Fallen Masters (26 page)

“Do they know we are here?” POTUS asked, nodding toward the Council in freeze-frame.

“We aren’t here,” IRA said.

“What? Well, if we aren’t here, where are we?”

“We are nowhere and everywhere,” IRA said. “Think of it as electricity. The electricity is everywhere in the grid, but not until you close a switch is it ‘there.’ We will be here when we need to be here.”

“Fascinating,” POTUS said in his best Spock imitation. Now, with his attention returning to the assembly, they resumed their discussion.

One of the other members spoke. “Brothers and sisters, I know that we are all terribly concerned with the planetary shifts that are coming and what will befall humankind. But I agree with the Governor of our Council as he states the rules that we cannot interfere with their destinies.”

“The Dark Forces can,” another entity said.

“That is because they are fallen energies from the Light and are no longer bound to our treaties and covenants,” the Governor said. “They can create chaos and prey on the fears of man, enable their jealousies and torment them to react. They seek out the meek and vulnerable, the emotionally and spiritually void persons, and strike like a rattlesnake.”

The next voice was that of one of the female members of the Council. Her voice was soothing and well modulated. “And all of this while we and our forces of Light watch, with only the hope that our inspirational energies will assist mankind in making more positive choices. But obviously, that isn’t enough. Something, I don’t know what, but something has to be done.”

“Something must be done, yes,” the Governor said. “Where is IRA? Is he here?”

“I am here, Excellencies of the Council,” IRA said. “And I have with me our newest arrival. He is not ready yet, as he just woke up from his second sleep and learned of his humanity.”

The Governor of the Council looked over toward POTUS and welcomed him with a nod and warm, energetic gesture. Then the Governor turned his attention back to the council.

“I would like to take a vote of all Council members and suggest that the time has come for us to fall back to the earthly plane to assist our children. We need them to express more strongly our energetic principles so that man may be able to make the right choices. We can provide reminders and gentle nods that they are not alone.”

POTUS realized now that the Hall of Governing Wisdom was considerably larger than he had at first perceived, and many more people were present than he had previously thought. The round table of the Council sat on a raised floor in the middle of the great hall, while around the Council all the others sat in concentric circles.

The presence of the others, not as mere spectators, but as participants in the deliberations, reminded POTUS in form, if not in appearance, of the joint sessions of congress when such were assembled. Except this was a room he didn’t mind being in—even under the circumstances of death.

The Governor continued:

“We will have but a small window of opportunity to do this, because the veil between their world and ours is diminishing and we will not be able to lower our vibrations. I suggest that dynamic teams be put together. These masters of love and insight will ‘fall’ down, and their lower vibration waves must work strategically with other human beings in making great changes.”

“Do we have a list of the people who will be our voices?”

“All this ‘Dark Forces’ talk is rather disconcerting,” POTUS said. “Tell me, can the Council actually do something to help combat the spiritual terrorism we see today?”

As before, the Council and indeed every representative in the chamber, for POTUS thought of the others as representatives—went into freeze-frame as he and IRA carried on their discussion.

“The Governor and the Council of Elders are attempting to make things better,” IRA said.

“But I just heard them say that they can’t interfere.”

“They can’t interfere directly, that is true,” IRA said. “But what they can do, and what it is their job to do, is to inspire people who are living on the planet now to make a difference and to consciously abandon evil and darkness. The Council will encourage people to use their free will to choose the Light.”

“Can they do it?” POTUS asked.

“I don’t know,” IRA replied.

“What do you mean you don’t know? Aren’t you my Intellectual Research Adviser? I thought you knew everything.”

“What the Governor and the Council of Elders have set out for themselves is no easy task,” IRA said. “Sadly, Heaven will more than likely not succeed because, I regret to tell you, the Dark Forces are flowing in abundance.”

“How much power do these Dark Forces have?”

“Their power is considerable.”

“But good will always overcome evil, will it not?” POTUS asked.

A sad smile spread across IRA’s non-corporeal face, that is, across the face that POTUS was perceiving. He wondered now, why he had ever thought it might be Martin Sheen. IRA didn’t look anything at all like Martin Sheen.

“Yes, good triumphs over evil,” IRA said. “That was one of the earliest precepts we were able to inculcate in the human experience. An oldie but goodie to be sure. Unfortunately, it is not necessarily true. You heard what the Governor said. They are fallen energies from the Light, which means they have as much power as any angel of good. More, when you consider that they are no longer bound to any code of ethics.”

“I spent my entire life believing in the concept of good over evil,” POTUS said.

“Ah, yes, your Mr. Pennington.”

“You know about Mr. Pennington?”

“I know all there is to know about you. What about your own situation in Iraq? You were certainly representing good when you ordered a counterstrike on those insurgents in the mosque who launched bombs at Charley’s Humvee. You saved lives. Yet you were punished for that. Did evil not overturn good?”

“Aha!” POTUS said as if scoring a point in a debate. “But the charges were dismissed. And didn’t the American people respond to that—and elect me president?”

“And were you not assassinated?” IRA replied.

“Yes, but … I am so confused.”

“It is a very natural thing. Since you have not yet divested yourself of all your earthly trappings and involvements, I suppose you are still thinking of your family,” IRA said.

“Yes, I am, very much. Is there some way I could see them? I just need to know that they are all right.”

“You’ll see them at your funeral.”

“I’m going to my own funeral?”

“Nearly everyone does. Of course, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to go. How do I do it?”

“You just will yourself there.”

“When is the funeral?”

“Yesterday, now, tomorrow, one year ago, one year from now.”

“Now, that doesn’t make one lick of sense.”

“Sure it does, if you realize there is no such thing as time here. At least, not as you are used to it. Now is when you choose now to be. Do you want to go to the funeral now?”

“Yes.”

IRA raised his hand, or, he would have raised it if he had a hand. POTUS was beginning to understand that he was constructing the visuals in his own mind, like lifting a needle on a phonograph record and dropping it on a specific song—to put it in old-fashioned terms that POTUS as a youngster in the 1960s would understand. “Will yourself there.”

CHAPTER

48

Washington, D.C.

Half a million people were watching as the same horse-drawn caisson that had borne the body of JFK, Franklin Roosevelt, and the Unknown Soldier carried the assassinated President’s polished bronze casket down Pennsylvania Avenue. Muffled drums and the clacking hooves of the horses pulling the caisson were the only sounds to be heard on Pennsylvania Avenue. Those gathered along either side of the street watched in stunned and saddened silence as the cortège made its way to the Capitol, where the body would lie in state.

POTUS watched the funeral cortège from several different angles, sometimes looking down on it, sometimes from the caisson looking out toward the people paying their respects, and sometimes from the crowd itself, standing next to someone—or assuming the illusion of standing next to someone.

“He was a good man. He was a good president. What’s gotten into people that they are so quick to kill, anymore?”

“Killing is the natural order of things,” another said. “It thins out the herd and allows only the strong to survive.”

From this speaker, POTUS felt a wave of cold, and as he looked at him, it was almost as if he was surrounded by a black cloud. POTUS found that very strange, and he would have to remember to ask IRA about it.

He willed himself to the Rotunda.

In the Rotunda, Win Jackson managed to hold back her tears, as did her son, Marcus Jr. POTUS stood beside them. He leaned over and kissed Win on the cheek and smiled, or imagined himself smiling, when Win reached up to put her fingers on the exact spot he had kissed. He would have to remember that on future visits.

During the public viewing, hundreds of thousands of mourners waited for hours in a line that stretched for four miles, fifteen persons wide, for the opportunity to view the casket. Inside the Rotunda, the closed and flag-draped coffin was guarded at each of its four corners by members of the military.

After the viewing, the body was transported to the National Cathedral, and though there were only one thousand invited guests inside, millions around the world watched the funeral on television. Major General Ken Coats, Chief of Chaplains, conducted the funeral, and Charles Crawford delivered the eulogy.

“The world knew Marcus L. Jackson Sr. in many ways. Many of the world’s leaders knew him as a man who was quick to offer support to allies when such support was needed. Other leaders, those who would do harm to the United States, knew him as a fierce enemy who would stand up for the freedom of his country.

“Nations in strife, suffering from floods, hurricanes, earthquakes, fires, and famine, knew Marcus Jackson as a man of compassion, one who reacted quickly to provide assistance where assistance was needed.

“Historians will know him as a black president, an inspiring speaker, and a great motivator. Win knew him as her husband, and Marcus Jr. knew him as his father.

“I come from a slightly different perspective. In the army I knew him as my commanding officer. In my professional life, I knew him as my boss. But on a personal level, I knew him as the closest friend I will ever have, and I know him as the man who braved enemy fire to throw me over his shoulder and save my life.”

It was difficult for Charley Crawford to get through the eulogy—he choked up at least three times and had to stop to regain his composure.

Then Charlene St. John sang her most beautiful and heartfelt song: “Someone, Somewhere.”

Do you see the light

Of all creation: the day, the night?

A universe of peace and love

Of goodness that comes down from above

Take his hand

And you will understand

That we are one

We are one

We are one

Never had she sung it more beautifully, and never had POTUS heard more beautiful music.

“It is truly the voice of an angel,” POTUS said on the Other Side. “And though I have heard this song before, I don’t think I ever heard the words, I mean truly heard the words, before now.” It was as if the notes didn’t just form chords; they created intentions as well. Inspiration held a whole new meaning for him.

Instantaneously, POTUS found himself standing in the private garden of the White House. This memorial was not for the nation, but for his immediate family and close friends. From POTUS’s perspective, there was absolutely no time between the public funeral and the private memorial, but POTUS was learning to deal with that. It was here that POTUS felt love in a way that he had never experienced before. Love, joy, and fulfillment were all wrapped up into one feeling, and when he looked at Win, his beautiful wife, he knew immediately that somehow she would be all right and manage to move on. He didn’t know how he knew this, but it was something that he just knew.

POTUS and Win had never really discussed a potential future without him in it, with her having to take care of their only child, fifteen-year-old Marcus. He knew that she would be fine financially, and security was a way of life for all of them. He looked at his son and couldn’t be more proud. Marcus Jr. was standing way off to one corner of the garden, separated from the others. He was grieving, yes; it showed clearly on his face. But that same face, even as it showed grief, was also showing strength and maturity, more strength and maturity than POTUS ever would have imagined a young teenager could exhibit.

IRA looked over at POTUS and said, “Go ahead.”

Go ahead? How did IRA know what he wanted to do?

Then, even as he was thinking that, IRA reminded him that now, everything was thought form, without boundaries, which meant that his thoughts were as audible here, as the spoken word had been in the before life. It was also part of IRA’s job to assist.

IRA handed POTUS a TiVo remote. “This is to help you deal with the concept of time,” IRA said. “You have to understand that in the ribbon of time, everything that has ever happened is still happening, and that means you can move forward or backwards at will.”

“With a TiVo remote control?”

IRA said, “Admittedly, that is a gimmick. But do you remember how I told you that I appeared to you in the form of a secret service agent so you would not freak out? You saw me as the actor Martin Sheen, because that was your frame of reference. This, too, is part of your frame of reference. I have seen the commercials about how you can fast forward through the commercial, rewind, and pause … so hit the pause button.”

“Hit the pause button? What is that supposed to do?” POTUS asked.

“Why don’t you hit it, and find out?”

POTUS hit the pause button and watched the action in front of him freeze as if the world was a large movie screen with 3D HD images that no longer moved. POTUS hit play, and it moved again. He then hit reverse frame and the whole scene shifted. This moment was really starting to feel like
It’s a Wonderful Life,
with Jimmy Stewart and his guardian angel standing next to him.