Michael: A Short Story was written in two parts. Parts 1 and 2 were completed between June of 2010 and March of 2011.
Parts 3, 4 and 5 were updated or written in July 2011.
Michael: A Short Story – Part 3
As is customary in life reviews, his attention was drawn from the most joyous events, the most fulfilling and purposeful happenings in the life just ended towards the more painful episodes, the less productive efforts, or less integrated relationships. With each moment, his soul became more aware as the fog that envelopes the human, physical world was burned away by the sun of his becoming, once again, what he had always been – a being of pure light and love.
The moving pictures continued after a short intermission to assimilate all the memories and events depicted against the screen of his spiritual sight. His heart swelled with joy as he beheld again the faces of his earthly children as they were born. Their beauty had astounded him; their perfection had humbled him; their helplessness had called from him such piercing tenderness and aching protectiveness. He had been so over-the-top in love with them that he could not wait to rush them from the hospital with helicopters circling above his speeding car into the special place he had built in anticipation of their arrival. From the first breaths they had drawn when he had cut the cord that had tied them to the life of their mother with stork-shaped scissors to the moment of his leaving, they had held him in thrall. He had changed their diapers, bathed them, fed them their bottles, awoken with them in the night with their fevers and eased their hurts with his hugs and kisses. Yes, he’d hired a nanny to be with them when he couldn’t be, but he’d always let them know with his presence that they were the most important thing in his life and that he cherished them without reservation.
They’d never had to earn his attention or his love. Unlike his father before him, he had never turned a cold eye toward their need for approval and approbation, had never remained unaffected by their desire for affection. He’d tried to teach them to be polite and well-mannered without raising his hand or his voice in anger. He’d spoken to them with respect for the little people they were, taught them by reading to them from his vast private library, played chess with them, and gave them what he had lacked from his own father – love. He knew that they had never doubted his care for them. They had brought such undiluted joy into his life and he knew a moment of gratitude for the little souls who had been entrusted into his keeping. He knew they were strong and he’d left them with his mother. Her boundless love had seen him through to maturity and he was sure that she would do the same for his sons and his daughter. But they were an unfinished song within his heart and he ached for them and for the years of his parenting cut short.
He saw again his “giving tree” rising from its roots in the lawn and flower-encrusted compound of Neverland. Within its branches he had played. In the shelter of its shade he had enjoyed rare quiet moments in communion with nature, the universe, His Father. His meditations had often been broken, interrupted by music heard within his heart, fully-orchestrated melodies and six or eight-part harmonies fully-constructed which he had considered gifts to him from above. He’d struggled to capture the music onto a small handheld tape recorder that he carried with him, forming the bass deep within his chest cavity, the percussion with his lips and tongue, the melody with his versatile voice. The tight, integrated harmonies were sung note by note into the tape seamlessly weaving a symphony of sound to be sung later by his own voice forming the foundation for his own voice to overdub with melody. Sometimes the lyrics had come at the same time in one complete, gift-wrapped package. At others, the lyrics were formed later by the emotions the rhythm, melodies and harmonies had called from him in the moment. In this way, he had transcribed and translated what he heard within, giving it form and substance, lending it life and breath until it exploded into polished releases with soaring vocals that carried his inspirations to the furthest reaches of the planet upon which he had lived his life. He knew a moment of sadness for the hundreds of songs that lay uncompleted in his vault, his children who would now never be born.
He had often tried to describe his creative process in response to questions asked by a parade of interviewers throughout the span of his physical life. They hadn’t believed him or, more likely, had chosen not to – opting instead to attribute his words to a selfish desire to hide how he’d created the hundreds of songs and melodies he’d so translated out of some kind of territorial possessiveness. But he’d told them the truth as he’d understood it from the perspective of his flawed human understanding of the unique process. He’d taken great joy in being the tunnel for this process, the birth canal for the unborn songs that awaited his interpretation, his transcription to give them life. In those moments, he’d often felt a oneness with all of life and with God and he was grateful for the gift of music. He’d seen her as a lover, a friend, a wife and as a hard taskmaster but he’d always met her willingly – had never tried to impose his will upon her – had known that she would never ask of him more than he was able to give. There had been times when he had lost himself entirely, when his ego had been sublimated and he’d totally disappeared in the song. He’d woken after it was on the tape and hours, or even days, had literally vanished that he’d been unaware of so enrapt had he been in giving birth to the music that flowed around him as a gentle breeze.
He relived his many visits to hospitals and orphanages and knew again the joy of watching little faces surrounded by intravenous tubing and monitors beeping blood pressure and heart rate measurements light up when they knew who their visitor was. He’d never seen their maladies or recognized their missing limbs or bandaged heads. To him, each of them had been beautiful, unique. Where others saw only the ugliness of disease and decay, he’d recognized the beauty of a soul in formation, the challenge of illness buffing and polishing the rough stone into smoothness, brilliance and wholeness. He remembered many occasions when Frank had been unable to stop the tears from flowing and he’d had to remind him that this, too, was part of his mission, perhaps the most important part. He’d brought them toys and games and laughter for a few moments, a time to forget the judgments the world imposed upon their tender psyches, a moment to remember they were perfect and worthy just as they were.
He had been so grateful when some of those he visited or who visited him at his sprawling ranch had recovered their health, when healing had found space to grow inside the little bodies when encouraged by joy and his ever-positive attitude. He had prayed with them, called the Power of His Father into them with faith that his prayers were always heard and thankfulness that some kind of healing would occur. Some of them he had called back from the brink of death not through his own power, but through the power of His Father, LOVE, flowing through him to restore them to vitality.
From every platform or stage or award show presentation, in every forum from which he had spoken, written or sung the clarion call of love and compassion for the most vulnerable of the human family had rung out. He was humbled by the acclaim he had received from the public, the awards he had collected, the applause he had bowed to as he reviewed his newly-ended life. He had enjoyed the attention and acclaim he had received, perhaps too much so at times, but he’d always tried to remind them that it was the children who were important for they were the future he’d often envisioned. It would be they who would build a better and happier tomorrow.
Like the songs he had left uncompleted and the children he had left without being present for their development, he had left his task unfinished … his mission uncompleted. The world he loved was better, but disease and fear-based decay still rotted it at its very core and he knew a moment of fear for those he was leaving behind. A soft voice sounded within his heart, “Be not afraid for them, Beloved. You are my beloved son and in you I am well-pleased. Your mission is a success. We must leave something for this fledgling race to accomplish on its own. It needs to gain in confidence and faith in its own ability to effect lasting change. That change must begin in the hearts and minds that you touched. In your life, the kernel of the truth of mankind’s divinity was hidden. That seed is pregnant with the potential for new knowledge, new faith, new remembering of humanity’s true nature, but we cannot force this knowledge. They must be allowed to choose it for themselves … and for their world. We must never violate their freedom to choose. It is a flowering that must occur in its own time and in each individual heart. With your voice and your music and your great love, you have planted that truth firmly in the hearts and minds of so many of your earthbound children. Now, we must let it grow and mature. As it cannot reach into the earth and pull the orange tree into radiant flower, mankind must learn to allow the seed to sprout and send out roots, to grow tall and absorb nutrients from the air and soil, to leaf and bloom into fragrant fruit … before it can savor the juice.”
As his heart filled with the partial joys his just-ended life had offered, he was grateful for the opportunities for growth and attainment he had been presented, for the laughter and tears he had been allowed to know and for the fullness of his heart as he bade these moments of mitigated gladness a fond farewell, for he was moving on in his life review.
~~
With each passing moment, Michael’s spiritual self awareness was becoming stronger and stronger as his physical, six-sense, human awareness faded into memory. He knew a moment of dismay at the limitations and blinders the human race was subject to as his consciousness expanded. In his spirit, he was becoming more fully alert to all the levels and dimensions of life … from the smallest grain of sand to the largest galaxy in His Fathers playground. Six senses were just not enough to encompass the vastness of creation he was becoming aware of.
He could feel his being humming as his vibration was raised incrementally from the dense, material plane he had occupied during his now-ended life to a higher, more refined frequency, one more attuned to the state in which pure spirit resides. He wished he had his tape recorder to capture the symphony he was hearing … and laughed at the thought. Old, ingrained habits were hard to break.
He had little attention to spare to examine the process, however. His life review had entered the stage of events that had caused him physical, emotional, psychological, or spiritual pain. The purpose of reviewing these events was to gain insight and understanding as to how they had influenced and shaped the life he had lived, how they had challenged him to be stronger or more determined to overcome the obstacles placed in his path, how he had risen above them to express more love and compassion for the human beings who had shared his life with him on the small, blue world he was preparing to leave behind.
Before entering into an examination of the more distressing elements of his human life, he paused to breathe deeply and collect his thoughts. Once again, his attention was drawn and he was overwhelmed by a sense of deep, paralyzing grief – millions of tears – which suffused his psyche. Rising from every geographical location – every corner of the globe – a mist of shock, trauma and irrevocable, irretrievable loss ascended like a vapor to enshroud the planet. Reaching out with his consciousness, he gently touched one of the hearts engulfed in this miasma only to discover that the grief was for him. He reached out to another – and another – and another. All of them were mourning his loss. It seemed that the whole world had paused in shock.
Stretching his awareness further, he saw people gathering in the streets at the hospital and at Neverland and at the Encino compound in his mind’s eye. In London thousands of people had converged on Trafalgar Square and at the O2 Arena where he had been scheduled to begin his residence in just days; in New York it was the Apollo Theater where crowds had come together to dance and sing and celebrate him; in Los Angeles, his star on the Walk of Fame; in Gary there were hordes camped outside the four-room house he had lived in as a boy. In every location people brought flowers and candles and cards and pictures. They were weeping in the streets in Tokyo and Osaka and Yokohama and Moscow and Soweto and South Africa and Australia. In private homes the world over there was an enormous cry of despair rising. He was stunned by this outpouring of raw, aching emotion.
It reminded him of the day he had heard that Lady Diana had died in an auto crash in a Paris underpass. The grief he had felt at the loss of his friend was numbing, debilitating. They had gathered in their thousands for her cortege and funeral in Great Britain. Previously, only the passing of a Pope or king or President had evoked such a deluge of weeping in the streets … and seldom then. The world had never experienced such universal mourning, crossing all geographical, generational, denominational and ideological boundaries. It was as if the entire planet wept.
Michael had always been an empath. In his human embodiment, that empathy had been diminished only slightly in intensity. In his spiritual state, both before and after his most recent incarnation on Earth, he had no defense against the pain, fear, sadness or grief he sensed in the humans who had inhabited his world with him. In like manner, their joy, love, elation lifted his spirit beyond anything he had ever known. When they had come together for his concerts, his spirit had literally fed off of their excitement and anticipation as he had hurled their love back to them in his passion and drive from the countless stages he had traversed in his travels. His human family’s pain and fear had caused a nearly physical rending of his own heart. It had been his nature to heal, in whatever way he could. He hadn’t understood this compulsion as clearly during the life that had just ended, but he had felt its effects and had reacted in the only way he knew to the suffering he sensed in his human family.
“Father,” he thought, “we must do something to help them.” In response, he heard his Father’s voice. “We will, my son. Have no fear for them. We will give them solace.”
Leaving just the merest whisper of comfort behind in the hearts he had touched so tenderly and briefly, he returned his attention to his life review.
~~~
Michael: A Short Story – Part 4
Perhaps, the first and most persistent of the distressing elements of his recently-vacated human existence had been his dilemma with identity. From his earliest memories, he had been dancing, singing, entertaining … creating magic had been his passion. He’d often explained to children who asked him what it was like to be a superstar that he didn’t really know how to answer their question because he didn’t remember not being a superstar. It was the simple truth. If one has never experienced anything else, superstardom becomes the norm; in the absence of cold, how can one define hot? You need both sides of the coin to make a purchase.
As a child, the hyperkinetic boy joyfully singing and dancing his way across everyone’s dreams had stolen the world’s heart. They couldn’t have known of the constant fear and loneliness that invaded his bubbly, effervescent personality when the stage performance was finished and he and his brothers faced their strict, unbending father’s critique. It was no wonder the stage became his home – the place he felt most comfortable. There he could be who he was born into the world to be and in the being he could be connected with his calling. With him, it was no less than a vocation that hounded his dreams and visions until he was, once again, in the spotlights.
He’d always recognized that the stage persona that most of the world recognized and loved was not the Michael Jackson who awoke everyday in his bedroom surrounded by manikins … or walked the streets of his neighborhood looking for a friend who would love him without the sequins and shades. That persona was a role he played, a cloak he wore, a play within the play of his human life. He’d always recognized that it was a spirit that possessed him, moved and sang through him. His real identity was completely different, almost diametrically opposite that character. Quiet, retiring, shy, awkward, uncertain, easily embarrassed, kind, gentle, meek, and soft-spoken; he was nothing like the twirling, moonwalking, crotch-grabbing dynamo that strutted across the world’s stage like a peacock in heat. There had been times when he’d wished with all his heart that he could be that superstar persona, when he’d have given anything to have had that confident, almost defiant attitude.
He’d tried at times to put on that person that was so beloved to avoid disappointing people, but it hadn’t worked well. He’d discovered early on that the alter-ego only worked on stage. It was like something else took over as he stood in the wings and heard the crowd calling his name. Often, he’d felt it rising up his spine, filling his body with some kind of energetic power. From his tailbone to his abdominal cavity, from below his ribcage to his heart, from his throat to his forehead, this power had risen to completely take him over. He’d often wondered what it was that called that person out in him – the band warming up or the lights baking the stage or the chants of “Michael!” or the adrenalin pumping through his veins. He’d compared it to a steam locomotive being stoked, coal being shoveled into the inferno of the furnace until the engineer released the brake and he exploded into motion. He’d never really figured it out; at some point along the way, he had just accepted it as the inevitable prequel to performing and he’d been so grateful for it. Without that energetic stockpiling, he knew he would have been unable to sustain the stamina required for the length and intensity of performance that he and his fans had come to expect.
He’d asked Deepak about it and he had gone into a long, drawn-out explanation straight out of Hindu mysticism, something about a snake coiled at the base of his spine waking and rising up his spinal cord to erupt from the crown of his head. He’d accepted Deepak’s explanation with little skepticism and could sometimes visualize the snake awakening as he stood waiting for his cue to mount the stage. Looking at it from his current perspective, he recognized the power of His Father using his frail human body to reach out and touch His human children with His love. But the blinders that human life imposed had made that recognition impossible for him at the time.
Off stage he had been painfully uncomfortable with what he called “ordinary people.” He never knew if they wanted to be with him for the stage persona or for him; if they loved him just as he was or if they loved the charisma and mastery, the artistry and fantasy that he’d embodied. His uncertainty had caused him untold anguish during his human life. It was only with children that he’d been able to let down his guard and be himself and he had cherished them for that very reason. With them, he hadn’t been required to be one or the other of his multiple personalities. With them, he could be all or any combination of them. They didn’t question or gossip. They just enjoyed.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know who he was; he’d been fully aware that he was both the epically lonely man longing for fun and companionship and normalcy who was possessed by the megawatt superstar in the sparkly gloves, socks and jackets as he rose from beneath the countless stages of his life to explode into song and motion. He’d long ago come to terms with the knowledge that he was both – that both were fully alive, active and always present within him – that neither was calculated, contrived or manipulated – and in that acceptance he’d come to appreciate both sides of the dichotomy that had been Michael Jackson.
Rather, it was that the humans with whom he’d shared the world he’d lived in couldn’t believe that both could inhabit and inform the same person – that two opposites could be equally true and ever-present, occupying the same space and time. They had been confused by and couldn’t understand the dichotomy that he represented. Unfortunately what they couldn’t understand, they often feared and attacked.
In this past human life he had been both yin and yang – male and female – black and white – innocent and experienced – sensual and virginal – quiet and explosive – passive and aggressive – public and extremely private. And he had been equally comfortable or uncomfortable with each. That was what had made him Michael Jackson.
He didn’t think the world which had witnessed more of his stage presence than his quiet, private moments could really give credence to the shy man who got embarrassed when asked to sing accapella or demonstrate dance steps during interviews, though he’d tried to explain himself often with varying degrees of success. They couldn’t appreciate how one man could navigate both personas with equal ease and dexterity, couldn’t comprehend that both could live and be truly him because they were so opposite. So they discounted the quiet, retiring, gentlemanly, meek person he really was off-stage as an insincere attempt to dupe the world and called him a liar and a variety of other ugly names.
When he’d explained that he was the loneliest man in the world at the very time his records were topping the charts, his short films were being played in every home and his concerts were breaking attendance records around the world, they had scoffed. “How could you be lonely,” they wanted to know. “You are the most popular and most photographed human being on earth, receiving awards and performing for crowds of hundreds of thousands of people. Women – mature, responsible, respectable women – as well as young groupies – camp outside your hotels chanting for your presence, faint at the sight of your smile. How could you possibly be lonely?”
They hadn’t understood his yearning for normalcy, for anonymity, for human companionship or his insecurity about which version of him they chanted for and loved. They hadn’t understood how he could long to walk in the park or shop in a supermarket without being mobbed and photographed, without security details being deployed. They didn’t empathize with never being able to be spontaneous, with never just opening a door on the spur of the moment and taking a walk or seeing a movie. They saw the trappings of fame as desirable and enviable rather than as constricting, confining, a gilded cage. He had seen both views … the first from the gilded cage in which he had been imprisoned since before puberty … and the second as enviable and desirable … from the broadest possible perspective, but describing it to them had been the problem. He was always inside looking out while the rest of the world had been outside looking in – and the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. That’s just human nature.
He smiled inwardly as he contemplated the thought that he was glad that so very few had seen the other Michael Jacksons which had also been clearly present and in command at varying times in his life. Equally alive within him had been the consummate recording artist spinning and dancing as he sang into the microphones producing the grunts and groans and hiccups so many critics had commented on, the seasoned and experienced professional who knew his way around the recording studio like the back of his hand and who was in complete command of every facet of the recording process. Or the take-no-prisoners businessman who outbid one of the Beatles for control of the publishing rights to one of the most lucrative catalogs in music publishing and negotiated the most profitable product endorsement deal in history. Or the child who, freed from the constraints his profession imposed upon him, enjoyed climbing trees and water balloon fights and playing video games with his friends until the wee hours of the morning and flopping down willy-nilly wherever they fell to sleep.
They hadn’t known what to do with the two Michael Jacksons they did know and couldn’t reconcile – each one presenting another side of his personality and each one just as viable and real as the last. What would they have done with the others?
He thought that all humans had these different facets that were needed to take care of and overcome the different kinds of obstacles that they all faced, but in retrospect, his seemed so exaggerated. Perhaps, it was the fact that his were in such stark contrast to his others that caused the disengagement that had occurred when he’d tried to explain to interviewers.
He believed that it was this disconnect that been indirectly responsible for many of the other painful incidents of his human life. Being unable to reconcile the dichotomy – or trichotomy – or quatrochotomy he had represented they’d filled in the blanks – made up stories explaining him that had no basis in reality. He’d been stunned as the stories became more and more incredible – more and more sensational – more and more untrue – until, finally, they had escalated to slander of the most heinous sort known to mankind.
The countless lies and insane fantasies had caused him unbearable suffering during his earthbound life. As he viewed them again in his solitude, he recognized many of the challenges His Father had set for him … many of the hurdles and obstacles that had been placed in his path as he had matured and his soul had been molded along the way. While they had impeded his work and his mission, he’d never allowed them to turn him from his goal of total, absolute integration. He’d managed to avoid the pitfalls of hatred and greed so common in this world he was preparing to leave, had remained free of the taint of the temptation of giving up when backed against the wall and had continued to walk in His Father’s light through all the trials he had faced.
In the quiet of his Life Review, he knew a moment of gratitude for the life he was preparing to leave. He had lived it full-throttle, no-holds-barred, straight from the hip. He had given everything he had to everything he did, poured himself out until he stood piercingly empty for His Father to fill and refill and fill again. Once more, he savored the joys, drank from the cup of sorrows and was grateful for both for he recognized that both had been necessary to achieve the level of spiritual awareness he enjoyed in this moment.
As the shifting scenes of his former life slowed and the sounds stilled, echoes fading into silence, Michael’s attention was again drawn outward in an ever-expanding circle of consciousness. He was aware that his body had been shrouded in preparation for transport from the hospital to the coroner’s office. The sorrow and shock he had felt earlier again invaded his awareness from somewhere very near. He was inexplicably drawn to it and felt himself moving toward it when a cry of anguish and despair tore through his consciousness, nearly knocking him over. Recovering his equilibrium, he approached a room in which all of his family was gathered, clusters of grieving, disbelieving Jacksons were everywhere. As much as he felt drawn towards the waiting room, he was also conscious of being ‘called’ further afield. His natural curiosity was piqued as to how far this atmosphere of mourning extended and allowed his consciousness to be pulled out into the area surrounding the medical center which held his physical remains.
He was stunned to discover hundreds of people outside the facility carrying signs and grieving. Further away as his expansion continued, he saw groups outside the Apollo Theater in New York, the house he had rented, his family home at Hayvenhurst, outside the gates at Neverland, in the square at the O2 Arena in London, it seemed that the whole world had stopped in shock and grief at his passing.
“My Father,” he thought. “I can’t leave them like this.” His heart was breaking at their inconsolable sorrow. Casting his consciousness outward, he recognized hundreds of thousands of voices calling his name, not in joy and excitement as had been the case before his previous public appearances … but in abject misery and soul-searing agony … the only likeness between the two experiences was the love encrypted within each. The despair was paralyzing to his empathic nature … numbing, heartbreaking.
“Yes, my Beloved Son, I knew you would say that,” Michael heard within his mind. “What would you have me do?”
Suddenly, The One stood before Michael, his arms extended to welcome him into His embrace. “I have missed you, my Son.”
Michael smiled knowingly as he stepped forward to be engulfed in his Father’s arms, his light joining with that of the Eternal One. “We are always One, My Father,” he whispered. “There is no separation. I am no more than a dim reflection of your Love. In this life that I have lived, I tried to teach that Truth to every human being I met, for they are nothing more than spiritual beings having a human experience for a little while, singularities which carry the potential of your all-embracing Love within them. They have forgotten, but can be awakened from the nightmares they are creating. I sense that they are ready to embody that Truth. I have faith in them. I believe the time is right for them to hear your call in mine.”
“However, the world they have built in ignorance and selfish greed still clamors and grates against that Truth … still lies to them about their value and worth … still fools them into believing that they are not powerful enough to make the changes that are necessary to propel them into the compassionate, highly-evolved beings they are so capable of being. They still need my help … and I so want to help them! They are so beautiful underneath the ugly masks they convince themselves to wear.”
“Do you understand what you are asking of me, Beloved?” The One hesitated a moment before continuing. “While I could restore you to physical life, it would raise a lot of questions and suspicion. You saw what happened last time when you walked the earth again for a short time to finish preparing your friends for your absence. That did not go well, did it? These humans seem intent on abrogating their own responsibility for their choices; they will pin that responsibility on anyone else but themselves. By making you into a god, they completely buried the message you came to deliver… that, with faith and love and a conscious desire to express that faith and love in every moment of every day, they, too, are my sons and daughters in whom I am well-pleased … under layers of dogma and rules and regulations that have no bearing in Ultimate Reality. No, I don’t think that would be the way to go at all.”
“No, My Father, that wouldn’t work at all.” Michael thought quickly. “I have a different plan … one that breaks all the natural and physical laws of the universe that you set in motion at its creation.”
The One laughed, “Well, that doesn’t surprise me. You always did like to do things BIG and this most recent life proves without a doubt that you recognize no limitations. Let’s discuss it. Perhaps, some of those rules can only be bent a little instead of shattered completely.”
Michael’s humor bubbled up inside him. “Let me stay near them, My Father. Allow them to feel my presence, hear my voice, know the tenderness of my embrace. Their hearts are open and they will never be more receptive than they are now, in these moments of my passing from them. Let me touch their open wounds and heal their hearts and let them know it is me so that they won’t be frightened at what they are experiencing. Some of them will understand … and others will join them as time passes. Let the veil be split between material and spiritual and allow communication between them be unavoidable with faith and love as the ferry for the crossing.”
“You are asking me to allow you to remain here … one foot in both worlds … a thing unprecedented in ages past. You are asking me to allow you to sacrifice your immersion in Oneness and Wholeness where your spirit can be nurtured and healed of its wounds. You are asking me to forsake the pleasure of your Beautiful Light so that you can continue to enlighten your earthbound children.”
Michael stepped back and knelt at the feet of His Eternal Father, his head bowed in humble submission and surrender. “My soul is healed in your Love, Abba (the Aramaic equivalent of ‘Daddy’); it needs no other healing. I understand my mission more fully, now. I see a way of completing it that we haven’t tried before. I see the challenges and obstacles I endured and overcame while embodied as blessings in fancy dress … your Eternal Love made manifest; I recognize those helpers and opponents as brothers and sisters sharing in my mission … your Eternal Love made manifest. There is no situation or circumstance that can exist in this world or the next that is NOT your Eternal Love made manifest. For there is only Oneness in all its singularities.”
“This is the vision that we must share with this world which teeters on the brink of extinction. That’s why you sent me to them. This beautiful planet and its inhabitants are destroying themselves. It will happen very soon … either by natural disaster … which they fail to recognize is manmade … or by their own greed, rapacious violence and apathy towards the suffering of their brothers and sisters … which is also manmade. We can’t allow such beauty and intricacy to waste itself through ignorance of its place within your Divine Plan. We’ve never faced such a critical juncture before. Desperate circumstances require desperate measures.”
Bending, The One gently lifted the Blinding Light that was his most Beloved Son to his feet. “My Father, please, listen to me; I have a plan that just might work. Last time, we had a very few people and a very small population located in a fairly insignificant country to work with. This time, the entire planet seems to be deeply invested. Either their suspicion of me has turned to hatred … and hatred is just love wounded by fear of abandonment or neglect … or the seeds of love implanted during my physical life are beginning to sprout as they are watered by their tears.
Through the gifts you gave me, some of the most receptive have already thrown off their human blinders and recognized a Oneness that they can’t explain, met my soul while I was still bound by physical law. I know the hearts that have already made a home for my love and been changed by it, though we’ve never met. I know we can gather more who are ready to awaken to their power to be all that they ever dreamed in their wildest imaginings.
I feel them; they know me … and in me, they know You … and we know them. They are mine.
In those same gifts, I have embedded my own soul and encoded your message. We can husband the tender seedlings with love and encouragement; we can coax them to bear wonderful, fragrant fruit for their own souls … and by extension the world we both love so dearly; we can continue to impart your message … not with fear of retribution as has been done in the past … but with unshakable faith in their ability to face the challenges of change with humble gratitude for the opportunity to be used by love. We can nurture them into beautiful and radiant flower.”
Michael paused before asking, “Abba, have you ever seen a universal outpouring of grief rooted in love of this magnitude rising into the atmosphere of this world?”
The Eternal One closed His eyes for a moment and extended His awareness to encompass the tiny world above which he stood. Then, he shook his head. “No, My Son, it’s almost as if the very rocks and oceans are crying! What is it you would have me do? Ask and it shall be done unto you.”
Jan – July 23, 2011
~~~
Michael: A Short Story – Part 5
And so … Michael asked …
“What is it that this species fears more than anything else, My Father? The answer is death. They see death all around them and, because they no longer see their loved ones who have preceded them on this great adventure called death, they fear that they no longer exist. They fear that they have fallen into a dark abyss peopled by monsters and from which there is no escape … and they are so afraid of the dark.
We have told them over and over again that fear is the only darkness; we have told them over and over that there is life after this ending, but, because they don’t see it or feel it, they doubt our promises that they continue to live … more fully, more blissfully, more joyfully than they have ever remembered while enveloped within their human experience. Our messages haven’t allayed their fear. It’s like a human parent telling his beautiful child, ‘don’t worry … there’s nothing there’ and shutting off the light and closing the door. The child’s fear has not been addressed or honored. Wouldn’t it be better for the parent to turn on the lights, get the child out of her bed, and shine a flashlight under it to prove that nothing lurks in the darkness? Wouldn’t it be better for the parent to curl up on the bed with the child and hold him as he drifts off to sleep while singing a favorite lullaby?
I have been one of them. I have shared their fears and I know that the world they see and hear every day has more relevance to them than our reassurances. We need to acknowledge their fear and show them that there is nothing hiding under their beds to drag them into the darkness. If they know that they continue, their most persistent and all-encompassing fear will have no basis. Please, Abba, let me be the Light we shine under their beds to dispel whatever shadow they fear lurks in wait for them.”
The Eternal One sighed deeply. “Yes, I see the logic in your request. Granted.”
Michael bowed his head in humble gratitude before continuing. “What is this species’ next most prevalent fear? The answer is abandonment. In death, they see that their loved ones have abandoned them. While, they have been told for centuries that You will never abandon them … and You never have … they don’t see You or hear You or feel Your Presence. Being physical beings, they depend so much on their physical senses that they have let their spiritual senses atrophy. Their minds tell them that they have been abandoned. And they believe it. Without consulting the spiritual knowledge You implanted in each of them (which many of them discount as fairy tales and stories of Santa Claus), they manufacture nightmares that You never existed or if You did exist long ago, have forgotten them. Because you have given them the freedom to choose their own paths and refused to violate your gift by directing their trajectory, they fear they have been abandoned.
We need to build their confidence in their spiritual awareness again. We need to rekindle their belief in the unseen and unheard reality that envelopes and supports their race in every moment of its existence. The vast beauty of the universe of their spiritual reality awaits their awakening. In that awakening, I believe, lies their salvation.
If you let me return to them and stay near in this spiritual body, it will not only lessen their fear of death, but remind them also that You have never abandoned them. If we allow a few of them to see me in their dreams … hear me in the music I left them and in their silent, quiet times … feel my presence in the spiritual sense … and if I continue to impact their world in small, insignificant ways … they will awaken those spiritual senses more fully to draw me more closely into their hearts. In that awakening, they will remember that they, too, have a gift yet to be offered to the world. If you allow me to comfort their grief, dry their tears with our love and our reassurance that they are not alone, many will seek those gifts within themselves and offer them in my name. It is only in offering those gifts to their world that they have the chance to heal it.
“But, My Son, won’t they be fearful of your return? This species turns love so easily into fear,” The Eternal One asked.
Michael laughed. “My Father, you don’t need to tell me that. My physical life is a perfect illustration of that point in spades. But, I don’t think so. I think that those who are mine will welcome me; I believe that those whom I have chosen … and who in return, have chosen me … will be grateful to embrace me. These will hold me close in their hearts and allow me to inspire their thoughts … to speak through them … to impact their world and guide their steps. And I will be gentle and patient with them. I will encourage them to find their own strength and once found to lend it to their world. I will remind them … and remind them again … and yet again that they are powerful and that their thoughts have the ability to change their world.
Many of the hearts I have touched in my physical life are ready to awaken; some of them have already taken the first steps along a more loving and healing path for their lives. In their knowledge of me, they are steadfast and unbending, refusing to believe the lies their world has told them for years. Their love for me is pure and unsullied by doubt. In my touch, they have been renewed in their Faith in You, their souls awakened to new purpose and their hearts revived in hope. They trust me … and they trust my unconditional love for them. That love is the vehicle we will use to carry them into a better future.
If they doubt, it is their own ability that they will doubt and we will help them gain the confidence they need; if they fear, it will be for their own sanity for they have been brainwashed into believing that spiritual relationships are impossible … that love based on spiritual truth cannot travel beyond the veil that separates the material and spiritual worlds.
We will encourage them to create a different belief … one that surrounds them in Your all-embracing comfort and one that supports them in Oneness. We will bring the spiritual closer to the material by rending the veil that separates the two and we will encourage communication … based in faith and love … between them. We will marry the two different realities to form a partnership that will work in tandem to heal the wounds they have caused themselves … and their world … in their ignorance. We will show them a vision of themselves that their world has buried beneath centuries of negative thinking … let them see themselves as You and I see them … rough stones cut from the earth and awaiting only the Master’s touch to reveal diamonds of brilliant clarity and radiant splendor.”
Michael’s explanation was interrupted by another cry of anguish and intolerable pain. Both he and The Eternal One were drawn back to the waiting room of the UCLA Medical Center where the scene had changed very little with the exception of one addition. A white-coated physician stood among the Jackson family; in his hands he held the clothing that Michael had worn, his personal effects. Scattered about the room were clusters of his brothers and sisters, his children surrounded by their aunts and uncles and his mother seated in a chair and sobbing inconsolably with Jermaine’s hand upon her shoulder. The white-coated physician tried to hand her the articles he held in his hands. Katherine refused his offering.
Michael approached her and knelt in front of her, looking back for The One’s approval. At The Eternal One’s nod, he reached out and touched his mother’s face, capturing a large tear before it fell from her check. Gently, he enfolded his earthly mother in his arms and whispered, “I’m right here, Kat. I haven’t gone anywhere.”
Katherine raised her hand to her cheek where his finger had touched her and held it there briefly, her sobs quieting a little. Blanket approached from across the room and stood looking at his father with serious brown eyes. Michael turned his head and smiled, repeating his message to his youngest child, “I’m right here. I haven’t gone anywhere.” Again, he put his arms around the boy and held him close for a moment. When he released him, Blanket gazed raptly into his father’s eyes for several heartbeats and nodded, returning to his brother and sister seated across the room.
The Eternal One chuckled a little. “Okay, they were not afraid, but that wasn’t a fair test of your theory. Family doesn’t count. Let’s try someone who didn’t know you in life … someone further away and less closely related.”
Instantly, Michael and The Eternal One were standing in a small room with a ceiling fan revolving only inches above their heads. They both ducked instinctively and then straightened to their full height, secure in the knowledge that they were beyond the reach of the rotating blades. They looked at each other and both chuckled a little … both them spoke at the same time. “Old habits are hard to break.”
In a chair sat a woman whose tears threatened to drown the room as she watched images of his shrouded body being wheeled on a stretcher toward a helicopter, its blades circling slowly in preparation for departure. As his physical remains were loaded into the helicopter and it flew into the blue sky, the woman’s tears increased in intensity and, internally, she cried out, “No! Oh, please God … NO!”
“I sense she is one of yours?” The Eternal One asked, raising his eyebrows in a questioning look.
Michael nodded slowly. The woman’s pain and guilt washed over his empathic, defenseless soul and he recoiled slightly as the enormity of her hopelessness overwhelmed him for a few moments. He knew that the moment he touched her, her pain would transfer into his spiritual body, yet, even with that knowledge, he knelt before her and gathered her into his arms. Holding her head against his shoulder, he rocked slowly and whispered, “You still have me. I’m still here; I haven’t gone anywhere.”
The Eternal One saw her spirit reach out eagerly to be more closely held within His Son’s tender embrace, felt her surrender to his Loving Presence as her eyes opened wide in a look of surprise. Far from fearful, this woman’s reaction to Michael’s presence was calm; she was soothed in his caress, healed in his embrace.
Michael whispered, “You still have the music. You know I am there. It’s where we met so long ago.” Releasing her body, Michael rose to his feet beside The Eternal Father of us all. Within the next heartbeat, the woman rose from her chair, brushing the tears from her eyes and knelt in front of a small shelving unit which housed her collection of CD’s. Retrieving one, she placed it into the player and chose a selection, returning to her chair as the music began to play and Michael Jackson’s voice sang, “Another day has gone, I’m still all alone. How could this be that you’re not here with me? You never said goodbye. Someone tell me why did you have to go and leave my world so cold. Every day I sit and ask myself how did love slip away. Something whispers in my ear and says … you are not alone for I am here with you. Tho you’re far away, I am here to stay. You are not alone for I am here with you. Tho we’re far apart, you’re always in my heart. For you are not alone.” With each note and word, the woman’s agony was eased by the voice echoing all around her, its tonal quality and vibration calming her … blunting her anguish, erasing her guilt and fear of his absence.
“Please don’t leave me, Beloved,” she whispered in her heart as the song continued playing, filling the room with his presence.
Michael looked at His Father with a question in his heart.
The Eternal One smiled. “Okay … we’re 0 for 2 … request granted.”
Once again, Michael knelt before the woman, holding her head between his palms and brushing a gentle kiss upon her forehead. Placing his hand to rest upon her head, he intoned, “I am here. God bless you. Your tears are healing; don’t try to force them to stop. Heal yourself and forgive yourself for whatever offense you feel you have committed … whatever guilt you are feeling. We have work to do … you and I.”
~~~
Michael and The Eternal One returned to the atmosphere above the planet.
The Eternal One thought deeply. “Are there many more like her, My Son?”
Michael nodded. “A few … and I believe the shock of my abrupt departure will gather others. This particular woman that we visited writes to understand her frustrations and questions. If she is true-to-form, I believe she will start writing and find a way to get her articles and stories to the largest audience possible. With today’s modern technology, that isn’t terribly difficult. Some of them dance … or sing … or paint … or draw … or sculpt. With very little interference, I believe we can still impact the world in a very BIG way.
The man I was working with directs feature films. I believe he will be itching to get his hands on the footage of the rehearsals and, with very little encouragement, will want to make a film out of it which could have the potential of attracting many, many more. We are riding a tidal wave, here, Abba. Let’s take advantage of it!
We will never have a better chance to save them from themselves!”
Jan – July 26, 2011
MORE, MORE, MORE!!!! Please…….?
Jan, this is so wonderful…I am speechless. I agree with Siren…can’t wait for more.
…completely enthralled. i was actually the NEXT person he came to…in my kitchen. but i guess i’ll have to write that story myself. if people ‘out there’ can truly get that this is so true, it really would open their eyes and hearts. The message of love is truly powerful when it unlocks the awareness of your true identity, capability and power. i speak from personal experience of what Michael’s presence has done for ME.
Beautiful Jan 🙂 I agree with everyone else ….more 🙂 Susanxoxo
Love it, Jan! 🙂
Yes, very profoundly moving and amazing to read what Rita said about Michael coming to her in her kitchen, because I experienced some rather unusual ‘visits’. Was it crazy imagination or wishful thinking? I am a fairly level headed practical person, so when I thought I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a fleeting image of a tall man with long hair outside my window, it was a bit disturbing. When I turned to look, there was no-one. But then one morning I was lying in bed just before getting up, and I swear I felt someone gently kissing my lips, just a brushing – I was alone – and I opened my eyes quickly, but saw no-one, of course. And then, in my kitchen, I suddenly felt as if a shadowy someone was standing behind me, or was it just the door blocking out the light from the living room window? I wheeled round, but there was no-one there. But I definitely sensed someone,him. My son said he was worried about me! What happened in your kitchen, Rita? I wasn’t even a real fan, aware of him, of course; until after he died, and then something took me over. Now, he is always on my mind and has changed me and my life totally; I have a warm comfortable feeling at the moment, like he is around. I hope you don’t think I am crazy!
Your writing has changed my life forever Jan. Hope has transformed into Knowing. I will never be the same again. This planet will never be the same again. This IS It!
My, oh my…. I finally got to this incredible story which I believe is much closer to the truth than fiction! I’m with the others, Jan… I want MORE! Thank you SO much for sharing your incredible gift. You DO indeed have more work to do!!! 🙂
The “monster” lurking under the bed has been vanquished, and this GREAT LOVE is begging to be expressed for all time, as it shall be through each of us and throughout HIStory!
Much LOVE to you, dear…
~ Char ~
Yes, Jan, this wave is still surging. You have explained the unexplainable. Thank you for including us all. Even the “level-headed” ones that were enfolded into the energy; our earthly beings “surprised” by the ethereal event that clutched our souls, causing the tsunami of our lives.
I am a huge admirer of your Installments, Jan, which I discovered February last year. °sigh° your writings brought me great solace in my grieve of Michael’s loss. As Nina, I wasn’t a Michael Jackson fan… but that changed all of a sudden, with a big impact in 2009, on June the 25th. Some-one squeezed my throat, my chest, my body for several months on a row… Along with my believe Michael had to be a Chosen One, came the physical relief of the squeezed throat and chest. To my opinion only a “soul”, a “spirit” can cause and decrease such a crushed feeling.
This week I ended up at your “Michael: A Short Story”. Ohh and you put in words so amazingly: Michael as the “ferry man for the crossing” for now on.
I bow to you, for sharing your writing skills…
Namasté,
many many hugs to you from Belgium, Europe,
Dania.
Jan, I have just finished reading this in book form and it is very moving. We just have to be ready for anything where Michael is concerned and you express this very well! I particularly love the lines about embracing the truth, “when she is (ready), it will be a little like trying to hold a thoroughbred back when he hears the starting gun.” Well said! Michael was very present of course when I was reading this today, outside a cafe. I read the lines from You Are Not Alone and then went inside to get warm. Of course that very song was playing on the radio….. thank you!
Mary, I’m so glad you enjoyed the story. Thank you for letting me know.