HELL

Achill surged through my body as I looked out on the gray environment.

The ominous feeling I perceived earlier was turning into a clear sense of alienation and despair.

"Have you been here before?" I asked Wil.

"Only to the edge," he replied. "Never out here in the middle.

Do you feel how cold it is?"

I nodded as a movement caught my eye. "What is that?"

Wil shook his head. "I'm not sure."

A swirling mass of energy seemed to be moving in our direc IM tion.

"it must be another soul group," I said.

N As they came closer, I tried to focus on their thoughts, feeling r sense of alienation, even anger. I tried to shrug it an even greater off, open up more.

"Wait," I vaguely heard Wil say. "You're not strong enough."

But it was too late. I was suddenly pulled into an intense blackness and then beyond it into a large town of some kind. In terror r I

I looked around, struggling to keep my wits, and realized that the architecture indicated the nineteenth century. I was standing on a street corner full of people walking by, and in the distance was the raised dome of a capitol building. At first I thought I was actually in the nineteenth century, but several aspcts of the reality were wrong: the horizon faded out to a strange gray color, and the sky was olive green, similar to the sky above the office construction that Williams had created when he was avoiding the realization that he had died.

Then I became aware of four men watching rre from the opposite street corner. An icy-cold feeling swept my body. All were well dressed and one cocked his head and took a puff from a large cigar. Another checked a watch and returned it to his vest pocket. Their look was sophisticated but menaciN.

"Anyone who has raised their ire is a friend J mine," a low voice spoke from behind me.

I turned to see a large, barrel-shaped man, also well dressed and wearing a wide-brimmed felt hat, walking toward me. His face seemed familiar; I had seen him before. But where?

"Don't mind them," he added. "They're not so hard to outsmart."

I stared at his tall, stooped posture and shifitng eyes, then remembered who he was. He had been the commander of the federal troops I had seen in the visions of the nineteenth-century war, the one who had refused to see Maya and had ordered the battle against the Native people to begin. This to,,vn was a construction, I thought. He must have re-created his later life situation in order to avoid realizing he was dead.

"This is not real," I blurted. "You're ... uh ... deceased."

He seemed to ignore my statement. "So what have you done to piss off that bunch of jackals?"

"I haven't done anything."

"Oh yes, you've done something. I know that look they're giving you. They think they run this town, you know. In fact, they think they can run the whole world." He shook his head.

"These people never trust fate. They think they're responsible for seeing that the future turns out exactly as they plan. Everything.

Economic development, governments, the flow of money, even the relative value of world currencies. All of which is not a bad idea, really. God knows the world is full of peons and idiots, who will ruin everything if left to their own devices. The people have to be herded and controlled as much as possible, and if one can make a little money along the way, why not?

"But these nuts tried to run me. Of course, I'm too smart for them.

I've always been too smart for them. So what did you do?"

"Listen," I said. "Try to understand. None of this is real."

"Hey," he replied, "I would suggest that you take me into your confidence. If they're against you. I'm the only friend you have."

I looked away, but I could tell he was still eyeing me suspiCiously.

"They're treacherous people," he went on. "They'll never forgive you. Take my situation, for example. All they wanted was to use my military experience to quash the Indians and open up their lands. But I was onto them. I knew they couldn't be trusted, that I would have to look out for myself." He gave me a wry look.

"It's harder for them to use you and throw you away if you're a war hero, right? After the war I sold myself to the public. That way, these characters had to play ball with me. But let me tell you: never underestimate these people. They are capable of anything!"

He backed away from me a moment, as if pondering my appearance.

"In fact," he added, "they may have sent you as a spy."

At a loss as to what to do, I started to walk away.

"You bastard!" he yelled. "I was right."

I saw him reach into a pocket and pull a short knife. Petrified, I forced my body to move, running down the street and into an alleyway, his footsteps heavy behind me. On the right was a door, partially open. I ran through it and slid the bolt into the locked position. My next breath drew in the heavy odor of opium.

Around me were dozens of people, their faces staring absently up at me. Were they real, I wondered, or part of the constructed illusion? Most quickly turned back to their muted conversation and hookah pipes, so I started to walk through the dirty mattresses and sofas to another door.

"I know you," a woman slurred. She was leaning against the wall by the door, her head hanging forward as if too heavy for her neck. "I went to your school."

I looked at her in confusion for a moment, then remembered the young girl in my high school who had suffered from repeated episodes of depression and drug use. Resisting all intervention, she had finally overdosed and died.

"Sharon, is that you?"

She managed a smile, and I glanced back at the door, concerned that the knife-bearing commander might have found a way inside.

"It's okay," she said. "You can stay here with us. You'll be safe in this room. Nothing can hurt you."

I walked a step closer and as gently as possible said, "I don't want to stay. All this is an illusion."

As I said that, three or four people turned and looked at me angrily.

"Please, Sharon," I whispered. "Just come with me."

Two of the closest stood up and walked over beside Sharon.

"Get out of here," one told me. "Leave her alone."

"Don't listen to him," the other said to Sharon. "He's crazyWe need each other."

I stooped slightly so I could look directly into Sharon's eyes.

"Sharon, none of this is real. You're dead. We have to find a way out of here."

"Shut up!" another person screamed. Four or five more people walked toward me, hate in their eyes. "Leave us alone." I began to back toward the door; the crowd moved toward me. Through the bodies I could see Sharon turning back to her hookah hose. I turned and ran through the door, only to realize that I wasn't outside. I was in an office of some kind, surrounded by computers, filing cabinets, a conference table-modern, twentieth-century furniture and equipment.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be in here," someone said. I turned around to see a middle-aged man looking at me over his reading glasses. "Where's my secretary? I don't have time for this.

What do you want?"

"Someone's chasing me. I was trying to hide."

"Good God, man! Then don't come in here. I said I don't have time for this. You haven't the slightest idea what I have to do today. Look at these case files. Who do you think will process them if I don't?" I thought I saw a look of terror on his face.

I shook my head and looked for another door. "Don't you know you're dead?" I asked. "This is all imagined."

He paused, the look of terror shifting to anger, then asked, "How did you get in here? Are you a criminal?"

I found a door that led outside and ran out. The streets were now completely empty except for one carriage. It pulled up to the hotel across from me, and a beautiful woman, dressed in evening attire, got out and glanced over toward me, then smiled.

There was something warm and caring about her demeanor. I dashed across the street toward her, and she paused to watch me approach, her smile coy and inviting.

"You're alone," she said. "Why don't you join me?"

"Where are you going?" I asked tentatively.

"To a party."

"Who's going to be there?"

"I have no idea."

She opened the door to the hotel and motioned for me to come with her. I followed aimlessly, trying to think of what to do. We walked into the elevator and she pushed the button for the fourth floor. As we rode up, the sensation of warmth and caring increased with each floor. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her staring at my hands. When I looked, she smiled again and pretended to have been caught.

The elevator opened and she led me down the hall to a particular door and knocked twice. After a moment the door was unlocked and a man opened it. His face lit up at the sight of the woman.

"Come in!" he said. "Come in!"

She invited me to enter ahead of her, and as I walked in, a young woman reached over and took my arm. She was dressed in a strapless gown and was barefooted.

"Oh, you're lost," she said. "Poor thing. You'll be safe in here with us."

Past the door I could see a man without a shirt. "Look at those thighs," he commented, staring at me.

"He has perfect hands," another said.

In a state of shock I realized the room was crowded with people in various stages of nudity and lovemaking.

"No, wait," I said. "I can't stay."

The woman on my arm said, "You would go back out there? it takes forever to find a group like this. Feel the energy in here.

Not like the fear of being alone, huh?" She moved her hand across my chest.

Suddenly there was the sound of a scuffle on the other side of the room.

"No, leave me alone!" someone shouted. "I don't want to be here."

A young man no older than eighteen pushed several people away and ran out the door. I used t e istraction to run out behind him. Not waiting for the elevator, he bounded down the adjacent stairs and I followed. When I reached the street, he was already on the other side.

I was about to shout for him to stop when I saw him freeze in terror. Ahead on the sidewalk was the commander, still holding the knife, but this time facing the group of men who had watched me earlier. They were all talking at the same time, posturing angrily Abruptly one of the group pulled a gun, and the commander rushed toward him with the knife. Shots rang out, and the commander's hat and knife flew backward as the bullet pierced his forehead. He dropped to the ground with a thud, and as he did, the other men stopped in midmotion and began to fade away until they disappeared completely. Just as quickly the man on the ground also disappeared.

Across from me, the young man sat wearily down on the curb and put his head in his hands. I rushed up to him, my knees shaking.

"It's okay," I said. "They're gone."

"No, they're not," he said in frustration. "Look over there."

I turned and saw the four men who had disappeared standing across the street in front of the hotel. Unbelievably they were in the exact position they had been in when I had first seen them.

One puffed his cigar and the other checked his watch.

My heart skipped a beat as I also spotted the commander, standing across from them again, staring menacingly.

"This keeps happening over and over," the young man said.

"I can't stand this anymore. Someone's got to help me."

Before I could say anything, two forms materialized to his right, but remained obscured, out of focus.

The young man stared at the forms for a long time, then, with a look of excitement on his face, said, "Roy, is that you?"

As I watched, the two forms moved toward him until he was completely hidden by their weaving shapes. After several minutes he had completely disappeared, along with the two souls.

I stared at the empty curb where he had been sitting, feeling remnants of a higher vibration. In my mind's eye I saw my soul group again and felt their deep caring and love. Concentrating on the feeling, I was able to shake off the blanketing anxiety and to amplify my energy in increments until finally I began to open up inside. Immediately the environment shifted to lighter shades of gray and the town disappeared. As my energy increased, I was able to image Wil's face, and instantly he was beside me.

"Are you okay?" he asked, turning to embrace me. His expression showed immense relief. "Those illusions were strong, and you willed yourself right into them."

"I know. I couldn't think, couldn't remember what to do."

"You were gone a long time, all we could do was send you energy.

"Who do you mean by we?"

"All these souls." Wil's hand gestured outwardly.

When I looked fully, I could see hundreds of souls stretching as far as I could see. Some were looking directly at us, but most appeared to be focused in another direction. I looked to see where they were staring, following their gaze to several large swirls of energy far in the distance. When I concentrated my focus, I realized that one of the swirls was in fact the town from which I had just escaped.

"What are those places?" I asked Wil.

"Mental constructions," he replied, "set up by souls who in life lived very restrictive control dramas and could not wake up after death. Many thousands of them exist out there."

"Were you able to see what was happening when I was in the construction?"

"Most of it. When I focused on the souls nearby, I could pick up on their view of what was happening to you. This ring of souls is constantly beaming energy into the illusions, hoping someone will respond."

"Did you see the teenage boy? He was able to wake up. But the others didn't seem to pay attention to anything."

Wil turned to face me. "Do you remember what we saw during Williams' Life Review? At first he couldn't accept what was happening, and he began to repress his death to the extent that he created a mental construction of his office."

"Yes, I thought of that when I was down there."

"Well, that's how it works for everyone. If we die and we have been so immersed in our control drama and routine as a way to repress the mystery and insecurity of life, to such a degree that we can't even wake up after death, then we create these illusions or trances so we can continue the same way of feeling safe, even after we enter the Afterlife. If Williams' soul group had not reached him, he would have entered one of the hellish places where you were. It's all a reaction to Fear. The people there would be paralyzed with Fear if they didn't find some way to ward it off, to repress it below consciousness. What they're doing is repeating the same dramas, the same coping devices, they practiced in life, and they can't stop."

"So these illusional realities are just severe control dramas?"

"Yes, they all fall within the general styles of the control dramas, except that they are more intense and nonreflective. For example, the man with the knife, the commander, was no doubt an intimidator in the way he stole energy from others. And he rationalized this behavior by assuming that the world was out to get him, and of course, in his life on Earth these expectations drew just those kinds of people into his life, so his mental vision was fulfilled. Here he just created imaginary people to be after him so he could reproduce the same situation.

"If he were to run out of people to intimidate and his energy were to fall, anxiety would begin to seep into consciousness again. So he has to keep up the intimidator role constantly. He has to keep this particular kind of action going, the action he learned long ago, the only action he knows that will preoccupy his mind sufficiently to kill the Fear. It is the action itself-the compulsive, dramatic, high-adrenaline nature of the action-that pushes the anxiety so far into the background that he can forget about it, repress it, and feel half at ease in his existence, at least for a little while."

"What about the drug users?" I asked.

"in this case, they were taking passivity, the 'poor me,' to the extreme of projecting nothing but despair and cruelty on the entire world, rationalizing a need to escape. Obsessively pursuing drugs still serves the function of preoccupying the mind and repressing anxiety, even in the Afterlife.

"In the physical dimension drugs often produce a euphoria quite like the euphoria that comes from love. The problem with this false euphoria, however, is that the body resists the chemicals and counteracts them, which means that, as the drug is repeatedly used, it takes an increasingly larger dose to reach the same effect, which eventually destroys the body."

I thought of the commander again. "Something really strange happened down there. The man who was chasing me was killed, and then he seemed to come back to life and start the drama all over again."

"That's how it works in this self-imposed Hell. All these illusions always play out and blow up in the end. If you had been with someone who had repressed the mystery of life by eating great amounts of fat, a heart attack might have ended it. The drug users eventually destroy their own bodies, the commander dies over and over, and so on.

"And it works the same way in the physical dimension: a compulsive control drama always fails, sooner or later. Usually it happens during the trials and challenges of life; routines break down and the anxiety rushes in. It is what's called hitting bottom.

This is the time to wake up and handle the Fear in another way; but if a person can't, then he or she goes right back into the trance. And if one doesn't wake up in the physical dimension, one might have difficulty waking up in the other as well.

"These compulsive trances account for all horrible behavior in the physical dimension. This is the psychology of all truly evil acts, the motivation behind the inconceivable behavior of child molesters, sadists, and serial monsters of all kinds. They're simply repeating the only behavior they know that will numb the mind and keep away the anxiety that comes from the lostriess they feel."

"So you're saying," I interjected, "that there is no organized, conspiratorial evil in the world, no satanic plot to which we fall prey?"

"None. There is only human fear and the bizarre ways that humans try to ward it off."

"What about the many references in sacred texts and scriptures to Satan?"

"This idea is a metaphor, a symbolic way of warning people to look to the divine for security, not to their sometimes tragic ego urges and habits. Blaming an outside force for everything bad was perhaps important at a certain stage in human development.

But now it obscures the truth, because blaming our behavior on forces outside ourselves is a way of avoiding responsibility. And we tend to use the idea of Satan to project that some people are inherently evil so we can dehumanize the ones we disagree with and write them off. It is time now to understand the true nature of human evil in a more sophisticated way and then to deal with iC,

"If there is no satanic plot," I said, "then 'possession' doesn't exist."

"That's not so," Wil said emphatically. "Psychological'possession' does exist. But it is not the result of a conspiracy of evil; it is just energy dynamics. Fearful people want to control others.

That's why certain groups try to pull you in and convince you to follow them, and ask you to submit to their authority, or fight you if you try to leave."

"When I was first drawn into that illusory town, I thought I had been possessed by some demonic force."

"No, you were drawn in because you made the same mistake you made earlier: you didn't just open up and listen to those souls; you gave yourself over to them, as if they automatically had all the answers, without checking to see if they were connected and motivated by love. And unlike the souls who are divinely connected, they didn't back away from you. They just pulled you into their world, the same way some crazy group or cult might do in the physical dimension if you don't discriminate.

Wil paused as if in thought, then continued. "All this is more of the Tenth insight; that's why we're seeing it. As communication between the two dimensions increases, we'll begin to have more encounters with souls in the Afterlife. This part of the insight is that we must discern between those souls who are awake and connected with the spirit of love and those who are fearful and stuck in an obsessive trance of some kind. But we must do so without invalidating and dehumanizing those caught in such fear dramas by thinking they are demons or devils. They are souls in a growth process, just like us. In fact, in the Earth dimension those who are now caught up in dramas from which they can't escape are often the very souls who were the most optimistic in their Birth Visions."

I shook my head, not following his meaning.

"That is why," he continued, "they chose to be born into such drastic, fearful situations that necessitate such intense, crazy coping devices."

"You're talking about coming into abusive and dysfunctional families, that sort of situation?"

"Yes. Intense control dramas of all kinds, whether they are violent or just perverse and strange addictions, come from environments where life is so abusive and dysfunctional and constrictive, and the level of Fear is so great, that they spawn this same rage and anger or perversion over and over, generation after generation. The individuals who are born into these situations choose to do so on purpose, with clarity."

The idea seemed preposterous to me. wy would anyone want to be born into a place like that?"

"Because they were sure they had enough ;trength to break out, to end the cycle, to heal the family system in which they would be born. They were confident that they could awaken and work through the resentment and anger at finding themselves in these deprived circumstances, and see it all as apreparation for a mission-usually one of helping others out of dmilar situations.

Even if they are violent, we have to see them as iaving the potential to break free of the drama."

"Then the liberal perspective on crime anclAolence, the idea that everyone can change and be rehabilitates' is the desirable one. The conservative approach is without mert?"

Wil smiled. "Not exactly. The liberals are right to see that people who have grown up in abusive and oppressive situations are a product of their environments, and the Conservatives are out of touch to the extent they believe stoppinE a life of crime or public dole is just a matter of making a consciOLIS choice.

"But the liberal approach is superficial as "ell, to the degree they believe people can change if offered different circumstances, better financial support, or education, for instarce. Usually interverition programs focus only on helping othes to better their decision making and economic choices. In the case of violent offenders, rehabilitation attempts have always offered, at best, superficial counseling and, in the worst cases excuses and leniency, which is precisely the wrong thing the do. Every time someone with a disturbed control drama is slarped on the hand, turned loose with no consequences, it enable! the behavior to continue and reinforces the idea that this behavor is not serious, which just sets up the circumstances that guanntee it will occur again."

"Then what can be done?" I asked.

Wil seemed to be vibrating with excitement. "We can learn to intervene spiritually! And that means helping to bring the whole process into consciousness, as these souls here are doing for those caught in the illusions."

Wil was staring at the souls in the ring, then looked at me and shook his head. "I can get all the information I've just relayed to you from these souls, but I still can't see the World Vision clearly. We haven't learned how to build enough energy yet."

I focused on the souls in the ring but could get no information other than what Wil had conveyed. Clearly the soul groups held a greater knowledge and were projecting this knowledge toward the fear constructions, but like Wil, I still couldn't quite understand anything more.

"At least we have another piece of the Tenth Insight," Wil said. "We know that no matter how undesirable the behavior of others is, we have to grasp that they are just souls attempting to wake up, like us."

I was suddenly jolted backward by a blast of dissonant noise, images of whirling colors seizing my mind. Wil lunged forward and caught me at the last moment, pulling me into his energy and again holding me back firmly. For a moment I seemed to shake violently and then the discord passed.

"They've started the experiment again," Wil said.

I shook off the dizziness and looked at him. "That means Curtis will probably try to use force to stop them. He's convinced that's the only way."

As soon as I spoke those words, I saw a clear picture of Feyman in my mind, the man David Lone Eagle thought had something to do with the experiment. He was somewhere overlooking the valley. Glancing at Wil, I realized that he had seen the same image. He nodded in agreement and we instantly began to move.

When we stopped, Wil and I were facing each other. Around us was more gray. Another loud, disharmonious sound shattered the silence, and Wil's face began to lose focus. He continued to hold onto me, and after several moments the sound ended.

"These sound bursts are coming more frequently now," Wil said. "We may not have much time left."

I nodded, fighting the dizziness.

"Let's look around," Wil said.

As soon as we focused on our surroundings, we saw what appeared to be a mass of energy several hundred yards away.

Immediately it closed to within forty or fifty feet.

"Be careful," Wil cautioned. "Don't identify completely with them. just listen and find out who they are."

I focused warily, and immediately saw souls in motion and an image of the town from which I had escaped.

I recoiled in fear, which actually made them come closer to us.

"Stay centered in love," Wil instructed. "They can't pull us in unless we act as though we want them to save us. Try to send them love and energy. It'll either help them or make them run away

Realizing the souls were more afraid than I was, I found my center and beamed them love energy. Immediately they moved rapidly away from us to their original position.

"Why can't they accept the love and wake up?" I asked Wil.

"Because when they feel the energy and it raises their consciousness a degree, their preoccupation lifts somewhat and doesn't fend off the anxiety of their aloneness. Coming into awareness and breaking free of a control drama always feels anxious at first, because the compulsion has to lift before the inward solution to the lostness can be found. That's why a 'dark night of the soul' sometimes precedes increased awareness and spiritual euphoria."

A movement to the right caught our attention. When I focused, I realized that other souls were in the area; they came closer and the others moved away. I strained to pick up on what the group was doing.

"Why do you think this group is here?" I asked Wil.

He shrugged. "They have something to do with this guy Feyman."

In the space around the group I began to see a moving image, a scene of some kind. When I brought it clearly into focus, I realized it was the image of an expansive industrial plant somewhere on Earth, with large metal buildings and rows of what looked like transformers and pipes and miles of interlinking wire.

At the center of the complex, atop one of the largest buildings, was a command center of pure glass. Inside I could see rows of computers and gauges of all descriptions. I glanced at Wil.

"I see it," he said.

As we continued to survey the complex, our perspective expanded so that we could now view the plant from above. From here we could see miles of wire leaving the plant in all directions, feeding huge towers containing some sort of laser beams shooting energy out to other local stations.

"Do you know what all this is?" I asked Wil.

He nodded. "It's a centralized energy-generating plant."

Movement at one end of the complex attracted our attention.

Emergency vans and fire trucks were arriving at one of the larger buildings. An ominous glow radiated from the third-floor windows. At one point the glow brightened and then the ground a an explosion of under the entire building seemed to crack . I then slowly coldust and debris the building shuddered and lapsed. To the right another building burst inO flames.

The scene moved to the command center, Nvhere inside, technicians moved frantically. From the right a d3or opened and a man entered with an arm full of charts and Ilueprints. He laid them out on a table and worked with what apf eared to be determined confidence. Walking with a limp to on( side of the room, he began to adjust switches and dials. Graually the ground mder control. He stopped shaking and the fires were brought continued to work hastily and to instruct the (,ther technicians.

I looked at the individual now in charge more closely and then turned to Wil. "That's Feyman!"

Before Wil could respond, the scene shiftec into fast-forward.

Before our eyes the plant was saved, then, quicdy, workers began to dismantle it, building by building. At the s-,me time, on a site nearby, a new, smaller facility was being constructed that would most of the cornmanufacture more compact generators. Finall) plex had been returned to its natural, wooded state, and the new facility was turning out small units that we cojd see behind each house and business throughout the countryside

Abruptly our perspective backed away quick. we could see a single individual in the foreground watching he same scene we were. When we could see his profile, I realized that it was Feyman, before his current birth, contemplatirg what he could achieve in life.

Wil and I looked at each other. "This is pirt of his Birth Vision, isn't it?" I asked.

Wil nodded. "This must be his soul group. Let's see how much more we can find out about him."

We both focused on the group, and another image formed in front of us. It was the nineteenth-century war camp; the headquarters tent again. We could see Feyman together with the commander, the man I had seen again in the illusional town. Feyman was the other aide who had been there with Williams. He was the one who limped.

As we watched their interaction, we began to pick up on the story of their association. A bright tactician, Feyman was in charge of strategy and technological developments. In advance of the attack the commander had ordered smallpox-laden blankets covertly traded to the Native Americans, a tactic Feyman adamantly opposed, not so much because of its effect on the indigenous people as because he felt that it was politically indefensible.

Afterward, even as the success of the battle was being hailed in Washington, the press found out about the use of smallpox, and an investigation was launched. The commander and his cronies in Washington set Feyman up as the scapegoat and his career was ruined. Later the commander set forth on a glorious political career and national stature, before he was also treacherously double-crossed by the same Washington insiders.

Feyman, for his part, never recovered; his own political ambitions had been totally destroyed. Over the years he became increasingly more embittered and resentful, trying desperately to marshal public opinion to challenge his commander's account of the battle. For a while several journalists pursued the story, but soon public interest faded completely and Feyman remained in a state of disgrace. Later, toward the end of his life, he languished in the realization that his political goals would never be reached, and, blaming his old commander for his humiliation, he at tempted to, assassinate the ex-politician at a state dinner and was shot dead by bodyguards.

Because Feyman had cut himself off from his inner security and love, the could not fully awaken after death. For years he believed he had escaped his ill-fated attempt to kill his old commander, and had lived in illusional constructions, holding on to his hate anA doomed to the repeated horror of planning and attempting another assassination, only to be shot, over and over.

As I watched, I realized that Feyman could have been trapped in the illusiions for a much longer period of time had it not been for the determined efforts of another man who had been at the military encampment with Feyman. I could see an image of his face, and I recognized his expression,

"That'sjoel again, the journalist I met," I said to Wil without losing my Focus on the image.

Wil nocdded in response.

After death, Joel had become a member of the outer soul ring and became totally dedicated to waking up Feyman. His intention during the lifetime with Feyman had been to expose any cruelty or treachery on the part of the military toward the Native Americans, but even though he had known about the smallpox contamination, he had been persuaded to keep quiet by a combination of biribes and threats. After death he had been devastated by his Life Review, but had remained conscious, and had vowed to help Feyman, who he felt had been ruined because of his failure to intervene.

After a long period of time, Feyrnan finally responded and underwent a long and painful Life Review himself. He had originally intended in the nineteenth-century life to become a civil engineer, irivolved in the peaceful development of technology.

But he had been beguiled by the prospect of becoming a war hero, like the commander, and of developing new war strategies and devices. in the years between lives, he had been involved in helping others on Earth with the proper use of technology, when he slowly began to receive a vision of another life approaching.

Slowly at first and then with great conviction, he realized that soon mass-energy devices would be discovered that had the potential of liberating humankind. but these devices would be extremely dangerous.

As he felt himself being born, he knew that he would come to work with this technology, and he was well aware that in order to succeed, he would have to again face his tendency to crave power and recognition and status. Yet he saw that he would have help; there would be six other people. He visualized the valley, working together somewhere in the dark, the falls in the background, utilizing a process to bring in the World Vision.

As he began to fade from view, I could make out aspects of the process he was seeing. First the group of seven would begin to remember past experiences with each other and to work through the residual feelings. Then the group would consciously amplify its energy, using the Eighth Insight techniques, and each would express his or her particular Birth Vision, and finally the vibration would accelerate, unifying the soul groups of the seven individuals. Out of the knowledge gained would come the full memory of our intended future, the World Vision, the view of where we're going and what we have to do to reach our destiny.

Suddenly the whole scene disappeared, along with Feyman's group. Wil and I were left there alone.

Wills eyes were animated. "Do you see what was happening?" he asked. "This means that Feyman's original intention was actually to perfect and decentralize the technology he's working on.

If he realizes this fact, he will stop the experiment."

"We've got to find him," I said.

"No," Wil replied, pausing to think. "That won't help, not yet. We've got to find the rest of this group of seven; it must take the pooled energy of a group to bring in the memory of the World Vision, a group that can work through the process of remembering and energize themselves."

"I don't understand this part about clearing residual feelings."

Wil moved closer. "Remember the other mental images you've been havin ? The memories of other places, other times?"

"Yes."

"The group that is forming to deal with this experiment has been together before. There will be residual feelings that must be worked through! Everyone will have to deal with them."

Wil looked away for a moment, then said, "This is more of the Tenth insight. Not just one group is coming in; there are many others. We'll all have to learn to clear these resentments."

As he spoke, I thought about the many group situations I'd experienced, where some members of the group liked each other immediately, while others seemed to fall into instant discord, for no apparent reason. I wondered: was human culture now ready to perceive the distant source of these unconscious reactions?

Then, without warning, another shrill sound reverberated through my body. Wil grabbed me and pulled me closer, our faces almost touching.

"If you fall again, I don't know if you can get back while the experiment is operating at this level," he shouted. "You'll have to find the others!"

A second blast ripped us apart, and I felt myself release into the familiar swirling colors, knowing that I was heading back, as before, into the Earth dimension. Yet this time, instead of turn bling quickly into the physical, I seemed to linger momentarily; something was pulling at my solar plexus, moving me laterally.

As I strained to focus, the surging environment calmed, and I began to sense the presence of another person, without actually seeing the individual's form. I could almost remember the character A the feeling.

Who makes me feel this way?

At last I began to discern a blurry figure thirty or forty feet away, which moved closer, gradually, until I recognized who it was. Charlene!

As she closed to within ten feet, I sensed a shift in my body, as though

I was suddenly relaxing more completely.

Simultaneously I noticed a pinkisb-red energy field that encircled

Charlene. Seconds later, to my amazement, I noticed an identical field around myself. When we were about five feet from each other, the relaxation in my body grew into an increased sensualness and finally into a wave of orgasmic love. I suddenly couldn't think. What was happening? just as our fields were about to touch, the shrill dissonance reLUmed and I was jolted backward again, twisting out of control.