Designed with a Destiny (34 page)

“I thought I’d go in to town today to give
us some distance,” she says, not making eye contact with me.

“Neither of us are leaving this room until
we work this out,” I boldly announce, fully prepared to back it up.
Instead of anger as expected, her eyes widen with shock.

“Lawrence is on his way over to help us, so
I suggest you get some clothes on.”

“You’re dragging Lawrence in to this?” she
groans, looking embarrassed.

“This is too big for you and I to work out
alone, Cat. I don’t care who or what it takes to make things right
between us, but I want it fixed.”

“Well you should have thought of that before
you ran off…”

“Stop!” I shout, jumping to my feet, closing
the distance between us in two strides. “Just stop with the stupid
accusations!” My level of frustration and anger takes her by
surprise, and she backs up against the wall, clutching the towel
tightly to her chin, as I tower over her. “I love you. Not Natalie
or any other woman. You. It will always be you. Do you understand?”
I say through clenched teeth. We lock eyes, both of us breathing
hard, and I wait for her acknowledgement, which doesn’t come in the
form of words. Tears fill her eyes, and she bites her lower lip. A
light tap on the door signals Lawrence’s arrival, and I reach for
the bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Draping it
over her shoulders, she slowly slides one arm in at a time. I watch
her face as I then carefully remove the towel, letting it fall to
her feet. A single tear trickles down her cheek and I lean down to
kiss it away. “It’ll always be you, Cat,” I reiterate, as her body
language gives me just the right amount of encouragement that I
feel confident in pulling her closer. “Please let’s just talk this
out—please.”

“I’ll get the door,” she sighs, tying her
robe snuggly around her waist.

Lawrence greets Cat with a kiss on the cheek
and takes a seat in the only chair in the room. She sits next to me
on the bed, only to abruptly stand back up, pacing nervously in
front of the two of us.

“Ronan tells me you haven’t been yourself
since Kennedy’s death—is that true?” Lawrence asks, his voice void
of any judgment. She looks at me accusingly, and I just shrug my
shoulders, unapologetic for discussing our personal matters with
him. Folding my arms across my chest, I wait to see what sort of an
explanation she’ll give him—the father of truth and sincerity. It
takes her a minute to gather her thoughts, but once she starts
talking, she’s anything but defensive.

“Yes. I feel guilty…responsible. I should
have followed my gut instincts and I didn’t. I still see and feel
Kennedy’s helplessness the moments before she took her life. And
now, Ronan and I no longer project a matching frequency—I worry
that we never will again. I’ve never experienced jealousy until
today, but I accused Ronan of messing around with Natalie. I can’t
sleep and I can’t stop the crazy,” she blurts out, surprising both
of us with how easily she gives up a candid confession. Lawrence
folds his hands in his lap and leans back in his chair, studying
her like a seasoned therapist. “I don’t know what’s happened to me.
I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round that’s going too fast for me to
jump from. Can you help me—please?” she pleads, sitting down again
and rubbing her fingers through her hair, as she clutches her head
in frustration.

“There are additional Universal Laws besides
the Law of Energy and Vibration. Once you understand how they work,
you’ll be able to rise above these temporary feelings,” he says
reassuringly. “The first one is called the Law of Polarity. It’s
the law that explains how everything has a polar opposite. These
polar opposites are really the same, just on opposite sides of the
spectrum, and they work in harmony for the greater good. For
example, one has to experience failure to comprehend success.
Without experiencing sadness, we couldn’t recognize happiness, and
the absence of insecurity is confidence. If you and Ronan didn’t
have occasional hardships within your relationship, how could you
truly appreciate a perfect state of unity? If there were no such
thing as death, how could we understand what it means to be alive?
Without one—you could never have an understanding of the other,” he
says with a smile, making it sound like we should celebrate our
difficulties.

“So how do we get back to where we were—or
where we want to be?” she asks.

“Thoughts and emotions determine your
vibratory output. If you choose to resist the current state that
you’re in, then you will be focusing all your energy and thoughts
on that, what you don’t desire…”

“Which attracts more of what you don’t
want,” I interject.

“Yes—but if you accept your situation for
what it is, then it frees you to focus on what you do want. There
is an art to changing your own polarity, and unless you learn this,
not only will you be unable to affect your own circumstances, but
you can forget about affecting others as well,” he says, pausing to
let us consider. There’s a gleam in his eyes that makes me wonder
if he’s actually enjoying our struggles just for the sake of the
teaching moment.

“You want me to ignore my feelings and
pretend nothing happened?” Cat looks at him with confusion, and he
shakes his head no.

“Imagine that you’re standing in the cold
rain, but in the distance you can see that the sun is shining, and
you want nothing more than to feel its warmth and comfort. You’re
not immune from the effects of the rain—you’re still going to feel
wet and cold as you’re standing in it—but you are free to make a
choice. One is to focus on how miserable the rain feels, the other
is to remember how amazing the sun feels. If you choose the first,
the rain will fall harder, it may even start to hail, and the air
will become colder. The skies will grow darker and clouds will
start to block the sun from your view,” he pauses and looks out the
window, as if expecting to see thunder clouds. “If however, you
keep your eyes centered on the sunshine in the distance, imagining
its warmth, remembering it’s goodness, you’ll automatically begin
moving towards it—like being on a slow moving conveyor belt, you
won’t even have to put effort into it.” He smiles warmly at her.
“During times of bereavement you aren’t immune to feeling sadness,
guilt and anger—but you do have the power to move away from the
rain. It’s all up here,” he says tapping his head with his finger,
as he prepares to leave signifying an end to the conversation. I
hold my breath as she softly closes the door behind him and locks
it, turning to look at me with large chocolate eyes that penetrate
straight to my soul.

“I prefer the North Pole over the South
Pole,” I hint, and she smiles genuinely, making my heart flutter in
my chest. “The merry-go-round will never move so fast that I won’t
be able to catch you—so please will you just jump off?”

“I’m so sorry,” she hoarsely whispers,
blinking back tears.

“Shhh,” I bring my finger to my lips softly
shushing her as I take a slow stride towards her. She meets me
midway—launching herself in my waiting arms, and the two of us
cling to each other not uttering a single sound. My hands slide
over her curves like a master potter, expertly hand molding and
crafting a fine piece of pottery. “Cataryn, Cataryn, Cataryn,” I
moan, as the woman I married comes back to life right beneath my
hands, turning me on to the point I can’t think straight. The
moment she finally surrenders, burying her face in my neck, as her
fingers ardently dig deep into my back, I know we’re on the other
side of whatever ugly circumstances brought us to this point. This
time when we make love it speaks to something much deeper than the
physical. This time it’s about satisfying an emotional need as
Jason put it—healing and restoring is how I relate to the
experience.

“417 MHz,” I softly announce after
inconspicuously taking her frequency reading as she’s about to fall
asleep in my arms.

“Yeah I know,” she yawns, possessively
draping a long leg over the top of me. “I can feel it.”

***

After sleeping on and off for most of the
day, Cat and I finally get up and get dressed—unable to ignore the
hunger pains any longer. The second we walk outside, I sense
something not quite right and automatically pull her back in to the
room. Rather than ask questions, she becomes quiet, closing her
eyes, assumingly connecting telepathically with the others while
intuitively allowing me to remotely investigate the area.

“Law enforcement. Rosie’s talking to them
now,” I tell her. “Would have been nice if someone would have
warned us.”

“Alisha says no one wanted to be the one to
interrupt us, and Claire was supposed to keep an eye out for us,
but got bored,” she smirks. “Can you tell what the police
want?”

“Yep—I’ll give you one good guess.”

“What is Rosie telling them?” she asks with
a heightened level of concern when I reach for the door handle.

“They want to search the property, and she’s
telling them no, not without a search warrant,” I inform her. Rosie
hasn’t said a word about the incident in Mexico City to us, even
though the news stations are still talking about the mysterious
American suicide attacker. Watching her now, it’s clear to me that
she’s been coached on just how to handle our situation—almost as if
she were expecting the visit by local police.

“Can you get a color screening on them?” Cat
asks at the very moment one of the officers shoves past Rosie.
Three follow him around the corner, heading in the direction of our
rooms.

“No, but you can,” I reply, opening the door
and stepping outside to intercede. One by one the others join
us—first Alisha and Jason, followed by Lawrence and Bernie, then
Liz, Chord, and Claire, come from behind the barn. Austin checks in
telepathically from his perch in the canopy of a large nearby tree,
letting us know that there’re four more squad cars coming up the
road. The fact that Natalie and Zane are nowhere to be found
briefly crosses my mind, but by the time the officers come around
the corner, I’ve all but dismissed the thought and we’re casually
seated in the courtyard, behaving like resort guests, instead of
refugees. Rosie comes bustling behind them, loudly protesting and
threatening them with legal action for trespassing without a search
warrant, while apologizing profusely to us.

“
Love, peace, and harmony,”
Cat
telepathically repeats over and over again. Elizabeth joins in,
followed by Alisha, Lawrence and Natalie. Before we know it, the
mental conference room we’re all tuned into begins to sound like a
choir of chanting monks. I feel a change in the atmosphere even
though I can't see it, and in spite of us being outnumbered by the
police force filing into the courtyard, I feel confident of today’s
outcome.

“Diego,” Cat whispers and I follow her gaze
to one of the uniformed police officers standing in the group. He
definitely looks different than he did a week ago when we met him
on the side of the road operating as a rough gang leader. I
automatically scan him for a color screening, and Cat rescues me by
announcing,
“He’s still yellow, and the rest are blue,”
intuitively making up for my deficiency in seeing auras. Diego
makes eye contact and gives a slight smile, nodding his head
indicating recognition. It’s apparent that our mental focus on
positive thoughts is causing a discrepancy in the other officers'
motives. The lead officer falters in confusion with the simplest
task of stating his purpose for being here, and when he finally is
able to get it out—it’s not at all what I was expecting.

“We heard you can teach us how to perform
magic,” he finally says in Spanish, looking to Rosie to interpret
for him, when all of us stare at him blankly.

“Who told you we can teach you magic
tricks?” Cat demands, letting them know she speaks fluent Spanish
while giving Diego an accusingly stern look. He quickly pushes his
way through the crowd and kneels down in front of our chairs.

“What I told them is that you would give
them a gift that could change their lives for the better. Please
show them what you showed me,” he whispers as his dark eyes dart
between the two of us. A slow smile spreads across her face and she
stands, reaching for my hand.

***

Eight days ago a group of law enforcement
officers showed up at the ranch with color screenings of blue, and
they left with a screening of yellow—after experiencing an
awakening of the heart as Lawrence puts it. Now the word has spread
like wildfire and the Las Cascadas Ranch is swimming with a steady
stream of visitors—all wanting the same enlightenment—the same
spiritual wisdom that has the officers talking about a utopian
society to their family and friends. Yesterday alone we worked from
sunrise to sunset, seeing almost a hundred people throughout the
day, and today Rosie enlists the help of the ranch staff to set up
a road block a mile down the road from the ranch—just so we can eat
a meal without being disturbed.

“Not one murder this whole week. I can’t
remember when we’ve gone even a day without violence,” Rosie says
excitedly, pointing to the T.V, when we sit down for lunch. Our
eyes naturally gravitate to the ongoing coverage of Las Cascadas
Ranch which has dominated every network for the past seven days. No
one is surprised when Diego is interviewed again, this time
standing outside the Federal District Buildings. His enthusiasm and
devotion towards the enlightenment movement has made him the top
spokesperson for New Mexico City. He’s influenced several notorious
drug gangs to visit the ranch and as a result they are now donating
money for a project to build low-income housing. I smile down at
Cat, and hope that by watching stories like Diego’s, it makes the
tragedy of losing Kennedy more tolerable for her.