Years ago, I had a themeless website where I collected and recorded things that interested me. I don't know what became of most of the stuff, but one thing I managed to save was a series of posts I wrote that I titled: "John Prine, You Wrote My Life."
In honor of John
I have no doubt John's songs have written millions of folks' experiences. These are mine.
John Prine, You Wrote My Life
a life unstuck in time (to borrow a phrase from Kurt Vonnegut, Jr),
so this story can go on and on in dis-order, added to at any time the whim (or need) arises
Chapter 7
Onomatopoeia©
---Sweet Revenge
Forty-five minutes
Forty-five cents
Sixty-five agents sitting on a fence
Singing, hey brother
Look what we got for you
Bang! went the pistol
Crash! went the window
Ouch! went the son of a gun
Onomatopoeia
I don't wanna see ya
Speakin' in a foreign tongue
"Our friend's sending to me here. I'm at his machine. He's gone off for two days," said the words of the stranger on my MSN chatter box. "Hold on a minute. He is trying to get through to us. I have him connected to our server here. I'm sorry, I did not mean to scare you."
At first, I thought it was my friend playing a trick on me. He had told me earlier that day that he was being sent to Scotland for a couple of days, so I was surprised when the chatter box opened up from his account. I typed in a reply that I wasn't scared (but didn't say that I was suspicious), and could the person explain who he was.
The unseen chat partner continued, "I'm watching his house while he's off working. I work for him more or less. He told me to use his log in and keep him current with his friends. Some of them anyway. He seems to have some strange connections, no offense intended. He said I could give his Messenger contacts updates because he stated 'I don't want to fly overseas'. You are the teacher in Missouri?" he asked.
"No teacher," I replied curtly. I was beginning to realize this truly was not my friend, but I still didn't know who it was, and my odd experiences with my friend had taught me to be leery.
Sometimes leery of my friend. He and I seem to have some wires crossed - some odd psychic link that has kept us connected, even though we live several states apart, to such an extent that information seems to flow through the "wires" back and forth in strange and cryptic patterns of warnings and premonitions. I was just beginning to trust them, when suddenly this stranger wandered onto the page.
Our first conversation was short, due mostly to my paranoia. But, that evening I received an e-mail from my friend that said simply: "I understand you're talking with Sig. He's O.K."
The following morning, after a courteous introduction, 'Sig' said, "He seems worried about you? Are you feeling slightly hyper?"
"I don't know. I think it's just me. Where is he?"
"Hold on please. I have him on the phone now. He is on the ground in NS."
"Nova Scotia?"
"Yes."
It turned out that things were not going so well with my friend - some undefined risk or danger was involved in either the job he was being sent on, or with the flight. No one ever volunteered what he was being sent to do. I never asked. It was simply that I never felt like I had to make a choice about whether to help him or not. The strange bits of information were always coming into my head, and my concern was always for his safety.
"Okay," I said. "Here's what I have, then:
'309'
'in Nova Scotia, telling'
'don't tell her who you are'
"That was last night. Wait. Also:
'in a world of hurt'
'something's happening'
'away from Amanda'
'be back at 6:30' -only that seemed more like a date than a time -
'North Carolina'"
"Got it. I'll relay that exactly as you sent it. I am going to tell him to try to relax, as you should too. When things get wicked he seems to become atomic. We'll keep an eye out tonight."
Having lost my concerns about who my new chat 'buddy' might be, I began to be concerned for my friend. "Sorry to add to it," I said. "How's he doing?"
"If the messages I'm getting from my partner are any indication, I would say he is fine. They are late getting anywhere. They pull over all the time to help stranded motorists. They already hit the dog pounds and adopted two dogs. Missed two meetings. Apparently offended three dignitaries. I would say he is doing exceptionally well."
"What a guy. How to create your own reality - the master at work"
"Yes," he said, "but the frustration level is extreme."
"I think that's part of the deal. Not on a conscious level, though - at least that's what I'm coming to believe. The frustration and the confusion are necessary components of awakening - breaking through the 'old' ways of seeing. It takes a pretty sustained effort to crack through the illusion we learn to call reality."
"It didn't take too much of an effort here," he came back. "I was assigned to this watch in February. From then on I knew reality needed a broader definition."
"In a way I envy you," I said.
"I don't think you should," was his meaningful answer.
"Well, my initiation came solo," I went on. "I didn't have any reference for it - no one I knew could see what I was seeing. It got pretty harrowing. I think it might have been a short stroll to the cracker factory. Maybe if there'd been some context for it, it would have been easier. But maybe if it had been easier, I could have denied it more easily, which is probably just exactly what I would have done."
Ending our conversation for that evening, Sig wrote, "Maybe that defines individuality. The dogs are telling me it's time to check outside."
Over the course of the next few days (my friend was gone longer than expected), this stranger checked in with me two or three times a day, and during the lulls when we were not exchanging information regarding "our friend", we chatted. In that way, I became quite fond of this fellow, who found himself thrown into a mind-bending situation where reality lost its definition. I wondered later if he was still glad he had chosen the line of work he was in.
I continued to send e-mail messages to my friend's account with the bits and pieces of information that were coming to me, and Sig was relaying them on to him overseas. The story Sig told me was that he had messed up my friend's computer connection between his laptop and his MSN account by bungling the installation of a firewall. I only knew enough about computer connections at the time to assume that was possible. In retrospect, I think it probably was a 'test' they had devised to prove to whomever was in charge of their activities that my friend and I actually had a true psychic connection. Or more precisely, that my friend could 'send' mental messages. They certainly weren't concerned with what I could or couldn't do. I was just another instrument - another 'reading' they could take to measure their experiment.
Much of the time, of course, when Sig and I were on the chatter box, we talked about 'our friend'. "Not a whole lot phases him unless it is people dying," Sig said. "Which also phases me."
"I guess that's the one thing that doesn't bother me," I replied. "Dying is not a problem. Suffering is what I have trouble with."
"Yes. We all do. Could you tell me something important? That name you sent in your last message. How did you hear it?"
"In my head - why? That's not your name is it?"
"No. The reason I ask you is because it's listed in our files. You know of any such person by those names? Personally I mean?"
"No. Sig, I'm a little ambivalent about talking to you. Can you understand that?"
"That's okay, I hoped you would be. The name is important to us."
"Did you send it on to our friend?" I asked.
"I didn't have to," he replied. "Because he sent it to me. About two hours ago. I read it on your message to him one hour ago. When you receive specific names like that, first and last, I would appreciate your telling us. O.K.? I tend to believe he sends those names to you somehow. When that occurs, it generally indicates problems that I can help with," he said.
I didn't tell him that I had held off sending that message for about an hour, and so the time that my friend sent it to him and the time that I 'received' the information were about the same.
"Well, I send the information to him. I've only sent these few things to you because he checked in last night and said you were okay. But, Sig - I don't know that."
And then I changed the subject. "You get stuff from him? I mean psychically?"
"E-mails. I am about as psychic as a granite tombstone."
"That's funny. But you might be surprised. Most people just don't listen. They've been taught to tune it out. You just have to start listening."
"Listening for what?"
"For what you are offering yourself in the way of information. It's hard to talk about it without sounding mumbo-jumbo. It's a matter of beginning to notice things. And then you notice more. If you discount what you notice and say, 'well that's just coincidence', you set yourself back.
"I tend to notice out of place details," he explained as though it were something he got from his job training. "I notice the way people talk, walk, and sweat."
"That's good. Just expand it."
"You would think I would, hanging around our friend as much as I do. I just get more confused."
"I know!" I said. "It is confusing."
"Maybe you could translate it all for me sometime. I've pored through every textbook I could find about this. Went to every expert. The company shrink even had no luck explaining anything to me."
"That's not your fault," I answered. "It's not really something that can be explained. I think those shrinks are only half right anyway - they have the mechanical version. I guess it's the best they can do."
"I know at least that what I was taught is useless," he said. "I had to learn on my own what I needed to. It came at high cost so far. No school could teach it."
"Well, you've already told me four things about yourself that tell me you're ahead of most: 1) you prefer being yourself to being anyone else; 2) there is an inherent problem in the idea of control; 3) you have realized that there is no certainty; and 4) everything you have been taught is useless."
The next day, things heated up - got atomic, as Sig called it. The energies and information inflow were so intense that I couldn't sort anything out. For his part, Sig had evidently had a very harrowing night, and between the two of us, tensions were high. Things began to fall apart.
"I'm just having some internal conflict about what I'm receiving," I explained. My suspicions were running high again, and I didn't know what to do with the information I was getting. My first loyalty was to my friend's safety, and my ignorance notwithstanding, I tried to do the best I could not to compromise that.
"Do not reply to e-mails from anyone you do not know. They send locator mails," Sig warned.
"Sig? I don't know you."
"I am not sending any e-mails to anyone."
"Well, I don't know that, do I? I don't have any idea if you are who you say you are. This is all faith and foolishness, don't you think?"
"That doesn't even matter," he responded.
"What doesn't matter?"
"Who and why we are here."
I knew what he meant. But I took another angle. "Sure it matters - that's the only question left - who am I?
"I need to send our friend a message - will you relay it?" I asked.
Events surrounding my friend's trip had been extremely intense in the past 24 hours, and by this point, I guess Sig was running on severely strained nerves.
"Just send it however you respond. It does not matter how or to who. Just respond. That is all I can tell you. He seems to send at the right time whatever it is he needs to send. I don't like it, but whatever. All of this is too much. I just wanted to retire and go fishing the rest of my life."
"Did you forward all my messages to him yesterday?
"I forward everything. Have you experienced any physical manifestations out of the norm today?"
"Yes, big time."
"O.K. Just thought I should check. If I do not respond or am offline, we are still here. Signing off now. I'll relay everything."
Feeling less than confident about what I was doing, I ended our conversation with, "I wish I knew that - funny the things I know from the ones I don't."
From that point on, things continued to get more and more confused and confusing, and I guess neither one of us had enough experience in those days to sort through it. And so our communication became increasingly strained. The following morning, the chatter box opened with a curt, "Hello."
"Good morning," I responded.
"Anything new on your end?"
"Yes."
"Send it."
I was put off by what I felt was curt communication (even though I was communicating in the same manner!), and a straightforward demand, as though I were beholden to their chain of command by virtue of my association with my friend. And so I responded in kind.
"No."
"I'm sorry, I meant please," he came back. "We are trying to bring him home."
Too late, for I had already taken offense, and helped by my suspicions, I turned into a smart-ass. "I'm sorry - I meant, no I don't think so."
And that must have stretched his patience to the breaking point.
"O.K. then. I have a lot of work to do. Later."
As I settled down, I started to feel remorseful about my attitude and short temper. Since I could not instigate chats with him, and didn't know if Sig would come back on, I sent an e-mail:
sig. my sincere apologies. this is not the best method of communication. and i'm flying on extreme empty. that's not a good excuse, but it's the only one i've got.
just can't send any more channels till i get some information that's been bugging me for a long time. it'll take the both of you to provide it.
maybe he doesn't need my channels. that's okay, too. it matters not.
take care of yourself. you're a good man.
And then I realized what a poor and insincere apology that was and sent off a follow-up.
Sig:
This has gotten too messed up. It's bringing out all the crap I don't like in myself. That's probably the point, stuff I need to take a look at - but when it spills out onto you and other people from me, I have to take responsibility for it. If I can't handle it any better, I'm not ready to receive it.
I'm sorry, Sig. I didn't realize how that other message sounded when I wrote it. I am really getting too frustrated with this whole situation.
I really am very sorry. What happened is part of the reason I don't want to send anything more without a face-to-face. I don't know who's who. And I've sent things out to you the same way they go to our friend, even though you may not be able to process it. It's not been clear, and sometimes has carried very poor phrasing - I needed to be more careful about how I word things.
When this stuff starts coming through, like I told you, it's a big mistake to resist it. The more powerful the energetic message, the more extreme the effects if I try to block it. If it's strong enough, it will start racking - stomach heaves, legs jerk, hands tingle, and this shit screams around inside my head. Sounds epileptic, doesn't it? It's not that bad, but it's bad enough, and it drags out sometimes if there's a strong surge being blocked - it can't flow. Not good. Maybe I'm just being a class-A creep. I don't even know any more.
I don't want to cause you more trouble. I was royally pissed off. Goes really well with the body racking stuff. Up all night, trying to take salt baths, steady the body, head phones on, music blasting trying to keep the voices drowned out. Trying to block messages - doesn't work very well. Needless to say, I didn't make it to work today. Not that I care about that - but the effects haven't gone away completely yet, either.
I know that's nothing compared to what you guys go through. I'm very sorry.
When you said you were trying to bring him back, I got to feeling guilty about not passing on the name that came through. Part of me said, screw him, he's not my responsibility. The rest of the stuff that made its way past the blockage I recorded - there's no way I can just ignore it if it comes - it just keeps repeating until I do something with it.
Between blocking energy flow and not knowing who the players are, I'm messing myself up, and it's spilling over onto you. But I'm not exaggerating to say I'd rather die from making a bad choice than let anybody else make my choices for me. Anybody.
I'm sincerely sorry, Sig. (And I'm sorry I have to call you Sig, I know you have a name.) If we ever meet, I promise to try and make up for the lapse in judgment and good manners.
Much to my surprise, I received a responding e-mail. It must have cost him some concern to send one.
Michele, I'm sorry too. I did not mean to come off sounding upset. We have come up several notches over this morning and our window is small and unforgiving.
From all indications there is a high amount of stimulus right now. We have word that multiple events are going down which makes my job regarding our friend more than irritating.
Please get some rest and leave us to worry for a while. He reported back as fine and healthy.
That was the last of my relations with Sig. He tried to chat with me one more time when our friend came back, but I was too confused about who was who since they both were on the same machine - trading places and being rather silly, letting down their hair I suppose from the intensity of the past few days. But that simply added fuel to the already blazing fire of suspicion and paranoia I had been stoking. Who was Sig? Who was my friend? Who was I?
The next week was the strangest in all my life. Who is Who? The question played itself out in the most extraordinary ways, until I sat at one point in a near trance, experiencing myself as the only one in the universe with everything else simply a projection of my mind. I guess that's where the Creator sits. Alone. Projecting.
Sig no longer works with my friend. But Sig, wherever you are, I do hope our paths cross again some day, and I can make good on my promise to you. And, in the meantime, I hope you're getting to do some fishing.
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