating greenery, and new worlds, worlds that they didn’t expect, began to unlock inside them.

A feeling bond developed between the whole group, not in the sense of wanting to emotionally join, wanting to be together, but in a much greater sense of everything around being more real than they had ever imagined.   The bond often folded into a way to reach the intangible in each other, and to reach the joy.

It wasn’t that people were in the same bliss.   There were degrees of becoming awake.   Differences of personality were still there, as had been present at the beginning of the week.   People retained the character he or she brought with them.   Each included this in their new understanding.

Eric’s personality was clever.   His mind was quick, alert, always on.   The group understood that.   In this heightened state, Eric became even swifter at identifying where a person’s thoughts were.   His trouble was identifying the feelings that were buried beneath the thoughts.

Kewe recalls an occasion where Eric showed frustration at someone not quite being there, not quite at the peak.   It wasn’t much, a tone in his voice, a slight testiness.   It was just a difference between thinking and feeling, and the group knew that.   They responded instantly.   There were no words.   They simply distanced themselves, not from the person not quite catching the train in thought, but from Eric.

Without disturbing any of the closeness, Eric became placed away from the center, reallocated to an outer rim.   He immediately knew and soon came back, and better for it.   The quickness in him slowed.

The experience of this ethereal property wrapped itself around each of them.   Inside the bond they had with each other—where their brains tweaked, where their feeling met—an exuberant magic existed, that was still, and yet not still.   The unmoving essence filtered through each of their personalities, brought them together in ways unthinkable at the beginning of the week.   For Kewe, as the next few days unfolded, he was glad he had those memories.
.  .  .
On his journey home, his thoughts of Robert are never far away.   The photograph on the chair, the eyes he thought..., the ‘déjà vu’ sense of him being at the retreat center before, it all remained a mystery.   The contact with Robert was a drama that as far as he knew had been taking place outside of Kewe’s normal time, in some otherworld state; he’s thinking knowledge seeped down to his brain.   He wonders if the interaction between Robert had been with his newly discovered, Kewe’s other self.

When was the new personality created?   Kewe’s thoughts are that the new outer persona had been created at the retreat center.   He hadn’t a grasp of all the factors involved, why it was created, if it was totally new, so he has to wait until more knowledge develops.

If there was more here, if contact with Robert did exist before the retreat center, it could have been with this other him.   The contact was as a dream to him, a dream that the brain only now was allowing to enter into outer consciousness, and only as a dream, and only with some of the knowledge.

The brain receives much more than it dispenses, that he’s sure.   It also acts as a censor, eliminating much.   The brain as a computer sends and receives thought transmissions, is in contact with many sources, including vibrational out-of-sync beings who don’t have physical bodies.

From those who do have a body, Kewe believes he only has to walk down the street, have some thought about a person he’s looking at, and the person will glance at him.   When walking behind a person, they will often turn completely around if he thinks about them.   They don’t know why, but they have some sense they are being disturbed in some way.

Scientists trying to conduct tests to see if this is real find it never works.   Somehow, testing inner dimensional interface at our level enters the orbit of Heller’s ‘Catch 22’ principle.   Extra-reality doesn’t take to evaluation easily; the element needed in this instance seems to be surprise (a not-knowing of a test, by both the tested and the tester).   Except for thought, experience with close dimensions, in a reality that can be seen, felt, heard, is most selective; humans expanding into these worlds do so with great sensitivity.   Moving into the worlds and dimensions that we cannot see, or touch, in general is restricted (belongs) to where we exist only within their parameters.

Thought however is around us always.   All brains pick up thought.

Thought is not like a radio signal, in the sense that it loses power.   Thought does not require us to move into a world.   Thought works at any distance.

The brain, able to receive and transmit signals, requires almost no energy to do so.   Kewe has often included a charge of sexual excitement in some thought to a human, just to see how it works.   The response, with or without eye contact, is always enhanced.   A scowl follows perhaps.   Kewe then smiles.

Even if not physically close, if far away, the other person will know the desire we have sent.   They may not acknowledge it, and the desire may not be recorded exactly as sent by the brain, but it is in this other realm, and in this other realm the desire is known.

The brain takes signals from many dimensions picks up many beams.

Because of the flow of constant signals, the computer has to censor and often change the messages it receives.   The brain’s method of allowing input is an idea we get.   A stream of knowledge becomes permissible if it falls within the parameters of our already conscious data.   When it does not, the brain interprets, provides a reality by tying the stream to other knowledge we have.   The translation may not be accurate, may be extravagantly distorted.

Often signals interpreted appear not as thought, but as feelings or visions, similar to symbols formed in dreams.   In some instances, where the brain enters into an altered state—a state that we would normally consider disturbed—the brain allows interpreted thought to be heard as words.   Kewe recognizes the state he’d been in at the University as a disturbed, though enriched, altered state.   His ability to hear Robert had been due to this.

There are many realities with which the brain makes contact, including our inner mind, (a factor we have yet to understand) and the ‘I’ as the brain, always has to translate, it always has to render some meaning to any signal.

The unconscious areas of our knowledge being a vast realm, knowing how the brain-computer translates from this realm is still more art than a science.

Kewe guesses that at the university his brain had—due to the flow of energy, due to the altered state the brain had entered from being at the retreat—been extremely confused.   The protective, censorship barrier lowered, contact by spoken word may well have seeped into Kewe’s awareness.   The few words he identified from Robert, and his good instinct, gave Kewe almost certain knowledge he was speaking to Robert, not to other’s thoughts.

On the journey home on the plane, he spends the time writing down his impressions.   Soon, he writes, he hopes scientists might understand signals the brain receives from the unconscious.   He also writes: ‘Any spirit who is capable can send words through the dimensions, through the unconscious.   Images and words we receive can and do include trickery.’

Taking the bus into town, there’s a poster on the window for the annual Folk Life Festival.   The festival has zillions of artists.   It’s a holiday weekend, this, he thinks, will be the perfect way to ease into a new week.

At his apartment Kewe throws his bags inside the living room, falls almost immediately to sleep.   When he wakes, with nothing better to do he takes off for the festival.

The grounds have only just opened as he begins strolling around.   Checking out the many stages set up for the festival, Kewe loves the flutes, the whistles, the guitars and hammer dulcimers, even the deep Tibetan bowls that are always brought and played.   He stops to watch young kids, and some older, playing at the center fountain.   The ‘kids’ get closer when the jets of the fountain recede.   Suddenly the water circles up and spews out, the water drenching everyone as they run screaming away.

Morning becomes noon and the grounds fill with people.   Wandering from stage to stage there are fiddles and bagpipes and horns to listen to, and for a time a circle of drummers pound and drum around him.

Late afternoon, he’s been wandering the fair all day and still hasn’t eaten.   He’s been hearing thoughts that are often more than thoughts, a voice and he’s not sure who it is.   It’s not Robert.   It sounds like his own voice talking to him inside his head.   The voice has become unyielding.   All afternoon it has been giving him data storage information.   Stuff about the planet, about the environment, thoughts about every political message booth he’s seen at the festival.   Ahead of him, he can see a crowd gathered.   A young man is drawing a bow across a very weird, eight-foot contrivance.

The bow the young man is drawing is creating a quivering, piercing tone and he can see a flowing light as it leaves the bow.   Kewe stares at the instrument, at the strange vibrational show.

With the music and the light show, the voice feeding him information is getting ever more difficult to absorb.   Kewe, knocking his head against a wall, says to it, “Please no more today.   I don’t want any more.   Not today.”    “One more thing,” the voice abruptly answers back.

Kewe answers in his head, “Okay, all right.   One more thing.”


“YOU HAVE TO EAT NOW.”


Kewe thinks this is extremely funny.   All afternoon he’s been getting terrible, fateful refreshers about the environment, details that he has already read about, that is really serious most of it, and now this comment about eating, which he never expected, which doesn’t seem to fit.   He sort of doubles over laughing.   “That’s what you have to tell me?”


“Yes.   That’s it.”


Kewe is almost rolling on the ground.   He can’t stop laughing.

People are staring at him.   Noticing, he backs up against the wall, tries to look normal.   People keep looking in his direction, as well as staring at the person who is playing this weirdest of instruments.   He thinks, Thank God this is the Folk Life.   They’d be carrying me away otherwise.

At one of the food stalls, he orders a piece of salmon.   Laid out on a bun, the cooked salmon has a small Caesar salad at the side.   He eats the salmon, doesn’t eat the bread, throws it away with the empty cup of ice tea he bought.

He wanted to get rid of some pounds, almost a year ago it must have been, and he was reading about a low carbohydrate diet in a magazine at the gym.   The lack of carbohydrates produces an enzyme in the body that eats fat.

Since being on the diet he’s noticed an additional benefit.   The low carbohydrate content in his system affects his brain.   It seems to help him enter into an altered state.   The side effect is that he’s in a state where life is definitely different.   It’s like fasting.

The festival music is taking him higher and higher, and that’s why he doesn’t eat the bread.   The carbohydrates he knows will bring him down.   He’s stoned already from the vibes at the retreat.   He doesn’t want the bread to bring him down in the middle of this new high.

As he wanders around, he becomes taken up with the beat of African music being played on a large outdoor stage.   He stays at this stage the rest of the night.   He’s noticing the music acts like a piercing energy in his head.

Next morning, Sunday, Kewe returns.   There’s an early performance of a Shakuhachi flute in the Asian house.   Afterwards, a Japanese Koto show keeps him.   In the afternoon, he’s still around.   He waits while the stage becomes set for some Persian music.

One of the musicians gives out an invitation during the Persian music to a Sufi Prayer Service.   He jots down the information because it’s at the local collage only blocks from him.

He buys another piece of salmon and it does taste great.   Again he throws the bun with the dressing away.

Now he’s noticing that the thoughts of people are increasingly entering his head.   It’s jumbled the thoughts, and he’s not sure of the accuracy.   He walks around the festival for hours picking up half portions of these many uncompleted thoughts.

The noise in his head becomes so overwhelming he tries to clear his mind, tries when that doesn’t work to ignore the thoughts.   Listening to a banjo being played at one of the outdoor stages, than a small piccolo, the music distracts him.   People are line dancing in the country-western room.

He doesn’t dance but he likes to watch.   He ends the night singing along at an outdoor, Irish-pub stage.   When he returns home, the lack of eating is having its effect.   He falls into a fitful sleep.

Monday also being a holiday, he returns to the festival.   Except for the two pieces of salmon, he’s eaten nothing since he came back from the retreat.   The lack of food is unbalancing his mental processes and he knows he’s unbalanced, but with the high he’s on, he has no desire to be evened out.   It’s the long weekend and he figures it’s time to get wacky, to let go.   They’ll be plenty of time later to be serious.

He’s been noticing a strange field building at the side of him.   He can’t turn as such, to look directly, but there’s a light at the edge of his vision.   It’s like an archway with shining rays.   His mind rejects the idea at first that he’s seeing a vortex.   But soon his attention becomes fixed on where the vortex rays are.

If he moves his thoughts through the portal of the vortex, he thinks he should be able to pass through the archway into the light.   Once into the light he can reach the inner world, capture all this vortex holds.

Working on access for some time, the change that occurs once he enters the portal is quiet striking.   Walking amongst the huge crowd, Kewe no longer notices where he’s strolling.   The other state is taking all his focus.

He’s away from the festival in some remarkable energy where a stream of whole knowledge is present.   There is a beginning and ending of the knowing, the middle familiarity, the end awareness, all there, all at once.

He returns only briefly to the festival, and when he does, it’s a shock, a reality telling him he’s back in his outer world.   Inside the knowledge, he forgets completely he’s anywhere else.

An Indian group is doing a show with a Surbahar one time when he’s thrown back.   After that, only if he bumps into someone does he realizes he is still at the festival.   For an instant, he will blunder out of the knowledge.   Inside the knowledge there are moments where the thoughts stop, where he stops.   When he returns to the outer reality, he has no idea where he is.   The lack of control scares him.   He leaves the festival.

More and more he is inside this absolute, and more and more he is losing all identity of himself.   The spread of knowledge is extending him ever further, to the extent where he can connect with so many other being-states, but trying to enter into these extended other worlds, he is becoming stuck.

Someone helps him onto the bus.

Now the vortex has become so extremely powerful that Kewe is having but the briefest contact with the human body.   In this other world he’s become a fragment in this gigantic other.

Millions of thoughts are connecting to him, and he doesn’t know who he is.   He is lying on the bed and it’s the oddest moment when he does return.   He has reached a sense of infinity, but it is infinity he cannot contain.

A decomposition is taking place.   His personality is becoming lost.   Some of his presence is warning him, screaming at him to get up.   The thoughts are saying that if he doesn’t get up, he won’t ever get up.

Kewe, in a moment of lucidity, forces himself off the bed.   Keeping his mind on the smallest of details, he guides himself outside the door of his apartment, down the stairs.   Once outside, he starts to count the cracks in the sidewalk.   One hundred, two hundred, one thousand, two thousand.

It takes all this thinking process, but he walks, his head close to the ground, until he’s up to five thousand, six hundred and fifty-six cracks in the pavement.   The fog in his outer world begins to shift.

That’s when he remembers his cell phone is in his pocket.   He can call Rick.   His friend lives only two streets away.   Rick’s machine is answering, saying that he is not at home.   Kewe listens to the beep, leaves a message.

Rick’s voice sounds like it’s coming through a long tunnel.   “Where are you,” it says, then, “I’ll be right there.   Keep walking.   I’ll meet you.”    Soon Rick is making him laugh.

Kewe says he should have eaten.   He’s in the middle of all this stuff and can’t get out.

“Ah,” Rick responds.

“I could see this other person in the thoughts, Rick.   He was there.   We were both there.   I could see Jake.”

“Jake?”

“Jake, that’s the name he wants to be called.   He’s me, this other me.”

Rick, who has no knowledge of any of this, replies, “Okay! Jake!”

Kewe hears him asking, “You want some coffee? You think some coffee might help?”

Deliberately maneuvering their walk, Rick has brought them to a coffee shop on one of the main streets.   The line is backed up to the door, but they wait on Rick’s insistence.   Kewe talks about all that’s been happening.   About Robert, about the retreat, about the new personality, about the new personality who now has a name.

Kewe says, “I don’t know who Jake is exactly.   I’m not sure how he relates to me.   I’m seeing him in the vortex as another version of me.”

Rick looks at him.   ”You think Jake is an alternative personality?”

Kewe, who has a fleeting desire to burst out laughing, snorts.   “He could be.   Aren’t alternative personalities supposed to be split-offs, part personalities? I thought they were created separately by the brain.   That’s not Jake.   If anything, he’s more than me.”

Rick responds, “You think this other person is somehow you as well?”

Kewe becomes engulfed in waves.   That question has sent him searching into a wider area, into an ever-increasing surge of the vortex.   He knows if he holds on, if he tries to contain the knowledge, it will move him further, take him much further from who he is now.   He thinks it will destroy Kewe.

There are always more versions, always more knowing.   If he wants to return, if he wants to retain his sanity in this outer world, he has to withdraw.   He looks at Rick.   He looks completely lost.   “You understand it happens so quickly.   I cannot keep the information I get.   I have to let go.   When I let go, all I’m left with is some vague sense.   Then I have to try to figure that out.”

Rick mumbles something and Kewe asks him to speak louder.   Rick asks, “Do you believe that Jake can be separate from you?”

The answer zips through his brain.   Kewe grabs it, and this time he’s sure he has it.   He’s working it, trying to decipher all meanings.   “Jake has a full template in my brain.   The wind did that.   There was a strange-creating-wind before Jake appeared.   The wind gave a new template for Jake to use.   Jake is my personality, my light body in his world.   Jake can now emerge as a personality in this world.”    He smiles at Rick.   “Yeah, that’s it.   I’m sure that’s it.”

“I’m with him inside my brain.”    Kewe lowers his voice noticing that people waiting in line, both in front and behind, have stopped talking.   “Jake is no longer just my light body.   He has become a new manifestation of me.”

They fall silent until the staff serve the people in front and they’re at last at the counter.   Kewe orders coffee.   Rick makes a point of asking for rhubarb pie for both.   With the pie and the coffee, they find a table with a couple of empty chairs.   As soon as they sit down, Kewe begins singing.

A verse has begun to spin through him:


This is the who, the who who sees,
so quickly the revulsions seem to come.
I am this, the who who sees says,
I am this terrible thing.
Stop please, this person who is me.
For I am this.   I will be this,
till I die.



The rhubarb is having its effect.   Sugar is leveling the waves that still shoot through Kewe, halting the falling into his other world.   In his near normalcy he watches as Rick scans the room, stares at people smiling, laughing at their tables.

Rick and he have been friends a long time.   In college, they both belonged to a group that believed in karma and reincarnation.   College was where they met, as student volunteers, as a part of the group that placed leaflets on notice boards.   Rick met his former wife Sue at one of the meetings.   Now, Sue and Rick are divorced.   Kewe still sees Sue, still talks to her, as does Rick.   They all still talk about metaphysics.

Kewe is staring at the assortment of people in the coffee shop.   It was the people who came here that attracted Rick and him to this place, not the coffee.   The guy at the table next to them, dressed in a cowboy jacket, tan boots, a felt hat; the young woman playing footsie with him under the table; this place with the atmosphere, this whole area of town—fit with the gay thing they both have been clothed with.

Kewe laughs, thinking about that odd night when Rick told him he was gay.   So, so, strange, because Kewe himself has never not been gay! He and Rick had been friends since early college, and myopic as it seemed, he hadn’t even suspected.   Now Rick has a male partner he lives with.

Kewe figures the force that brought Rick and he together (unveeringly in its detached way) it knew they were both gay and at some moment would need each other.   The life f....d that we live here (in his depressed moments he chooses to call it that) all that we come to terms with, are ingredients, some stirring of soul, of spirit, of whatever this is we are.

It’s usually the decisions we make, Kewe thinks, that establishes our greatest learning, and it is the computer-in-the-sky working those decisions that maneuvers us into the stream that becomes our life.   People for good or bad are brought together and it’s the stew mixing, the karmic dance working.

Kewe looks around at the assortment of people, the army jackets, the peace gear, the leather, the many variances of Seattle youth.   It, embracing some kind of life! It a time and place where, before the unfathomable death, there is more than small share of high adventure.

Kewe is singing again:


The whole of who we are,
little I fear will remain, once dead.
The whole that was, that is,
could this be no more?
Could this never be more?



“Pleasant.”    Rick responds in a sarcastic tone.

Kewe shrugs.   “Well, many believe that.   Scientists say adulthood is formed in the brain in the teens.   Gray matter like a blob grows a second time.   The thickening is weeded by other white stuff.   When the brain’s dead, we’re dead.”

Rick glances at the two giggling at the table next to them.   “Thanks for telling me.”

Kewe is shaking his head.   “That’s who we are.   Each sadness, each disaster that happens, each piece of happiness is stored and translated and picked as suitable, or eliminated as unsuitable, inside this second daub of gray matter.   This is we, us making sense of the strangeness, the oddness.”

He sings quietly, “Soul-fruit!    Me be lookin.   You be lookin.   All God’s chil’n looking for the fruit.”

Turning, he stares at Rick.   “I’ve been inside this vortex for God knows how many hours.   There’s a precise completeness.   We’re all in this some-other-everything, together and separate.   Like the beginning of a car accident, I’m seeing some happening of this world, a development laid out that seems hell bent on a particular conclusion.

“I see this computer working.   A balancing is taking place.   The computer is correcting our actions bad and good.   Here we go setting up our life, all we think we need, and the computer sweeps in, gives us some state it decides; and we think, ‘Thump! I’m on the ground, mangled up.   Oh, my God, I really am.’    It’s the computer balancing.”

Rick, not laughing, looks curiously at him.   “You figuring this in your head? Do you see God? Is God speaking with you yet?”

“Exactly!” Kewe answers.   “I see an intelligence at least.   Call it the God sub-part if you want, the computer-in-the-sky I’d lay bets is organic.”    Expecting applause, nothing happens.

In the dimensionless vacuum he’s in, existence does make sense.   It’s where the relevance, the logic of our lives connects as threads.   Trillions of threads he sees extending into our world from this other reality.

Rick, taking by osmosis some of Kewe’s thinking, wonders aloud, “Is soul creating personalities for itself? Is soul involved in the way we grow?” Kewe looks sour.   He leans forward to say that he grew up without any mention of soul.

Rick cannot help laughing.   “Kewe, you were an altar boy at seven.   You were deep into the Catholic Church.   You told me.”

Kewe says quietly that he grew up from all of that, and what had any of this to do with soul creating beings?
.  .  .
It was not okay churches saying you could be gay but that you couldn’t have sex with someone you loved.   All that meant was that you had to be a eunuch.   No sex for you, guy, then there’s no blasphemy towards God.

Kewe, the next day, is thinking about the moment he tried to become a ‘normal’ person.   It was a moment when he was at university in his early twenties.   He applied to the medical center for help.   Don’t laugh: There was some experimental behavioral therapy and the experimenters were planning to supply a surrogate, opposite sex partner.   That didn’t happen.

The early teen years, when he first began to admit he was gay, were the strangest.   It wasn’t (he kept telling himself) that he asked to be gay, any more than he asked for red hair.   He could well have done without both.

Yet, he couldn’t see why sex between humans enjoying their moments, was wrong, or even strange.   Humans, assenting and of age, having the maturity to consent, should have right to their privacy, and to their pleasure.

Allowing God into the equation....  (Priests who wrote Holy Books, once female Deities were expunged, increasingly deified the male ethos.)

(Sexual centers dealt in promiscuity much as the world’s cities today.   Sodom, a rare example of corrupted, forced male-male sex, exemplified evil.)

Homosexuality between consenting adults is not evil, he thinks, anymore than it is pedophilia.   A need to dominate, as with rape, arrested sexual-emotional development, and a not caring, places children in harm.   It is interesting to Kewe that God (nature’s revenge) is tied as much to sex and drugs as war.

Promiscuity is the new killer.   (But with AIDS, so also a single instance of sex!)

Yet, doctrines of non-sexuality bring their own perversity.   With priestly authority preying upon their youth, religious whippings and other such for sin build as new cult acts within the larger body of religious teaching.

Forced celibacy—indeed no masturbation, a practice only few males can handle without suffering torment—empowers the prudish, righteous orders.   Healthy sexual life-style examples are all around us fortunately.

Studies show loving partners, heterosexual and homosexual, exhibit a maturity advanced from the sexuality of adolescence.   The problems adult relationships face have similar ‘bell curves’ whatever the sexual preference.

To Kewe, sex in loving form is a stepped-down inner connecting.   It is also something we humans at times need to get going in the morning.

The shamans of the past (often gay, if not gay they had characteristics not like the rest) were those who couldn’t farm, or wouldn’t hunt, but who (with luck) could work with the elements.   They might be different, but old societies allowed a good use of the talents.

Kewe, driving home after work, is bothered about the difference.   He is weighing his options.   Jake has brought this gay issue to such importance.   With the establishment of Jake in his psyche, he’s at a crossroads.   Likely, a lot more is going on.   Jake might be here to take over his body.

Jake is straight, thinks Kewe.   He’s remembering an event that took place the day after Jake first appeared.   At the retreat center Kewe had found himself excited by a young woman.

She was the youngest of the group, and she was reading over Kewe’s shoulder while he was typing online to a bunch of people interested in metaphysics.   He knew Jake was present.   It was Jake typing the messages.   Jake with him, he had felt his body respond to being close to her.

Jake asked the girl later if they could meet when they were flying.   Jake’s interest was to take a tour across the world.   The girl told him her problem was she hadn’t control of her flying body.   She had no idea when or if she would be able to fly.   She said maybe in a few months.   Kewe has to smile.   He’s never been any good at intimate relationships.

It doesn’t look as if Jake will be any better.

At home, he stares at the mess in the apartment.   Dishes are piled high in the sink.   Clothes from his suitcase are strewn on the floor.

Kewe’s test has always seemed to be his willingness to give up any and all relationships.   He’s never been encouraged, by a human or non-human, to be in any sort of union.   As far as he’s worked the sense out, his ‘karmic resonance’ is for life to be always creating events where he has to let go, where he’s not to be, for long, with any person.

He sticks now with seeking knowledge, of other spheres, other realms.   Still he can’t help noticing, the etheric elements of life have brought him full circle.   The quest for knowledge he’s been involved with for so long, is suddenly telling him personality has also to do with the inner worlds.   It is not only to do with the brain.

Personality has suddenly become much more important than he ever thought it would be.

And he doesn’t know how to respond.   It’s almost as if he’s decided in his mind that he no longer lives here, that he shouldn’t be here, and that Jake should be here in his place.

Because Jake has a template in Kewe’s brain and Jake can take over his life.   The thought of not existing makes tears spring to his eyes.   Is Jake better than he is?

The hunt for inner knowledge, and the experiences, has allowed his personality to grow in this world.   For him now to know he might cease to exist, that he might not continue; well, the dilemma suddenly is, who is he?

Who is he?

He clicks on the television, lies on the floor.   The noise from the TV drowns his thoughts.   He clicks off the sound.

He stares at the sitcom.


Ghostly figures strut madly around.
Something slimy is sucking at his soul.
These are screen inventions.
He’s one of them.
He won’t die.
He’ll just switch off.

Soul, that’s a laugh.
There is no place where a personality lives.
There isn’t a place for him.


When the body dies there is an exigent moment where in crises the body seeks to recover its power.

Breathing changes, the heartbeat accelerates, blood sugar rises.   Unable to compensate, the body begins to shut down.

Glands no longer secrete.   Hormones are not produced.   No chemical sustenance is being sent to the brain.

He’s read in ancient scripture that in these moments, beyond the brain, the inner mind is balancing.   Spirit, not in the physical body, nor the other, is in mid-stream.   Death and life pull both ways.

Death is the option of the human body.

Life in the new dimension is the opening for the spirit-body.

The transition appears as a dream, and in this half-reality, ancient scripture says the spirit person enters a world of foggy light, of strange emotions.


Kewe has believed there would be a glimpse of white for him, a shine of an angel by the brightness.

Looking down, he will look over his body; see his physical body with the heart stopped, with oxygen exhausted, with the starving brain depleted of ketone, of glucose.

See that it is dead.

Then, he will seek the wind, and mist.   He will remember he can fly, and in the roaring, follow the flowing brilliance, travel across the caustic river of Vaitarani, across the infernal Acheron.

What he will do then is of great importance, greater than the moment of his birth.

One choice will be to enter through the light.   The other will be to stay.

A piece of consciousness struggling with acceptance, he might for moments waver.   He might find that he is afraid.

But, Kewe knows, slipping back and forth, he will make his decision.   He will travel through the rushing all around, through the roar.   He will travel towards life.

And as he moves into life, into the light, there will be those who wait, those who stand nearby.   Those who have waited for him to decide.   This f------ Jake.


The TV characters stare.
The fear rises.
He calls out for Robert.
Anyone who wants to answer, he asks.
Anyone!
It’s not all going to go blank with me, is it?



The thoughts passing through his mind, the thoughts that he identifies as not his, seem extremely detached.   They seem attentive, as if there is some wish to give advice, but also painstakingly non-bothered.

Wanting to lash out violently, he wants to scream at them that it does matter, that he’s going to be discarded.   That they’ve already chosen Jake.

Searching through the feelings, they are saying, “—it will always be your choice.”

He gets up off the floor.   Music is the substance he needs.

Kewe pushes the button, turns on the CD player.   The sound of surf washes against a beach.

Sea gulls are calling.

A sudden resignation sweeps over him.   The CD he’s listening to is the one he uses when he wants to soar.   He’ll leave.

“Why am I hanging around?   I’ve done all that I came to do.   I’ll go into nothing.”

“Show me?” his thoughts ask.   “Show me!   Show me how to do it?”

A sea gull cries with its wistful cry of freedom.

“Jake!” he hails.   “Jake, it’s time now.   Time for you now.”

As he sits, as he drifts into endless rolling surf, waves are breaking against a shore.

Flowing in some dark, infinite space, he sees the light change.   He’s back in his room.

He seems to be looking at himself.

A strange pink glow surrounds his body.

From clear across the room he can see himself sitting in the chair.

His body has a young man’s face.

The eyes are laughing.

The eyes look like Kewe’s, but the face is Jake’s.

The boy is laughing at Kewe.

It would be many years later that Kewe, as his eyes would change as he became Jake, realized his brain had not allowed him to see the true image.

Jake's eyes had not the ordinary appearance of a human.

Jake's eyes were like Yoada's.

Jake has large eyes — large eyes that we commonly now accept in the appearance of many off planet beings.
© Kewe   All rights reserved.