Authors: David Morehouse
Psychic Warrior (36 page)
Around my neck, he placed the rock medicine he'd given me years ago, and with a paint he'd made from clay he drew two horizontal lines across my forehead, the top one black and the lower one red. He then painted my chin red and placed a small pouch of tobacco in my left hand. This was a symbolic offering in a ceremony of death and in
preparation for the rebirth of my spirit. As he did so a strange rush of wind rattled the walls of the tepee, and the grunts and rootings of a large animal circled outside. As if all that was as he had expected, Mel calmly packed away his pipe and stowed the sacred tobacco. Next to me he placed a small war bundle containing weapons to be used by the spirit to combat evil in the ether; his final preparatory act was to unveil the skull of “George,” an ancient Indian medicine man who had been with him for decades; this he placed opposite me, the fire between us.
preparation for the rebirth of my spirit. As he did so a strange rush of wind rattled the walls of the tepee, and the grunts and rootings of a large animal circled outside. As if all that was as he had expected, Mel calmly packed away his pipe and stowed the sacred tobacco. Next to me he placed a small war bundle containing weapons to be used by the spirit to combat evil in the ether; his final preparatory act was to unveil the skull of “George,” an ancient Indian medicine man who had been with him for decades; this he placed opposite me, the fire between us.
I remained as reverent as I could; though I didn't fully understand what my friend was doing, I did know that he was trying to help me, and that his methods were sacred and powerful.
“Go into the ether, Wankâhok'isakâa [Half Man],” he said in a tribal tongue. “There you must look for Rezi-wak' antcankâa [the Holy Tongue]. I will be outside praying for you on the rock near the water.”
Mel left me alone in the lodge, taking his medicine and pipe with him for use during his prayers. I sat staring into the flame, inhaling the scent of the smoke and entering the ether.
I plunged into the tunnel of light, falling toward something I didn't know, some place and time I'd never been. I tumbled in the rush and flurry of sounds and images that filled the signal line. I fell until I pierced the veil and found myself in a strange world laced with a mixture of darkness and color.
“A-Ho(! Wankâhokâisakâa, I have been waiting for you.”
I stood in the presence of the elderly medicine man whom Mel affectionately called George. George had been watching over Mel ever since the early sixties, when he had rescued the skull from a pair of traders who were planning to defile it by driving an arrowhead into it. Their aim was to increase its value to unsuspecting tourists or novice collectors. Mel gave a week's pay to liberate George from his captors, and ever since the Indian's spirit had been with
him, guiding and comforting Mel and his family in times of crisis. Every Riley had a story of how George had manifested himself to them. And countless remote-viewing sessions had been run at Sun Streak to learn George's history and fate. Many years ago, as a greenhorn remote viewer, I, too, had searched his past; now I stood before him in all his glory. A red and blue blanket covered him from shoulders to thighs; a single eagle feather crested his head. His powerful hands were exposed only at the fingertips; his legs and feet were covered in finely sewn deerhide. A brightly colored and meticulously beaded bag hung from his shoulder; I assume it held his spirit medicine.
him, guiding and comforting Mel and his family in times of crisis. Every Riley had a story of how George had manifested himself to them. And countless remote-viewing sessions had been run at Sun Streak to learn George's history and fate. Many years ago, as a greenhorn remote viewer, I, too, had searched his past; now I stood before him in all his glory. A red and blue blanket covered him from shoulders to thighs; a single eagle feather crested his head. His powerful hands were exposed only at the fingertips; his legs and feet were covered in finely sewn deerhide. A brightly colored and meticulously beaded bag hung from his shoulder; I assume it held his spirit medicine.
“I am honored to be in your presence.”
“You have been led to me by a man of great wisdom and spirit, a man with eyes for this and other worlds.”
“I am grateful, but I am frightened.”
“You carry bear medicine; the one who brought you considers you a bear warrior, of the Bear Clan. You must be as brave here as he believes you to be.”
“I will try.”
“You are here to die. Did you know that?”
“I am already dead in the spirit.”
“You were told it would be so, were you not?”
“I was told by the angel who watched over my father that I would give up a great deal to reveal the gift.”
“And now you must die completely and be reborn in spirit to carry on the work of your world.”
“I'm ashamed that I fell so terribly; I'm ashamed.”
The medicine man laughed. “All spirits fall; it's nothing to be ashamed of. There is nothing in the world more true than the death and rebirth of the spirit. All things in the world possess the spirit. All things in the world die and live again. I am speaking not of physical death, but of spiritual death, of the death brought on by the living of life in the pursuit of wisdom and understanding. It is as you were taught in the beginning: you will become something other than what you were. As you were told, the wisdom brought by the gift of eyes extracts a toll. Your spirit is dying because
it must be reborn to soar to a higher plane; that is what makes some more than others. The fear of seeking the wisdom that brings about transformation is also what makes some less than others. You made the journey; you lay down upon the altar and gave willingly to become more than you were before the gift. So many have been offered it and refused it for fear of change.”
it must be reborn to soar to a higher plane; that is what makes some more than others. The fear of seeking the wisdom that brings about transformation is also what makes some less than others. You made the journey; you lay down upon the altar and gave willingly to become more than you were before the gift. So many have been offered it and refused it for fear of change.”
“I'm grateful for your explanation.”
“Then it is time for you to die.”
I followed the medicine man to a gathering of elders; all were clad in sacred priestly robes. My eyes saw them as elderly Indian holy men; but I was wise enough to understand that they could take on whatever form my heart accepted. These beings, like everything else I saw on this journey, were symbolic representations of the unseen power that governs not only what is in our hearts, but also our world and everything in it. The interconnectiveness of lives and spirits; of knowledge, of life, and of death was becoming clear. For just an instant, I was blessed to see clearly the meaning of my life and the lives of all humanity. In the presence of these great men I looked into eternity to see the flow of time, and I knew my place within it.
As I stood looking into eternity, the men encircled me, each carrying his medicine. When the circle was complete, a brilliant flash of light passed before my eyes and I fell to the beings' feet. Spiritually dead, I gazed into the heavens of this world and watched as the beings symbolically breathed life into me, their breath becoming mine until I stood before them, reborn of spirit.
The circle parted and the medicine man who had brought me took my arm and led me away to a place just before the veil. Here he turned to me and said:
“I will tell you a story which you must always carry in your heart from this time forward. A war party came to the camp of their enemies; they watched from a distance to learn the ways of their enemies; and once they believed that they could learn no more, they crossed the river separating them from the enemy camp.
“A small girl saw them crossing and alerted the warriors of her camp, who rose in defense, killing many of the war party as they crossed the river. One warrior, however, fought so fiercely that he crossed the river and made his way into the thick brush separating the camp from the river.
“In the brush, he fought so mightily that the warriors protecting the camp backed away, afraid to enter the brush and fight the warrior face to face. Throughout the long night they cast stones and flaming torches into the brush to wound and torment the brave warrior. As the night deepened, the sounds coming from the brush, which had been war cries and whoops, became the growls and snarls of the bear, further confounding and frightening the warriors who surrounded the brush.
“As dawn broke, the camp's warriors rushed into the brush to overwhelm the enemy warrior, but they did not find him there. His spirit had died as he realized his calling; reborn, he was transformed in spirit and form into a fierce bear. The bear warrior killed many of those who surrounded him, and they fled the village, taking the women and children with them.
“The spirit of the bear warrior and of what was done there has never left the banks of the river. From that day forward, whenever a people tried to settle there, the bear warrior came from the darkness in power and glory and frightened them away. From the day of his transformation his spirit and life increased through the power of his legend. Despite what he gave up, the mark he made because of his rebirth will never be forgotten.”
Saying nothing else, the medicine man brought me into the veil. When I opened my eyes I saw the interior of the tepee; Mel, smiling, sat across the embers from me.
“Welcome back, my brother.” His eyes misted with tears. “I prayed for you!”
I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Thank you for knowing how to give me my life again. I'll never forget you, in this life or any other.”
Mel sprinkled another handful of sage over the embers,
sending a cloud of purifying smoke into the air around us. “It's over now. All the poison of the past is gone. More will come, it always does; but you'll see it differently now. I made some things for you a few years ago; now is the right time for you to have them.”
sending a cloud of purifying smoke into the air around us. “It's over now. All the poison of the past is gone. More will come, it always does; but you'll see it differently now. I made some things for you a few years ago; now is the right time for you to have them.”
He reached for a blanket made of red trader's cloth and threw it open. “This is your shield. It's willow with deerhide stretched over it; the markings, like those on your rock medicine, represent the bear and his power to turn aside the weapons of his enemies. These five feathers across the bottom are called barred turkey feathers; the white fluff decorating them is eagle fluff; the white skin is otter, and this cloth draped to the side is trader's cloth.
“This is your war ax.” Mel picked it up. “The handle is wrapped in deerhide and beadwork in the black and red of the Bear Clan. The feathers are crow and red-tailed hawk. This is your lance; there are twenty-eight barred turkey feathers with eagle fluff, with bearskin and otterskin on either end of the shaft. The head is hammered metal from a wagon wheel, and the Bear Clan symbol is notched in it as well as in your war ax. I want you to have these; I made them for you to be reminders of your rebirth and of your warrior lineage.” He wrapped them in the blanket and passed them over the fire to me.
“I don't know what to say, Mel. You have been with me and cared for me for so long now. I'm humbled by you, and forever grateful for your love and friendship. Thank you for that, and for these wonderful gifts.”
He smiled. “Well, it's probably appropriate for you to say
megwitch,
which means âthank you' in a local tongue. Maybe it just sounds better when you're exchanging Indian gifts.”
megwitch,
which means âthank you' in a local tongue. Maybe it just sounds better when you're exchanging Indian gifts.”
“Okay,
megwitch
⦠. George told me a story about an Indian warrior who became a bear and never left those that killed him alone again. Have you ever heard that story?”
megwitch
⦠. George told me a story about an Indian warrior who became a bear and never left those that killed him alone again. Have you ever heard that story?”
Mel stirred the embers with a stick and poured water from a clay jug onto them. “Yup. That's a true story, by the way.”
“Well, he told me to remember it always. Do you know why? And is it written down somewhere?”
“It's not written anywhere I know of, but I'm sure he gave it to you as a parable for your life. Take each part of the story and compare it to what you've experienced over the last seven years; I think you'll find some parallels ⦠Hey! You ready for a beer?”
“Actually, I'm ready for a truckload; but one will be more than enough. I think I sweated out half my body weight.” We climbed to our feet and left the tepee. Just before I entered the house I paused to look back at the place where I had died. I smiled warmly, hoping George was there watching.
Â
Debbie and I got ready to leave the next morning. We hadn't arrived with much, but we sure as hell were leaving with plenty. I kissed and hugged Edith, thanking her for taking such good care of Mel. Debbie embraced Mel and Edith, thanking them for taking such good care of her husband.
“Oh! I almost forgot!” Mel ran upstairs. When he reappeared he had a blanket under his arm. Unrolled, it revealed a large deerskin. He flipped it fur side down to show me a pictograph of the story George had told me. “This should be on your wall, where you'll never forget it. I should have known that I'd have to write the story down for an infantryman.”
“Yeah, and it's even in picturesâno big words to try and pronounce,” Debbie said, smirking. We left Russellville and drove back to Bowie to begin life anew.
Among those who anchored me in this world again was Mike Foley, my dear friend who was shot down in the Panama chopper crash. He came to see me in one of those moments of despair, and his words were prophetic and clear. What he and the angel said helped me to understand the insignificance of what happens here, in contrast to what we do here.
The key to my rebirth was inside myself. Aside from the
symbolic death of my spirit, the only ingredient I required, I already had: the pure love of my family. And of course, I'd almost forgotten the reason for all my troubles: to get the message out that we are more than just the body; we are spirits loosely tethered to earth, and there are dimensions and worlds far beyond what we know here. There is more than we have dreamed ofâbut none of that matters if we cannot grasp the significance of this life.
symbolic death of my spirit, the only ingredient I required, I already had: the pure love of my family. And of course, I'd almost forgotten the reason for all my troubles: to get the message out that we are more than just the body; we are spirits loosely tethered to earth, and there are dimensions and worlds far beyond what we know here. There is more than we have dreamed ofâbut none of that matters if we cannot grasp the significance of this life.
You can spend a lifetime tapping into the ether to explore other realms, but you have to come home sooner or later. You can mingle with gods and other peoples and other speciesâand you can think yourself unique for itâbut they will not be there to help you make your way in this life. What we do here in support of others is where true happiness lies. I found that out the hard way.
There were many tearful, angry nights and days in between where I was and where I am today. At this point in my life all I want to do is tell the story of remote viewing to anyone who will listen, not because it is amazing or controversial but because it carries a message for all mankind. There are other worlds out there, other dimensions, with civilizations, intelligences, love, hatred, success, and failure, everything we experience here in our world. There are also benevolent as well as evil energies out there. Some have the express purpose of destroying or hindering our progress here, and they have spent millennia practicing their craft.
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