The disclosure paradox, p.9
The Disclosure Paradox, page 9
“Michael says thank you and that your guides and your spirit will be with you throughout your assignment.”
Relief filled Anne’s voice as she smiled more than she could remember doing in a long time. Anne’s words also made Louis feel like he was enlisting again. “Michael is also asking me to give you specific meditation instructions. He calls it, ‘Jesus is the golden ray.' Listen carefully and take notes if you wish.”
Mary Ellen got up to get her sack. She took out the notebook she carried at the conference, ripped out another page, and handed it to Louis with a pen. Louis wrote as Anne resumed the instruction:
“Louis, imagine sitting in a crystal pyramid, then imagine golden light, which is the spirit of Jesus, filling the pyramid, entering your crown chakra. Imagine the light flowing slowly through your body, impacting your DNA. Above all, listen. Listen to your guides. Quiet the body and the mind. That is all Michael asks.”
She stopped and looked at Louis. “Louis, may I read your spirit again for a life before being a shaman?” She was eager to find out more.
Louis nodded. “Sure, I am interested too.”
“Thank you.” She resumed her reading. “The location was western Mexico. The date of passage was 902 AD. Your spirit was in the body of a twenty-six-year-old Aztec warrior. Michael is telling me you have a friend in this life in the military, and his spirit was in the body of a friend of the warrior. Your spirits were together before.”
Louis thought, McGeorge?! He knew no other active-duty friend in the armed forces. It made sense to him since they got along so well.
“Michael has some more advice. Enjoy peace. Release yourself of guilt. See the light of God in others. Learn to forgive. He also tells me the ocean is a healer for your spirit; you should visit it as often as possible.” She ended the session by thanking Michael, her guides, and Louis’s spirit.
Louis looked at Mary Ellen. “This is not going to be a casual trip, is it?” Her expression bared knowledge he did not possess. Keeping it that way, she did not respond.
Anne interrupted. “Trust your spirit, Louis. It has not misguided you. Follow Michael’s meditation. Oh, and do keep your trust in Mary Ellen. She knows what she is doing and will not betray you.” Anne finished her statement with a nod and a smile of confidence, directing it to the younger Native American woman. “Speaking of travel, I think you two should best get on your way.”
They all stood from their cushions. Louis helped Anne as Mary Ellen went to retrieve her luggage. Louis took the bags to the car. Anne, still stiff from sitting, hobbled with her cane to the kitchen to get food and drink she had prepared earlier for the trip. Mary Ellen went back to the kitchen to help Anne, who looked at her with concern.
“So now he has an idea this is not going to be a vacation,” Anne said. “On one hand I am concerned about him being ready, spiritually for what may come, and on the other . . .”
“He is ready. He has to be ready. This is his fate. And . . . I . . . will be with him. I think I heard you say that I am his guardian,” Mary Ellen said emphatically.
“About this trip, do you have a plan, Mary Ellen, and are you going to let Louis in on it?”
“I believe they will not let us down,” Mary Ellen stated with conviction. “It’s not just going to be Louis and me, or this would not be happening. The universe is ready.” Mary Ellen’s words sounded like a line from a movie trailer.
Anne stopped badgering Mary Ellen and placed a hand on her shoulder.
Louis packed the trunk and programmed his phone with Deborah Swift’s address. He was concerned about time so he quickened his pace. He opened the front door, entering the enclosed porch. The door to the house was ajar. Approaching the door, he heard Anne say his name. He stopped to listen to every word from Mary Ellen’s response. After Mary Ellen was done, he opened the door completely and announced the car was packed.
“It was truly an honor to meet you, Anne; what an amazing experience! I’ll use the information from this visit and revere it.” Louis hugged Anne, thanking her.
“Well, Louis, that makes two of us. I hope you understand you have an exceptional existence. Trust your guides, the spiritual ones, and the one that is with you in person.” Anne motioned to where Mary Ellen was standing.
“Got it.” Louis nodded solemnly. Directing his attention to Mary Ellen, he looked at her without a blink and asked her, “Are we ready?”
The question took her by surprise, as if a little secret was revealed about her. She did not speak, but offered a slow nod, looking at Louis in a manner he had not seen before. His question unnerved her. As Mary Ellen bid goodbye, Anne requested she keep in touch with her throughout the trip.
They left in an awkward silence.
9
Intuition
Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love
None so devotional as that of “Mother”
—Edgar Allen Poe
Louis and Mary Ellen got in the car, neither saying a word. Louis was having second thoughts. He felt as if he had just rushed into some sort of existential mortgage, having overheard part of the conversation between Mary Ellen and Anne. Was Mary Ellen keeping vital information about the trip to herself? The possibility concerned him. He recognized he was entering into a situation for which he was not prepared, and he felt she was being unfair. His mind started to wander, working against his fragile self-confidence, questioning his confidence in Mary Ellen. But since he’d accepted this role, he had no other choice than to follow her.
No words were exchanged until they reached the Interstate. Then, “Who are you and what exactly is the purpose of this trip?” Louis asked.
Mary Ellen did not respond immediately. Finally, she followed with a question of her own. “What did you hear Anne and I talk about?” She wanted answers, too.
“As I returned from packing the trunk, the door to the front room was slightly open. I didn’t intend to eavesdrop. I heard Anne voice concern about me being ready, then I heard you respond that I had to be. Now you continue to avoid giving me a frank response. You act like you know something, but you don’t want others to know it. What are you hiding? I think I deserve to know.”
Mary Ellen was silent. As his frustration grew, Louis gripped the steering wheel tighter. Mary Ellen noticed his body language. She turned to look out the windshield into the distance. It was too soon to tell him about her intentions. “I think you should know more about The Watchers, Mr. Silvani,” she said.
Her persistent avoidance of calling him by his first name irritated him. “OK, Miss Velarde.”
Mary Ellen paused. She did not want the conversation to deteriorate. She took a deep breath. “Like Anne said, The Watchers are an advanced race of benevolent beings. They are like lieutenants for the angelic realm, mentioned in the Old Testament. Physically, they’re tall, thin, and winged. They communicate with me like they do with Anne. I go into a trance, and I receive the information. I write down what I get and after getting out of the trance, I read what they transmitted. Last night, I received a transmission about you. They told me you are on the correct path, reiterating your role as a counselor and informer, one who is being protected. They did not specify what you are to do, telling me you should continue to follow your spirit.” She relayed as much as she could recall. “They also seem to have a sense of humor. They told me that you are special, but not special like them.”
Mary Ellen chuckled slightly, looking at Louis and finally showing a smile. “You are now, and have been, doing what you have been meant to,” she assured him.
Louis once again realized she did not answer his questions. Her response prompted more thought. “Sometimes I’ve wondered if I was different. I have felt compelled to say and do certain things that eventually brought me here. I just don’t know why,” he said.
“Mr. Silvani, I can’t tell you more than what you have discovered about yourself. The fact is, I’m still learning about myself. I don’t have all the answers. You will never find a human being that has all the answers. In time, we will eventually both learn what this trip is really about.”
Louis remained silent as they continued the drive, then he told her about the recent meditation experience and a particular dream he couldn’t make sense of. “There are things happening to me, Mary Ellen, things that are quite unusual, escaping my understanding. Saturday, in Pennsylvania, as I meditated, I had a thrilling experience like I went through a wormhole. It was . . . amazing!”
“You experienced an out-of-body event where your spirit left and you held consciousness of its travel. There are people who have meditated for years and have never been able to get to that level. The Watchers informed me they would give you tests as you progressed on your spiritual journey. I am certain that your out-of-body experience was such a test.”
Louis sensed he was beginning to understand what was going on. “Oh, so now this is a spiritual journey?”
“Everyone is on some kind of spiritual journey, Mr. Silvani. Some are just along for the ride, while others are more participatory. You have always had some sort of awareness of this aspect of yourself; only now, it is a bigger part of your life.”
“There was another event,” Louis said, compelled to offer more information in the hope he could fish for more as well. “Saturday night I dreamt of a crop circle in England with the chants of what sounded like a Tibetan Monk in the background. The next morning, while going through social media, I discovered that exact image posted by a woman who had sent me a friend request the previous night.”
Mary Ellen nodded. “That is synchronicity. It is your spirit telling you that you are on the right path.”
“That’s it? There’s no other significant meaning?”
“That’s it. Just stay the course.”
“Stay the course . . .” Louis shook his head, recalling how George Herbert Walker Bush used it as a repeated response during a presidential debate against Michael Dukakis in 1988. “Can you offer any more information about your plan?”
“As I mentioned, the information you are seeking will gradually be revealed to both of us as we continue the trip.”
Mary Ellen did not want to show Louis that she too had many questions and persistently wondered what lay ahead. She reclined her seat back and closed her eyes. She was able to take a decent nap, waking after a couple of hours. They were approaching Saint Louis and dinner time.
Before crossing the Mississippi, Louis told her about Deborah and Susan. Louis called Deborah Swift to tell her that he was about thirty minutes away.
As they crossed the river and entered the city, the Gateway Arch gleamed bronze orange from the early evening sun. While driving over Poplar Street Bridge, Louis could see Busch Stadium on his left. The Cardinals were on the road and traffic around the stadium was not bad.
***
Deborah Swift and her partner, Susan Koenig, lived on Pestalozzi Street in a late nineteenth-century red brick three-story home they had been restoring for years. Louis parked as close to the townhouse as he could, a few doors down. The house had a Black Lives Matter sign on its front lawn. It was not the only BLM sign on the street. They walked up two flights of concrete steps to the covered front porch. Louis rang the doorbell and waited.
A stocky African-American woman in her early 40s, adorned with dreadlocks, peered through the glass lite and smiled. She opened the door, gave Louis a strong hug, and patted his back. Deborah wore a man’s flannel shirt with blue jean overalls. She and Mary Ellen shook hands as they introduced themselves.
They entered the front room of the grand house. Louis saw a large granite fireplace flanked by high stained-glass windows, light oak floors, a high oak base, a high plaster ceiling with a continuous oak cornice, and an ornate dark oak stairway. The front door had a leaded glass transom with the address painted in gold and black. Even the radiators were concealed in fine oak cabinetry with ornate metal screening.
Louis complimented Deborah on the restoration work. Susan walked out from the kitchen and greeted her guests. Susan and Deborah directed them to the dining room off to the side of the front room.
During dinner, they talked about the house renovation and the myriad problems and pleasant surprises the women had experienced during the years-long work. Deborah told their guests she and Susan would show them the rest of the house after dinner. Realizing that the conversation was exclusively about the renovation, Deborah changed the subject.
“Where are you from, Mary Ellen?” asked Deborah.
“I am a Jicarilla Apache, originally from Dulce, New Mexico. It is located in the northern part of the state close to the Colorado border.” Mary Ellen told them she was adopted at an early age and lived in Albuquerque until graduating college, before moving back to Dulce to join her tribe.
Susan inquired, looking from Louis to Mary Ellen, “How do you two know each other?”
Louis was in the middle of sipping his iced tea. Mary Ellen responded, explaining that she learned he was going to present about Dulce at a UFO conference in Pennsylvania. She described the heckling from the audience after Louis revealed he had never visited the site, then explained how she offered to take him to Dulce and Mount Shasta.
“What is unique about Dulce?” Susan asked.
Louis eagerly explained, taking parts from his scripted presentation.
“There are theories about an underground facility operated by aliens. Sightings have worked their way into the local legends. Mount Archuleta is sacred to the Jicarilla Apache, and I think the two are related.”
Mary Ellen was relieved this version was abbreviated. After dinner, Deborah and Susan relocated to the front room and set dessert on the coffee table. Louis and Mary Ellen walked away to get their bags, then Deborah led them up the stairs and showed them to their rooms. Louis’s room was a collection of photos, plaques, patches, and awards from the twenty-one years Deborah served in the Air Force Security Police. There were photos of her on exercises, with her softball teams, and receiving decorations. Those decorations now stood in a glass case with the US flag and all the ranks she’d earned, including organizational patches. As a gay soldier, she survived by keeping her private life secret, following the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy laid out by President Clinton. Louis admired Deborah’s courage and dedication to her country in the face of her unique personal challenge. He unpacked for the night and went downstairs to meet Susan and Deborah, who sat together talking on the smaller couch.
Mary Ellen’s room appeared to be a proper guest room, decorated for visitors. There were inspirational plaques and local interest photos on the wall. Photographs of a younger Deborah were arranged on top of an oak dresser, some of her years as an enlisted airman, others showing her in various stages of her youth. Mary Ellen looked at each photograph carefully, as if she was reading a story from each image. All the photographs showed a little girl with a smile that would brighten any day. She stopped at a photo of Deborah at sixteen or seventeen. She was with an older man, an Air Force master sergeant. Mary Ellen was struck by the fact that in this particular photograph Deborah did not have that “burst of happy” smile. In fact, her grin seemed slight, perhaps forced.
Mary Ellen moved closer, concentrating on the photograph. The bedroom’s interior disappeared from her vision, Deborah’s face now all she could see. Images appeared in her mind: Deborah as a teen lying on a table, anguish written on her face. She had been crying. She was pregnant, exposed from the waist down, her legs restrained and spread apart. A bright light shined in her eyes.
As she turned her head to see what was happening, a look of horror washed over her face. Mary Ellen visualized what Deborah had seen at the end of the table, at her feet . . . three nonhuman beings no greater than five feet high. They had oversized pear-shaped heads with large dark eyes, no eyelids, almost non-existent noses and small mouths. Dull metallic suits covered their bodies, except for four long, thin fingers on each hand. Mary Ellen focused as Deborah witnessed the nonhuman creatures applying an instrument to her, extracting her unborn child. Nausea began to rumble through Mary Ellen.
Mercifully, the images faded, and the rest of the room came back into her vision. She was still on the outside, but rage now coursed through her on the inside. She was all too familiar with what she had been allowed to see.
She took her time to collect her thoughts, waited, looked in the mirror, and wondered how to approach Deborah. Had they been close friends, it would be easier to talk about this experience. But they had just met, and Mary Ellen didn’t quite know Deborah’s view on abductions by aliens. She reluctantly walked down the stairs, stopping at the landing. She looked over at Deborah, who caught Mary Ellen’s concerned expression. She stopped talking. Mary Ellen resumed her descent and sat down on a lower tread. Louis got up and offered her tea, which she accepted, not to drink as much to as hold something in her hand. She looked down at her feet, then focused her attention, again, on Deborah, who met her gaze.
After finishing dessert, Deborah went to see what was troubling her guest. She bent down to speak just above a whisper. “Are you OK? If you feel tired, it’s alright to go upstairs and rest.”
“I – I don’t think I would be able to fall asleep right now, Deborah.”
Gazing down, Mary Ellen shook her head a couple times. She was still processing the vision and questioning why it had come to her. She reasoned she was meant to talk to Deborah. She tried to imagine that conversation and how to approach her about such a private and painful experience.
“I need to talk to you . . . upstairs in the room I am sleeping in tonight.” Mary Ellen spoke quietly so only Deborah could hear.
