The Messenger receives the Message

There was much that she wanted to think about. There was much she needed to feel, and she wanted so much to be allowed that. Her husband was asleep next to her on the plane—eight more hours before they arrived in Australia. This wasn't a second honeymoon; not a vacation, it was work, and for the first time since this whole business of being a "messenger" got underway, she had ambivalent feelings about her work, her life, and her husband. She looked at her husband; he looked so peaceful, contented as he gently breathed in and out. How can he look so peaceful after all the trouble he caused? She felt a wave of rage swell up and she wanted to smack that relaxed, happy, sleeping face. She wanted to strangle him, too. She felt that it would be impossible for her to ever trust him again. She wanted to indulge her rage, allow it free expression, but everyone was counting on her to be the sane one and get everyone through his betrayal. People were counting on her, and they wouldn't understand and would be hurt and disappointed to see anything in her except tolerance and graceful forgiveness and acceptance. Since she wasn't allowed her rage and its natural expression, she felt stuck and kept herself distracted with her meaningful work. She had her own secret of betrayal, one that no one would ever know about—it was her indulgence; a way for her suppressed feelings to have a play of her own. She imagined it was alright to hate God—just a little. He or She wouldn't mind. Surely God understood the pressure she was under; it was just a little bit of well-placed hate of God to the alternative of strangulating her husband. Anyway, God is not really a person, God is not personal, so why would He mind? I have been his messenger for years; surely he understands. I'll make this up to him later.

She thought about her life of being a messenger for the God of Consciousness. She had been very happy doing His Work. It had given her meaning and acceptance that she had never felt before in her previous work in healthcare. There were also challenges; some of them were difficult—there were jealousies among workers in the foundation and there was her husband's jealousy of her success. Her meetings were well-attended, and the work of inspiring and confronting people to see, "who is the one that is asking?" was rewarding. She could see people come alive in the consideration of God-recognition that was a thrill. People wrote her profound letters of appreciation. Many tapes and books were written from the well-attended meetings. The work flowed to more work and more receptivity. Her husband's jealousy was always manageable. He was like a big teddy bear around her. He clung to her strength, and she shared with him in her/their success. As the years went by they gave couple seminars together as a team "of realized messengers," and they were always lively and well-attended. She loved her work and enjoyed the fame it gave her, and the lifestyle wasn't bad either. She knew she could never give it up. It was a wonderful life, and so she accepted the bumps in the road with calmness and always soothed everyone with her spiritual clarity. No one knew her little secret of how she kept it all together, how she kept everyone happy. That message was not recorded, taped, or televised; no one attended those meetings. It was private; it was between her and the God of herself, and I have heard in my heart that the God of Herself never really attended any of those meetings. It was just her with her, against her.

Jackson was glad to be out of the States and the righteous glare of the Foundation. He was tired of the finger waving and the humiliation. He tried to be the gentleman and accept his just punishment for his indiscretion. He stepped down from teaching before he was to be fired. He felt that the Foundation was making a way too big deal of his failed romance. What business was it of theirs? His wife Gabriel had forgiven him and had told him that it was his own betrayal of himself that he had to address. He agreed with her even though he did not know what she meant by "his betrayal of himself." He was just happy that she didn't fly into a rage when he told her that he was having an affair with a younger woman, a student of his. It had been going on for over two years, and the woman wanted more of a commitment from him. He had grown fond of her and thought of her as the fuckable daughter that he never had. It was flattering to him that a beautiful young woman admired him. It took a while before he was able to channel her admiration into sexual attraction and desire. The first time they made love was phenomenal; her enthusiasm knew no limits. It made him feel like he was twenty again. He wanted more . . . and more . . . and of course, more. He enjoyed being in love; it was a high and a kick he didn't want to live without.

His wife Gabriel was taking her clothes off to get ready for bed. He pretended he was busy with the remote control for the TV in the hotel room. He watched her as she folded her sweater. She looked weary and tense. She was still a very attractive woman, even in her sixties. She paid attention to her looks and figure and was well-coiffed. The rumor was going around that she had some work done on her face, which he knew to be true. She was subtle and private about her looks; she enjoyed the effect her beauty had on people. She didn't want people to know to what extent her looks mattered to her. After all, she was in the business of selling self-transcendence. When asked if something was different, if she was doing anything different, she changed the subject and assumed her teaching authority with whoever was questioning her. She led the topic of discussion back to them. People always enjoyed talking about themselves and in particular about their recent miseries that they knew they didn't really deserve. She listened, just enough to remind them of the teaching of transcendence.

Jackson knew he had a great life with Gabriel. He knew that, temporarily, he had lost his right to push his needs, desires, and ideas first. He would let her be the driver for a while, until things blew over and settled down.

He watched his wife take off her panties quickly and pull on her pajamas. He wanted to have sex with her for some warmth, some release, some consolation. He watched her jump into bed and pull the covers up just past her chin. "Good night, I'm beat," she called out to him. He replied, "Good night." He went to the bed to give her a good-night kiss, but just before he bent down to her face on the pillow, she rolled over. Nix that idea, he thought. He drew the covers back from the other queen-size bed in the room and got in. He wanted to masturbate for the release and felt himself get hard when he fantasized about his ex-mistress. He fell asleep while still aroused.

Husband and wife; co-realizers, co-teachers, roommates, and even bedmates (most of the time), together they slept, and in unison, one could hear their snores. Hers like a whisper; his like a purr; their bodies relaxed, a gentle scene the appearance of sleep—like waves breaking on a beach. While their bodies remained on the beach of their beds, their minds carried them to other places. Each went to a place of their own interest and need, and neither one felt an impulse to be with the other. Sleep and dreams are the isle of privacy, and one could only enter another's dream by chance or strong need or intention. Both lacked the chance card tonight, and their need was to find their own island of love and to have a vacation from the disappointment that each one felt with the other.

Jackson met a woman friend; a friend he had known before he married Gabriel. He always wondered what had happened to April. April had long, flaming red hair and was a bit of a flirt, back when he knew her in his twenties. Here she was in this place of dreams, and she looked older but not much. She was still flirty, and he enjoyed flirting back. When he tried to kiss her she laughed at him and said, "I'm married, you silly ass." He kissed her anyway and she kissed him back. He knew he was going to get laid in this dream; a good dream for him.