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“I wake every day a man looking over my shoulder,” the old man says from his hard-finished, molded, rail line seat, syllabic as he rocks back and forth. “There will always be another man out there who once loved her, and will always hate me.”
Some days he wonders if it was all worthwhile. He hears that God will let him know when he has paid his due, so Confession has never eased the pain.
“So, which god are you talking about, kid?”
“There is only one God, rider, whether we call him our supreme being God, Allah, her Goddess, The Great Spirit or Buddha, and so on.”
Our very conscience is our guide. That discomfort we feel in our wrenched and wretched gut when we lie and sin, have done something outright wrong to ourselves, another, or to our planet; the Earth – all living things and beings – is governance provided by the spirit. Cleansed of the black spots of sin on the soul replaced with pure, white grace from the heavens; the God who monitors our every thought, our struggles, and wishes.
“You, young man, have much to say,” the bitter old gentleman says, and then declares, coughing through the words. “You appear damned lost.”
“No … No, I am not lost. I am found. I’ve never been lost, in any sense of the word.”
“How old are you, anyway?”
“I am, in terms of the chronological year, thirty-four.”
“Oh, Jesus … Well, I’m seventy-four, and I can tell you this. You have to stand for something real, someone real; and have faith … and hope, right.”
“Oh, I have faith and hope, my senior friend. Have you not been listening? Faith and hope guide me and strengthen me. I trust what I feel.” Young Bruno asks, “Are you now with me, sir?”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those friggin’ secular atheists!”
“I am a Christian,” Bruno answers. “I intuitively act upon all things presented here, before me … around me.” He motions a sweep across his forehead and mid-section and looks into the palms of his hands, held twelve inches in front of his chin as he speaks.
“You speak in vague terms, young man, and you are becoming too pious for me.”
The thirty-four-year-old stands, leaning against the train’s centrifugal force as it screeches around a bend.
“They think they know who God is,” Bruno spits loudly. His pleasant smile disappears. “Just like you.
“What would you say or do if I told you that I have seen the Goddess?” Bruno bellows again. “Too many here think they know the one God almighty is gone, but it is only fear of God that has. Fools! For if she is naught, then, how do you explain all of THIS?!”
As the young man’s arms wave – almost violently one hundred degrees – the lights dim, blink, and then finally go out. The rail precariously takes a lengthy, jerky left curve, and runs through a yellowing dingily, tiled tunnel. The older man sits back in his seat and holds on tight, fearful in the pitch-black silence. He trembles at 60 miles-per-hour. At the other end of the short tunnel, he sees the younger man is gone. Vanished.
Quaking on his bench seat, the 74-year-old attempts to make sense. He has been taking this train in and out of the city for over thirty years and has never felt so shaken by the ride, that left curve, the tunnel. He has not seen it all, he fully admits and he cannot get the vision of the younger fellow out of his mind. The image of Bruno is tattooed there on the celluloid walls of his memory, nicely like a portrait of Jesus, Elvis, or JFK.
Falling gently back onto his bed, not sure whether he should feel guilty over the incident, or revitalized, Bruno had to let it out. He feels weak, but in thought, he is justified, qualified enough now to know, too. He relayed something of a message to that aged man and now he thinks he knows that he can make his earthly self be seen in the living dimension while projecting into the tier above.
That familiar voice of late is right there to tell him, “Although you relayed emotional trauma through your message, that journey proves you can do what you question” — the voice softly acknowledges — “It is quite a milestone for you.
“You proved today that you can indeed keep visible in being while projecting. Very, very good Master Bruno.”
“May I know who you are? Isn’t it about time you do something for me?”
“Oh ho ho, I have been giving you very important somethings all along, and I will continue to do so. Listen: I am your patron saint, Bruno. You have overcome the most difficult of all journey-related tasks thus far.”
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