A Woo-Woo Novel by Joshua Bagby

BreathListening After to Deaththe voice within could Launch you on the ride of your life.

Breath After Death

A Woo-woo Novel by Joshua Bagby

1 Listening to the voice within could launch you on the ride of your life.

hile boarding a commuter train for another workday in Silicon WValley, technical illustrator Benjamin Fields, recently divorced and approaching 40, experiences the unrelenting mental itch that he left his iron plugged in. Unable to shake the vision of his apartment bursting into flames, he wonders if this fear fantasy is a chance to follow his intuition and save his home or if it’s just another case of his out-of-control imagination?

Breath After Death is the story of one man’s search for answers to many of life’s most important questions. Benjamin wants to overcome loneliness. He’s got a good job that keeps him busy and fed but largely unfulfilled. Still licking his wounds from a divorce, he hasn’t found the mate he wants. He yearns to believe in a loving universe, but it’s hard to rationalize how a supposedly loving God could take his mother and older brother when he was just five years old. From this vortex of pain, Benjamin enters into a world of possibility when an imaginary woman predicts his future, naturally leading him to wonder who or what is behind this inner voice. He quickly discovers that when you focus on asking the big questions, you attract the big answers.

The novel is a synthesis of many of the lessons, conversations, and experiences I have encountered along my growth path. If any of these words or phrases mean anything to you—law of attraction, reincarnation, near-death experiences, merging sexuality and spirituality, creating a personal paradise, karma, spirit communication, finding a soul mate, relationship issues, enchanted hugging, true intimacy, getting unstuck—you’ll find a feast here. What Other Readers have said

enjamin Fields is a recently divorced guy who is searching for his soul “Bmate and ends up on a funny, erotic, reality-challenging journey— literally, spiritually, and philosophically. About every ten years, I get some novel that excites me with the author’s talent and the story. Joshua’s did that for me. He’s got that ineffable quality everyone is looking for—original voice. The closest comparison I was able to think of was in the league of a Tom Robbins or Kurt Vonnegut.” (Elizabeth Lyon, author of Writer’s Guide to Fiction and several other books for writers)

oshua Bagby’s novel Breath After Death delighted and inspired me. I’d “Jhave to call it one of the most magical reading experiences I’ve ever had. Bagby’s prose is smart, sexy, witty, and insightful, a masterful treat for my heart and soul. His main character, Benjamin Fields, is entangled in a spiritual quest that takes him far beyond the archetypal hero’s journey into the intriguing realms of soul mate love, spirit guides, and life everlasting. In the process, he discovers that the energy of spirit is clothed in many costumes and that the power of love is bigger than we ever imagined. I highly recommend it.” (Stephanie P.)

t is a rare treat to read a book that delves so deeply into the spiritual com- “I ponents of the relationship journey. I frequently found myself nodding in agreement with the main character as he shared his heartfelt observations of love and life in the relationship lane. I happily accompanied Benjamin as he tra- versed through a mystical terrain of self-discovery occupied by flesh-and-blood characters expressing their own unique spiritual essence as they encountered and interacted with him. Author Joshua Bagby has created a world filled with all of the magic and malice generated by individuals seeking both soul-filled and soul- less relations. He has successfully lanced the boil of pain, frustration and fear that emotional manipulation creates in the development of physical, emotional, and spiritual bonding. This book is a must read for everyone interested in avoiding soul-less coupling and creating soul-filled relationships!” Kim( R.) What Other Readers have said

reath After Death is a thrilling ride into a world I wish I could step “B into. Joshua Bagby’s insight into merging spirituality and sexuality is by itself worth the price of admission, but it doesn’t stop there. This book got my own creative juices flowing about many topics that I love to think about but that don’t seem to work their way into everyday conversation. And the idea of hugging strangers in public—wow! We need more stories like this.” (C.B.)

hat a fabulous book! I’m typically a two-to-six week book read- “Wer—slow. I finished this one in three days. Great story, intriguing spiritual/moral threads and concepts. If it were available in print, I’d buy it for friends and I’d sure tell others to get it as a fun and provocative read. We’d have a great time reading that in my men’s group. Imagine the discussion it could generate.” (L.D.)

am blown away! I think you have something much bigger than you “I described to me. The fact that it is hitting me personally between the eyes is irrelevant (or maybe not). It is personally really important to me right now, and I suspect for many other people. One thing I liked was the easy way in which one is invited to challenge their perceptions. For me the part that was most informative and personally helpful had to do with relationships. I am going to go back through it with a highlighter and use it as a focusing tool. There are some ideas that I need to explore more deeply. Thank you for your gift. It should definitely be shared with more people.” (T.B.)

our book brought up several things for me to deal with on a personal “Ylevel. They are things I knew needed to be addressed, but now they have just slapped me in the face, and I can’t avoid them any longer. I think your book will have that effect on a lot of people because it deals with issues that most of us can relate to and probably need to address in one form or another.” (M.S.) There’s No Such Thing as a free lunch

But there is such a thing as a free novel!

I am offering you this free read for two major reasons.

The first: I believe that creativity is a gift from the universe. Yes, I may have written this book, but I do believe that it was inspired by an intelligence outside my ego self. Whether it’s a “higher” part of me or some storyteller in spirit, I don’t know. I do know that much of the story burst into my mind as a complete surprise. I figure that if the universe can give me the story I can give it to you in this form.

The second: I want this consciousness to get out into the world now. Global morale has taken a beating over the last dozen years, and I think it’s past time for some new visions of hope and love.

So I give this novel away. If it speaks to you, I would love to hear from you. I’m fascinated by how different people find different scenes or events meaningful. And knowing that I have made a difference in someone’s life, even if it’s just a small difference, is a wonderful thing.

Joshua Bagby [email protected] Reading Tip: Adjust the magnification level in Acrobat Reader to create a type size on your monitor that’s comfortable for you to read. If the type is too small, raise the magnification; if the type is too big, reduce the magnification. By pressing the space bar on your keyboard and dragging with your mouse, you can move the page around easily.

Creativity On Publishing Salem, Oregon 1. Sorry for the Inconvenience

Dear God: I heard some evangelist on TV say that you only admit people into heaven if they accept Jesus Christ as their personal savior. If that’s true, I’m already in deep shit. Here’s the problem: You created the mountains, the meadows, the seas, the stars—astonishing feats by any measure. Why won’t you create a savvier savior? Granted, I never met the real Jesus in person—I’ve only got righteous religious rhetoric to go on—but here in Silicon Valley, a scruffy, robed prophet in sandals doesn’t fly as a consummate follow-me-anywhere cosmic authority. Enduring forever with a sinfully boring preacher would be cruel and unusual punishment. Forgive my bluntness, but in view of your awe-inspiring creativity, your Bible strikes me as a moldy-oldy marketing effort. You’re resting on your laurels from two millennia ago when you could get away with shit like that. And what’s with this holy support for war mongering, gay bashing, and liberty reduction? Have you lost your omnipotent mind? Millions of us are dying for a new paradigm! How about returning Jesus for a do-over? Send us a savior we can understand. Talk plain English to us. Build a cool website. Anyway, that’s why I’m writing. Let’s put our cards on the table. I think it’s time we communicated. I am your son, too, right?

neuron in my brain fired like an emergency flare rocket. The notion drifted Ainto my awareness unbidden: psst, hey Benjamin, did you leave your iron plugged in back home or what? I glanced at my wristwatch. Caltrain #319 would depart in three minutes. Breath After Death The big screen of my mind flashed visions of my apartment a few miles away engulfed in a flurry of flames. I previewed the consequences of my possessions being incinerated beyond recognition. Could I have been that absent-minded? No, I thought, I unplugged the iron. I must have. Yet immediately I questioned my audience of brain cells why I was receiving this odd pyric broadcast. Where do visions come from, anyway? Do neurons generate mental pictures on their own, or are they like TV receivers that snatch swatches of distant light and shadow from unseen programmers in unseen realms? I glanced outside into the October sunrise. Passengers trudged toward the train like assembly-line workers who’d eaten ennui omelets for breakfast. I wanted a world where people toss off their comforters, spring out of bed, and greet the new Monday with yays and yahoos. TGIM! Newsreels of fire played once again. Greedy flames gobbled up my precious books, my original artwork, my irreplaceable videos of Julie. I thought my way up the iron road to the corporate crucible of Failure Dynamics, Inc. Several engineers awaited my services as technical illustrator—or professional visualizer. I chuckled. Busy scientists faced reality. They’d say I was fantasizing. Yet if I followed scientific logic and ignored the inferno burning center stage in my imagination, I could miss the chance of a lifetime for intuition to save my butt. Oprah would love my story. When are you supposed to stop and listen—really listen—to those wispy inner voices that inspire or warn? Just do this one crazy, unlikely, irrational thing—and whoa! Instant miracle. Put that in the next Chicken Soup for Dummies. But acting on that whim could prove embarrassing. “That loon Benjamin Fields ran home to save his apartment from an imaginary fire—ha-ha-ha! He needs a long vacation—ha-ha-ha!” I culled through my earlier morning memories, hoping to recall the exact moment I’d finished ironing my black slacks. What mental morsel had I been chewing on? Oh, yes. A litany of sighs and coos from Lacey Brown the day she finally said yes. I checked my watch again. Only two minutes to decide—commute or bolt? If my apartment were already steeped in flames, I’d arrive home just in time to watch firemen save other apartments. Yet maybe an invisible informant was tipping me off. A major earthquake could strike San Jose, toppling the hot iron onto something flammable. Not a likely scenario, I decided, but then in Earthquake Country, we’re taught to anticipate the Big One. Heeding inner voices or acting for unknown reasons, some New Yorkers did

9 Joshua Bagby not make it to work on time on September 11, 2001. They missed the Big One. Heeding inner voices or acting for unknown reasons, some tourists on December 26, 2004 inexplicably walked to higher ground on Tsunami Sunday in Indonesia. They missed the Big One. Heading inner voices or acting for unknown reasons, some residents left complacency behind and missed Hurricane Katrina on August 28, 2005. They missed the Big One. Meant to be or not meant to be? That is the question. If this day marked a divine appointment with the fires of destiny, I was already toast. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the karma. But then maybe this was a test. Maybe the Universe wanted me to rise above my skepticism, hurry home, and unplug the iron before disaster struck. People often say the Universe wants this; the Universe wants that. I suspected that the Universe didn’t give a squat about my mostly trivial pursuits. First thing upon my death, I’ll demand answers. Why did those spirit guidance counselors decide that premature baldness would make a dandy genetic hoist for building my character? Then I’ll demand to know what compelled God, or his legal assignees, to snuff out my mother and older brother thirty-four years ago when I was just five. No one tendered apologies for letting that drunk driver demolish the family car. What about my own love fortune? Did the Universe want my ex-wife Julie to squander my life savings and cheat on me until a wealthy software engineer with long hair entered her world? Did the Universe truly want me to eat and sleep alone in a one-bedroom apartment while Julie lounged in her stylish 3,435 square-foot hilltop home? Did the Universe like her better? My stomach recoiled when I saw I had just sixty ticks left. Duty at the workplace called. Somebody’s lawsuit depended on me. I wondered if celestial voices had attempted to warn my mother about her unsavory fate. Maybe she convinced herself that those scary pictures of car crashes were brain bunk, nothing to take seriously until she noticed the intoxicated terminator racing at her. Reaching heaven—if there is such a place—she blushed profusely and said, “Guess I should have heeded my intuition.” As the conductor yelled “Board,” I squirted out of the train like a jet stream from a spray can. When I finally reached home, I found the iron as I’d left it. I sniffed for smoke signals. I approached it cautiously as if it were a trap set by insurgents in Iraq. I picked up the hanging cord and plugged it in to savor the satisfaction of pulling the plug out. In and out. In and out. In and out. That’s irony for you. OK, I was an idiot. Just another pathetic human walking the planet yearning

10 Breath After Death for a larger-than-life sign that death doesn’t truly kill us. That cosmic charade had burned up an hour twenty of my life. I’d responded to inner whispers. I’d heeded nuance. My brain had faked me out. Again. Back at San Jose’s Tamien Station I boarded another train and found a seat to occupy. When a black goddess climbed aboard, some heads spun to visually paw her stellar beauty. Some spun to foist their glances away, as if her ebony radiance were instantly blinding. Like the Queen of Another Planet, she regally ignored her devotees and claimed her throne. Two young women boarded the train. One smiled politely at me; the other looked away as if my creeping baldness were an oozing, open sore. They took a seat behind me. The Queen of Another Planet focused her attention inside theSan Jose Mercury News, newspaper to the Milky Way, and treated my presence with state- of-the-art indifference. As Caltrain #227 rolled out of the station, one woman behind me asked the other, “Did I tell you that my kid sister Donna hears voices?” “Oh, my God! No way!” “The other night she told me a woman speaks in her ear.” “Oh, my God! ” “It yaks about everything going on around her.” “Ewwww. Like what does it say?” “Strange stuff.” She laughed. “Like calling a sales clerk Lard-ass.” “Oh, my God! I’m so glad I don’t hear voices. Like that would scare the poop out of me for sure. Who is it?” “She can’t say. Just some wandering spirit who needs a friend to talk to.” “I already worry about catching weird diseases. Oh, my God! Like now I’ve got to worry about attracting lonely spirits?” “Most of us can’t hear them. You wouldn’t know anybody’s there.” “I hope I never see one. I’d scream my friggin’ head off!” “It’s not so scary,” the other woman said casually. “Says who?” “I do. I woke up in the middle of the night once. My grandmother stood at the foot of my bed. Peaceful smile on her face. I said, ‘Gram, aren’t you in a coma?’ She smiled sweetly, then poofed away in a shower of sparkly dots.” “Oh, my God! Like that’s incredible.” “We got word the next morning that she had died the night before.” I peered into the space in front of me for signs of intelligent spirit life. Off and

11 Joshua Bagby running again. Had my mother and brother escaped becoming ordinary dust for the remainder of eternity? “Donna sees ghosts,” Donna’s sister said. “One time she woke up and found one lying in bed with her.” “In bed?—ewwww!” “Yeah, but Donna loves weird. She said he was very polite. She finally decided the guy didn’t know he was dead.” “Oh, my God! Like how could you not know you’re dead? Oh, my God!” “She said he died too fast to know what had happened to him. Then he went around attaching himself to living humans and lived a limbo life.” “Oh, my God! I don’t want to talk about it.” But I did! When the two women switched to talking about Survivor, I almost turned around to ask more questions. Then I’d have to admit I’d been eavesdropping. I leaned back into the seat and rocked with the rails, passing the time by gazing into a travel poster: Whole Lotta Hula for Justa Little Moolah. “You promised to take me to Hawaii,” Julie-the-imagined broke in. “You promised to love and honor our marriage,” I replied. “You wouldn’t be so lonely now if you paid more attention to me then.” She struck a glamour pose to rub it in. “Go away!” “I already did!” She jiggled, giggled, and vanished. I closed my eyes. Had Nick survived childhood, he’d be forty-three now. He’d take me camping. We’d sit around the fire and he’d unravel the mysteries of women. I was embarrassed to be single and unsettled at nearly forty. Many miles away, Julie probably nestled against her new husband, awaiting his first stir of the morning. She would present him with an assortment of sensuous favors long enough to win the use of his credit card for the day. By now she must have it down to a science. I gazed at the landscape of industrial buildings whizzing by my window, reminding me of the orchards destroyed to make this dismal view possible. “Oh, please,” another voice intervened, a woman’s. It wasn’t airborne. It rippled through the pool of my thoughts. “Why do you keep torturing yourself?” This soft, sweet voice had never spoken to me. “Who are you?” I asked inwardly. “You can call me Chloe.” I smiled. I pictured a beautiful spirit entity stretched out on her side floating

12 Breath After Death two feet above me, her long auburn hair trailing like a bridal veil. “Who are you, Chloe?” “The answer to your prayer.” “Bzzzzz! Wrong! I don’t pray. God and I aren’t exactly pals.” “I’m here to straighten that out. You’ve been swimming in this deep blue funk for much too long. And you do pray, but you call it fantasizing.” I pictured a collection of brain cells that had merged into the personality Chloe. That same collective had just sent me home on a game of cerebral chicken. “What blue funk?” “Benjamin, dear, we have no secrets,” she retorted cheerfully. “I know everything about you. I know all your thoughts.” “Of course you do! I’m making you up,” I grumbled. I recalled a therapist a decade back. She role-played my dead mother. We engaged in a life-to-death chat to release my pent-up rage at being abandoned as a child. Wherever my mother had ended up, my brother had joined her. Oblivion or paradise, he was the chosen sibling. In therapy I’d worked up a good sweat bashing a pink pillow with a blue plastic bat until raw emotion spewed forth, and I collapsed onto the beanbag bed, a sobbing mass. For a final hurrah, I hurled on her rose carpet like a sick pooch. “I don’t expect you to believe me right away,” Chloe said. “Seeing you would be more convincing.” I didn’t need to mention that the woman behind me had received her visitation. Mine was thirty-four years overdue. “I’m as real as a warm, tropical breeze.” “I can feel those.” “You can feel me, too. Inside.” Tingles erupted up and down my spine. Oh, yeah. That was supposed to mean something, my unconscious yielding a profound truth, but hey, I’d already been faked out once this morning. “Let’s deal with this Julie obsession,” she said. “What obsession?” “You’ve stewed for two years. It’s time to give it up.” “I’m trying.” I hated that I had invested seven years with a woman it turns out I never knew. On our final night living together, she’d even asked for one last shag. I consented, thinking she might reconsider pulling the plug on our marriage, but her screaming orgasm did not change her mind. Days later she called to say that seducing me had convinced her that she had made the right choice to trade me in for Aaron, a long-haired Adonis programming whiz.

13 Joshua Bagby

“You can’t get over your sorrow by brooding,” Chloe said gently. “Get rid of those videos.” Well, here’s the thing. You go through life once and that’s it. Or you die and hang out with God and the gang. Or you flunk out of heaven and sizzle in hell. Or you evolve through eternity in the quest for enlightenment. I had video of Julie. Shot it myself. She showed me anything I wanted to see. When her heart was in it—when she was into me—she made my dreams come true. Eventually, her heart vacated the premises, and I grew tired of the show, but the videos remained as evidence that she loved me once. Forgive me, Universe, for keeping those mementoes of more exciting times. I can’t part with them, especially if at life’s end you fade to black forever. “You don’t fade to black,” Chloe retorted. “You slip back into spirit life for awhile, and then you slip return to physical life, and so it goes, life after life.” “But I’ve never seen proof of that,” I protested. That was the rub. Reincarnation was a fascinating idea—it wildly changed the rules of life—but doctors and lawyers and scientists and politicians and even ministers don’t buy it. They stake their professional reputations on it. “You get proof all the time,” Chloe said. Why had the woman behind me gotten her proof? Did she have better karma? Did God like her better? Or had she just hallucinated the whole thing? “Theresa visits you regularly. Your rational mind refuses to perceive it,” Chloe said. Yeah, right. Make it my fault that I don’t have enough keen psychic insight to notice my own mother dropping into my dwelling to prove soul survival. At least with Julie, I had a tangible video to watch. I had just three faded photos of my mother (which, OK, I tweaked into something cool with Photoshop.) “You’ll find a special woman to love, someone who pays attention to your soul,” Chloe said sweetly. Lacey Brown floated through my mind on her guest pass. “Not her!” Chloe snapped. “Why not? She’s everything I could possibly want.” “She’s married. She’s trouble.” “Not happily married,” I sighed. “We all make mistakes. I’m a prime example of blundering with my first choice.” “Oh, yeah? What did you learn from it?” “That I should be more careful choosing a mate. Look for common interests.

14 Breath After Death

Look for a partner in the fullest sense.” “That won’t be Lacey, Benjamin.” “I hate it when imaginary women spoil my fantasies,” I said, rubbing my bald spot. I gazed at the black goddess ahead of me in the Caltrain car. “Then cast a love spell on the Queen. Make her ravenous for me.” “Why? You two have so little in common. You’d be miserable seconds after your first orgasm.” “But she’s so gorgeous!” I wondered how God rationalized that peculiar design choice to infect the visually alluring women along my path with toxic personalities. “She’d be Julie all over again. Her spiritual focus is planning her next trip to the mall. Her closet is stuffed with the new shoes she’d wear to walk all over you.” “Don’t sweat it. To her I’m a wad of dried chewing gum stuck to the bottom of a railroad car seat.” “Well, now, there’s attitude that attracts fine women.” “I’ve got to face facts. Look at me!” “I do look at you. Love already awaits you. You just don’t know it yet.” I knew this shtick. Imaginary women made grandiose promises that never included specific details on where to find those eager wives-in-waiting. “You big faker. Prove yourself. Lead me to her.” “All right. Call your travel agent.” My eyesight focused on the Hawaii poster at the front of the car. “I’d rather see a New England autumn.” “Great, but you’ll find the love awaiting you among tall, swaying palm trees.” “Why are my great mates always imaginary?” I sighed. Ever since I could remember, fantasy women spiced my ordinary thoughts. Even with Julie. When she would spout spires of small talk, a siren lolling inside my mind would voice quick rewrites, “Oh, Benjamin, save me from trivialities. Embrace profundity!” “Maybe you need to learn more about the reality of what you call imaginary.” Ooh, good one. Where does art come from? Where does inspiration come from? I imagined Chloe’s long auburn hair flowing freely in the breezes of my mind, more like animated watercolor than photographic realism. “I am as real as any idea you ever had, Benjamin. The more power you give me through your heart and soul, the more real I will become to you.” Playing along, I wondered what this divine diva from another dimension did all day? Am I her entertainment? I pitied the spirits who signed up to witness my

15 Joshua Bagby life marking ticks and tocks at the high-tech sweatshop. “Every moment of every day, you create the life you lead. Continue to create loneliness and stagnation or create community and exciting works of art!” “Hey, create some grand opportunities for me, and I’ll dazzle you!” I cried. “Imagine the thrill of creating adventure for an introvert who doesn’t go anywhere or do anything.” I felt duly mocked. “I’m earning a comfortable living,” I explained. She shrugged her shoulders. “The years keep piling up, Benjamin. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Hello? Do something to startle your soul. Make your move. You never know when your gift of life will be snatched from you.” “You never know when you really do leave the iron plugged in,” I grumbled. “Do you think that detour was an accident? It landed you on this train, and that’s where you’re supposed to be.” “You’re just saying that because everything in my apartment was copasetic.” “No, I’m saying it because I arranged for you to board this train,” Chloe grinned, floating above my daypack. Psychologists say we use only a sliver of our cerebral pie. What does the rest of our gray matter do? Are those extra brain cells just loafing, kicking back on cerebral park benches watching blood cell babes flow by? That would be boredom hell for those neurons whose services are not required for everyday living (commuting back and forth to uninspiring jobs, watching mindless television, engaging in pointless small talk.) Maybe they write unrealized novels or paint unrendered works of art or mastermind great out-of- body adventures—then hide it all from the brain cells that conduct ordinary thinking. Creative brain cells may run camouflage missions so our ruling egos won’t discover our best-kept secrets, like when we’re going to die, what spirits watch our every move, who we were in previous lives, all that woo-woo stuff. No warning signal alerted me to anything as Caltrain #227 slowed from its normal cruising speed and coasted to a stop between stations. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the conductor announced several minutes later. “We’ve just been informed that the train ahead of ours has encountered a problem. This will affect our travels. We’ll let you know how long we expect to be delayed as soon as we’re adv ised.” A collective moan arose from the congregation in my car. Wristwatches appeared. Time, suddenly, was of the essence. I could hear brains busily computing consequences: What’s our destiny now? How severe will the coefficient of our pain be? Computer, compute. Of course, the riders did not put it that way. “Damn trains!” one groaned.

16 Breath After Death “Public transportation sucks!” another grumbled. The regal black goddess shrugged on her throne and moved to the next section of her morning newspaper. “So what happened?” I asked inside to pass the time. “Another train ran over a pedestrian,” Chloe broke in. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the conductor said a few minutes later, “we have just been informed that the problem ahead involves a pedestrian fatality. The coroner has arrived at the scene. We’re told it may be as much as an hour before we can roll again. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Sorry for the inconvenience? Inconvenience is waiting in line at a store an extra minute while the clerk fumbles to install a new cash register tape. What if the fallen pedestrian heard that? Well, excuse me! I wasn’t planning to collide with an express train this morning. Otherwise, I would have phoned the office, “Good morning, Louise, I’m calling in dead today. Would you please erase all my email?” I felt a nudge in the psychic ribs. “Don’t forget where you heard it first,” Chloe said. Blips of energy stormed my brain and pelted my skin with tingles of wonder. “Just coincidence,” a frontline of skeptical beliefs retorted. “A lucky guess! Why else would a train stop between stations?” I wondered what it would be like to die by impact with a locomotive. How long would the brain register the excruciating pain of impact? “He never felt a thing,” Chloe replied. “He popped out of his body before impact.” “How do you know?” “I was there.” “But you’re here with me.” “There’s no time or space in spirit. We can be anywhere and everywhere.” “So who died?” “A little boy.” “Oh, geeze!” I should be sent to the penalty box for thinking like that! Shrinks would scribble notes about my pent-up hostility at having lost Nick and Mom. “You’re not making it up,” Chloe insisted. “You’ll see.” Looking outside, I noticed a helicopter hovering in the distance, too far away for me to see what agency owned it. Were the police surveying a commuter problem, or was the media grabbing sizzling grim-reaper video? “I hope you’re wrong about the kid.” “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the conductor said, “We’re opening the doors of

17 Joshua Bagby the train. If you’d like, you may detrain with caution. We’ll call when it’s time to reboard.” I grabbed my daypack and stood. When I passed the Queen of Another Planet, I noticed her eyes scanning Nordstrom ads. “Shoes on sale?” She frowned as if she would never consider paying less than full retail. Just outside, two men in dark business suits and red power ties stood near the railroad tracks, iPhones in hand. Perhaps they were lawyers late for a deposition where a victim was suing posthumously—“Welcome to another exciting round of Litigation Lotto!”—in another fatality somewhere else. Death was very profitable. Beyond the men and the southbound set of railroad tracks, several butterflies fluttered in the morning sun over a vacant field of dry weeds. I thought about how I’d been duped that morning by that stupid iron trick—yet already I yearned to believe this fantasy woman’s prophecy about finding love where the tall palms swayed. “I told you I’m not a fantasy,” Chloe insisted. “I’m just pretending to be a fantasy.”

18 Breath After Death

2. Love Thy Stranger

Dear God: I don’t know what you are. Many people think you are a literal person, albeit a superperson, who monitors our activities with off-the-charts focus on detail. You must be the ultimate obsessive compulsive, the most advanced savant. If that’s what you do for a living, my heart aches for you. I can’t believe that the creator of everything—the brains behind such exotic innovations as Yosemite Falls, the Coral Reef, the moon, and the Orion Nebulae—could be so anal retentive as the talking frocks say. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate in boredom to count how many times each one of us utters a bad word, toys with a naughty thought, and conjures up a self-made orgasm? I mean, come on, my artistic creations are miniscule compared to yours, but I know that inspiration does not come from sweating the small stuff. Do you always sweat the small stuff—and expect us to follow your example—as they say?

wo white butterflies cavorted over the dry grass near the railroad tracks Twhere I stood. A plump woman in her mid-thirties with a bouncy mane of strawberry blonde curls stepped off the train. She headed straight for me as if her life’s purpose was to convince me to switch my cell phone provider. I impulsively turned my face away to fend off a shark attack. I noticed from the crunching noise her feet made trampling the dry grass that she refused to take body language as a hint. So much for subtlety. She planted herself in front of me, smiling brazenly as if any second now she’d utter the infamous buzz wordFriend and hold out her palm. “Hello, my name is Petra,” she said in a husky voice. Her smooth, deeply tanned skin underneath a

19 Joshua Bagby blue denim v-necked dress suggested that she’d spent her summer working on her future skin cancer at the beach. I smiled politely but didn’t offer her my name. Petra sized me up with her split pea-colored eyes, then asked through fleshy glossed lips, “Would you accept a hug?” She opened her arms toward me as if the outcome was a foregone conclusion, long since rubber stamped by a Federal bureaucracy. “A hug?” “Uh-huh,” she said. Now not quite sure what to do with her arms, which were already committed to an embrace, she chortled, then locked her hands behind her head, stretched, and waited for me to decide. She was no lithesome Cosmopolitan model, but my pulse quickened as my eyes meandered like a brook around her fetching curves. “Are you selling something?” I asked. I thought of those organizations that send address labels to you as a free gift and then pitch the vision of someone’s woe. Maybe she’d hug me, then burst into oratory on the plight of dismembered school children in Iraq or homeless earthquake victims in Haiti or disenfranchised monks from Tibet. Send cash, not prayers. “No, today I’m giving.” She smiled. “You’re giving away free hugs?” I decided her eyes did not look focused on a charity drive quota. But what was it? Perhaps this was a new twist on panhandling. Upscale. Trendy. Hug your way to riches. “I saw you from the train. I watched you pace around. I thought, now there’s a man screaming for a hug.” She opened her arms again to clear the way. What a closer! “OK,” I said. That felt good, like a charter from the Universe. “Enjoy the feeling,” she breathed, being most tender. She slid her arms around my neck and pressed her fleshy body against me without a shred of fear. I felt her bouncy strawberry blonde curls with my chin and inhaled the sweet fragrance of lavender. Who are you? I thought but dared not ask. Some moments are fragile, easily shattered by tossing out stupid questions likeAre you sure you’ve got the right guy in your arms? She made no attempt to hug and run. Her soft hands glided over my shoulders, igniting sighs of delight from long-neglected nerves. “Your heart’s pounding like a jackhammer,” she said, still not breaking the embrace. “Relax. Take a little break from worry.”

20 Breath After Death I surrendered to the mysteries of this woman. She melted into me like marshmallows into hot cocoa. “Atta boy.” Oh, no, it’s not this easy. It’s never this easy. This was the entrance dreams are made of—the woman who walks through the portal between emptiness and fullness. She wraps herself around me effortlessly, no games or dating strategies. I am in the right place at the right time. She courageously marches through the barbed wire and land mines of mass rage against men. She offers comfort freely and enthusiastically. Perfect love and trust: Madonna. I pictured noses pressed against windows, strangers inside the train watching us strangers outside embrace. OK, they wouldn’t know we didn’t know each other. They would assume we were lovers enjoying a spontaneous embrace in a field of weeds. I gently released all tension in my arms to signal the natural end to our embrace. “Don’t go yet,” Petra said, pulling me back—pulling me closer. A general alarm sounded inside my brain. Strangers do not do this! Petra brailled my shoulders with skilled fingertips as if she did this everyday. Attack dogs in my brain growled. Where has this woman been? What horrible diseases does she carry? What does she really want from me? She could just be flipped out. Wasted on drugs. Abused as a girl and now crying out for love. Shocking a judgmental society into seeing that the fat girl deserves affection, too. Normal women do notgive pleasures like this; they always command a hefty price before serving the treats. She must be setting me up for the kill:Whore. “Hey, chill,” Petra said as if reading a news burst of my thoughts. “Are you always this tight? Very sensitive, aren’t you?” “Too sensitive sometimes.” Her hands continued making soft and gentle swirling motions along my neck and shoulders, sometimes harmonized by contact with her gelatinous breasts. I opted to see Madonna—heavenly angel spreading joy in the heart of Silicon Valley. “Yes,” she purred. “That’s better. Let it flow.” Tingles poured inside me everywhere my blood flowed. Even my penis yawned and stretched. Carpe Diem, baby. “Yes, that’s it,” she whispered. “You’re doing great.” Suddenly I saw beyond my blister pack into a new world of possibility. In some Shangri-la far, far away, even strangers embraced upon meeting, and the God I wanted to believe in thought with a broad grin, “I’ve got the most awesome kids ever!” Then someone unleashed Rose inside my brain. I learned from my stepmother

21 Joshua Bagby that the God of the Christians had a warped relationship with sex despite having invented it. How sadistic to create the magnificence of physical bodies, only to force the indwelling spirit into denial and humiliation as the price of admission to Holy Godland. If God invented nature, damn nature anyway. In 8th grade, Rose caught me red-handed with a copy of Playboy. “Some women think so poorly of themselves they take off their clothes and beg for attention.” I never told her that I’d lifted the magazine from my dad’s tool drawer in the garage. Heaven forbid him discovering I’d invaded his stash! I never knew if she said anything about my contraband. Months later, his stash had even grown, only missing the issue she’d confiscated. “Worried again?” Petra asked a few seconds later. “I’m not used to hugging strangers.” “I’m sorry to hear that. If I had my way, everyone would get used to this. It would be the new international standard for human relations.” My instant companion purred in my ear from deep within her throat, a startling feline sound. I wondered if she had a lair she dragged hug-starved men off to. “You’re so rich with spirit companions,” she said several moments later in a normal voice. “Do you ever converse with them?” “Nothing supernatural happens to me.” Petra chuckled. “Uh-huh.” I suddenly smelled a sales pitch coming. That would be a new marketing ploy in the metaphysical circus. Embrace your psychic reader! Get your readings here. Girls! Girls! Girls! “Well, just today, for instance. On the train. I overheard two women talking about seeing spirits. I mean—boing—right in their faces. No doubt whatsoever! I want proof like that.” “You need to set your logical mind aside. Learn to run wild with intuition.” Suspicion lit the warning panel inside my brain. She must be a member of the consciousness industry. “I suppose you know the perfect seminar to help set me free.” “You’re preoccupied with people taking advantage of you, aren’t you?” Still holding me, she gave an extra squeeze, a body dialect way of saying Gotcha! “Well, yeah.” No point denying it. I’d seen too much cable TV. “When you follow your head too much, you smother yourself with logic and detail. You can’t heal an aching heart with rational bullshit.” “Gee, thanks for the instant psychoanalysis.”

22 Breath After Death “It’s not analysis. It’s how your heart feels. Stuck. Afraid. Lonely. Abandoned.” She pressed the comfort of her warm body into me. “You could use a good soul cleansing.” Ah-ha! Sales pitch time. “Oh, there you go again, tensing up,” she said. “Stop it!” She sounded like a nurse yelling at a drug-groggy patient after surgery. “It still feels like you’re trying to sell me something.” I heard a loud psychic snap as she abruptly pulled away, and her once- welcoming eyes dimmed and distant. “I thought you’d be ready. I guess I was mistaken.” I was reduced to a dazed “Huh?” “If you want your life to stay the same, do nothing. You’ll get what you’ve always gotten. If you want to heal yourself, climb onboard a plane and fly to Kauai.” “That’s it? A trip to Kauai will revolutionize my life?” “You say you want to know how the Universe works. I’m telling you.” “Where do I go?” I asked. “Just show up.” She chuckled quietly like a woman who knew where the chocolates were hidden. “Spirit will show you the way when you land. If I told you exactly where to go, you wouldn’t be as impressed when you finally got there.” “Got where?” “A place where your heart yearns to be. You’ll know it instantly.” “I’ve never wanted to go to Hawaii. Crowds. Rip-offs.” She closed her eyes for a second as if my words stung her skin like swarming yellow jackets. “Bye now,” she said. “I love you.” My mind snagged on the contradiction of words and actions. “You’re leaving me already?” I love you and gone. “I’m returning to Kauai,” she said. “When you’re interested, look me up.” Don’t hold your breath, I thought. “How would I find you?” I asked. “Follow your heart.” Her fleshy lips tightened into a mocking closed-lip smile. I hated those annoying New Age slogans. “Follow my heart where?” “Listen to your intuition.” “You want me to fly to Hawaii and wait for some intuitive arrow to point me to your exact whereabouts?” “In a word, yes.” “That’s absurd.” “Ever tried it?” she asked, winked, turned, and walked away.

23 Joshua Bagby I felt as if I had just been slapped in the face. Not ready? I watched her wander up the tracks. Ever tried it? Of course not. Duh. I watched as she stopped in front of a man in a charcoal gray business suit. She said something. He said something. A few seconds later, she threw her arms around his neck and wrapped her comforting body around his. I looked away and watched butterflies cavort in the field. Damn nature anyway. Why would a woman hug a total stranger and tell him she loves him? I love you and gone. I turned back. Petra’s arms were still wrapped around the man in the charcoal suit. Farther up the tracks well beyond my vision, a pedestrian’s body parts were being removed from the point of impact and placed in body bags. At least I was still alive. I earned a good living. I could be doing so much worse. Or so much better. I decided not to hang around this place. I fished my cell phone out of my daypack and called Steve Butterfield at work. As we hashed out where he’d meet me, I saw the man in the suit smile and wave good-bye to Petra. Then she stepped up to a woman in jeans and a pullover. They exchanged a few words, and then they embraced. I walked through the dried grasses wondering if I could ever embrace strangers like that. Why did so many of us voyage through life stuffed inside isolation chambers? Fear did it. Organized fear. We popped fear each day like anti-vitamins. We wrapped ourselves in blister packs, sanitized for our protection. Mediocrity forever! I turned around for one last look. Petra embraced yet another stranger. “Hey, man,” Steve said as I climbed into the cab of his pick-up. He dropped a pink bakery box onto my lap. “These aren’t day-olds.” Steve worked on his weight problem by eating more comfort food. His belly kept expanding along with the universe. We were both six-footers, but my body (except for my follicle challenge) was in better shape than his by about 150 pounds now. I watched him chomp, wondering by what twisted logic the Universe justified sending me home each night to an empty apartment while sending Steve home to a fashion model. But before I could slip too deeply into envy this Monday morning, Steve announced, “Trisha and I had the biggest honkin’ fight we’ve ever had.” “About what?” He mimed walking fingers. “The bitch sneaks onto my computer and downloads all my email. I’m talking ancient stuff. Archives.” “Shit.”

24 Breath After Death “No shit shit. She finds emails I wrote to chicks I don’t remember anymore, then blows sky high like I’m cheating on her now! I tell her, ‘My God, I don’t even know these women!’ She says, ‘If you really loved me, you’d have deleted these sluts from your computer eons ago.’ You can’t fight logic like that. Fall in love, clean off your hard drive, erase your life history. That happened Saturday afternoon. I spent the next twenty-four hours sucking up to her.They mean nothing to me. I love you, Trisha, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss—kissing ass ‘cause she refused to kiss my lips. Damn ice queen.” “What did she say about sneaking onto your computer?” “Nothing! In her mind she caught me red-handed. Cops don’t consider it entrapment when they find something. I insisted I wasn’t having an affair. Jesus, who’d have an affair with me anyway?” He rubbed his belly. “Blubber is only attractive on Buddha. I’d only get paid to model if the caption reads, ‘Professional fat guy. Don’t try this at home.’” I felt secret comfort knowing that Trisha subjected him to daily doses of mental torture. Imaginary lovers didn’t treat me like that. “I’ll find out tonight if the flowers worked,” he said, his mouth stuffed with sugar. Then, as if someone had clicked his brain with a remote, he said, “Hey, I heard on the radio that your train creamed a kid.” A chill engulfed me. My brain barked that I had made the unlikely call vis-à-vis my imaginary friend. “It wasn’t our train. The conductor told us about a pedestrian fatality up ahead. He didn’t say anyone was creamed, though.” “No, don’t offend the paying passengers.” “Weird, though. Before the train stopped, I imagined that a fatality had occurred.” Steve imitated the Twilight Zone theme. I was supposed to get his hint and shut up. “Don’t you think it’s odd that I imagined what actually happened?” I asked. “Can you say coincidence?” “Maybe, but I even guessed it was a child! How accurate is that?” “If you documented all your idle thoughts, you’d find many ironies like that.” “Yeah, I guess. This morning on the train I had visions that my apartment was burning up. I couldn’t stand it, so I went back home to check. Sure enough, I’d unplugged the iron.” Steve laughed heartily. “You actually went home?” The thought kept taunting me—was Steve truly the best I could do for a best friend? He was like a comfortable pair of walking shoes I’d worn for fifteen years. You would wear them on occasions

25 Joshua Bagby when you needed special footwear, like for walking through brambles and mucky swamps. You’d wear them to paint your shed or dig trenches in the back yard. You wouldn’t wear them when you wanted to make a good impression. But even an old shoe has a trick under its tongue. Still snickering, he said, “You should cash in some vacation days, Benjamin. I hear Maui’s nice.” “Maui,” I mumbled. I thought I heard Chloe giggling. “Palm trees. Wahine pussy.” Was Steve the best I could do for a best friend? “I was thinking Kauai.” “Same difference. You’ve gotta get some fun, though.” He turned and eyed me at the stoplight. “And what’s this shit with Lacey Brown?” I nearly lost my doughnut. Collecting myself, I asked, “Don’t you already know?” Steve scarfed down another quadrant of cake. “Look, Ben, I read your emails to her this morning.” “Oh, did she print out copies for you to read?” He ignored my question, because of course she didn’t. “You’re using company computers to hit on her!” “I’m just writing friendly notes. What’s the big deal?” “The big deal is you look like a jerk using company computers to cruise for women. For God’s sake, use Gmail or something.” “Lacey enjoys my emails.” “What’s this creativity on, creativity off shit?” “Look, I accept that it’s your job to snoop at everybody’s email, but do I really need to explain my literary nuances to you?” “Remember Julie? I warned you. You didn’t believe me, and you got your ass fried extra crispy. Lacey Brown will crush your ego like a peanut under an elephant’s foot. Trust me. You don’t want to go there.” I sighed silently. I was already there.

26 Breath After Death

3. Spiritual Foreplay

Dear God: At great personal peril, I recently told you that Jesus does not rivet my attention. Today (as I hope you already know because you’re supposed to be the Grand Know-It-All of the Universe) this very unusual plump woman, totally out of the blue, interrupted my mundane life with a startling embrace. She didn’t hug just me; she hugged dozens of strangers. Well, hey! This is the eye-opening, attention-getting, hands-on ministry I’m talking about. So many of us are so fucking lonely down here. We need more Petras. Granted, at first she pissed me off, but I can’t stop thinking about her, and I can stop thinking about Jesus. Get my drift? Please, don’t get huffy and smite me with lightning bolts! Just take it as a suggestion from meek, humble Benjamin Fields. Give Jesus a makeover. Let’s not do the torture scene this time. Let’s do love. Rev up his personality and send him back for an encore. (It would be real funny if you already thought of that and Petra was the reincarnation of Jesus!)

bserving her standing in line by the food truck, I felt like a prospector in the OCalifornia Gold Rush setting eyes on a nugget gleaming in them thar stream. I first responded with disbelief at being the lucky bastard to spot the treasure before all others. Then I felt elation over how my newfound fortune would change my life, which led me to anticipate more riches to follow. On its heels followed the dread of losing my newfound stake. Onlookers would sniff the fragrance of booty and concoct schemes to snatch it from me. This was academic masturbation, of course. Lacey was fool’s gold, already claimed by the institution of marriage. More

27 Joshua Bagby of a what if than a what is. Even so, I buzzed to her side like a honeybee visiting the brightest bloom in the garden. We had first met two months ago. I’d been chatting with my boss, Faye, in the Corporate Library, stealing glances at the new brunette employee, who’d furtively stolen them back. “Oh, have you met Benjamin?” Faye finally asked. Even as she shook her head, Lacey’s searching tawny eyes sucked me deep inside as if we’d known each other forever. The rest of her body did not follow suit. I assumed she was modeling staid corporate behavior, however, she shortly told Faye within my earshot, “My husband is dragging me to a slasher movie this weekend.” When she turned back she held me in a tight eye embrace. I couldn’t recall pupil suction like that, even with Julie on our wedding day. “I hope he forgets,” Lacey sighed. I glanced down to her left hand. No wedding ring. No sign to alert love hunters to please stay off the greener grass. Now her searchlight eyes guided me through the dark skies of corporate life to a cozy respite. Her sensuous ruby lips parted in a sweet smile that sliced through the workday din like a searing rumor. Framed by long, wavy locks the color of a Hershey bar, her gently rounded face welcomed me like the warm morning sun reflected in her blue-tinted eyeglasses. The only defense I could muster against the dizziness of desire was our creativity ritual: “Morning, Lacey, have you shut your creativity off today?” “Absolutely! Creativity is not tolerated in the workplace.” She grinned, right on cue as she always did, our version of a warm morning hug. We did not touch flesh. “Never succumb to the temptation! No telling what havoc an original thought would have on the corporate anals around here!” “Oh, they’d panic! They’d call 9-1-1.” I followed Lacey’s vapor trail into the enclosed employee patio. We had it to ourselves this morning. “Did you have a nice weekend?” I asked as we took seats at a bistro table. “Oh, the usual. Max glued himself to the tube all day Saturday watching sports. He spent Sunday cruising on his motorcycle.” “That’s the Max Report. What didyou do?” “Woman stuff.” I pictured Lacey performing a mysterious goddess ritual in the forest, rubbing leaves over her breasts while chanting love mantras. “Like what?” “Cleaned house. Baked a pie. I also came in and performed a rush job for a hyperactive taskmaster.”

28 Breath After Death “You worked this weekend?” “Uh-huh. You sound surprised. You work overtime, don’t you?” “Sure, tons.” “So, welcome to Failure. Creativity off. What did you do this weekend?” “I painted.” “Like a bedroom?” “Digital painting on computer. Creativity on.” “That’s wonderful!” In the mirror of her cheerleader eyes, my painting felt strangely empty now. “ Yeah.” “You don’t sound too enthused.” “Painting is a great creative outlet, but sometimes I wish I had a real life.” “What’s not real about making art?” “It’s colorful. It challenges my imagination. But I get absorbed in my own world. I isolate myself like a leper.” “Peace and quiet sound great to me.” I wanted to send yet another coded signal that I was ready for her, should she be so obliging as to walk away from the disaster she’d married. “I overdose on tranquility. Hours go by and I don’t talk to anybody.” “Awwww,” she sighed, picking at her cinnamon roll with a plastic fork. “Well, talking to Max is like talking to nobody. That’s worse.” “I’m not lonely like there’s no one to talk to. I’m lonely for depth and meaning.” “Oh, yeah,” she said with a knowing nod. “I want more than banter. I want to feel something.” “Cleaning the toilet stimulates me more than conversing with my husband. I think that says it all right there.” No, not quite. How did this vital woman hook up with a bad boy cliché? Even more to the point: why had the Universe in its infinite wisdom (assuming it ponders these trivialities) led Lacey and me to this intersection of time and space? Was I destined to shiver outside in the cold like a pauper watching the well-to-do gorge on sumptuous meals in posh restaurants? Or had I been chosen to gallop into her desolate marriage and rescue her from love starvation? “You think Max is bad?” I retorted. “I got so bored I invented an imaginary woman to play with.” “Hey, if she assures intelligent conversation, I say go for it! Does your imaginary friend have a name?”

29 Joshua Bagby “Chloe.” “Not a trace of hesitation. I’m impressed! Why did you name her that?” “I didn’t. She told me what her name was.” “Sounds like you two shared a moment.” Lacey swiped at her bottom lip with a quick lick that I saw in slow motion with wet, starry flares of light. “We became very good friends. She takes off in my mind and develops as her own personality.” “So how is she developing?” Blink, blink, blush. “Not quite as developed as you, but she wants me to fly to Hawaii.” Lacey laughed. “You just met her, and she already wants a vacation.” “She says I need to get out of the house—that love is waiting for me in the tropics.” I studied Lacey’s face for the slightest hint that me leaving for Hawaii to find a lover would strike her as bad news. Nothing. “Maybe I should get my own imaginary lover,” Lacey said. I shook my head. “You could have any real man you wanted.” “Well, aren’t you sweet?” She beamed, and for once I felt as if my opinion mattered. That sounds pitifully negative, and no one likes a failure. Yet let’s be honest here. As my life flashed before my eyes, I saw myself morphing into a middle-aged stereotype. Divorced and needy. No love, no sex. Even balding, and I was no Patrick Stewart. My decent day job paid the bills but starved my soul. Unlike a Star Ship captain, my ordeals were not world-threatening. My ordeal was creative suffocation in a high-tech sweatshop. I’d never reached child rearing, but maybe that was because no soul wanted to incarnate with losers at the helm. I would have been in dire straights as a divorced parent. Julie would be showering our progeny with the most expensive toys she could find on the Internet; I’d be up to my eyeballs in debt. What did I have to look forward to? All you need is love. Love, love, love. But how do I attract love when I have so little to offer? I knew better than to promote all my fears and shortcomings. Best foot forward and all that. But if you lead with your best, what happens when you have to step with the other foot? I changed the subject. “I met an unusual woman this morning.” “Real or imagined?” “Flesh. She marched right up to me alongside the train and offered me a hug. It wasn’t a two-second bump-and-run, either. It lasted at least a whole minute.” Lacey fluttered her lashes. “Mmmm. Did she kiss you, too?” “No, she just read my aura.” “I don’t get it. Explain.”

30 Breath After Death “She pressed herself real close against me, almost like we were slow dancing. She said she could teach me how to see spirits.” “Why would you want to do that?” “Well, to prove that people don’t really die.” “Trust me, Benjamin, people really die.” “Well, I know they die. My mother died. My brother died. But I like to think that life goes on somewhere else.” “I hope not. I have enough trouble right here.” “Do you believe in God?” She shook her head. “I’m not an idiot.” “You believe in eternal darkness?” She nodded. “I could use the rest.” “I don’t know what I believe in.” “Imaginary girlfriends?” she offered. “Well, both Chloe and the hugging woman told me I’d find my heart’s desire in Kauai.” “Any special heart’s desire?” “I don’t know exactly. A place? Like-minded people? Love? Weird, though. She wouldn’t say where she’d be. No address. I’m supposed to show up at the airport, and magically my intuition will lead me to her.” “Whoa!” Lacey sniggered. “And she laughs her ass off that someone would fall for that!” “No, I’m convinced she believed I could do it.” “What kind of a sucker does she take you for?” “An all-day sucker, I suppose. She hugged a lot of people, though. Not just me. I watched her go through several.” Lacey’s jaw dropped slightly. “Interesting line of work.” “I wouldn’t mind being a professional hugger.” “It’s beyond me why women aren’t swarming all over you!” “Well, what can I say?” I shrugged. “Tell all your friends.” “I wish I had friends worthy enough for you,” she said quietly. It felt sweet to me, like a long, wet kiss. “I’m pretty weak in the girlfriends department.” “I don’t get it. You’re the most fascinating woman I know,” I said, gently petting Lacey with the tone of my voice. “Oh, stop it!” “You are! My God, I love talking with you.” “Yeah, well, like you said, you’re hard up for company. Any port in a storm.”

31 Joshua Bagby Lacey turned away, apparently to cloak her face from me. I gave her some peace, then asked, “Are you OK?” She drew a finger up to her eye. “Yeah, I don’t know what came over me.” She knew, but she wasn’t saying. “I must have hit a secret spot.” Her face tightened. “What?” “Marriage can be a very lonely place. Max keeps me from making good friends. He’s the original black cloud. If I take him anywhere he depresses the hell out of everybody.” I had to nail my hands to the table to keep from reaching out to tenderly stroke her face. This was the workplace! Lacey was the other sex; Lacey had a professional reputation; Lacey was a married woman. No touch the Lacey. “You make him sound horrible!” I tried to sound convinced of her woe, but she was a man magnet. Beauty and brains in massive quantities. “Or are you just exaggerating?” “Hey, when they wrote the definition offool, they included my picture.” She shook her head in a self-effacing way. I laughed. “Don’t laugh!” “Then don’t be funny!” “It’s horrible,” she said, cracking a smile. She feigned embarrassment, but I took it as a female wiles sort of thing. “Seriously, he’s jealous of anyone more interesting than he is. Needless to say, he’s jealous a lot!” We traded another sizzling embrace in the form of laughter. Then her fingers gently touched my forearm. Massive squiggles appeared on the Richter scale of my brain. I descended into silence. The Universe leads me once again to the altar of unobtainable riches. Lacey evidently saw that my mood had shifted. “Hey, what’s going on in there?” “Nothing,” I said. “I don’t believe that for a second.” Her look of concern gnawed at my heart. It was so not Julie. “Well, I know you’re married. I’ve got to respect that.” “I wish I respected it,” Lacey said, eyes off viewing scenes of domestic violence. My soul filled with chills wondering what she saw. “Sometimes I just want to pick up the phone and share a funny thought with you. I wish it was OK.”

32 Breath After Death “Yeah,” she said wistfully and sighed deeply. “Phone calls would not go over well with the warden. He periodically inspects my Blackberry for incoming calls. Max even throws a jealous fit when I listen to talk radio.” A fantasy broke through the shield of political correctness—one where Lacey snatches my hand and presses it to her soft breast.“You know how I really feel about you, don’t you?” “I’m beginning to get the picture,” I would say. “Well, let me fine-tune it for you right now,” she would say, dragging my hand around the globe several times. “What are you thinking?” the mortal Lacey asked. I picked my brain up off the ground and brushed it off. “Oh, the usual. Inappropriate thoughts.” Lacey grinned in a kaleidoscope of chocolate hair, gleaming eyes, and bright white teeth. Perfect, perfect, perfect! “Now, behave yourself,” she admonished with a sly grin. “I told you they were inappropriate, didn’t I?” “Benjamin, how long has it been since you got laid?” “What kind of a question is that?” She shrugged. “Blunt?” “You don’t want to hear about it.” “If I didn’t want to hear about it, I wouldn’t ask the question.” “Eight months, seventeen days, four hours, thirteen minutes.” “You’re kidding.” “Yes, except for the eight months.” “That’s awful.” “Truth sucks.” “You’re a ripe boy, aren’t you?” “Uh-huh.” She winked. “If I don’t behave, I could get us both into massive trouble.” “Trouble?” “Massive,” she said with a slight wiggle in her seat. She mulled over some pictures in her mind. I would have loved to see that photo album. “What are you thinking?” Her eyes swirled over my face as if she were washing me with fine linen, apparently deciding what to say. She leaned in closer to me, closer than her face had ever been to mine. “If you weren’t such a nice guy, I’d totally gorge on you.” Message delivered, she leaned back.

33 Joshua Bagby I suddenly realized that someone else had entered the patio. Like a sultan, Roman Masterson motioned for Lacey to approach him. About a head taller than us mere six-footers, he was as imposing physically as he was politically. “I’m doing some work for Roman. See you soon?” She was off in a flash. Did I hear right? I’m too nice? Had my forehead been emblazoned with the Dreaded Nice Guy logo, guaranteed to repel the modern emancipated bad-boy- seeking woman? “Creativity off,” I said under my breath, rising and meandering back to Graphics. My corporate life was not real life. It was the price of admission I paid for real life. I did the work, and I did it well, but so what? On my deathbed, would I remember the collection of courtboards I’d produced? Or would I remember the day Lacey said I was too nice to eat? My computer screen dished up another death project: a series of illustrations, destined to become exhibits in a courtroom. They were visuals of an all-terrain vehicle accident where a 14-year-old girl was killed when she couldn’t negotiate a sand dune. The girl fell backwards and the ATV flipped on top of her. She eventually bled to death on the dunes. Her parents were suing the deepest pockets their attorneys could find, hoping to swap their grief for a cash payout. Experts poured hundreds of thousands of dollars into studying the engineering dynamics of the vehicle and the crash. The plaintiffs sought to “prove” that the reason why the girl could not negotiate the dune was the ATV manufacturer’s fault. I dragged my cursor across the computer screen and thought again about the morning train fatality, then about the woman on the train who’d seen her freshly deceased grandmother standing by her bed. Big corporations never spend vast sums of money to study the afterlife. Were victims of crashes really dead? Or were they perched in some hotel room in the cosmos watching the legal battles unfold on Court TV? Of course, engineers and lawyers did not consider things they were never taught at M.I.T. or Harvard Law School. They are trained to face reality.

34 Breath After Death

4. Schmoozing with Spirits

Dear God: Let’s talk design issues. Do you mind if I’m not politically correct here? What were you thinking when you invented lust? Was it really to advance the species or was it to drive us to insanity? There’s no logical reason why female bodies should mesmerize me more than a good book, but they do. Well, some of them do, anyway. Why did you hard-wire me to react with predictable yearning when confronted with this particular art form—yet fry me as a sinner if I take the bait? It doesn’t seem fair. It doesn’t even seem logical. Would you please appear on Meet the Press and explain this conundrum? Personally, I would be much more eager to attend church if you came out as more sex friendly and placed love as the world’s top priority.

rocked and swayed on the ride home Monday evening. As the train passed Ithe spot where a little boy fumbled his young life away, I stared at that poster tacked onto the coach wall: Whole Lotta Hula for Justa Little Moola! At home I watched the news. They made much ado about the demise of the toddler on the railroad tracks. They even tossed in speculation from an eyewitness about the mother “who obviously should have been watching her child better.” No one discussed even the possibility of anything cosmic. The child was presumed not to exist anymore. Bye-bye. The clock keeps ticking on my life. I pictured a conveyor belt filled with endless engineering drawings and courtboard exhibits, my future if I stayed the course. I would approach the Gates of Heaven with an impressive array of technical illustration projects that meant diddly to my heart. If that truly happened, would

35 Joshua Bagby the Universe consider my life as time well spent? As late afternoon yielded to the dinner hour, I meandered on foot along a creekside bike trail near my apartment. I heard a whoosh coming up behind me. A tall, leggy woman with flyaway curls breezed by my left on rollerblades. Arrows popped out onto the screen of my imagination. Grease pen circles formed around her as if John Madden voiced color commentary on my love life for a national television audience. “She’s hot. She’s single. She’s available. It’s time for Fields to choose. Lacey Brown, married woman? Short-term gain. Instant gratification. Stellar body. Juicy mind. Or single rollerblade babe? Unknown. Mysterious. Looks great skating, but who’s to say? Maybe she’s psycho.” “Psssst.” From out of nowhere I felt Chloe walking with me on the bike trail. “Careful what you think. What you think is what you get. That’s the secret, you know.” Where does inspiration come from? Mystics talk about listening to the inner voice. Society teaches us to ignore it; otherwise we’d be in danger of making up our own universe. Given the present state of our troubled world, I was not sure that making up my universe would be such a horrid idea. My world would overflow with love. I imagined the skater turning around and coming back. She would stop in front of me, smile like a hostess who still loved her job, and say, “Some voice in my head told me that I should get to know you. I never ignore the voice.” No fuss, no muss, no adultery. But of course it would not happen that way for real. It never happens that easily. “It never happens that easily because you firmly believe that life isn’t sweet and easy,” Chloe said. “You are a product of your culture. You have conditioned your mind to reject the riches of the universe. To satisfy your negative beliefs, you create obstacles. Beliefs create reality, and your beliefs are a mess.” I could not accept my fantasy friend’s summary of my life. Lacey had all but said she’d give me the ride of a lifetime. I knew that she liked me. Maybe she would fall in love with me and make my world complete. “She won’t make your world complete,” Chloe said. “She’s the most thrilling woman I have ever met,” I said. “I’m the most thrilling woman you have ever met, and you should see what wonders I have in store to show you.” “I’ll believe that when I can see you. Right now, Lacey is the one I want.” I pictured Lacy gliding down corporate hallways. People would stop what

36 Breath After Death they were doing to gaze at the sheer magnitude of her beauty. But it wasn’t just that. She had a gourmet feast of ideas piled launch tower high inside her mind. “Benjamin, she’s thrilling because you’re making her up as you go along.” “You’re thrilling, and I’m making you up as I go along, too.” “I’m much more believable than she is,” Chloe said. Just who the hell ran this Universe anyway? Julie had depleted my cash reserves before she found someone in a cakewalk to dump me for and marry for instant community property. For me, the cupboards of affection were bare. Cruel, that’s all. A trick nature pulled. Did I truly have to resort to stealing some guy’s wife? I wanted an honorable love. Why, then, did God, or his legal assignees, plant a blooming Lacey in my mate garden? Chloe’s voice filled my mind. “She’s a past life mate from the time of the California Gold Rush. Your hunger for love attracted her to you now. But you fear the very success and happiness you long for, so you also attracted the complications to keep you stuck in the muck. If you’d just go to Kauai as we keep telling you, you’d find exactly what you want.” That’s irony for you. “Thank you inner voice,” I said with great sarcasm. I had not formulated a clear picture of Chloe or the “we” she spoke of. I played with different appearances, but nothing filtered out as true. Her image morphed like flowing water as she floated alongside me. Now she wore a teal jumpsuit. Copper hair prevailed. Yet even that vision was mercurial. Out of frustration, I finally asked, “Whatdo you look like?” “It doesn’t matter. I’ve inhabited dozens of human bodies over the centuries.” “What do you look like right now?” “Glowing mist. You can call me Glowy Chloe!” I imagined a body of light swirls throbbing with laughter. Yet when I imagined her placing her arms around me, tingles surged through my veins. It excited me to believe in an alternative universe where the rules are different and the rulers aren’t such schmucks. “Were we ever lovers?” I asked. “I was your husband when we last incarnated together centuries ago. You were a woman then, of course. I’ve inhabited other bodies since then, as have you.” “You sure took your time showing up!” “You resist the truth. Humans purposely walk in amnesia about their larger reality. If you saw me with your physical eyes, a new and different reality would whack you on the head.” She’s right, I thought. Fantasy is safe consciousness-raising. Fantasies turn

37 Joshua Bagby on and off like light switches. John Madden on; John Madden off. Sometimes I forget to turn off the switches and the fantasies burn on. “Lacey, summon your courage, leave your husband, and let me fill your life with ecstasy.” Fiction. “Julie, let’s turn back the clock on our marriage. This time we’ll nurture each other’s soul and I’ll take anti-baldness pills.” Fiction. “Benjamin, let’s ditch this corporate job and create beautiful works of heart.” Fiction. “Hi, my name is Chloe. I come from your distant past to heal your wounds and lead you to paradise.” Fiction? How many millions believe spirits watch over us? How many millions wait for rides on UFOs (some will even commit mass suicide to get there?) How many millions yearn for reunions with deceased relatives or tangible meetings with spirit teachers? What happens when you get that wish? Could you easily turn off the light switch of the mind? A human being’s greatest protective device is selective perception. Denial. Ignorance. If Chloe were real, all my comforting hideouts would vanish. Could I take on that pressure? No wonder the world strives so diligently to keep afterlife secrets under wraps. If we knew beyond doubt that life were eternal, that what went around actually came around, it would be liberating! God lives! Our prayers are answered! We really do reap what we sow! But yikes, think of the consequences. What about all that exists in our world borne out of secrecy and deceit? Commerce could collapse if there were no back room dirty deals. Could giant corporations exist in our world if openness and integrity prevailed? How would all those entities relying on fear motivation operate in a cosmic love economy? But then, I thought, if reincarnation or extraterrestrials or spirit beings were indisputable fact, proof should have reached the national news desk by now. We shouldn’t be stewing in a bubbling broth of negativity. Familiar pangs constricted my throat. Lacey was stuck across town in Home Sweet Prison with the warden she didn’t love, and I lived alone. “Yoo-hoo! Benjamin!” Chloe broke in. “Everything is brewing for you in Kauai.” “You’re just a voice in my head. Lacey is real. I’m sorry, but I just don’t go running off to Kauai because some fantasy tells me to.” “Do you want to explain again how fulfilling your life is?” “Bitch!” “Unless you overcome your fear, your legacy in this life will be that you drew pictures for lawyers.” “It pays the rent,” I protested. “At the peril of starving your soul!” I pictured her throwing her hands up in

38 Breath After Death melodramatic despair. “This isnot what you truly want, is it? Rock the boat, hon! Don’t let life just happen to you—take charge and create your destiny!” “Save your imaginary breath. I’ve had all these conversations with myself before.” “Listen to yourself! You’re addicted to security. A steady paycheck, health benefits, three weeks vacation, and a matching 401(k).” “But I’ve got responsibilities! Follow your bliss makes for a great happy talk seminar, but I don’t want to follow my bliss to poverty.” “Everyone’s got stories to scare them out of doing what they really want to do. Do you want to rot on the vine?” I knew I couldn’t find my sweet wahine without leaving Silicon Valley. But leaving my roots? Even divorce from Julie hadn’t swept me out of the Bay Area. Why jump ship now? Leaving would dunk me into total loneliness. I would know no one. I would lose my sense of history. I would have no support system. I would be adrift in the sea of newdity. “You have a great opportunity,” Chloe continued. “You can support the death industry by continuing with the work you’re doing. Or you can pursue great life discoveries in Kauai.” I imagined landing at the airport in Kauai. A willowy wahine steps up to me and lays a lei around my neck. “Aloha,” she sings while embracing me, her heat pulsating through me like holy blood. “Welcome to your new life.” “You can have that,” Chloe said. “I just can’t take off and try to catch the wind,” I said to those brain cells impersonating goddesses. “The more you pine for Lacey, the more you stall the arrival of the love you seek. You’ll find out that Lacey is not what she appears.” “You’re not what you appear, either,” I said flippantly to my reverie of glowing smoke. “In fact, you don’t appear at all.” The woman on rollerblades came into view, now skating toward me. She whizzed by and didn’t stop. Yet I read the words embroidered on her tank top in big, material reality lettering—the Call of Kauai.

39 Joshua Bagby

5. Spirits Should Be Seen

Dear God: So here’s the deal: I love life and beauty and harmony. I want a world where everyone enjoys the good life and finds the happiness they seek without needing to hurt others. To me this is a very godly ideal and one that I fervently hope you share. Why is it, then, that so many religious leaders are so often into criticizing and judging thy neighbor? For me, church sucks. It’s a cesspool of guilt and shame, not love and beauty. What kills me most is that you’re supposed to be the ultimate creator, and yet we’re taught that diversity pisses you off. You don’t like anybody who isn’t a monogamous heterosexual. You require question-free devotion to assembly- line religion. Hello? Massive conformity isn’t exactly thrilling. What about experimenting? What about creativity on? It’s really not hard for me to tune you out if this grumpmeister is really you. So how do I find out who you really are?

hat night I positioned myself statue-still flat on my back in the middle of Tmy bed. Behind closed eyes I listened intently to the world around me, hoping to receive a fingertip from heaven. One little brush against my hand. Instead I heard a cacophony of ducks and coots and seagulls in the lagoon outside my bedroom window. They mocked my attempt to contact the spirit world. If Chloe were a real spirit speaking through my mind, that would change everything. I marveled at the orderly stream of details—facts?—that had flowed through me. Lacey and me in the Gold Rush? Memory or fantasy? I’d heard about people undergoing past-life regressions under hypnosis, but not just walking around hearing past-life whispers on the fly. 40 Breath After Death I want you to touch the palm of my hand. I want to feel something real. Whatever it takes. But nothing happened. Oh, yes, my heart beat faster as I waited to be touched by an angel. I focused my attention on my right palm. I told myself to sneak around those rational brain beliefs that adamantly refused to tolerate spirit life. If I concentrated hard enough, I could open a cosmic doorway to Chloe. I could will it so. After several minutes of intense concentration, my right hand curled as if grasping a baseball. I flattened that palm up against the mattress again. I wanted my mate from centuries ago to have an easier target. I waited for her cosmic brush to revolutionize my life. I give you permission to touch my hand. I want to feel you touch me now. But nothing happened. I imagined Chloe stretched out above me, reclined and floating like a magician’s assistant in a levitation illusion. But it felt distinctly as if my imagination muscled up a vision through brute wishcraft, nothing real. The waterfowl bobbing in the lagoon outside heckled me. I wondered what duck souls did. Ducks and coots may not be great thinkers, not in the rational sense, not enough to design the wonders of humanity, to build cathedrals and bridges and skyscrapers, but maybe they are tuned in to some cosmic radio frequency we know nothing about. What else would ducks or coots do while bobbing up and down in the water all night long? Do they naturally settle into a state of cosmic bliss it takes humans decades in monasteries to master? This is getting me nowhere. I asked for a clearer picture of Chloe. No face appeared on the movie screen of my mind. As soon as something would drift into focus, it would distort itself and change into something else. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if spirit guides and other cosmic lovers could (and would) merge with computer graphics technology and appear on my monitor? I could save Chloe to disk. I could take a screenshot of my celestial sweetie and send it to all corners of cyberspace. I kept trying to bare her secrets. Five minutes later, or so it seemed, my head slowly crept from right to left. It felt like my chiropractor holding my head and gently moving it about on top of my neck. Not exactly cosmic manipulation. Probably just a muscle yawning and stretching in this unusual state of deep relaxation. I brought my consciousness back to visualizing Chloe. Several new female faces whizzed before my mind’s eye, but nothing appeared clear and precise.

41 Joshua Bagby One of them looked like a model posing for Cosmopolitan. Another was very old, glaring at me as if I were a disgusting gawker peeping inside her private reality, perusing the wanted poster section in a post office in the astral plane. “Uh, have you seen my spirit guide?” Where do these visions come from? Was this old woman someone from my past, maybe when I was wandering through the Gold Country? Maybe it was my self-portrait as a woman stuck somewhere in time. Maybe it was a stray spirit I attracted to me now, the spirit of emptiness. I focused my attention back inside the palm of my right hand. I envisioned a bolt of sunlight streaming into it. But no physical sensation accompanied it. Chloe did not reach out and touch someone. Negative vibes, negative vibes! I wondered what I might be doing to block Chloe from breaking through. “I’m right here with you,” she said in her familiar non-physical voice. “Touch my hand.” “I am. I’m stroking it with hearts.” “I don’t feel anything.” “Concentrate.” I concentrated with all my mental might, but I felt nothing. More minutes ticked off. Occasionally, my head would reset itself in a new position, and muscle spasms would jerk my hands around. Suddenly I felt as if someone were pulling my hand downward with a puppet string. My hand wanted to crawl down a few inches. My heart shuddered in my chest. But then, nothing but more stillness. Silently, I called out to Chloe. She insisted again that she was still with me. “Think of your day,” Chloe suggested. “You don’t feel me touching your hand, but think of the signs I showed you.” I reviewed my day. A phantom vision of my apartment burning up puts me on another train where I overhear two women talking about sightings and communication with spirit entities. Just then I start hearing an imaginary woman named Chloe inside my head. I see a poster on the train—Whole Lotta Hula for Justa Little Moola—and Chloe tells me that I have a love frenzy waiting for me there. She then announces that another commuter train killed a little boy. Her prediction comes true. I step off the train and am approached by a mystical woman named Petra who hugs me with unusual affection—and hugs dozens of other people, too. She tells me to come to Kauai to receive my spiritual answers. She’ll show me how to see spirits. Then my friend Steve validates that a little boy

42 Breath After Death got wasted on the tracks and warns me against using company computers to hit on Lacey. The next time I see Lacey, she metaphorically waves and drops a white hanky for me to pick up. Then my imaginary lover, Chloe, who claims she’s a spirit just pretending to be a fantasy, tells me I was married to Lacey during the time of the California Gold Rush. Lacey is my karma. That’s followed by spotting a lithesome woman wearing a Call of Kauai t-shirt. Listen to the call. What a day, indeed. Did I really need more proof? But so much goes unnoticed when we aren’t looking for a prize. That’s what the scientists at Failure Dynamics would say. That’s what Steve said. We mold coincidences into miracles when we want to believe in something. When we’re looking for answers, the Universe flashes a menagerie of signs to us that would mean nothing if we weren’t hunting. How many times have you seen a shirt from a popular tourist attraction and thought nothing of it? How many times are you thinking of a question when someone answers it? Why do we automatically assume that it’s some kind of stone tablet from heaven? It’s just that we’re paying attention. We notice now what we normally ignore. Petra had left me with a puzzle. Go to Kauai and listen to the force. The force would tell me where to go. I said it was a weird idea. She asked indignantly if I’d ever tried it. No, I’d never tried it because I never thought I could do it. It sounded crazy. So now I tried being touched by a finger from heaven, because I never thought I could do anything like that. And nothing happened. I just wanted proof I was not diving off a cliff of insanity in my pursuit of cosmic truth. I could be in big trouble if I surrendered to fantasies of a Universe that truly cares about me. The world is filled with desperate people who take desperate measures to overcome their stagnant lives. I did not want to join Psychic Hotline Anonymous. If Chloe touched my hand, I could let it all go. This idea that spirit guides are with you 24 hours a day, seven days a week without a vacation was just not holding amniotic fluid. It really should not be this difficult, I thought.I have such passion, such yearning to know about the cosmos. I am asking: I should receive. I am seeking; I should find. I am knocking; the door should be opened. The doorbell must have been broken. I heard more chatter from the creatures in the black lagoon. Who was more of a fool—the fowl for bobbing up and down in chilly water all night or me for attempting to contact an invisible companion? Did a contingent of unseen spirits huddle in my room to witness this experiment in physical-to-ethereal communication? Were they chomping on

43 Joshua Bagby astral popcorn and candies? Perhaps my mother and Nick sat on the edge of their seats in this very room. I wondered what they thought of Chloe. A naked woman popped into my inner vision. Zaftig like an ancient fertility goddess. Enormous breasts with tawny nipple buds big as grapes. A plump stomach. But faceless. The zoom lens of my visualization camera stuck; I could not zoom out to see who she was. I could not tilt up. Chloe? Do cosmic girlfriends tease their mortal brethren this way? I fancied myself being rocked asleep in dreamy goddess warmth. Then I tasted a guilt cocktail wondering what my audience of spirit guides must be thinking. Where do visions like this come from? What are they trying to tell me? This pursuit of touching the hand from heaven suddenly swept me into the cemetery of my love life. I was just kidding myself. Julie’s warm body was long gone. Lacey was a dangerous temptation. I’d wimped out with Petra. Chloe had denied my visitation request. You do have to pay dues, I thought. Show that you mean business by daily meditation rituals. Maybe it was like getting a private pilot’s license; you had to log long hours to prove your ultimate worthiness to fly solo. Guides and angels rush in at the last second to intervene in someone’s suicide attempt, maybe. But you can’t fake suicide to someone who can read your thoughts and who knows that you just want proof of the light. Ducks outside quacked more. “C’mon, Chloe, you’ve been rummaging through my imagination conversing with me. Now here’s your big moment of truth, and you’re flaking out.” But nothing happened. That’s irony for you. Work loomed ahead a few hours away. I pictured anxious attorneys clamoring through my go-between boss Faye for case-winning courtboard illustrations of death and destruction, pain and suffering. “I’m right here,” Chloe said once again, but nothing was different, nothing happened. I rolled over onto my side and surrendered to the jaws of sleep.

44 Breath After Death

6. Thunderbolts of Bliss

Dear God: Am I the only one who’s noticed the striking similarity between strippers and psychics? Strippers cavort around onstage teasing and tantalizing with their bumps and grinds. They rely on natural curiosity, mystery, illusion. For a price, they promise flirtations with the unknown, presumably leading to ecstasy. Psychics cavort around stage teasing and tantalizing, too. “I talk to dead people. Give me your money.” They slowly reveal what happened to deceased Grandpa Fred— often teasing our hopes without truly delivering the goods. I’d like to see spirits talk like normal people for a change. “Hello, this is Grandpa Fred speaking to you live from the penthouse suite high atop the Heavenly Hills Hotel and Country Club. How’s mortal life treating you, Benjamin?” I’ve listened to a few celebrity psychics. Spirits speak like floating enigmas. Why can’t the Universe give straight answers? Is clarity against your rules? I’d grow faster spiritually if you would let me see Chloe. How could I ignore the light if she shined it in my face? I liked the Call of Kauai tee-shirt trick. I just don’t know if this is the best time for subtle, you know what I mean? How about some shock and awe?

hen I boarded Caltrain Tuesday morning, I noticed that a man in a gray Wbusiness suit had already claimed my customary landing spot. I selected a seat across the aisle from him. After the train departed, the conductor appeared in the car. The suit grinned and with the familiarity of drinking buddies sniggered, “Well, I wonder who we’ll run down today?” I recalled yesterday’s fatality.

45 Joshua Bagby “We put someone in the driver’s seat this time,” the conductor quipped back. They both had a good male bonding laugh. “I shouldn’t joke about it,” the conductor said, glancing uneasily at me, rolling his eyes like, whoops, sorry Mister Taxpayer, I lost my head. “It’s a horrible thing. Tragic.” “Life trudges on for the rest of us,” the suit said. Sorry for the inconvenience. Life trudged along for me. Production work filled my plate. Shortly after lunch I visited the Library for an inspiration break. I saw Lacey discussing something with Roman. I left the scene, went outside, and wrote Lacey a note: I discovered a gaping hole inside me where you fit. It’s telling me how much I miss you already. I want you to fill up the space between my outstretched arms. Will you let me show you how much you mean to me? (Do you hear my deep, deep sigh?) Hours later I spotted Lacey serving another engineer in his office. I flashed my best smile, but she had clicked her brain into full creativity off position. I didn’t sleep well that night, thrashing with the vision that my note had flopped. On Wednesday morning’s commute, I went daydreaming in the Whole Lotta Hula for Justa Little Moola poster. I wondered how many people Petra had hugged since Monday; I had hugged the big zero since. By that afternoon I reeled from too much nothing from Lacey. No word, no smile, no dropped hanky, no cigar. On Monday she’d given me more green lights than a Christmas tree, and now nothing. I fortified myself. Just eat my Wheaties and pay her a visit. If she didn’t want to receive my flirty notes, she could just say so. I’d fade quietly into obscurity. Creativity on. Petra had issued me a challenge. She wasn’t the prettiest peach on the tree, but look at her fruitful scorecard in life! She had fullness; I had emptiness. Her brain flowed with memories, mine with mere fantasies. I decided to take her spiritual challenge more seriously. You get answers when you show you’ve got the right stuff. Petra enters the lonely crowd, embraces strangers, and implants psychic transponders into their energy bodies. Maybe she’d already slipped a bug up my astral ass, and I was under her mind control. “Beam him to Kauai, Scotty.” Creativity off. I went upstairs and found Lacey at her desk. “I’m really busy right now,” she snapped. “Are you OK?” I asked, secret code words for what the fuck is wrong with you? “I’ve got rushes up the wazoo!” she snapped and turned away. The end. Back at my workstation, I reminded myself not to expect steamy encounters at Failure Dynamics. I’d been hired to work, not to advance my love life. They

46 Breath After Death paid me to visualize people dying. Little girls and little boys. Big girls and big boys. Old girls and old boys. In the great panorama of dying people, my job, like news reporters everywhere, was to design thrilling “oh shit” deaths. Train fatalities make news. So do airplane crashes and terrorist bombings and natural disasters and house fires and murders. They’re splashy and flashy. My mother and brother earned front-page status for their visually compelling death. All they had to do was show up. A drunk did the rest. If you’re going to go, die with style. Don’t quietly succumb to kidney failure or complications from pneumonia. You won’t make the news. On Thursday’s train ride, I thought about the family of the boy killed on the railroad tracks four days ago. An empty bedroom framed the reminder that the little boy was gone, just a monotonous dial tone from the depths of eternity. Grieving parents would agonize over his belongings. Just the morning before his death, they could have been squabbling about the horrid state of his messy room and climbing the walls over the steady ear-piercing screech of boyish yammering. Now they huddled in the boy’s room watching dust devils swirl through the abrupt void. They wished to the heights of heaven they could trade back for their old problems. In my youth my stepmother Rose had swept through the house like a memory vacuum, bagging all reminders of Theresa and Nick. She couldn’t stand competing for Home Queen. Her eyes never shined for me like they did for my younger half- brother and half-sister. I never understood why she forced us to commune with God at church. If God loved me, why wouldn’t He let me have a photo of my recalled mother? I was mid-way through college when my father and his stepfamily moved to San Antonio, Texas. I noticed with sadness that I was indifferent about that; it should have disturbed me. Years later, my half-sister took pity on me, I guess. She sent me the only three pictures I now have of my mother—and none of my brother. “Could a vacation in Kauai really kill you?” I asked myself—or maybe Chloe tossed the question into my brain for me to stumble upon. What’s the worst thing that could happen? I could fly to paradise and wind up feeling stupid for listening again to musing voices that said I’d left the iron plugged in. I’d be out a thousand bucks. But what if I located Petra? She’d said just show up and some cosmic tractor beam would pull me to her side. Maybe my future soul mate chanted melodious mantras into the tropical night air, her heart hungering for the embrace of a man who would fly across an ocean to answer her psychic call. When I reached my cubicle, I checked my voice mail. Nothing from Lacey. I

47 Joshua Bagby couldn’t resist checking my email. Nothing from Lacey. When the company mail arrived at 10:49, I noticed nothing from Lacey again. I called the corporate travel agent on the special company number. I told the agent that I wanted to go to Kauai as soon—and as cheaply—as possible. She called back several minutes later with a wink in her voice. “You’re in luck. I found you a special. Interested?” When I later asked Faye to cash in a week of vacation time, she frowned. “Oh, Benjamin, bad timing. Roman has been warning me about a huge tire project. I can’t get it done without you.” She scrunched her face as if to say that this was the worst possible time I could indulge my selfish whims. I knew her. She often pulled this expression out of her prop closet. Maybe beneath the exterior of her middle management battle facade, she knew that I had a storage locker stashed with vacation time—and after all, not all rushes were created equal. Maybe Chloe reached through the veil and massaged Faye’s neurons. Whatever it was, Faye said, “All right. Go have fun. I’ll deal with it. Send me a post card.” On the shuttle to Failure Dynamics Friday morning, I wondered how many spirits detrained when I did. Faye snared me before I could set my satchel on my drawing table. “Benjamin, in my office please,” she deadpanned, her face contorted to corporate war face. “Good morning and welcome to work, Ben,” frizzy-haired Eileen cracked from her neighboring cubicle. “I hope you don’t have any big plans for this weekend, because...” she wrinkled her freckled nose and puckered her lips comically, “we’re here to serve.” “I’m happy I don’t have a life. No distractions from serving my liege Roman.” Eileen stuck out her tongue. “My children don’t really need their mother. They need a cupboard stocked with Fruit Loops, milk flowing from the refrigerator, and cartoons on TV.” “I thought that’s how your husband felt,” I retorted. “Oh, him, too. Only he requires football and beer.” “Well, it’s not as if we’ll miss a great go-do-it weekend. I hear it’s supposed to rain cats and dogs this Saturday.” “I wouldn’t mind getting wet this weekend,” she lamented. I scooted over to Faye’s office. “We have another big job to do. Roman wants it done yesterday. Can you work Saturday? I really need you here.” “Sure, I guess.” She smiled. “You’re great. I can always count on you.” Back at my computer armed with assignments, I settled down to work. A fuel

48 Breath After Death line had ruptured and exploded near a housing tract. Litigation Lotto Fever had struck again, the Gold Rush for the New Millennium. I prepared a pipeline map showing its proximity to the railroad tracks and the housing tract and the park and the highway. My visuals would set the scene in a court of law for the blast that sent seven people to Admissions in Heaven and eighteen more to local area hospitals. I wondered if these victims knew they had died. How many people in the daily death toll—the accident fatalities, the dreaded diseases, the wars, the storms, the street violence, the natural causes—understand their transformation? When TV shows feature dying as a plot point or news teaser, you rarely see the death walk from the victim’s viewpoint. We link death with pain and suffering because that’s mostly what we see. Maybe death is actually like a thrilling clitoral orgasm. No one knew what fun it was until someone finally asked, “Hmm, what happens when I massage this little button?” Maybe death, far from being the ordeal portrayed in the media, actually relieves stress, a slip-sliding slingshot orgasm into the next dimension. Woo-hoo! Later that afternoon, neurons like wild Super Bowl fans roared when Lacey appeared in the doorway to Graphics. Trumpets blared. Hawkers sold tickets at twice the face value. Fireboats spewed jets of water high into the sky. She cautiously approached my cubicle. “Hello there. I’m sorry for bothering you at your workstation—with your creativity off and all.” Bothering me? “No, not at all,” I said, catching a glimpse of Faye frowning in the background. “So have you turned off yours today?” “I fear it’s locked in permanent creativity-off position.” “Me, too. I’ve just been enlisted to work this weekend.” Her face reflected a sudden urgency. “Could I coerce you into taking a walk with me out at the wetlands before you go home tonight?” The words floated out of her mouth, settling onto a delectable dessert platter. “Yeah, sure. Well, that is, if you can drop me off at the train station afterwards.” Lacey beamed. “Sure. About an hour?” She smiled discreetly, spun around, and left. “Well, Benjamin, look at you!” Eileen kibitzed moments later, primping her hair in a mocking diva fashion. “What?” “I’ve seen her raising the testosterone level of the company, but I didn’t realize until now that she had the hots for you.” “What are you talking about?” “Looks like your dry spell is over, eh?”

49 Joshua Bagby “I don’t think so, Eileen. She’s a married woman.” “Then her husband has a problem.” She held up her left hand. “No wedding ring.” “We’re just friends, Eileen.” “Uh-huh.” “She’s got a great mind.” “Yeah, I’d say it’s about a 38D.” I laughed out of politeness, but inwardly I felt a clap of annoyance. Lacey got a bad rap for being beautiful. I got one for being attracted to that beauty.Damn nature anyway. Maybe next incarnation Eileen would be forced to walk in a man’s underwear. Then I heard myself say—and I’m so glad I wasn’t being filmed—“I don’t fool around with married women, Eileen.” “We’ll see if you remember that when you’re alone with her tonight.” Eileen cackled victoriously. “That bitch is in heat, honey.” I focused my attention on my work. Chloe popped into my mind several times, speaking to me in silent glares. “What if it’s our karma to reunite as a couple?” I protested. “Your karma needs to make better choices.” A mental picture of my ironing board formed. I knew I’d pulled the plug this time. My brain cells would have to work harder to intimidate me. Lacey and I stepped along the path at the nature preserve and walked without touching. Eerily warm winds whipped my face. Storm clouds gathered in the distance. I found out that the Universe (that didn’t give a squat about my mostly trivial pursuits) had recruited Lacey for rush work for the same project as me. “Looks like I’ll be doing technical illustrations from your research,” I said. “I’d rather paint your portrait, though.” “God, what for?” she snapped. “I’d break your canvas.” Yeah, right. Jennifer Lopez looks into the Entertainment Tonight camera and says, “I’m so plain. Take a couple million dollars off my latest contract?” “If you saw yourself through my eyes, you wouldn’t say such crazy things.” Lacey nodded, but quickly focused her sight on the clouds. “Max keeps me well informed about all my flaws.” “Do you believe what he says?” I asked, shocked. “Sometimes. You hear something enough times and you begin to believe it.” I recalled Julie’s litanies about my miserly ways, my thinning hair, my dwindling capacity to have fun, my excessive worrying. With repetition, her words clogged the arteries of my spirit. “What could he possibly find wrong with you?”

50 Breath After Death “For one thing he thinks my boobs are too … real.” She laughed. Her advertising technique thrilled me. I advertised back. “Well, I don’t have any hands-on experience, but I’m sure you’d flesh out my dreams.” “Max likes ‘em solid. He thinks mine are too squishy. Implants would firm ‘em up.” “I have a difficult time understanding your husband.” “That makes two of us.” She gazed back into the bank of approaching storm clouds. “You couldn’t drag him to a place like this. His idea of nature is sitting in the back yard nursing a six-pack watching gnats fly around.” “Julie was no nature fan, either. She would look at my drawings and say, ‘I love you but I hate your art.’ Now I question the loving me part.” Lacey nodded. “I always knew that Max was wrong for me.” “Why didn’t you just say no?” “Pressure. He bombarded me with cards and flowers and phone calls. Other girls would be flattered by his romantic fuss, but I found it a big nuisance. His coup was charming my parents. He made an ally out of my mother. She nagged me. He nagged me. I finally saidyes I’ll marry you just to shut them up. I insisted that we move far away from St. Louis so they couldn’t gang up on me all the time. Best decision I ever made!” “So you married somebody you didn’t love?” “Pathetic, isn’t it? That’s what stress does.” “And how’s it been?” “Eight years of hell.” I looked pointedly at her hand. “I notice you’re not wearing your wedding ring.” “No. I don’t feel married to him.” “Doesn’t that piss him off?” “I put it back on when I go home.” “What keeps you married?” “His temper.” “You’re afraid he’ll beat you up or something?” “Sure. Stalk me. Harass me.” “There’s such a thing as the police. Restraining orders and such.” “Get real, Benjamin. Restraining orders don’t do shit for protecting women. I know how to control him from being really stupid.” I had visions of women on tabloid TV shows sucking up for sympathy with their sob stories of brutal men. “Does he beat you?”

51 Joshua Bagby “Early on, a couple of times. He was on dope, though. I know what you’re thinking. Classic denial. I derive some comfort knowing that he wasn’t totally himself when he threw me into the wall.” “Are you serious?” Somewhere in the world, a man named Max Brown took a butcher knife to great art canvases of the world, slicing through treasures with his message of abuse. “It’s OK. He’s under control now.” The look on her face nearly brought tears to my eyes. “But you’re not happy.” “I wish he would fall in love with someone else and leave me the hell alone!” Oh, the sweet words. God, please grant Lacey’s yearnings. “Is that what you’re doing—waiting for him to leave you?” I asked. “That’s all I can do,” she said, choking. “He’s got to think it’s his idea to leave me or just for spite he’d fight to hurt me. If he thinks leaving me would hurt me, he won’t plot revenge.” The distant rumble of thunder snapped us to attention. “We’re being serenaded,” I said excitedly. Lacey waved to the sky, as if for several seconds she had become a carefree girl again. “Free as thunder.” I reached out and lovingly held Lacey’s arm in a manner I’d never dare at work, squeezing with affection, then retreating as I heard Eileen’s giggle waft through my mind. “I love your little love notes.” Lacey cut herself short and turned her head away. “Maybe we should change the subject. I don’t want to start blubbering.” “I wouldn’t care,” I consoled. “I’d kiss your tears.” “You’re a sick puppy, aren’t you?” “I’d be honored to know you trusted me enough to show your true emotions.” “What am I going to do with you?” she asked, shaking her head, her eyes filling with mood dew. The question faded into a sunset fit for the gods. On a point with a sweeping panoramic view of San Francisco Bay, we looked north toward the City and saw the fog ablaze with pink and orange ribbons from the setting sun. Looking southeast, the setting sun cast a rainbow against the deep gray clouds of the approaching frontal system down near San Jose. As we both drifted into a reverent stare, a bolt of lightning shot through the arc of the bow. “Oh, my God,” Lacey gasped. “Did you see that?” “Sometimes life imitates Hollywood!”

52 Breath After Death After the second bolt, Lacey’s hand slid across my back. She pulled herself against me while looking straight ahead toward the southern horizon, and I returned her sideways embrace. We remained silent, watching, connected. When another bolt of lightning lit up the distant skies, we squeezed each other, elated. “Figures I’d see this with you,” she said excitedly. “What is it about you?” “My electric personality.” We gazed at each other like new arrivals in heaven. Suddenly so close to her, I noticed entirely different lines and planes and curves of her face. I thought I should turn my head back to the lightning show, but an unseen current gently pushed me forward. My soul poured into Lacey’s like flowing water. My mouth followed. Her arms wrapped around my neck. Her lips felt soft and yielding; her tongue met mine without pause. A whimper flew from her throat and fused into a granite monument marking the day, the time. “Yes, yes, yes,” she gushed in breathy whispers. I thought I’d better stop, I’d really better stop now, but as I tried to straighten up, Lacey pulled my mouth back to hers. Just before our lips made contact again, my eyes captured her expression. They would hang it in the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Rapture. “If I would have known you were such a luscious kisser,” she sighed later, “I wouldn’t have waited so long. I feel like Sleeping Beauty being awakened from a coma.” “What about you? Kissing you is like licking a light socket.” “Gosh, you are a sweet-talker! Are you always this romantic?” We laughed together. You soul-kiss a woman, and suddenly it’s a whole new world, I thought. We had mixed juices. Radiant Lacey drops flowed inside me. All around us, we saw the subtly shifting hues of the skyscape. The sun ducked behind the fog bank. Fiery pinks erupted, then slowly faded into deep blues and purples of the encroaching night. The thunder and lightning from the south had been a fleeting display. Now rain clouds painted a dark yet gorgeous sky grotto to the south. Was this a sign from the great and powerful Oz that the imaginary spirit had been overruled? “Oh, please!” Chloe shouted. That’s not Chloe talking, I thought. That’s fear talking. “You’re very, very dangerous.” Lacey said as we walked. Romantic repartée, I thought. Speaking in riddles. “I wouldn’t hurt you.” “I have a difficult time trusting men,” she said. Her eyes leaked a few more drops. “You’re so easy to be with, but...”

53 Joshua Bagby She halted on the but, gone fishing for the right words. I decided there could be nothing wonderful about the but whenever Lacey got around to filling in the blanks. In less than a second, a squadron of brain cells scrambled for coping strategies. Incoming photon torpedoes! Shields up! Lacey turned her face away from me. “It makes me very afraid of losing you.” Well, that wasn’t so bad. Barely a scratch on the ol’ enamel of the Starship Enterprise. Just dust off this baby and proceed at warp seven. “Why would you lose me?” “I can’t expect you to put up with the obvious—um—obstacle.” “Your past is just the route you took to get where you are today. So you made a poor choice. Learn from it. That’s what I had to do with my marriage.” “What am I going to do with you?” she repeated. She drew me into another embrace. Every ounce of her body seemed devoted to the dance, like a dedicated artist giving totally of herself on stage. Every movement of her hands spoke to me, eliciting responses like a virtuoso in a world where too many women hugged like little girls banging on toy pianos. Lacey knew exactly which chords to play, which keys to press to render the melodies I longed to hear. When we reached the train station later that evening, Lacey said deep in thought, “I don’t want to see you get hurt.” “Let me worry about that,” I said. “My life is a disaster area. I can’t promise you any quick solutions.” “Things happen for a reason. People step into other people’s lives as a wake- up call.” “My alarm is ringing all right.” My peripheral vision spotted the roving headlight of the approaching train as it slashed through the darkness. “You create feelings in me I forgot I had.” She peered down the track at the oncoming train with its peculiar roving beacon. “Go away!” she cried with a frantic waving palm toward the light. When she turned back toward me, I saw a face haunted by centuries of hunger. She pressed her arms and breasts and thighs against me. I kissed her as if I’d just staggered home from hundreds of years lost in history. The growling engines and grating squeal of brakes broke the spell. “Kiss me like that again, and for damn sure I’ll never let you go,” she breathed heavily into my ear. “You’ll be stuck with me forever. I mean it.” I did not know whether landing on that passenger seat was the most courageous or the most chickenshit decision I’d ever made. Her words said she understood, but her eyes said I was wimping out terribly bad. But we needed time

54 Breath After Death to think about this, I told myself. We’re playing with fire in the Santa Ana winds of passion. After all, she had a husband and there would be consequences. Yet suddenly I felt ripped apart from Lacey like a stem from its flower. As the train jerked and clattered down the track toward San Jose, I hoped Lacey would forgive me for leaving her standing alone on the station platform. Whatever. I would have to live with it now.

55 Joshua Bagby

7. An Apartment Filled with Ghosts

Dear God: This illustrates what I mean about subtlety. I see real, honest-to-You lightening shooting through a real, honest-to- You rainbow. It occurs on my first venture outside the office with Lacey Brown where we finally don’t feel compelled by corporate, creativity-off politics to camouflage our feelings for each other. Is that a sign? Am I supposed to view this totally inspired weather show as a green light for Lacey and me— despite that technicality that she’s incarcerated in a dungeon of holy wedlock? If so, what about that equally cool tee-shirt sighting—the Call of Kauai—and Chloe’s insistence that there’s a soul mate in my future? Signs are jerking me in opposite directions. Could you please tweak your signage? I’ve been extremely patient. When does my joy number come up? This is worse than waiting around at the DMV!

stared at the vanilla walls of my apartment from that powder blue recliner, a Icreaky relic from my failed marriage. If Lacey ever dropped over for a surprise party, I’d want the walls to burst with color and life. How odd, I thought, that so much of my inner world dwelled in digital files onboard hard drives. Lacey would see that my Mac station had commandeered the dining area with a dedicated scanner, a graphics tablet, a color laser printer, a dedicated fax machine, four firewire drives, all perched on black modular office furniture auctioned off when an Internet start-up went belly-up. I should make this into a sanctuary for love, I thought, not a graveyard for failed marriages and dead businesses. That is, unless I’d already blown it. I mean, how many chances do you get with five-star beauties? How many times do lightning bolts shoot through rainbows and women of that calibre get in the mood? I may just have struck out in my

56 Breath After Death only at-bat in the majors. Maybe next time she’ll think twice about hugging and kissing me on hill tops and at train stations. She’ll move along to the next guy who wouldn’t leave her alone on the station platform. Then I smelled something sweet like gardenia. Nothing in my apartment could have given off that fragrance. “Moping again, Benjamin?” “Uh-huh.” “It’s quite unnecessary. I’m creating awesome opportunities for you in Kauai. You don’t have to demoralize yourself playing with a married woman.” “You said Lacey was married to me once.” “Yes, she was. And then you died. End of marriage.” I recalled how Lacey felt in my arms. “Maybe she and I are meant to be together again.” Chloe blew me a razzberry. “She’s the first woman since Julie to truly excite me.” “She’s the only one in your secluded little world you’ve let in. That’s why I’m flying you off to Kauai. New adventures. New people.” “You’re just a fantasy voice, Chloe. I’d be more convinced if I could see you just once. One little float across my living room.” “You don’t need that. Just pay attention to the signs I send you.” “Bah!” I exploded out of my chair and went to the sliding patio door. I poked my face out into the freshness of the rain to rinse Chloe out of my mind. “You’re never going to materialize because I’m just making you up.” I wished I were back in Lacey’s arms, feeling her flesh quiver against mine, hearing her whimper as our slippery tongues reunited. I won’t wimp out next time! No more Dreaded Nice Guy! Julie popped into my mind. Maybe in another neighborhood a few towns away, she primped in the bathroom preparing to pose for a different camcorder. Just another tradition passed along to another husband. I stepped into my bedroom to a shelf near the bed where I stored my video memories. “No, no, not those!” Chloe cried as I fingered through my booty. “You should throw those away!” “I’m not listening to you!” I sneered. “They’re like coffin nails for your soul. You might as well drink poison.” “They give me pleasure.” I selected a tape and went back to the living room. I slid the video into the camcorder, and hit the play button. The chromakey blue of the TV screen

57 Joshua Bagby dissolved to a cherry orchard (long since uprooted for a strip mall) near where Julie and I used to live. It was a beautiful spring day at the peak of the blossoms. I’d set the camera on a tripod and pretended to fiddle with the gear. Julie stood idly amid spires of mustard grass, unaware that I had started taping. I wanted the tape rolling as she transformed from giggly golden-haired wife into demure goddess. It intrigued me how she would step into a new character like someone with multiple personalities changing personas. “What do you want me to do this time?” she asked. Now that I was just a viewer years later, my full attention focused on the screen. I noticed a girlish essence peek-a-booing through all that make-up. “Do you love me?” I asked off camera. Julie’s face abruptly lost its giddiness. Speaking with a practiced breathy voice, like classic Marilyn Monroe, she purred, “Yes, I love you very much. I will always love you.” “Always? How can you say that and mean it?” “I promised to love you when I married you. I always keep my promises. I will never leave you.” “Are you so confident about that you’d look into the camera and say it?” “Of course!” “All right then.” I crossed through the picture and took my position behind the camera on the tripod. Julie devoured the camera lens one more time. “I will always love you. I will never leave you. That’s my promise to you, Benjamin.” “Forever? You will love me through the bad times, too?” Even on that day when I thought we were so much in love, her promise of eternity baffled me. How could anyone promise eternity with all the twists and turns of life’s roller coaster track? “Yes. Forever.” She continued fondling the lens with her eyes. “Through good times and bad. Forever. I am yours.” Neurons. Oh, those neurons. Even now, years beyond her shattered promises, my body responded to seeing Julie’s ghost adore me onscreen. When this video was shot she was devoted to our life together. No one could take that away from me. I had empirical evidence. Film at 11. For a window in time, this bud was mine. I loved shooting video of Julie in nature, my personal muse gal, walking along as if mesmerized by orchards and streams and meadows. As if because the real Julie didn’t ponder nature. I discovered beyond tying the marital noose that the

58 Breath After Death poetry I wrote her about savoring nature’s glory together only meant something to me. She uttered ersatz praises. She modeled for me, but she didn’t understand me. Nature distracted her from the views she longed for: the glitzy landscape at the mall. After shooting video, we would patronize the restaurant of her choice, which inevitably segued to a shopping spree for things. In my video fantasies, Julie’s head filled with goddess profundity. When words popped out of her own mouth without creative help from me, her profundity came in short supply. I had to concede that she had at least indulged my creativity. She had wanted to please me, at first. Later when her software whiz boyfriend hired high-powered guns to sue me for divorce, she said, “Go find a girl who really likes that nature shit.” Julie’s eyes burned for me onscreen, but she had grown bored with my tight- fisted control of the credit cards, especially after she’d spent us deep into debt. She wanted a more liquid cash flow and a house filled with bright shiny new things. She wanted a lover with long, curly locks. Lacey would be different.Wouldn’t she? My mind drifted along the waves of color and form on the screen, a romantic meditation video. Creativity on. Was this soul I saw strolling amid the blossoms also a mate from another lifetime? Had I been a bad boy to her some other time, bad enough to deserve such retribution? Or would I get a free favor in some future life for the pain she caused me this life? I imagined Chloe hovering over me watching me gorge on visions of Julie in spring. “Why torture yourself worshipping a video-apparition of your ex-wife?” she asked. She was right. The videos only brought pain. Pain of broken promises. Pain of lies. Pain of my lonely life. Damn nature anyway. Everything good I saw in the videos was my fantasy, its meaning conjured inside my head. I’d made seventeen videos of Julie that she hadn’t understood. Goddamn imaginary women! I hit the stop button on the remote. The camcorder halted and the cable TV kicked on. An airplane in flight appeared in the center of the screen. “The summer crowds are gone. The resorts of Oahu, Maui, and Kauai welcome you to the land of aloha dreams. Book your Hawaiian vacation now for super savings.” I popped the TV off. The already darkened room went black. Outside, the wind kicked up, driving the cleansing rain hard against the glass patio door. “Think of all the hours you’ve spent lamenting inside your memory dungeon,” Chloe said. Julie had been my wife and my life. I don’t understand it now; we had so little

59 Joshua Bagby in common. Marriage had been our madness, trying to beat our heads into “one mind unified in holy matrimony for all eternity.” Those tapes freed me to dream about the Julie I wished I’d married. I could take Julie’s image into the woods or orchards or mountains and turn it into a canvas upon which my eyes could project my cosmic utopia. It was yes. We’re open. Welcome. I’ve arrived. I’m not a total loser. I finally made it to the other side of the rainbow. But then I noticed the woman behind that curtain twisting the dials and exhaling the steam. She was mortal just like me. Ordinary just like me. No supreme being, no mystical goddess, no magic answer lady. So why did I keep—and keep watching— those tapes? To remind me how disillusioned I’d become? To repeatedly anger myself by the lies peddled by the romance industry, the sex industry? To torture myself with the empirical evidence of my failed marriage? I knew I had to flush my video dope down the toilet. Drown my dream wife in the lake. Quit trying to resurrect my dead marriage. Make room for something new by tossing out something old. I stormed the bathroom as if I were landing on Omaha Beach in Normandy. The sound of bath water soon roared like a huge waterfall in my ears. Cleansing, purifying. I quickly gathered up seventeen mini-DV video cassettes in the bedroom. I heard their screams. They knew their execution date had arrived. In the bathroom I carefully took each cassette out of its box. I lined them up on a ledge by the tub. I held volume one to my face. The first time she posed for me during our honeymoon to British Columbia. I dropped the cassette. It splashed and sunk like our doomed wedded bliss. Protests rose wildly in my mind, neurons addicted to marital heroin screaming expletives. No copies. No backups. This is permanent. Death is final. Cold turkey. I dropped the next tape in. The bathtub sea swallowed it whole. “You idiot!” an inner voice screamed. A mob of angry beliefs wildly shook their fists at me for tossing away my access to memories. It’s just my brain, I told myself. Just brain pain over giving up video visions. I’d be rewarded for trusting in the Universe. Wouldn’t I? I felt myself weakening. Just keep a couple handy for insurance purposes. This thing with Lacey could blow up in my face. Then where would I be? “You’re doing the right thing,” Chloe assured me. “Then why do I feel so awful?” “You’re just grieving.” If I waited any longer I might buckle to my addiction. I gathered the remaining

60 Breath After Death videos and raised them high above my head. With a shrieking battle cry, I slammed the rest of the plastic memory boxes into video liquid oblivion. I stared at the instant carcasses. I imagined applause from the congregation of spirit entities. I bowed and waved. The ringing telephone jarred me from my reverie. “Hello.” “Hey, you, this is Lacey.” “Lacey, my God! I was just thinking about you!” I said, conscious of an instant injection of energy, every blood cell dancing in celebration. “About me?” she said dreamily. “How’s that for cosmic timing?” The funeral on Julie’s videos isn’t even over and look—the Universe instantly fills the void! “Listen, I’m calling from a pay phone, so this will have to be short.” I laughed. “Pay phone? Really? What happened to your cell?” “Dead battery. I just wanted to tell you that I had the most incredible evening with you. That lightning show? Wow. How did you arrange that? But, I’m stalling here. I want you to know that I never use these words lightly. I never say it unless I truly, deeply mean it.” The pause was pregnant enough for twins, maybe even triplets. “I love you,” she said. And then she was gone.

61 Joshua Bagby

8. Cosmic Lost & Found

Dear God: In case you don’t personally oversee everyone’s minutiae, I deep-sixed those videos of Julie. In the end my bathtub resembled a model of the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor— frankly, a more realistic depiction of that marriage than cherry blossoms. I have mixed feelings about destroying those videos. Why do people keep photographic souvenirs anyway? To prove that they were there? Julie and I had a few good years. Could I have done anything to prolong its shelf life? I don’t think Julie ever wonders about that. It takes two to save a marriage, and she was out to save herself. But I can let that go, can’t I? Lacey says she loves me. That’s the best sign I’ve received, and I’ve got you to thank for that.

od, look at that rain!” Eileen cried. “G “I know. I had to drive in that stuff. No shuttle service on Saturday.” I watched the downpour splatter a wet rinse onto the parking lot. Gusts spiked the water hard into the pavement, and the splashing action cast a white sheen over everything in sight, including Lacey’s car. “This is surreal—like movie rain,” she added. “The gods must really be pissed at us.” “Can you blame them? What are we doing to improve the planet?” The Graphics door opened. Faye entered with a wet “whew!” She set a rain- splattered box from Happy Time Donuts on a worktable just outside Eileen’s cubicle, then disappeared quickly into her office. “Ah, the sugar bribe,” Eileen cried, popping off her stool to check out the goods. “This is the best reason to work Saturdays.” My phone rang. I saved my work to disk and answered.

62 Breath After Death “Hey, when you set your mind to making rain, you don’t fool around, do you?” “I like to make a strong impression,” I said. My brain rebroadcast Lacey’s voice crooning “I love you” to me. I played the sound bite like a mantra in the ashram of my mind. “You always make a strong impression on me,” she purred. I bathed in her sexy voice. “All right, Madam, here’s fair warning. I am not responsible for my impressive actions from here on out.” “I’m counting on that,” she teased, delivering her message with sweet sigh frosting. I thought I smelled gardenia. I glanced around my cubicle, and saw nothing unusual. “So how’s it going? Researching your butt off?” “If you want to know the truth, I can’t stop thinking about last night. I wish we were back on the hill watching lightning bolts and making some of our own.” Is this really Lacey I’m hearing? She strung her words together in exactly the right order. “I like how you think,” I said. “I know you’re busy. I just wanted to hear your voice. It’s like a pinch of reality to reassure me that I’m not dreaming this whole thing up.” Suddenly a loud snap popped through the room. Everything darkened. “Whoa!” “Oh, God! I just lost power,” Lacey cried. “Duck and cover! We’re under attack!” Eileen cried from her cubicle. “Did you do that, Lovegod?” Lacey said, chuckling. “Are you overwhelming me with your power? Burning me to a crisp? Frying my circuits?” “Well, you said I was dangerous,” I giggled. Faye appeared in the doorway of her office. “Oh, this is just great,” she snarled. I stifled a laugh watching her face as the fates of corporate fortune plopped her on a whoopee cushion. I worked for Faye as a team player but not as a team worrier. We rarely got acknowledged for doing great work, and as fair exchange, I seldom worried about Faye’s stress level. “I’d better go,” I said to Lacey. “Boss alert.” “Call me later, OK?” Faye stared hopelessly out through the darkness of Graphics into the downpour in the parking lot. “Please tell me this is not serious.” “It’s only serious if you expect us to meet our deadlines,” Eileen mused. Faye’s face contorted as if she’d just learned of her favorite aunt’s coronary. “This is serious. Roman has been all over me to get his work out the door.”

63 Joshua Bagby “I’m sure the power will come back soon,” I said. Faye retreated to her office to anguish by window light. I entered Eileen’s cubicle. “I think we should re-visit the emergency generator plan,” I said, impersonating the company president. “Why did Operations maintain that we didn’t need one in Graphics?” Eileen stuck out her tongue, shook her frizzy head, and blurted, “I would rather guzzle a quart of creosote than have Roman Masterson all over me!” A half-hour later, Faye returned to our stations to announce. “The power company predicts outage for several more hours. I don’t think I should pay you two to sit here and wait, but I’m hoping you will come back tomorrow.” “Don’t they have laws against working on Sunday?” Eileen lilted. “Not in Silicon Valley,” Faye said. “Can I expect you?” Eileen nodded begrudgingly. “Benjamin?” “Sure. I only have my job to lose.” “I really appreciate this, you guys,” Faye said. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Press the flesh, kiss the babies, promise to end government corruption. In seconds I was back on the phone to Lacey. She suggested a rendezvous at the nature preserve. “In the rain?” “The rain is magical,” she said. On my short drive, I felt my heart pump with anticipation. I chuckled out loud. The weather had done it again. First a marvelously timed lightning strike, now this! “In Kauai, the rain is warm and even more romantic,” Chloe said. I wondered how Lacey’s sudden presence in my life would impact my travel plans. “Don’t you dare spoil the fun we’ve planned for you,” Chloe snarled. When Lacey arrived several minutes later, the rain had abated, but the chill stung my face. I hustled through a light shower to her car. I found her casually dressed in blue jeans and a heavy flannel shirt; she looked sexy as hell to me. (Is hell sexy?) When I drank in her vision, unbridled enthusiasm splashed across her face. “Game for a walk in the rain?” My first thought was, Are you crazy? It’s friggin’ cold out here. But this was no time to disappoint a woman who saw magic in rainfall. Bank those no responses for truly important situations. Please the woman now and reap the rewards later.

64 Breath After Death “Yeah, let’s go for it.” We met outside her car in a crushing embrace—last night all over again. “Thank you for shutting off the electricity,” she breathed. “It gives us a chance to be together.” “I do amazing things when I’m motivated.” I studied the sky through the veil of wind and it looked like more rain any minute. “Are you sure you’re going to be warm enough? It looks like we may get another downpour.” “I’ll grab a slicker,” she beamed, and she did. “I love how you look out for me.” She took my hand, then seconds later released it to ease her wedding ring off her finger. She deposited it into her pocket underneath her slicker. With a wink she said, “Diamonds are not this girl’s best friend.” We headed along an asphalt footpath. I laughed when I caught myself nonchalantly patting her bottom. “Are you laughing at me?” “No. At me.” “Why?” “I spend two months holding back, pretending you’re this androgynous corporate automaton. Do you know what that does to me? I’m numb from stuffing my feelings.” “That’s the bane of corporate existence—creativity off. So do me a big favor, honey. Forget hiding from me anymore. Pop the cork. Live a little.” “I thought you’d never ask,” I said, pulling her close. She responded instantly, moaning like a siren, grabbing me hard, our hands and arms brushing over each other, both outside and inside our outerwear, shaking loose the stop signs and the shackles that had held our passion hostage. Energy surged through me like high tide, making me light-headed. We laughed merrily like kids whirling and twirling on rides at Dizzyland. We moved deeper into the nature preserve. Rain spit on our faces. A few minutes later, I asked, “Do you think people come into each other’s lives on a mission? Like karma or destiny—do you believe in that?” “No, Benjamin, I don’t believe in it. I’ve had men talk about destiny as a way to get inside my panties.” “Oh.” Lacey winked at me. “You’ve already won, Nice Boy. You don’t need to invent stories to unlock my treasure box. Any time you want, just slide on in.” Lights don’t get greener. She fell into my arms again and brazenly thrust her tongue deep inside my mouth. It felt so wet, so forceful, so damn good.

65 Joshua Bagby Once again I smelled gardenia, but I knew I couldn’t truly smell it in the rain at the wetlands where none grew. “I was just intrigued. Chloe told me we’d been lovers before.” “Don’t go there, Benjamin,” she said in a voice abruptly frigid like the weather. “Why? It’s romantic,” I retorted, but she looked spooked. My own face must have revealed my discomfort with her opinion. “Am I freaking you out? It’s total crap to me. My mom fell for an investment scam once. Here’s flaming gullibility for you. The psychic told everybody to invest in a real estate venture. My mother believed him. Why? Because he claimed he could see into the future! He could see the prosperity to come! I tried to tell her that she was being ripped-off, but she wouldn’t listen. Later I had to pick up the pieces when the ugly truth hit the fan. She’d blown ten grand on a con artist. He was eventually convicted of fraud, but she won’t see a dime of restitution.” Overwhelmed by red flags flying, I retreated. “Well, personally, I haven’t dealt much with psychics.” “Another lunatic told Mom Max was my God-chosen groom!” I burst out laughing. “OK, that would make you an atheist right there!” “Are you laughing at me?” she taunted, though she leaked laughter herself. “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize your heady marriage had such a seal of approval. I thought Max strong-armed his way into your heart.” “Not my heart. My mother’s,” Lacey said grimly. “She’s sold on him no matter what evidence I present that he’s an asshole. Any time I say that he abuses me, she counters with, ‘Oh, you need to work through your past life karma, dear.’ Well, karma didn’t cause this fiasco—stupidity did!” I reached out and tenderly touched her arm as if I could spark a surge of healing that would eradicate her pain. “My mother is addicted to psychics,” Lacey continued, her jaw tightening. “She won’t move without consulting those mercenary bloodsuckers. They prey on lonely, needy people who can’t think for themselves.” Mentioning my Kauai quest seemed more formidable now. “I’ve always wanted to hear from my deceased mother, but nothing very believable ever happens.” “What about me?” Chloe asked. “There’s Chloe, of course.” “An imaginary girlfriend is not a scumbag psychic,” Lacey observed. “You know what I really love about Chloe? We talk about anything. I don’t censor myself with her. With real women I constantly watch my words. Present

66 Breath After Death company excluded, of course.” “No, it’s true! Even with me. Even me with you. You can’t trust anyone with your precious truth. Share your secrets at your own risk. It’s guaranteed someone will betray you.” “I like to imagine a special place. Maybe it’s a beautiful garden with pools and grottoes. It’s a loving place where suddenly it’s OK for everyone to speak the truth. People would encourage you to be exactly who you are.” “What would you do with a place like that?” “I’d invite everyone to join in a shameless swapping of secrets. We’d sit around and bare our souls to each other.” “No thanks. That sounds like torture to me.” I shuddered at the thought of losing her. “Hell for me is all the routine hiding and lying we do as normal citizens. We pretend to be enthused about our jobs. We erect facades to keep our mates happy. All that deception grosses me out. I want to escape that. Creativity on!” She fidgeted with her hands, and seemed to be tuning out. “People don’t hide in heaven,” I continued. “They share who and what they are with no shame. They joke and laugh about their lives on Earth. ‘I was a sick politician, ha-ha-ha. I constantly told whoppers to win votes, ha-ha-ha.’ ‘You think that’s bad. I cheated on all my wives, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.’” Lacey frantically fished inside her slicker pockets, then her shirt pockets. “Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, shit!” “What is it?” “My wedding ring. It’s not here.” She searched her pockets with more frantic fingers. “You saw me put it in my pocket.” Then she anxiously scanned the grass around her feet. “I must have dropped it.” She sifted through her shirt pocket another time, hoping for a miracle. “Fuck! There’s a hole in my pocket!” “Well, let’s go look for it.” “How could I be such an idiot? Of all the things to lose! Max will be beyond pissed!” I took her arm and turned her in the direction of the parking lot, “C’mon, we’ll find it.” “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” “We’ll find it,” I repeated. “He checks out his investment regularly.” Pride of ownership, I thought. As we backtracked along the trail, blustery rain-specked blasts off the bay

67 Joshua Bagby battered my face. “A nice cabin with a roaring fire would be good right about now.” Lacey grimaced. “I’ll need another country to flee to if I don’t find that damn ring.” “If we don’t find it,” I said. Then I asked in my thoughts, “Chloe, do you know where it is?” “Duh,” she said. “Please help me find it.” “Why? You don’t even believe in me. I’m just a fantasy woman.” “This would be awesome proof.” “Why? So she’ll thank her hero and reward you with steamy sex?” “It would help us out,” I replied in thought, “and I’ll quit asking you to materialize.” “More proof? Do this. Do that. Ply me with doggie treats.” “Hey, it’s great practice for this quest to Kauai. I’m supposed to find Petra by listening to the force. So be the force now. Show me the ring.” “Oh, all right,” she groaned playfully. As we walked, I revisited Petra’s challenge—how would I know I couldn’t do something if I never tried it? If I never attempted to do something, even something freaky weird, I could hardly bemoan its futility. So lead me to the ring! I put my mind in a receptive state. I can do this. I imagined Lacey’s relief when I located the ring. I imagined spirits lined in a receiving line pointing the way to the wedding trinket. Spotting it resting on a clump of grass several minutes later still elated me. I made a theatrical leap for it, and with great relish picked it up and beheld it as if it were the Holy Grail. “Is this the bauble you seek, m’lady?” “I can’t believe it!” she beamed. “You found it!” “Finders keepers?” She grinned. “Sure, absolutely, you keep it. You keep the husband that goes with it, too!” I quickly handed the ring back. “Here!” “Wise choice,” she cried. “Oh, I knew there was a reason why I find you irresistible!” She admired the ring in her palm; then she admired me. She found a more secure pocket in her slicker. “You really don’t know—you saved my life! You’re my Miracle Man. Last night rainbow and lightning. Today the power outage. Now this. What can we do for an encore?” “Chloe found it, actually,” I said, giving credit where it was due. Lacey pondered for a few moments, then posed, “What would Chloe say if I

68 Breath After Death dropped on my knees and rewarded you with a blowjob?” That caught me off guard. I probably had a stupid grin plastered on my face. “She’d say, ‘Keep your mouth off my Benjamin!’” Chloe shouted. Lacey scanned the surroundings. An impish gleam crossed her eyes. It was not an expression I’d seen on her face before. “I want to make a memory,” she said mischievously. She dropped to her knees, plop in the mud like a little girl without cares, instantly painting her pants with thick chocolate goo. “You’re getting all muddy!” The sight amazed me. “I’ll gladly get dirty for you,” she gushed with a grin. As she looked up at me, rain splattered on her glasses. Another expression formed on her face—pure animal hunger. “Can we go to a hotel?” Her eyes glazed. “Too late, Nice Boy. Besides, a sterile hotel room is far less memorable than a mud wallow.” She cooed and laughed, letting me know I’d be a certifiable wuss if I stalled her this time, especially withmake erotic highlight on her to-do list. “We’re all watching the festivities over here,” Chloe kibitzed. “We can’t wait to find out how you handle this one.” Lacey handled it. She sighed audibly when she found life stirring beneath her groping fingers. She stroked the hidden treasure, looking as if this were the long- awaited unveiling of the first real penis she’d ever seen after months of hearing hype and build-up from a cadre of reporters. I eyed the rolling hills for bystanders with binoculars. Maybe Max had dispatched private investigators with telephoto lenses to tail his wife and document her flight from fidelity. Maybe Eileen had tailed us like an undercover journalist writing a hot story for the Failure News that would have employees gossiping for years to come. “Don’t freak on me, Benjamin.” Lacey snapped. “I hungry—and you’ve been in the waiting room for eight long months!” No one had ever wanted me this much, too much to stop her. She freed and held my dick like a sacramental object, then licked it with the reserve of a seven year-old child gorging on lollipop. The hot silk of heaven lapped at my organ. I felt heat. Magnificent wet heat. Lacey’s penetrating eyes inspired me to bidgoodbye to Julie. See ya. Have a nice life. Enjoy your new husband. Lacey could speak the language I spoke. She sucked my mind, my heart, my destiny. The licking, the suction, the look, her perfume, the rain that splattered against my face and her face, the wildness of her hair as she moved in and out with the wind, doorways

69 Joshua Bagby opened from here to there, from here to our past life. I felt the sweet sensations of fluid candy flow up through my core. I spewed man cries I’d never heard rush out of my mouth, like an eruption of emotion building for hundreds of years. “Better than some imaginary mouth, huh?” she grinned later, licking her lips. Ah, but I’d made a new promise to that imaginary woman, who testily tapped her feet nearby.

70 Breath After Death

9. Prying Eyes

Dear God: Did you do this? I’m not complaining! I just want to make sense out of this gift. In one spontaneous blowjob Lacey Brown demonstrated that Julie, the wife I’ve been pining for, is erotic Melba toast. In one feverish frolic with fellatio, Lacey blew away my heartache and raised the bar! Julie never consumed me with passion like that, and we were embraced by the sanctity of marriage. Sex is hardly everything, but now I can’t imagine myself lying awake in bed longing for Julie to return. So thank you for that, but where does this leave me now? Am I doomed to lust after a married woman? Will I inherit culpability for destroying her marriage? Or if nothing else happens and my promised soul mate in Kauai turns out to be real, will she be as wild of tongue? I must confess I’m stunned. Suddenly I’m thrown into a whole new abyss of mystery! Clearly that’s why they say, “Be careful what you ask for—you may just get it.”

hen are you supposed to listen, really listen to the inner whispers, those Wwispy voices inside that inspire and warn? When do you snap to attention, and when do you let them flow through the mind unheeded? I was just wondering. I sat at my desk at Failure Dynamics on Sunday afternoon working on that rush project. Inside the grand theater of my head, a faceless Max stalked Lacey Brown. The more I fought the idea that he had discovered his wife’s muddy tryst, the more I imagined Lacey’s terrified eyes. He had ambushed her in a bloody inquisition yesterday evening, and she had coughed up a confession. Now a huge madman burst into Graphics and demanded to know where the wife-stealing asswipe sat. “I have a message for that bastard!”

71 Joshua Bagby Then there was the ironing board back at my apartment. I made sure I’d unplugged the iron before leaving for work. When Eileen left for a bathroom break, I placed a call to Lacey in the Library. Her voice mail answered. I left a simple message: “This is your favorite technical illustrator. Call me in Graphics at extension 756 when you have a chance. Oh, and thanks for the memories.” I recalled Lacey plopped in the mud in front of me, grinning triumphantly after making memories. When she had raised from her knees all smiles, I’d asked her how she would deal with her seriously muddied jeans. “I carry a change of clothes for emergencies.” “Do you often give emergency blowjobs?” “I like to be prepared,” she said with a sly grin. When Lacey didn’t return my call by noon, I phoned again. Her voice mail answered again. I left another message: “This is your favorite technical illustrator again. I’m checking to confirm that you turned off your creativity. It’s shaping into a lovely afternoon. With such awesome weather, you might be tempted to entertain innovative thoughts. As a personal service to you, I wish to monitor your creativity level and keep you advised of any potential hazards. Please contact me at your earliest convenience. This is extension 756 signing off.” An eerie chill invaded my body. “I hope Lacey is all right,” I told Chloe. “Not in some ditch or tied in traction in the hospital.” “Welcome to the thrilling world of illicit love,” Chloe cajoled. She didn’t need to lecture me; I already saw the amber lights flashing. If Lacey remained jailed in marriage, she would always act like a fugitive. She would appear when he was busy elsewhere, then disappear. I couldn’t contact her until she weaseled another hour out of her home life. She’d call. She’d apologize for her screwy life. She’d show me her latest marital wounds and lament her foolish choices. Her voice would tremble when she said she loved me, and when she asked why was life so cruel? There could be rewards, though. Lacey would come to me thirsting for release, desperate for an oasis from the wedded wasteland she endured. She’d be on a tight schedule, cramming adventure into short spaces. She’d crave my emergency care. I’d uplift her spirits. She’d uplift her skirt. I’d soothe her battered ego. She’d soothe my battered libido. I’d make her feel good and sexy. She’d make me feel worth something. I wouldn’t need to talk relationship expectations into the wee hours of the night. She would take all the fun she could get. After a married woman steals sex with her lover, she packs up her purse and vanishes. (I love you and gone.) She bears the misery of lying to her husband and facing the ruins of her broken home.

72 Breath After Death I would resume doing my own thing until her next explosion of neediness. “But you would wear down your soul in the process,” Chloe interjected. “You would always know that you were part of Lacey’s lie, and it would keep you from finding your mate.” I rubbed my scalp. I recalled Julie’s disgusted look when I would catch her staring at it. I finished my rush project by 4:45 that afternoon. Lacey hadn’t called yet. “Is Lacey all right?” I asked my spirit companion. “She’s fine. Not a scratch anywhere.” “Why hasn’t she called back?” “She’s proving to you how much she really loves you.” “But she says she loves me.” “Listen to her actions.” I left my workstation and went to the elevator.This is crazy! I’m losing it! I entered the Corporate Library to the sound of my thundering heart. Just to see her again. That face. That eyefire burning hot for me. Like a radar telescope searching the vast reaches of space, I scanned for Lacey’s blip. Nothing blipped back. Several engineers in weekend jeans poured through books or clicked away at computers, but no sign of Lacey. Her office was sealed coffin dark. I hated this. I landed back in Graphics and pondered letters to write Lacey. “I’m falling in love with you. Did I say falling? I already fell. Can you hear the splat in the mud if you aren’t here? It’s only been one day since I saw you, twenty-seven hours, and already it feels like twenty-seven years.” Well, that clearly offends the standards set by the Society for the Prevention of Political Incorrectness in Love Letters to Married Co-workers. How about concern? “When you didn’t show up all day Sunday, I had this horrible sinking feeling. You said you were coming to work, and I feared awful things when you didn’t show. Now I’m worried about you. I have no way to contact you, no way to know that you are fine.” Reeks of possessiveness. Lacey is a big girl. She can take care of herself, right? A woman of her luscious looks grows weary of smother lovers. I don’t dare attempt a call to her cell phone. The warden might be reading her caller ID. The angry approach? “Damn, you give me my best Saturday afternoon ever— then you vanish! I love you and gone. Shit—and zillions of other expletives! I’m stuck in this corporate hellhole, wasting away another day, creativity off, off, off, maggots of mediocrity chomping on my brain.”

73 Joshua Bagby No, no, no, gag those feelings, Benjamin. The world is not ready for your passions. Back in my cubicle, I wrote a love note by low-tech hand: “This is your official notification that the Creative Police are in town. We attempted to reach you at your office today, but you apparently chose not to commit crimes of excessive overtime. Please be advised that creativity on the job is contrary to corporate policy. “Oh, Lacey, I give up. I have never met a woman as magical as you. You cast a spell of wonder and excitement on me. I want to know all your secrets. I want to know everything about you. When I am with you I feel reborn as a new man with new vision. I see the world with joyful new eyes. I know that I can only love you in spurts of moments. Whether you’re happy or not, you’re still married, and I would never ask that you leave your husband for me. If you leave your broken marriage, you must leave for you. You must heal for you. It saddens me that you feel so unfulfilled. I wish for you long days ofcreativity on. If there were ever anyone on this earth who makes my heart-on sizzle, it is you.” I added some cartoony décor and placed it in a nondescript business envelope, suitable for corporate creativity-off. As I walked to the company mail room, Chloe tugged at my will power. “Why are you sending that?” she asked. “It’s my truth.” “Your truth is that you hope Lacey’s marriage falls apart so she’ll run to you for comfort.” “I want Lacey to be happy. If she were truly happy in her marriage, she would not be tempted to leave it. I would be utterly insignificant to her.” “Your intent in sending that note is to advertise your availability to her. You’re casting your lure into her waters to see if she’ll bite.” “You said we were married in another life. Maybe I’m being called back to help Lacey through a bad marriage—payback for something I did to her before.” “You’re being called to Kauai.” “Why is spirituality such a guessing game?” I asked. “If we’re supposed to live by a specific code of ethics—if we’re supposed to follow this guidance—why don’t you just appear and say so? “ “Hey, you said if I found Lacey’s ring, you’d quit demanding that I appear!” Voices. So many voices inside. Which ones should I listen to? Voices from memories? The voice of reason? The voice of inspiration? The Voice of America? Chloe was an extraordinary entity babbling in my mind, but was her voice real? Was facing her voice facing reality or was it facing a growing, expanding psychosis borne of betrayal and too many nights spent alone in bed?

74 Breath After Death It all comes back to death, I told myself (and any spirit entity within listening range.) If we pass through life one time and fade to black at its conclusion, we’re off the hook. We can do anything we want. Life is an orgy of opportunity. We can gorge on sweet treats, feast on intoxicants, then fuck our remaining brains away in a fireworks spectacular. Nothing stops us from taking the curves at high speed. We can lie, cheat, steal, kill. We can fly hijacked airliners into tall buildings or torch innocent people in subways. We can strangle diversity and individuality with corporate branding and profiteering. We can steal our neighbors’ newspapers and applaud when our dogs poop on their lawns. We can pulp each other unmercifully with hammers or fists or gossip or competition. We can seduce other people’s spouses or drag folks into our shit piles to make us feel superior. If life is a free ride with no penalty box or no hope of survival or no stairway to heaven, what’s the point? What do you get for good behavior? Why not just claw and scrape our way through the garbage heap—like so many are doing? Here’s the guessing game part—what if we don’t fade to black? What if we dissolve from one reality to another? What if how we spend our lives in this physical world determines where we end up in the next world? What point is the Universe making by being so stingy with proof of the Big Picture? I wish dead people sent postcards. Having a wonderful time. Great weather. Can’t wait for you you to see the pool here. The afterlife is such a giant question mark. Just imagine if one day all the living people on earth could see dead folks walking. Gawking at us. Even ignoring us. I’d change my ways pronto. I’d quit my job if I knew for sure that death wasn’t a ghastly slide to blackout. Then morally I wouldn’t be able to participate in my role to convince juries to award the big bucks in death cases. It’s just not as effective: “Billy isn’t really dead. He’s partying in the light with his angel friends.” Pain and suffering won’t pay as handsomely if the defense proves that a perceived tragedy is actually a karmic debt slapped on the barrelhead. So what was I doing by writing this letter to Lacey? If I had to stand before some Afterlife Admissions Committee to plead my case, what leg besides my hard- on would I stand on? Was I really focused on righting some mysterious wrong last life, or was I more intrigued by her perfumed breasts this life? Was the Universe sending me in to wake up Sleeping Lacey? Was I a pinball in a cosmic game of chance fired into a troubled marriage, destined to strike the spinners? Or was it the other way around? Was Lacey sent into my life to lure me off my ass? I dropped my note into the mail slot. To this day I can’t explain it. I had every last-minute intention of tearing it up, but my neurons broke out in a riot and my heart thundered in my chest. The neurons with good common sense didn’t win

75 Joshua Bagby this time. Better luck next season. The neurons with passion won. I felt as if I had split into two people. Benjamin A watched Benjamin B act without thinking. Some cosmic gust blew the letter out of my hand into the mail slot. I watched it disappear into the locked mailroom. I was fully conscious that I sent the married Lacey a come-on. I take full responsibility. The buck stops here. Talk about the power of the unconscious. No one had looked out for me when Julie placed a personal ad on the Internet for a studmuffin with long hair. She did not buckle under any moralistic guilt when she rolled into action and cheated on me. We had a short private conversation the day I signed off on the divorce papers. “Our marriage was a mistake from the beginning,” she said. “You didn’t think so when you promised you’d never leave me.” “I was too young to make a decision I’d have to live with for the rest of my life.” “You were twenty-six.” “I changed my mind. That’s a woman’s prerogative. I’m more mature now.” “Aaron has long hair and a fat, undepleted bank account.” “So?” “I’m down to near nothing.” “Yeah, on both counts,” she snickered. “Hair and money.” “I resent that you cheated on me.” “Oh, Ben, beat me up if you want. I don’t care, you know? I’m clear I was meant to be with Aaron. And it’s not cheating. We’re getting married as soon as my divorce is final.” I hated how she loaded her sentences with several barbs. Why did she say my divorce instead of our divorce? How do you communicate with somebody like that? Before drowning them in the Bermuda Triangle of my bathtub, I had videos of her saying that she loved me so much she’d never leave me. “You’re marrying him already?” “Why shouldn’t I? We love each other.” “Yeah, and it’s a community property state.” “Whatever that means.” “Shop till you drop.” “It always comes back to money for you, doesn’t it, Ben?” “Uh-huh. Because it’s my money.” “Well, now you can enjoy your miserly ways in peace.” Now the shoe was on the other foot. I could become Lacey’s Aaron. Moralists

76 Breath After Death would regard Lacey and me as the scum of the earth, but would the Universe? Were we so evil for trying to salvage some love in our lives? Was I evil for offering warmth and sanctuary? Society would much rather see her wither and rot until she quietly gave up and filed for divorce. Too bad if she didn’t think things through before she said, “I do.” No matter how pressured, coerced, deceived, weakened, or out of her skull she was when she said it, that’s the fact, Jack. She’d said yes. She’d signed on the dotted line. Heryes impregnated her duties and forged her destiny. And me? No, no, no, there’s no respect for the cheating wife’s accomplice. Just as I didn’t respect Aaron. I went from the Library to the Failure Cafe to scope out the vending machines. On my way back, I looked out the window and noticed Steve’s pick-up parked. I detoured to his office and opened his closed office door. “Hey Dude.” “Benjamin! Jesus, you scared me.” He broke a world’s record for putting his computer to sleep. Then he straightened up stiffly in his office chair. I snickered in the doorway. “Should I make an appointment?” “What do you want?” Steve asked. “Gee, there’s a friendly greeting! Are you OK?” Steve gazed around the room as if he were lost in the wilderness. “Fine.” “It’s hot and stuffy in here.” “They turn the air conditioning off on weekends. Saves energy.” The air conditioning was fine in Graphics, but I didn’t belabor the point. “So why are you here on a Sunday?” “Working.” “Hiding from Trisha?” “Don’t be an asshole.” “Ooh, the rectal rhetoric, eh? Have you ever wondered who decided to turn an innocent asshole into a putdown?” “No, Benjamin, I haven’t,” Steve grumbled. I knew I was pissing him off, but it was fun. “It intrigues me that the words we use to insult people are body parts that have to do with sex, pee, or shit. Every now and then armpit gets its due, but mostly it’s a variation of prick, cunt, or asshole. It’s just odd, don’t you think?” “Don’t be an elbow.” “Yeah, see what I mean?” “Did you want something?” “You’re sure cranky today.” Steve’s eyes dropped to the base of his monitor like a kamikaze pilot in a

77 Joshua Bagby steep dive. I followed the smoke trail where I spotted a small plastic bottle with clear liquid on the desk. I must have squinted to make it come into focus. Damn middle aged eyes. Steve’s chair squeaked under his weight as he squirmed. For several seconds we both stared at the bottle as if it were a poisonous snake coiled and cocked. The snap-on cap was snapped off, and hung to the bottle by a plastic membrane, resembling a viper’s fangs spread wide. Steve reached for the bottle, clicked it shut, and dropped it into a desk drawer. His eyes were already taking evasive action. “OK, Sherlock, you win. Are you satisfied?” “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” “Fuck you, Benjamin.” I couldn’t help myself. This opportunity was too juicy to surrender to being a nice guy. “You wouldn’t be using company computers for personal entertainment, would you?” “Fuck you, Benjamin.” “I guess the flowers didn’t work with Trisha, huh?” I mused, trying to lighten the ambiance. Didn’t work. Steve looked at me as if I’d thrust a steel blade into his gut. “Well, what am I supposed to do? Roll over and die?” “Oh, hey.” So much for revenge. I suddenly felt sorry for the big lug. Call me chicken, but I didn’t know how to handle it if he got too morose on me. It wasn’t like conversing with Lacey. If Lacey cried, I could hug her. What would I do if Steve cried? Give him a manly handshake? “She doesn’t want to fuck anymore.” What do you say to a fat guy who eats with reckless abandon? Trisha had a body to die for, and Steve was apparently dying for it. “Does she say why?” “She says she can’t feel close to me.” So here I was, judgmental rectal cavity, pathetic elbow from hell, but my first thought was, if I were your girlfriend, I wouldn’t want to fuck you, either. It’s not just that you eat like a hog. You think like a hog. I can’t imagine how the vision of going to bed with you would arouse or inspire me. “Do you bring her flowers when you’re not arguing? Do you write her poetry?” “I pay the rent. I pay most of her bills. I clean the house. I serve her as if she were a queen. I don’t have time for all that romance shit. Can’t she see that I’m giving way over fifty percent?” “So this is your solution? ” I asked, pointing to his computer. “It’s the best one I’ve got.” He looked funny as he said it, a look the eyes give

78 Breath After Death when the brain snatches one’s attention for a surprise burst of visual entertainment. Not on the outside but on the inside. A private show for his brain only. Steve had a juicy secret on his PC, something that required a bottle of personal lubricating liquid. “If it’s so awful, why don’t you leave?” Steve squirmed. He pickled up a chocolate snack cake and chomped halfway through it. I looked away as he spoke. It wasn’t a pretty sight. “As shitty as it gets at home, it would be shittier alone. Hey, Trisha’s a great cook. We do fun things together. It’s just that she’s turned off to sex. It’s the weirdest thing! Her career depends on her looking fabulous. She works on that body hours a day. She invests in it, and I’m paying for it half the time. The gym. The coaches. The extras. Guys look at us. They think I’m this unbelievably lucky bastard. They don’t know that she’s a total phony and I sleep alone on the sofa.”

79 Joshua Bagby

10. The Whirlwind Tour

Dear God: Aren’t most of us sleeping alone on the sofa? Even when we have someone sleeping in our beds, how often are they sleeping inside our hearts? Julie mostly yawned at what was in my heart? Oh, how happy I would be if only Lacey slept in my heart. Her ethereal fingers would massage my brain mass, causing sparks to whiz throughout my personal universe like beautiful shooting stars. I don’t get it. I want to be the man she’s always hoped to find, the husband Max turned out not to be. Is it wrong to want her so much—and if it is, aren’t you ultimately responsible for that? After all, you created her allure and my susceptibility to it. Why deliver this goddess to me if it’s a capital offense to love her? Am I really supposed to turn my back on Lacey and head to the tropics? You must be sick of hearing this, but would you please show me a sign?

s the commuter train passed the spot where the little boy had been struck Aand killed, I gazed into a brilliant golden glow from the setting sun. I wondered if the sun had already set on my relationship with Lacey. She had performed a master disappearing act since that day in the mud. Gone Sunday. Gone Monday. On Tuesday I’d asked for her in the Library and was told—with raised eyebrows—that she had been working offsite. I’d breathed a sigh of relief that Max hadn’t shot or strangled her, but I wondered why she hadn’t returned my voice mail or answered my love mail. She hadn’t phoned me at home, and I had no way to reach her except at work. Chloe suggested that God had given me the sign I’d asked for—a flatline. At 8:47 Wednesday evening I answered the knocking. As soon as I opened my door, Lacey burst through the portal like a fugitive, donned in shorts and Navy

80 Breath After Death blue pullover. She shut the door behind her, dropped her purse on the floor, and spun around to reel me into her arms. “I’ve missed you so much,” she gushed. She held nothing back except her secrets. Her moist, full lips sprang open immediately. Her slippery tongue swished against mine. She gyrated against me like a wind-up doll cranked and sprung. Let freedom ring! “I’m so wet for you,” she cried. No long, protracted build-up. No inhibitions or daintiness. No slow tease over the obligatory glass of wine. No awkward bayous of small talk to navigate. No wondering over a lengthy candlelit dinner if this would be the night where we bite into the juicy apple, cross the bridge, and find the carnal knowledge we’d been seeking. No trains arrived at the station this night to delay the moment. Batter up. Words of love clogged up my brain, unable to flow. The crowd in my blood stream floating, rafting, swimming, sailing, yachting in critical mass to my penis brushed lofty metaphors aside. Every wink, every suggestive phrase, every progressively steamier love note in the inter-office mail, every painting of Lacey and me I’d ever conjured on mental canvases—they all led to this moment when passion boiled over the top. “I’m your slut today, Benjamin,” she said in sultry breath. Oh, the word, once responsible for so much pain, reclaimed and repackaged as a term of erotic endearment. Slut, the goddess of yes, let go yes, let it be yes. The only women who had ever talked to me like that had been a paid professional speaking on a rented video. “I’ve wanted you for so long!” I gushed. Passion washed through me like bold strokes from a master painter. The force was with me. I pushed Lacey up against the flat surface of the door, raising and stretching her hands aloft with both of mine. Crouching slightly, I mashed my chest—my heart—squarely onto hers. We both gasped as several jolts of energy rippled through us. “My cunt burns for hard cock!” she growled. Well, there you have it. No doubt about where she stood on the issue. No wavering, no waffling. Red light special. No waiting on Aisle 5. Her nastiness yee-hawed me onward, stagecoach driver cracking the whip. But this wagon train was a runaway, like the Oklahoma Land Run, and I saw dangerous curves ahead. Already some party-pooper portion of my brain rapidly previewed the night ahead and voiced its sniveling commentary to the committee: Had the expiration date passed on my dormant condom collection? How dirty were my sheets? Would my body deliver an erection in a timely manner? If it did, would I be able to hold onto those few squirts of semen until Lacey had revved her

81 Joshua Bagby jets with suitable pleasure? Would Max mind too much if I fucked his wife? Would Lacey spend the night? Would Max send out a search posse of bad boys? Would Chloe attend tonight’s performance? Wasthis my sign from God? Suddenly, as if a battalion of memory police gathered together to escort me back through time, Rose yelled at me from my bedroom over half a lifetime ago. She waved that offensive magazine above her head as if marching into combat with it. “I don’t ever want to see The Playboy in this house again, do you understand me, young man?” And she never saw one again. I became much more adept at hiding them. I peeled one hand away from above Lacey’s head and lit on her left breast. “Yeah, grab ‘em, baby,” she cried, arching her back, leaning into my grasp. Waves of heat ripped through me. Her breathy approval spurred me on. I snaked my hand down underneath her sweater in pursuit of soft skin. Her smooth breasts felt like unruly twins named Jiggly and Wobbly. I dropped down to my knees. This is what I get for drowning Julie’s tapes. Careful what you ask for! Shift happens! I heard her deftly pull her sweater up over her head and toss it aside. “Open your eyes, Benjamin. What do you think?” Think? Don’t men think with their stiffies? Mine puffed out like a python. I’d imagined the shape and feel of Lacey’s breasts for over two months. Isn’t that long enough foreplay? Now the wrappings had been ripped away from her gifts.Merry Christmas, Benjamin. For the first time I saw big rosy silver-dollar size aureole perched on the face of alabaster mounds. They surpassed my aesthetic ideal of everything I’d ever hoped for. Was this my sign from God? “Drench those puppies, baby!” she coached. A guttural growl purred in my throat as I eagerly swished my tongue across her salty skin. She whimpered in harmony. Inside my eyelids colors frothed like an eruption of molten rainbow. I felt dizzy. This was speeding along much too quickly. Who says men are always ready at the drop of a sweater? “Benjamin, take me to bed,” Lacey said, jarring me with her bluntness. “What?” “Don’t be a nice guy,” she snapped. “Take me to bed now.” “No,” I said. I amazed myself. She looked stunned. “No?” “Well, my bed’s unmade, and frankly I want to go slower.” “Dude, I don’t have time for slower.” She reached down by her feet, picked up her purse, and added, “You haven’t fucked in eight months. Take me to your filthy,

82 Breath After Death unmade bed and let’s have dirty sex. Now!” I took a mental snapshot of her standing there topless, like a mystical goddess who’d come to bless my residence with her sacred rituals. In seconds she grabbed my hand and led me towards my bedroom. Then at the door she dropped her purse, tugged at the front snap on her shorts, and said, “Lose your clothes.” I watched her step out of her shorts. No panties. Shaved and good to go. I removed my shirt and then said, “I want this to be poetry.” “What?” Lacey laughed in her throaty way. “Pussy is poetry. Now, lose the pants.” I wanted to light a fragrant candle and play dreamy music. I wanted to invite gods and goddesses to create a sacred circle of love, chanting for us as we reached this wondrous milestone. She frowned slightly. “Quit stalling. I know you’re scared, but I’m sopping here.” “I’m not scared,” I protested. “I just want this to be special.” She climbed onto the bed, veed her thighs, and showed me the boldfaced view with extra exclamation points! “This is special.” No lie. A dream come true. “Your turn.” As she watched, I unzipped my trousers and stepped out. She pointed at my briefs. “Underwear, too.” Then I stood naked before her. She patted the mattress beside her. I joined her there. She turned on her side and reached out for my wood, licking her lips and rapidly flexing both hands in a grabbing motion. “I want, I want, I want!” Her hands landed on my genitals where she worked me over like a pro (well, that’s a guess because I’ve never been to a pro). Cake walk. I was back to throbbing in no time. She tugged and guided me into her slippery velvet port. “In you go.” Public service announcements flashed through my head, but Lacey acted like she had no concerns. Maybe this is why Chloe had not wanted me to send the letter earlier. Watch out what you wish for. You may get an offer you can’t refuse. Welcome to the civil war between mind and body. Well, actually, it wasn’t very civil. Lacey’s whimpers hypnotized me. Her randy rhetoric dragged me far out into the Sea of Oblivion. So what if I got AIDS and ended up dying? I’d either crumble into dust or frolic in heaven. And surely if Lacey had any worries about getting pregnant, she would not have stuffed me inside her without precautions. Right? My mind buzzed like a vibrator, but few English words emerged from my mouth. It required too much brain control to wrap my tongue around those

83 Joshua Bagby ethereal notions. Grunts and moans expressed my entranced glee. My mind’s eye flashed more brilliant shooting stars of color. Translucent pictures, like a watercolor light show, projected me from lifetime into lifetime, the present into the past, hopes into reality. I forced myself to surface from this trance when I felt liquid rising inside. If I didn’t control myself, it would end pitifully soon. I quit thrusting. “No,” she cried, “don’t stop. I want your nut now!” I lost control instantly. Bliss engulfed me. I heard my Eureka cry rumble through the bedroom and across the planet. “Attaboy,” Lacey said. Her right hand slipped between us. She strummed herself with her own fingers. I tugged at her nipple with my mouth and sucked out memories. Within moments, she filled the room with moans, followed by the delighted laughter of release. “Oh, that was awesome! Woo-hoo!” A familiar sweet aroma wafted through the psychic corridors of my mind. It seemed like life moved ahead at fast forward. Half a minute after Lacey had quivered in orgasm, she stirred and said, “I wish I could stay here all night.” The chilly winds of realization blew in quickly. “You’re leaving already?” “I have to,” she said. “I’m terribly late. I was supposed to be home by nine, but I just had to drop by and give you a pop.” She climbed out of bed and reached for her shorts. Maybe I didn’t do it good enough for her. “Is there anything you want? Need?” “No, no, you were great,” she said. “It was special.” Spoken like a true zombie. I climbed out of bed. I approached her. “Just hug me for a moment more.” I closed my eyes and wrapped myself around her, my skin cells searching for warmth. How beautiful she looked and felt. How incompetent I felt. “When you were gone, I missed you so much. I didn’t know how to contact you.” “It’s a long story. I don’t have time to share it now.” “I was really concerned,” I said, hating how I must be sounding like an adolescent dork, clinging vines sprouting out of my palms. “You calm down while I use your bathroom,” she said, pulling away as if I were the consolation prize. She picked up her purse and found the bathroom. I stepped into my jeans and drifted into the living room. A minute later she emerged topless and found her sweater. She must have sensed my insecurity because she suddenly said, “You’re hot, Nice Boy—who knew?” At the front door she turned around and said, “Benjamin, there is something I want. Could I have fifty bucks? I’m supposed to bring Max home some food.”

84 Breath After Death “Oh, God, now you want pay for play?” It sounded so weird. “If I charged for my body, it would be much more than fifty!” She grinned. “OK, baby,” I mused and fetched my wallet. I gave her money; then she was gone. I tuned into the 10 O’Clock News, but quickly grew weary of the same-ol’ headlines. Same ol’ house fire. Same ol’ street shooting. Same ol’ car wreck. Lacey’s scent still perfumed the bed sheets. I stretched out on a soft platter of her fragrant molecules. At least part of her remained to hold me. “I want you to come back,” I told her in thought-talk as if she could hear me. Ducks and coots and gulls floating in the lagoon outside my window mocked me. Oh, God. We humans. I wanted Lacey to finish what she had started. She’d delivered gourmet nasty, but that was like a couple of spicy hors d’oeuvres to get my juices flowing. What about the main course? Does she really think a hasty ejaculation will sate my soul? Yeah, it was memorable. No one else had done it with such finesse. But now I felt stranded on an island far away from a resort villa. I fuck you, and gone. I flipped over on my back and flattened my hands palms-up against the mattress. “Youknow what I want,” I told Chloe. I hated to think what she thought watching the whirlwind tour. I peered around the dark silence for signs of glowing smoke. I looked for mystical specks of light. I looked for something different. I focused my mind on my hand and invited lovers from the spirit world to drop on by. Maybe someone would take pity on me. I noticed bright hues of blue and purple and teal behind my eyelids, but no one touched my palm.

85 Joshua Bagby

11. Facing Reality

Dear God: I asked you for a sign about Lacey. You gave me a doozy! Is that true that you invented sex or did you subcontract that out to some other deity? Whatever the case, if the buck stops there, I’d like to lodge a complaint. I thought divine signs added clarity. After Lacey’s visit, which thrilled me, I’m more confused than ever! Never have my eyes and fingers caressed such a beauty. Never have I known someone so comfortable playing with her body (with possible exception of that hugging woman, Petra). So why did I feel so empty when she left? The answer frightens me. I could go, “Duh, she’s married.” Or, “Duh, that was so quickie it was a wiki-quickie. ”Or, “Duh, I want more out of sex than pops.” It goes deeper than duh. Maybe I have become so carried away with my imaginary women that I’ve transcended human reality.

y eyes popped open when the voice spoke my name. I found myself Mengulfed in a humming field of swirling, pulsating color. The milky, creamy aura shimmered with the iridescence of mother of pearl, not shining at me, but surrounding and covering me, feeling like dry, warm, breeze-blown silk. “Benjamin?” A sweet, clear feminine voice emanated from the light field. Though startled, I felt sedated by the light. I knew I was not dreaming, but where was I? The creamy, translucent light body backed away from my face. I noticed my bed. It was still dark outside beyond this glow. As my eyes focused, the nebula illuminating my bedroom formed the roughly hewn shape of a woman. Her eyes shined like brilliant turquoise moons. Her long, curly platinum blonde hair

86 Breath After Death shimmered with rainbow color as if fashioned from fiber optics. Her features cleared for several seconds, then blurred back into swirls of pulsating color. Mesmerized, I felt my heart thunder inside my chest. I sat up against the headboard of my bed. There could be no other explanation. “Chloe?” “You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.” Maybe, but I was fascinated, not scared. I felt like a child seeing my first real puppy. The light body floated across the bedspread to the foot of the bed. “This is what you wanted, right?” she asked. “Yes! I wanted to see you.” “So how do I look?” “Awesome!” “You know this changes everything.” Chloe throbbed color. Her light body smeared into the air of the dark room like paint onto a black acetate canvas, a moving mass of dynamic radiance. “Now you have to face reality.” She chuckled again, then floated off the bed and appeared to stand. I slowly climbed out of bed. Chloe stood just under my height. Dots of color fired off her like solar flares, and then she came more into focus. “What’s that awesome perfume you’re wearing?” I asked. “Honey, I’m not wearing perfume.” “Then what am I smelling?” “Heaven,” she said. “Oh, my God, how can this be?” “It’s your turn to get your wish.” Chloe! She is as real as I am, yet nothing like I’d pictured. I approached the swirling vision of my companion through time. She spread her arms and stepped inside my embrace, yet no matter how full and huggable her body appeared to my eyes, my hands and arms slipped through her light field creating ripples of liquid luminosity before me. “Not much to grab onto, is there?” she said with a wry chuckle that made her colors sparkle. When she talked to me I noticed that her mouth did not move, but I heard her sweet voice just the same. “Of course, your wish comes with a price,” she said. “Now you can’t so easily escape into the oasis of denial.” She bowed comically. Indeed. The almighty Universe had granted my wish. I’d broken through the barrier between disbelief and belief. There is no death. Life goes on. Deal with it. Chloe was not just a puff of glowing smoke inside my creative workshop. This was not swamp gas easily explained away. Not a weather balloon. Not a sunspot. Not a bad pizza. Not a

87 Joshua Bagby thump on the head by a falling two-by-four. Unless I’d developed full-fledged schizophrenia overnight, I’d just blasted through the paradigm barrier! “You are accountable for your actions!” Chloe continued. “No more flimsy excuses for staying stuck.” She glided around the room. Light peeled off her body like flecks of silver and blue and magenta glitter. She twirled in place, launching a torrent of shooting sparkles. Then she abruptly halted in front of my mirror. “Uh-oh.” The sparking abruptly subsided. “Uh-oh what?” Chloe appeared to study the image in the mirror. She put her hand to her lips. “Benjamin?” “What?” She giggled. “I’m wearing Marilynn’s body.” “What?“ “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” “That’s not your body?” “Nope. Spirit is mine. Body is Marilynn’s.” I paused to take that all in. “Oh.” “Marilynn lives on Kauai,” she added. “Oh. So how did you steal Marilynn’s body?” “Can’t say. I don’t do explanations.” “You want me to believe that you unknowingly stepped into another person’s body?” “Explain to me how you talk. Or walk. How do you curl your tongue around an ice cream cone? How do you come up with a new idea? Go ahead, and leave no detail unexplained.” “OK, I get your point.” “Maybe someone thinks you need to know what Marilynn looks like.” “Someone who?” Chloe ignored me and struck a glamour pose in the mirror. Then facing me, she threw her light arms behind her light head, shaking off wet-looking drops of color that splattered on the floor then evaporated. “Does she set off smoke alarms or what?” “If I were her, I’d be a little concerned right now.” “It’s just light. She doesn’t mind.” Chloe faced the mirror again and admired the body wrapped around her like a theatrical costume. She fondled her translucent breasts, hips, and rump as if she

88 Breath After Death were enjoying it as much as I was. “Should I undress Marilynn for you?” “Is that allowed?” “Why wouldn’t it be allowed?” she asked, bugging her eyes out for effect. “It’s not your body to show, is it? It violates Marilynn’s privacy.” “Are you embarrassed by the light?” Chloe snickered, red sparks flying from her mouth. I found her attitude odd for a spokespirit. Chloe turned her back to me and appeared to be stroking her luminescence. “I’d just feel better if we had her permission,” I said. “Interesting spin on ethics, Benjamin. You just fucked some man’s wife. Did you get permission from him?” I gulped. Chloe used the f-word! What would the National Enquirer make of that? Or the New York Times? I took a deep breath. “So will I be barbecued in Hell for sleeping with Lacey?” Chloe faced me again and smirked. “You didn’t sleep!” “You know what I mean.” “Lacey was up and running before the sheets cooled to room temperature.” “That really confuses me,” I said. “Mmm? I’d say it stuck a dagger into your gut.” “I thought we shared something intimate together.” Chloe placed her hands on her hips. “That was as intimate as a drive-by shooting.” Tears formed in my eyes as if I were powerless to hold my emotions back. “Then what did it mean to her?” “Looked like about fifty bucks,” Chloe said. “You make it sound as if she charged that money for sex.” Chloe laughed at me. “What’s so funny?” “I come from a place of no secrets. I know all the beginnings and endings. I know what’s in Lacey’s heart. And in yours.” “What’s in our hearts?” I didn’t ask it out loud. It sounded like a stupid question to ask even though its answer was something I truly wanted to know. She answered me anyway. “Love and fear. They dwell in everyone’s heart in various proportions. Fear keeps people stuck in their ruts, honey. Until you’re ready to quit coddling yours, you’ll keep doing what you’ve always done. You cling to Lacey out of fear that Julie is right that you aren’t worthy of love.” Pictures flooded my mind: Lacey spreading her thighs and reaching for my

89 Joshua Bagby manhood. Manhood? Ha! “Lacey is devoted to seduction,” Chloe said, laughing. “Sex is her drug of choice. She likes her men. They swarm all over her, flies to cheesecake. Sex makes her feel powerful.” Poison gushed into my blood. “She never mentioned anything about other guys—just Max.” “When I saw her last, she was tied up to a shower faucet with a ball-gag stuffed in her mouth. Hot water splashed over her body. She squirmed in pleasure, awaiting the moment when Master would rip the rest of her clothes off.” “Master?” I closed my eyes and saw Chloe’s version of Lacey as if I were watching reality TV. “When was this?” “Shortly after she left your apartment.” “When?” “During the 10 O’Clock News.” I rubbed my face trying to shake out a clear picture of Chloe’s drift. “You mean she told me she had to hurry home—then went to another guy?” “You were an appetizer. An opening act for her night of sex. She got home about four in the morning.” Chloe chuckled as if it were a jolly game. My heart sank into a deep abyss. “Why do you keep laughing at me?” “Because I see over the mountain of your suffering.” “Who’s the guy she was with?” I asked, though I didn’t need to. When I closed my eyes I saw a cerebral photo of Roman Masterson. “She’s got quite a following on the Internet.” She laughed at me again. Lacey lied to me. She lied, she lied, she lied. I’d felt sorry for her, trapped in an abusive marriage, suffocated by a controlling, mentally ill husband. She lied about loving me—and I was so needy for comfort I believed her! “You didn’t warn me,” I said to Chloe. “In two weeks you won’t even care that Lacey is on the same planet.” “You never said anything about Roman and Lacey.” “Oh, like you would have listened! ‘Oh, it’s just a fantasy talking! I’m just making her up’” The bell of truth rang loudly. “Honey, it’s not my mandate, womandate, or spiritdate to lead you by the hand around all possible sources of pain. You’re here on this planet to learn how to guide yourself. You learn by doing, by experiencing. I’ll give you a big hug and a cupcake now and then, but I’m not your personal intelligence agency.” Chloe’s face burst into sparkles and dots with another round of laughter. I felt dizzy as visions of blind alleys and broken dreams ricocheted through me. All the

90 Breath After Death hurt I had ever felt collected for one giant dose of venom. All the betrayal, all the lies, all the fractured hope. I saw Lacey’s wild animal face again. Then I saw web cams and web links. Laceyspreads4u.com. I wanted that hunger focused on me— and not with a request for money or a hasty retreat at the end. Oh, the delights we’d share if only she focused on me with her full attention. Suddenly Julie joined the party inside my head, gloating at her great fortune in finding wealthy, longhaired Aaron. “Pain is your messenger,” Chloe said, suddenly serious. “Learn from it.” “What can I learn from betrayal?” “That they can betray you only when you give them all your power.” “How do I give them all my power?” “By looking to the outside world for happiness. You wanted Julie to beef up your self-image. You want Lacey to validate you as a great lover. True happiness comes from within. If you were more connected to your spiritual roots, you would no longer feel lonely. You would feel your connection to the Source of all love. Your bright light would attract other lights. It’s that simple.” “She said she loves me,” I said, shaking my head. “She said she doesn’t use those words lightly.” I love you and gone. “Benjamin, listen carefully: Yes, Lacey lied to you. But you lie to yourself every day!” “About what?” I gasped. “Justifying why you stay stuck in a safe but uninspired life.” A big grin blossomed on Chloe’s face. “Hello?” She traced the outline of Marilynn’s light body. “Aren’t you forgetting something? Look at what awaits you in Kauai!” Well, OK. How long will I nurse the Lacey fantasy? Face reality. That whirlwind tour of my bedroom left me feeling abandoned—that’s what was real. Damn nature anyway. Chloe’s face grew clear in focus. Suddenly a glow emanating from her expanded and covered me. An electric charge crackled through my body. The pain I felt instantly vanished, replaced by exhilaration. Gooseflesh sprouted, and my body hair saluted to the goddess. “Benjamin, you have never been alone despite the illusion of loneliness you create with your thoughts. Your universe is filled with love. Open wide to it.” Chloe stood in my face. I saw heaven. I smelled heaven. “Benjamin, listen. We are all one. Each one of us is like a cell in a giant human body. The whole of that body is what we call God. God is within each of us because we are all cells of God. We are all particles of the same Spirit. Religions often teach

91 Joshua Bagby that God is separate, a supreme being who lives somewhere else judging and condemning mortals. People often learn to look to saints or angels or psychics or priests or someone outside of themselves to tell them what to do, how to behave, what to create, how to live. All answers truly come from within. Love comes from within, too.” She drew near to me. Her vibrant turquoise eyes pulled me into a lake of pure love. Entranced, I felt the humming energy return. Chloe reached out to stroke my face with her light-bearing hands. My arms instinctively spread to hold her. Once again, I could only embrace the light. Yet mysteriously, my arms felt supported as if floating in a hot spa. Her light body appeared to penetrate my skin as if she had stepped inside me. Heat flowed inside my flesh. Wet heat raced across my tongue—as if we kissed by thought. Tingles flooded my whole face. I closed my eyes. Light visions brighter than ever splashed across my mind’s eye. Intense colors glowed in brilliant patterns. “People don’t need to arrive in heaven scoring perfect marks. Life is not an Olympic competition. Experiment more. Laugh more. Be a human being! Don’t worry so much about pleasing the judges; follow your inner light. Learn. Explore. If not now, when?” I opened my eyes to see Chloe’s light body transforming into a throbbing, glowing cloud. “I like this glowy stuff,” I cried. “In the spirit, the whole atmosphere is charged with glowy stuff.” Chloe flung her hands open and sprayed sparkles into the room. “God, you’d be great at parties!” Laughter consumed me. I felt as if I had jumped into a whole new light world. “I love you,” she said in a voice that rippled through the luminescence. But then she went dark as if swallowed by an invisible whale. The heavenly vapors vanished with her. I cried out for her. My voice echoed eerily in the silence. She did not answer. I listened intently, but only heard the commotion of the waterfowl from the lagoon outside. “I don’t want you to go,” I said, even though I knew I could not coax her back. What is it with women and leaving? I love you and gone.

92 Breath After Death

12. Life After Light

Dear God: Well, shatter my paradigms! You’ve outdone yourself. Either I’ve been given the ultimate wish—and you accepted the ultimate dare by delivering Chloe—or I’m now in deep shit need of intensive psychotherapy. You know what the realists, the scientists, the pragmatists say? They insist that the gullible masses buy stories of angels and light beings because we cannot face the reality of an eternal void. We need to explain the unexplained with fantasy. Those realists, scientists, and legislators—the ones who claim that death is real, death is suffering, death is unavoidable, death is curtains—proselytize that the brain itself invents a neuronal virtual reality, faking us out with visions of bright lights and spirit beings. I can’t believe that my human brain is capable of producing translucent companions like Chloe. This changes everything. Woo-hoo!

f this were a perfect world, I thought while boarding Caltrain, I’d plop down Inext to the woman in the tan suede coat. I’d introduce myself and tell her about my adventures since detraining yesterday evening. I’d share how Lacey came calling like a gale force wind, fulfilling my hot fantasies, then leaving me cold to assess my emotional damage like an insurance adjuster combing through rubble of a hurricane disaster site. I’d tell her about my sparkling visitor who painted my bedroom with radiant light and gave me visual proof that physical life was not the final word on human existence. My new friend wouldooh and ahh appropriately. Then she’d share stories of her chats with disembodied space voyagers who paid her a visit—her lemonade is galaxy-renown. We’d swap visions about transforming the planet from one ruled by fear into one ruled by love.

93 Joshua Bagby This was not a perfect world, and I did not want to appear to be a Silicon Valley lunatic. I found an empty seat and occupied it by myself. “Did you return Marilynn’s body to her?” I asked Chloe. “She woke up and found her body right where she left it.” Her voice came as a thought. Now that I couldn’t see her, I grappled once again with the feeling that I was solely responsible for its contents. “I still don’t know what you really look like.” “It serves you better to know what Marilynn looks like.” Tingles surged through my body. I had seen glowy stuff. I had been exposed to the light. No more excuses! I will go to Kauai and claim my soul mate. The train jerked its way up the Peninsula and passed the spot where the little boy had been unzipped from his body. I pictured spirits gathering together on this train (bound for glory), tirelessly trying to tap cosmic sense into the heads of stubbornly inattentive mortals. Minutes later, I entered Graphics a new man. If this were a perfect world, our staff huddles at work would include personal check-ins. I’d share how Chloe was dead, but truly alive, and how that changed everything. This is not a perfect world. Faye convened a staff huddle as soon as Eileen arrived. “We got a big one this morning,” our boss announced. “I wish I’d gotten a big one this morning,” Eileen pouted. I sent Eileen a high five with my eyes. Faye frowned at Eileen’s grasp of corporate absurdity. She bullshitdozed ahead. Ah, professionalism! Every case was crucial to the corporate cause. Each case demanded my utmost concentration. I played an important role in the execution of jurisprudence when disaster victims played Litigation Lotto. My charts & graphs would be featured in the courtroom; my charts & graphs would coax the jury to award the big bucks. “We, the jury, were moved to tears by the compelling courtboards Benjamin Fields rendered. We therefore award the plaintiff an extra two million dollars for pain and suffering!” This time, an avalanche had crashed into a ski cabin killing seven sleeping snow lovers. The suit alleged criminal negligence. The builders of the resort cabin should have known that they were building in the path of a future wall of falling snow. Creativity on. How would it shatter the system if Chloe or one of her light companions appeared in the courtroom for all to see? How would the collective legal psyche behave if attorneys couldn’t whine so persuasively in court about the trauma So-

94 Breath After Death and-So suffered? What if murder victims could testify against their murderers on a telepathic hotline? What if terrorists were seated in the afterlife in front of those they had terrorized? I pictured myself shooting through the chute to the other side. Some great big hunky hairy man o’ light asks, “How did you spend your gift of life?” It will be a time for great hemming and hawing if I had nothing to report but same ol’. I could not bank on excuses anymore. If I said, “Well, Silicon Valley reality is that you only go through life once and then you die,” he would say, “yes, but we buttoned that loophole and sent you Chloe! We showed you real reality!” Creativity off. Realistically, to stretch an adverb, I had no reason to disbelieve Chloe’s account of Lacey’s adventurous sex life. Just the same, I wanted to gaze into Lacey’s eyes. Would they embrace me like a soul lover, or was I just a number on her tote board of conquests? After lunch I dropped by the Library. When I saw her office dark and vacant, I cringed at the implication. I asked another researcher if Lacey would appear sometime today. I was told—with more raised eyebrows—she was at an all-day offsite with Roman. Privately I wondered if the offsite included a five-star hotel room, caviar, champagne, and bondage. That night when I returned to my vanilla apartment, I took digital paints in hand. Colors flew off my pixel brush as if blown by angel breath. A portrait of Chloe—or Marilynn—developed on my screen. I pictured the joy of discovery I would feel in Kauai in a few days. The Universe had planned a celebration. I would be freed from the cage of loneliness. Memories of Lacey’s sexual power still teased me, but I had seen the light. I told the Universe I would gladly give up transient scenes with Lacey for the real, unadulterated deal. The next day Steve dropped by Graphics. I looked at his face and thought that the cafeteria must have run out of his favorite French dip and fries. With Eileen in eavesdropping range, he pointed to the door, and we two gents took off walking. “I’m about to get screwed,” he announced outside. “Trisha’s finally come around, huh?” “I don’t mean getting laid,” Steve said. “I’m about to get laid-off.” “What? How do you know that?” “Here’s irony for you—in an email. Looks like we’re not doing so hot on our P&Ls. Roman made a list of essential services to keep in-house and other services to contract out. He wants to vaporize me. So much for nine years of company loyalty. Damn! Even when I get a new job, I still lose all my seniority.” “That sucks, Steve. Is there anything I can do?”

95 Joshua Bagby “You’re entirely too wussy for what I’ve got in mind.” “Is that a put-down or a compliment?” “He doesn’t know who he’s fucking with!” Steve snarled, ignoring me. Revenge? How sweet is revenge? Maybe it was easy for me to think lofty thoughts; my ass wasn’t on the chopping block, and I’d just seen the light. We turned a corner on the sidewalk. “Speak of the devil,” Steve said. A fragmentation bomb exploded inside my stomach. Roman sat at a bistro table conversing with Lacey. My mind filled with Lacey’s throaty moans, how her naked body felt quivering in my arms, how she was Julie-times-ten hot in bed. The instant she looked my way, she yanked her glance back. A psychic lance ripped through my heart. Like, what’s to get excited about? Just another prick! Swarmed with offers—next! My brain buzzed like a grand political vibrator. Pundits argued inside my head. Throughout time people have argued the point— what happens when the holy penis slides through the vaginal portal for the first time? What does it mean? Is it like conception, giving birth to a deep, meaningful relationship? Or is it just a fleeting brush with nerve endings, a few moments of suspension from the everyday bumps and grinds, then lights out? “Roman is butt breath,” Steve murmured as we walked past them, “but damn it, you’ve got to admire his ability to talk women into doing wild shit.” “What’s to admire?” Steve looked at me as if I’d violated a fat font headline item in The Sacred Manhood Code. “He gets what he wants, Ben. He’s even bagged Lacey.” “How do you know that?” I asked, a silly, superfluous question. How did Steve know anything? He read somebody’s email. “It’s not hard,” he said. “Roman and Lacey are having an affair?” “Your face just hit the asphalt you’re walking on. He’s known her for years. He brought her to Failure Dynamics so he could have her ass nearby. They play Dominance and Submission together. He’s her master.” “That’s how she got her job here?” She’d never said anything like that to me. “Yeah. For as brilliant as Roman is, Ph.D. and all, he’s extremely careless about computer networking. He encrypts his email but leaves his passwords on stickies. That asshole writes shit to Lacey that would make Henry Miller blush.” “You never mentioned any of this before.” “I’ve never been this pissed before. Besides, I know you’ve got the hots for Lacey. Every man deserves his dream girl. That’s all most of us get. Dreams. She’s hardcore, man. I could do serious damage to that son-of-a-bitch metallurgist.”

96 Breath After Death I was tempted to splash Steve with the wet news about my last 48 hours. Yet he wouldn’t believe me. I chewed on his news flashes for several hours, then decided to pay Lacey a visit. I felt like a salmon swimming up my birth river, fighting a rash of nature’s perils for the right to mate and die, a bizarre ritual. When I arrived upstairs in the Library, Lacey’s eyes startled me. They laid the welcome mat at my feet. “Is your creativity off?” She winked. “Straight technical illustration, not a speck of creativity,” I said, noticing several engineers watching me. Watching Lacey, really, in that shiny burgundy dress that showed off her curves so well. My eyes joined all those other spectators diving into her damn nature anyway breast cleavage. I knew what a salmon on the hook felt like. I yanked my brain back out with a loud thwop. “Let’s go to my office,” Lacey said. She led me through the shelving area. “Are you all right?” she asked in front of her office door. “You seem on edge.” My mental TV showed Lacey with a ball-gag stuffed inside her mouth. I just couldn’t blurt it out. Not about what Chloe told me. Not about Chloe period. Not about what Steve knew. Not here in her office with engineers in close orbit. I went for something else to see what it would trigger. “Earlier today you were sitting outside with Roman. As soon as you saw me, you looked away real fast.” “I did?” she asked. “It gave me the creeps.” “I don’t remember, but trust me, I didn’t see you. I can’t see far away without my glasses, and even with them on it’s chancy.” “I was walking with Steve,” I added, as if that would jog her memory. “You seemed really absorbed in Roman.” “Well, I don’t doubt that. He’s got me slaving away at Stanford University,” she said, not a twitch or tick or telltale glance away. “It gave me the willies—considering that I haven’t seen or spoken to you since we were intimate.” She giggled. “Intimate? You’re so cute.” Then, abruptly, her eyes clouded over—if she had the power to fire me, it was a look like that. “Benjamin, I don’t know a pretty way to say this, so I’m just going to blurt it out.” “Oh?” My life stopped as I awaited the detonation. In that see-your-life-flash- before-your-eyes moment, I reacted to all the horrible announcements she could make, and suddenly wished I’d worn a condom that fateful night. “Somebody raided my desk at home. Stuff is missing. Personal stuff— including your letters to me. I keep them in a special place, and they’re gone. The whole folder is missing.”

97 Joshua Bagby “Maybe you just misplaced it,” I said. It was a stupid thing to say, but I was hooked viewing the screaming action in her eyes. It looked like a high school girl thinking that the principal knew about the joint not hidden cleverly enough inside her purse. “I put your latest letter in it just the other day, and I tucked it safely away.” I recalled Chloe advising me not to mail that letter. “Do you think Max has them?” She nodded. “He’s the logical choice. I hid them well. Someone was on a hunt, know what I mean?” “He searches through your things?” “Uh-huh.” “But he hasn’t mentioned anything?” “No, he hasn’t.” “If he gets pissed, will he?” “Who knows? Maybe. He could be torturing me by not confronting me. He could be saving my letters to put at his feet when he hangs himself from the rafters.” “Why do you put up with such abuse?” “Hey, find me a good hit man and I’m outta there.” “Be serious.” “I am serious.” She vented with a plume of laughter. “He bluffs suicide. He teases me with false hope that he’ll get drunk and blow his brains away. Maybe blow mine away first. Then he’ll get his own two-hour special onDateline. ” “So what do you think he’ll do when he reads my letters?” I asked. I tried to remember what identifying details I had sprinkled in them. “Do you think he’ll pop?” “I don’t know. Would you pop?” I recalled the day Julie told me we were over, done with, due to become another divorce statistic. I didn’t pop. It’s not like we hadn’t wasted hundreds of hours in our battle stances. My stomach bore the brunt of my shock, but I did not pop. I figured if she didn’t want to stay married—if she had found a new source of funds with long golden hair—our marriage was already doomed. I’d be fighting uphill all the way. She had the heavily armed bunker on the summit. “If you want to save the marriage, you’d better act now,” she’d said, which I translated as, “spend lotsa money on me.” At that point, what could I gain but the right to be pussy-whipped by her steady stream of barbs? As it turned out, I spent the fortune on attorney and court fees, house-selling improvements and realtor fees, moving expenses and

98 Breath After Death replacement costs. As humiliated as I felt, I couldn’t imagine blowing myself away because my material girl left me for a richer, more handsome man. “No, I wouldn’t pop,” I said to Lacey. “I can’t be so confident about Max. You’ve heard of the walking time bomb.” “Can you be more specific?” “No, I don’t know what he’ll do.” She casually flipped her hair, as if to say, Not“ my problem. If you had resisted me when I threw myself all over you and offered you the fuck of a lifetime, it wouldn’t be your problem, either.“ “I guess it’s lucky timing I’m bound for Kauai.” “Kauai?” “I’m flying there Sunday morning.” “You are? Since when?” “Since I made the reservation.” “Are you going with anybody?” “Nope. Well, Chloe may tag along.” “Does this have anything to do with that woman from the train who hugged everybody?” God, what radar! “Wouldn’t that be wild if I found her?” “It would be intensely creativity-on.” “Yeah.” I felt a warm glow. I can do it. I found the ring. I’ve seen the light! “Well, you’re leaving when?” “Early Sunday morning out of San Francisco.” My nose filled with sweet fragrance as Lacey leaned closer. “Look, Max is heading out for the weekend.” She cast it out there like a fly at the end of a fishing line. It floated on the water of my imagination. “Interested?” “In what?” I asked. My heart revved auditioning the possibilities. She smiled, then pouted seductively. “Join me for a fantasy evening?” Her voice dripped a trail of gooey candy. “Pardon me while I throw up,” Chloe said. “Don’t you think Max is on heightened alert?” Did this vixen have an off switch? “Any damage has already been done. I’m not going to let him spoil my fun forever.” The phone rang and Lacey picked it up. It was business. She quickly shifted personas, donning her professional mask. I dialed out of her conversation to huddle with myself. It comes back again to the reality of death. If we fade to black when our bodies die, then no problem. Embrace those secrets. Plot, deceive, win

99 Joshua Bagby at any cost no matter how unethical. There’s really no standard to follow if there’s no accountability and no future. If I disintegrate to dust beyond the grave, no one will care what flesh I feasted upon during my debauching days. Dust won’t care. My pal God won’t care, especially if He doesn’t exist. Maybe that’s why people fuck so indiscriminately or with such deception. They feel no need to fuck with integrity. But if there’s a system of spiritual evolution in place—if there truly is light at the end of the tunnel—then pain means something. Having Julie replace me with a hairier, wealthier model meant something. Having Lacey seduce me and deceive me served a purpose. Even feeling like a lonely failure served a purpose, if only to motivate me to seek out something better. I recalled the precise moment that letter to Lacey slipped out of my hand into the mail slot of no return. I hadn’t listened to my better judgment. Why not? Was some unconscious part of me so intent on winning Lacey’s love that it ignored my concerns? Or in the undulating scheme of things, did some spirit specialize in finding clever ways to get the shit kicked out of me? Why do I assume that spirits only lead us to pleasantries? Why assume that our guides provide solely for our feel-good comfort? If mortal life on Earth is a school, someone has to plan lessons. Someone has to teach class. Those lessons aren’t all about bliss. If we’re being taught spiritual survival skills, some designated discarnate drill instructor must drop obstacles in our path. Maybe it wasn’t just dumb luck that Max found my letters to Lacey. Maybe an ethereal finger steered Max to Lacey’s desk for the crucial evidence about his wife’s conduct. Maybe I had even been compelled by some ethereal contract to write and send that letter for the flames it would ignite. Did the devil make me do it? Lacey finished her phone conversation. That glazed look filled her face again. She leaned back in her chair. “So what do you say? Fantasy night?” “I’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity,” I thought and then said. Welcome to the light. This is a test of faith. “But I really can’t. I have a trip to Kauai all planned.” “You said your flight was Sunday morning.” “It is.” “Pack tonight. Tie me up tomorrow night,” she said in a breathy voice, soft as a silk scarf. Slowly, silently, she drew a burgundy veil well up her long, lean thighs, never averting her eyes from mine. My heart pounded as she tempted fate, daring an engineer to walk in unannounced. It was a pornographic cliché, but a damn compelling one, damn nature anyway. “Keep that in mind,” she purred. Keep it in mind? Headline stories had already been emblazoned in my

100 Breath After Death neurons. Talk show hosts would discuss it with experts in erotic psychology. Video clips would play all through the night in my brain. She was flesh and blood, here and now, hot and sassy, but a light visitor in my bedroom says she is a liar. “I really shouldn’t.” She frowned. “Max is no issue to me. Come on, make me happy.” “No,” I said. Should I be angry? Sure, but how cosmic was that? Why waste energy blaming Lacey? Focus on my future. Yeah, she deceived me. Yet maybe Lacey was just being Lacey, doing her own thing. Maybe I was creating the problem by naïvely assuming she’d become my one and only. I never asked her if she was burning up the sheets with others. Maybe if I were looking at the real Lacey, I would know that my thinking was at fault. “Don’t torture me,” she said. “I’ll beg pretty for you.” It seemed absurd. Balding me, wussy me, unexciting me torturing man magnet Lacey by saying no? Hell, I was on a roll! “You could always ask Roman.” She looked as if I had just pulled a gun on her. Just for a second. Then she said with a sly grin, “That’s what this is about? You’re jealous of Roman?” Her snigger grew into an odd cackle. “I heard that you two are having an affair.” “Oh, honestly. Where did you hear that?” “So you’re saying it’s not true?” “How do these stories get started anyway? People are so petty—I can’t believe it! Benjamin, really, where was I just two nights ago?” “OK. I’m sorry. I had a creativity off moment,” I said. “I’ve been slaving for him. That’s it. That’s all. I’m really hurt that you’d believe these ridiculous stories—especially after all I did for you.” Oh, no, not the hurt card. Julie played that one to death. Hurt that I didn’t spend enough money on her. Hurt that I was losing my hair. What do you say to that crap? “If I hurt you I’m sorry.” “I go to all the trouble to surprise you, and that’s the thanks I get. I think you’d better leave now.” I stood. “I don’t mean to hurt you,” I repeated, kicking myself that words flowed so poorly from my brain. Mention Chloe and I’d sound like a mad man. My imaginary friend—who appeared like a neon light display in my bedroom—said you abandoned me to race into Roman’s slave collar. Mention Steve and I’d betray my friend who’s already feeling betrayed by the company. She eyed me with a scowl. “I’m not the boss’s whore!” “I never said that,” I replied.

101 Joshua Bagby “I know you think it. That’s just as bad. You aren’t my friend anymore. Just leave. Forget you knew me. Go to Kauai.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just confused because you said you loved me, and then I hear—” A commotion at Lacey’s office door froze us in our tracks. Roman Masterson stepped inside the doorway, looking at Lacey with, it must be said, a rather goofy expression on his face. “Fields. Lacey. Am I interrupting something important?” “No, not a thing,” Lacey said, snapping to corporate attention. “How may I serve you?” Roman needed no further encouragement. The master ordered her to take another trip to Stanford University for more research. Lacey made it clear she had changed channels from any involving me. I set my body in motion to leave, but at that moment my eyes were pulled as if by a tractor beam. I noticed a little object on the floor.Is that a web cam? Out of my peripheral vision I noticed Lacey watching me. She quickly glanced away when I tuned my head toward her. A few seconds later when I was inside the library, laughter exploded in Lacey’s office. So that’s how it was. Her hurt lingered for all of ten seconds—until the next man walked in. Why couldn’t I be that mercurial? I caught the last shuttle from Failure Dynamics. Riding to the train station, I replayed that scene in Lacey’s office. How pathetic! Earthquakes hadn’t roughed me up this much, even Loma Prieta. My confidence lay in rubble. Losing access to Lacey’s award-winning body was the least of it. I hated having felt so desperate for affection that I dabbled in adultery, and even saying no to Lacey’s latest offer didn’t ease my pain. The more I learned about Lacey, the more I saw that I was just a tick mark on a check sheet. Still I cowered at the thought that I’d hurt her, even when I knew she was acting like a drama queen. I doubt Roman ever worried that he hurt Lacey! “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Chloe purred on the train. “Look at the positive things that have happened. You booked a trip to Kauai. You’re breaking away from the chains that bind you to a life you despise. You said no to Lacey even though you hunger for her platter of treats. You’re getting stronger all the time. You’re on a spiritual path now.” I found hope and comfort gazing into the hula poster. Chloe had stepped into my life. My life would change forever. When I got home, I packed early for my trip. I was eager to get on with my life. Halfway into the 10 O’Clock News, a knock boomed at the front door. Lacey!

102 Breath After Death I bounded up from the powder blue chair and threw open the door. No Lacey! A tall man I’d never seen before stood on the porch, his hands tucked in the pockets of his navy blue hoodie. “You’re Benjamin?” he asked, not hiding a scowl. “Yeah,” I replied tentatively to the bigger man. He studied my rapidly receding hairline. “Really?” “Yeah. Who are you?” “Call me Mister Lacey,” he sneered.

103 Joshua Bagby

13. Keeping Divine Appointments

Dear God: Is this instant karma or what? Custer must have felt this way during his firstoh, shit! at Little Big Horn.

’m sure you know my wife,” Max said in a voice as friendly as curdled milk. “I“She’s the one with peculiar ideas about fidelity.” Cornered. No way out unless I wanted to appear hideously more harebrained than I feared I already did. “Yes, I know her. We’re friends.” “Oh, friends. Is that what they call it these days?” He looked like he was selling newspaper subscriptions door-to-door, but he spoke with a business suit voice. His owl eyes reminded me of my ex-wife’s divorce lawyer dismantling my financial statement. “She’s a researcher in the corporate library where I work,” I said. Max pulled some folded paper out of his pocket. “Let’s play Show and Tell, shall we? Maybe we can focus your fuzzy memory.” He shook the paper open and waved Exhibit A in front of my face. I shuddered. “Yeah, OK,” I conceded. “I know what you’re talking about.” That didn’t stop him. Max’s gaze dropped to the paper he held in his quivering hand. “‘I have never met a woman as magical as you. You cast a spell of wonder and excitement on me. I want to know all of your secrets.’” He peered at me and mocked, “Isn’t that special?” I gulped. My words haunted me coming out of another man’s mouth richly coated in sarcasm. Max continued reading. “‘I would never ask that you leave your husband for me. If you leave your broken marriage you must leave for you.’ Blah-blah-blah. ‘If there were ever anyone on this earth who makes my heart sing, it is you.’” He crumpled the paper and stuffed it back inside his pocket. “Is your intention

104 Breath After Death with my wife coming back to you?” “It’s not like you think.” “Oh, I see. You are intimately familiar with what I think, are you?” “I didn’t say that.” He dismissed my retort with a waving gesture, then asked, “Are you the same Benjamin who’s been porking my wife behind my back?” Porking? Oh, yes, immediately turn the sweet symbolism of my sex life into butcher shop lingo. Bacon. Hamsteaks. Pork loin. All men are created equally pathetic. I saw little to gain by denying the deed—butporking ? My actual bed count hardly justified the credit being given. Did one seven-minute trip to bed truly qualify as the ongoing process of porking? My silence lasted beyond Max’s tolerance. “It appears that I caught you with your pants down and your hand in the cookie jar, Mr. Fields.” I smelled alcohol on Max’s breath. “No matter how Lacey portrays me, I am not stupid,” Max sneered. “I don’t think that,” I replied, and it was true. Max rapidly evolved as a new man in my eyes. Suddenly he resembled a guy like me who lost his wife’s loyalty to some other jerk. “Then whatdo you think?” I felt dizzy. “What do you want from me?”” He raised his eyebrows. “I believe it’s referred to as a reckoning.” I silently mouthed the word reckoning. He grinned ominously. “A settling of accounts.” “Yes, I know that.” “Let’s take a field trip to Secret Town.” An arctic chill blasted through my soul. “Where?” “Let’s take your car,” Max said outside. “I’m a little wobbly.” As we left, I grabbed my jacket, where I last put my cell phone, just in case. A quiet force of will gently pushed me forward to the carport. I opened the van doors with my keyless entry remote. How I can possibly explain that in just a few short days since I wrote that letter wadded in his pocket, my whole reality has transformed? “Nice van,” Max said as I climbed inside. “Thank you.” “Is this where you practice meaningless sex acts with men’s spouses?” I did not answer him. I started the engine. “Take us to Santa Clara,” he said, then stayed deathly quiet as I drove out of the parking lot. The eerie calm gave me the willies.How could I have been so stupid?

105 Joshua Bagby This must be how it feels to wake up from a sexual tryst testing positive months later for HIV. Chasing dreams all the way to the hospital, maybe for lifelong drug maintenance. Just sit back, relax, and wait for AIDS to kick in. As we cut through the city streets, Max spoke only to indicate which direction to take. He kept his hands in his parka pouch—fondling his day-of-reckoning pistol? He could blow my brains out. Later he could discover that I was small potatoes compared to Roman, the heavy hunk of stew meat. A bullet to the head could be a good way to go. Fast. Efficient if Max were a good shot. If he were a poor shot, I could wind up sharing the anguish of those other high-profile gunshot victims—James Brady, Larry Flynt, George Wallace— wouldn’t that be fun? Wheelchairs. Slurred speech. Agony. The butt of cruel jokes. Still, dying would mean Judgment City. I’d have a stronger case in my defense if Lacey were head-over-heels in love and couldn’t live another day without me. Max would be fighting for the heart stolen by the dastardly balding Romeo. But if Lacey were a man collector, I would be just another Sunday newspaper tossed into the recycle bin. “Turn left at the next block,” Max said. “Where are we going?” “I’ll tell you when we get there.” “Oh, God.” “You’re a jumpy fella, aren’t you?” “You make me nervous.” “Sucks to get caught, doesn’t it? Makes you feel inept in the art of philandering.” I inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, then said, “You know, this really isn’t between you and me. It’s between you and Lacey.” He slipped a hand out of his kangaroo pocket and wagged his index finger at me, imitating another famous denial—“I did not have sex with that woman.” Well, there it is. The curtains had been ripped open and the floodlights now shined in my face. I couldn’t keep that secret. It’s payback time. The Universe, which may or may not care about such things—who knows for sure?—had delivered me to the man I wanted most to avoid. I tried to articulate in a calm voice as I entered my plea: “She seduced me. We had sex just once! She led the whole thing.” “So what are you saying? You’re innocent?” Max’s voice got more mocking. “You were overwhelmed by her floral scent? You couldn’t control your trouser snake from the first moment she offered you a seductive gesture?” “Apparently not that time.”

106 Breath After Death “Times. Plural. More than one.” “No, not more than once,” I protested. “Don’t forget the muddy blowjob,” Chloe reminded me judiciously. “Why do you deny it, man?” Max retorted. “I’ve got evidence.” “What evidence? I was there. I should know.” “I’ve got the semen-stained dress, dude. Let me bestow upon you a secret she may not have confessed. Lacey keeps an extensive journal of her erotic adventures. Names and dates. You’re prominently featured.” “Can’t be me,” I said, my head imploding at these strange charges. “You’ve got to be mistaken.” Max laughed in a hideous yelp, like a dog just bitten by a coon. “You’ve got testicular stamina, I’ll say that for you!” “Show me that diary. If it exists, it’s fictional.” “Oh, Mr. Fields! A woman with Lacey’s pulchritude does not need to invent stories! A twerp who pounds another man’s wife needs to invent stories!” “Show me the book.” “I didn’t bring it.” “I’m not a home wrecker. She told me you two had all but killed and buried your marriage.” “Aptly put, but ineptly conceived.” “Look, man, she seduced me.” Max laughed again in that agonized yelp. “Is your wet dream to marry her, Mr. Fields? That would be priceless. She would become Mrs. Fields. She’s got the cookies for it. Or perhaps you prefer a hedonistic flight from commitment?” “At the moment, neither.” “You think you understand her pain, do you? You think you can heal her better than her emotionally constipated husband?” “Well, God, not after this.” Max rode in silence for a minute, and then said, “I wish my dear wife would just glom onto one of you degenerates.” I could not believe my ears. “Are you serious?” “She just pops them. Pop, pop, pop.” “You want a divorce?” Max expelled more pitiful yelping. “Have you told her this?” Max blew a long hiss into the air. “Lacey told me she’d be out the door if it wasn’t for your threats of violence.”

107 Joshua Bagby “That’s her cover story this week, huh? Get yourNational Tattler here!” “Yeah. She says you would torture her if she tried leaving you. You might even blow yourself away you’d be so devastated.” “You believed her song and dance, of course. How can a body with such erection-making capability mouth anything but the absolute truth?” “You’d really give her a divorce?” “Faster than an ejaculation.” “Then why haven’t you?” He looked straight ahead for a moment of silence, maybe soliciting a poll of neurons whether or not to trust me. “Her evil eyes are focused on stock I earned on the job. Her vision is also cocked and locked on an inheritance I’m due soon.” “She’s never said anything remotely close to that!” “I doubt she wants to put her greed on public display.” “She doesn’t seem the type.” “Underneath that highly crafted personality dwells a profoundly disturbed woman.” “So why aren’t you divorcing her?” I asked. “Didn’t I just answer that? Her talons are aimed at my money. She threatens me with attorneys. At a hundred-fifty or two hundred Georges an hour, that and courtroom costs could leave us with nothing but memories to live on.” “My ex cheated liberally on me. She finally ran off with a rich one. As a token of his love, her boyfriend hired an attorney for her to screw me in divorce court. I crashed and burned. Lost the house, the car, my pride. It’s amazing how a woman can say out of one side of her mouth that she doesn’t care about money, but turn right around and run away with the first guy who flaunts a beefy stock portfolio.” “My sympathies. It doesn’t justify your behavior with my wife, but I understand your anguish” He pointed to the street. “You can park anywhere in here. We’re walking from here.” Walking where? We left the van and proceeded down a cement sidewalk set between two fenced residences. The sidewalk led into an area teeming with shrubberies and demons. “Is there a purpose to this visit?” I asked. “Yes, there is,” Max said, leading the way. Beyond a small gateway in a chain-link fence, we entered the darkness, passing through a grove of trees along an asphalt path. With difficulty I made out that he was leading me into a cemetery. “Welcome to Secret Town.” “Why do you call it that?” “Everyone dies with secrets,” Max said. “Look at all these graves—this place

108 Breath After Death is chock full of wasted lives.” “They weren’t all wasted. Some of these people led fulfilling lives.” “Has your life been fulfilling, Mr. Fields?” “I’m still living it,” I said. An eerie feeling crept over me. “What if it were cut short? What if you died tonight?” “Am I going to die tonight?” I asked, nerves scrambling underneath my skin. “Maybe you’re already dead. Are you proud of your life? Do you make good choices? Do you live with integrity?” “I don’t know. I try.” I swallowed hard. “Did you exercise your right to vote in the last election?” “What? Yeah.” “I didn’t. I haven’t voted in two years now. I suspect our founding fathers would be most miffed at me if they knew,” Max said. “A lot of people don’t vote. They’ve lost faith.” “A lot of people don’t do anything with their lives.” As we went deeper into the cemetery, I thought that, yeah, I voted, but I mostly just voted by the recommendations printed in the newspaper. “Do you ever wonder how Ward and June Cleaver vote?” Max asked. “They probably take the newspaper with them to copy the op-ed page.” It sounded as if Max chuckled, but I could not see his face. “They have to make the appearance of voting, that’s for sure. Be good citizens and all.” “I can’t imagine much of a political conversation around the Cleaver dinner table. You had to be so polite all the time.” “Only Eddie Haskell voted his conscience,” Max said. “Eddie was the wave of the future. He was the only one who could insult skillfully enough to survive on today’s trash television.” “Everybody else is about as lively as the gentlefolk resting here. When I look at all these tombstones, I wonder what the point of it all is. Do you ever wonder that?” “Yes, I do. I wonder that. Not in a cemetery, but I wonder that.” “I’m drawn to cemeteries,” Max said. “They’re peaceful like parks, but they focus my attention on what it means to have lived and died.” “What’s your purpose?” “To suffer intense pain and disappointment. Lies. Broken promises. Unfaithfulness. Unyielding self-absorption.” “Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad. You have to look at the great big picture.” “That’s my point. Isee the great big picture. I stew in a job I despise to support

109 Joshua Bagby a wife who cheats on me with the precision of a Swiss watch. If I try to exit, she threatens me with lawyers. She’s attracted a sizable front line of allies to her extortion team.” I thought Max was exaggerating to gain sympathy. There were two sides to every story, always two sides. “I would welcome the sweet coma enjoyed by these fine corpses,” Max said. I winced. I could not deny the guilt I now felt about my activities with Lacey. Still, Max’s mood scared me. “What if there isn’t any coma?” Max stopped walking, turned and glanced at me with owl eyes. “No coma?” “What if death isn’t what we think?” “Do my ears detect the cacophony of New Age pontificating?” “Anyone considering homicide or suicide should consider that possibility.” “Oh, is that so? What if I had a pistol in my pocket?” “Do you?” “Let’s test your fortitude. Would you prefer me to shoot you? Or would you prefer to shoot me?” I shuddered. “Jesus, what kind of a choice is that?” “Sounds like a splendid opportunity.” Max led me along a grass carpet between two rows of tombstones. “If I shot you, you could go to your ultimate reward. What bliss! If you shot me, you could live here while I took a dirt nap.” “I vote for neither one, of course.” “Well, what if I forced you to decide?” Max asked cryptically. I patted my jacket where my cell phone sat. “I wouldn’t choose either one.” “Then would you prefer to watch me shoot myself?” “Why would you do that?” Was Max distraught enough to be packing a gun— and willing to pull the trigger? “What if you shoot yourself and all that happens is that you change form? What if nothing changes—thoughts and feelings are the same—but you’ve destroyed your body?” “Ooh, scary,” Max brayed. “It could be true. We might survive death.” Max paused alongside a grave, and then took a seat on a cement slab. He peered out into the darkened city of bones. “I’ve heard that malarkey. I’ve read some of that theosophical hokum. Sorry. We just end. ‘Good night, John-Boy.’” “No, we don’t just end!” “Look around you, Mr. Fields. Seems pretty quiet here tonight. I don’t witness many rousing soirees out here. In fact, I’ve not witnessed one wild party here— ever. My evidence suggests we transform to dust.”

110 Breath After Death Benjamin A watched Benjamin B open his mouth and spit out a secret. “I recently had a visitation that suggests otherwise.” Max broke out in a toothy grin. “Oh, my. Homage from Jesus?” “A visitor in my bedroom. A woman of light.” “Mother Mary?” “No. Chloe.” His grin faded. “This woman spoke to you?” “Yes. She told me to face reality—she meant spiritual reality. She came to show me that death as we know it is an illusion.” Max’s body twitched with nervous energy. “I cannot stand hearing that! Why should you get visits? You’re morally bankrupt. I’m the one holding vigil for Casey.” “Who?” Max slapped his forehead. “Oh, God.” He bowed and shook his head. “I gather from your reaction she never mentioned him.” “Nope.” Max sighed deeply. “Our boy. Our son. She acts like he never existed.” “She never mentioned having a son.” “I suppose talking about her dead son would not add the right erotic flavoring to dessert.” Max pointed to the headstone nearest where he sat. “This is all that remains of his short little life on earth. Casey Andrew Brown. Three years of age, not old enough to vote.” “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” Max stared at the tomb. “I’ve prayed my heart out for a wink from heaven. God’s given me nothing but indifference for over two years, and by now I am returning the favor.” “My mother died when I was a kid. My brother died at the same time. Car crash. I always wanted to talk with them, to find out what they’re doing now. They never came to me despite how much I wanted them to.” “Be thankful. At least you weren’t responsible for their deaths.” Max stared more at the slab. “Just one lousy mistake can ruin a whole life, you know? One stupid, pitiful screw-up. Lacey never lets me forget that it was my fault.” “How was it your fault?” “I came home from work one summer day. My arms were filled with groceries. I forgot to go back to latch the front screen door when I went inside. One screw- up. I collapsed on the couch and fell asleep. Later I woke up to Lacey’s screams. We had a dead son on the street. Casey had wandered outside right past me out

111 Joshua Bagby the door. Probably he followed the cat into the street. He was struck and killed by a speeding motorcycle.” Numbness engulfed me. What can you say to that? “Sometimes bad things happen to good people.” “Oh, please, don’t sell me a book!” “You can’t blame yourself forever.” “Casey is dead forever.” “God.” “Have kids?” I shook my head. “That’s true anguish—when your carelessness causes your baby to die miserably.” Max reached out and gave the headstone a little rub. “I miss Casey like nothing I missed before. Nearly everyone abandoned us. They couldn’t handle seeing us so defeated. The few who stuck around avoided talking about Casey. He became a nothing, a nobody, non-existence. I become an outcast. After all, it was my fault. Lacey treated me as if I’d committed premeditated murder. It’s not like we didn’t have our problems, but this was the killer—in more ways than one.” “Do you get any comfort thinking that maybe your son lives on in spirit?” “Back to that? I told you. I’ve been out here night after night. I’ve prayed. I’ve begged. I’ve lit candles and incense. I’ve even paid psychics outrageous sums of money—for what? Fantasy. Night after night I visit the same old empty graveyard. They’re just dead.” “And I told you that I had a visit from a spirit. There was nothing dead about her. She appeared in my bedroom and we had a conversation for about ten minutes.” “Science is still in its infancy understanding brain function. Hallucinations may be caused by daydreams imprinting the visual cortex in a way we don’t comprehend. We’d do anything to believe in immortality—including self- deception.” “I didn’t hallucinate Chloe,” I said. “She is as real as you are. She just doesn’t have a physical body.” “Whatever you say,” Max said. “For me, Casey is dead.” “I’m so sorry—about a lot of things. I’m ashamed. I believed what I wanted to believe about you. I was convinced you were a bastard from hell.” He waved it off. “Lacey tells everyone I’m a psycho. She wants their pity. She lies. It works. People are eager to believe in abusive husbands. Very trendy these days.” “You’re right, she does paint you out to be abusive. She said you pressured her

112 Breath After Death into marriage. You bombarded her with love notes and flowers and you kissed up big time to her mom.” “She said that? To her mom?” He shook his head. “She said her mom pressured her to marry you. Lacey finally caved in and took the walk down the aisle.” “Time for a reality check, Mr. Fields. Her mother died when Lacey was in high school.” “Well, then step-mom. She distinctly said her mom.” “There is no step-mom. Her dad drank himself to death on Skid Row.” “In St. Louis?” “Boston.” “How did her mom die?” “Banging her head against a window. She was a paranoid schizophrenic.” “I can’t believe this! Lacey told me all these stories about her mom.” “Stories, indeed. Lacey functions like a normal woman. She holds down a responsible job and she’s top drawer in her work. No one suspects she’s sick. She could hire a lawyer, skewer me to the rotisserie, and ruin my life more than it already is!” She called me dangerous. “So you’re saying she’s psycho—not you?” He nodded. “Everyone wants to believe that she loves being a party gal. They have no idea that torrid grief drives those scenes. What if she unleashed that energy in punishing me in court? I’d be forced to endure the hell of Casey’s death all over again. The questions. The accusations. The insinuations. I can’t turn off my feelings like she can.” Max focused his attention back on Casey’s grave. I thought of the coffins in my life. It had been decades since I had seen where my mother and brother had been buried. Now I knew that the contents of the coffins did not include the souls of my kin. Max believed that seeing Chloe was a brain trick. I believed that Casey was free, too. While driving Max back to his car, I reflected on the state of Lacey’s mental health and why I’d been so blind to it. “When did you first get a clue of Lacey’s condition?” “We had a stupendous first year. It started going downhill shortly after we got married. She insisted that I regretted marrying her. She thought I’d cheat on her like her previous boyfriends had. She married me knowing I didn’t want kids, but suddenly she took that to mean that I didn’t love her. She accused me of wanting to find a better wife. We finally settled it by having Casey.”

113 Joshua Bagby “What made you change your mind?” “Birth control failure. It’s nothing I’m proud to admit. But Casey came and he grabbed my heart. Something else happened after Casey’s birth. Lacey slowly, insidiously rebelled. She retreated deep inside herself. She also disappeared for hours playing on the Internet. We lived in the same dwelling, but we became strangers. She leaned on me more heavily to take care of Casey and the house—to do the cooking, cleaning, shopping. I didn’t need a degree in psychiatry to figure out that Casey’s birth had ruptured old wounds deep in her psyche.” “So even before Casey’s death your marriage was in trouble.” “Yeah. When Casey died, she turned all her pain into loathing me. She made her point any way she could. First she withdrew, then she moved into anger and revenge. She’d make threatening speeches about lawyers. One day she exploded and said, ‘I’ll let you off the hook. You give me my son back, and I’ll vanish.’ That was the day I gave up on thinking she’d ever forgive me.” “How did she go from retreating to becoming an exhibitionist?” “She refused medical treatment, balked at grief therapy, and ridiculed marriage counseling. Then our friend Roman Masterson decided to try his luck.” “Roman is your friend?” Max gazed into the blur of passing buildings. “Not anymore.”

114 Breath After Death

14. Traveling on Faith

Dear God: My tail curves between my legs. The man I assumed to be a brute force—like Bluto pushing Olive Oyl around before Popeye saves the day—turns out to be someone like me. The woman I chose as my dream mate turns out to be steeped in darkness. Sad that mental illness is her aphrodisiac. No wonder I felt so alone after she’d given me her body. She gave me only her flesh, and I want more. That must be the sign from you I sought. I hope this doesn’t disqualify me from meeting my soul mate in Kauai. I wish I were more up on my praying skills. We were never allowed to adlib in Sunday school. They wanted it done by the book. Personally I think that reading a prayer to you is as bad as telemarketers reading scripts to me. Yuck! Has anyone written Praying for Dummies or The Complete Idiot’s Guide to God? No matter how I stumble through it, I’d really like to put in a good word for Max, for Lacey, and for anyone else who has lost a child. Please help them find inner peace.

he pilot announced that the descent into Lihue had begun. My insides Timploded. Chloe had shot herself into my reality like a cosmic arrow, and I hoped that she had better aim than I did. I would soon be walking on the ground in a place I’d never explored, trusting intuitive whispers to show me the way. It felt like a new Gold Rush, landing in a new world with the promise of finding the glittering answer to a dream. When the ancient island of Kauai appeared to me in the window, jutting out in brilliant auburns and greens from the deep dazzling blue of the Pacific, I felt as if I had just flown closer to heaven. The plane landed and taxied to the gate. I wondered if cosmic email kept Marilynn abreast of news flashes on the soul mate front? Had Chloe arranged for

115 Joshua Bagby her to surprise me at the airport? Perhaps Petra hugged people as they deplaned, steering a chosen few toward the tram that would whisk them to a secret sanctuary far beyond the tourist crowds. The Lord helps those who help themselves, I reminded myself as I stepped off the airplane onto the jetway. My mouth felt sticky and dry. My heart pounded as I strolled in a daze toward the terminal. I told myself to get a grip—this was supposed to be a joyous occasion—not my execution. At the gate, I glanced around anxiously. People peered in my direction for friends and relatives and long-lost lovers and tourism clients. No lei greeting for me. No driver leaned into the exiting crowd holding out a personalized sign: “Step right this way to paradise, Mr. Fields!” or “I am your soul mate, Benjamin. Alohaaaahhh!” The truth sprouted in the furrows of my brain that no, this would not be the magic moment. That’s irony for you.I’ve seen Chloe, I told myself. I am not delusional. “How can I tell your real voice from the voice I imagine?” “Listen with your heart.” I moved on to baggage claim, continually searching for a familiar face with my heart. Everyone looked preoccupied with other people and other itineraries. No woman stood in the Soul Mate Waiting Queue. “So this is why you spirits organize covert meant-to-be meetings. Cut the tension. Let people relax and enjoy their lives.” “Yes, Benjamin, relax and enjoy your life.” I noticed a nearby brochure rack spilling words and pictures about the delights of Kauai. Raft trips. Scuba diving and snorkeling adventures. Helicopter flightseeing. I scanned the advertisements, then spotted a section on accommodations. I grabbed several flyers for bed & breakfast places, but decided the prices looked high for a single man on a post-divorce budget. I’d search for a nice Motel 6 leaving the light on for me. By the time the baggage carousel rolled, I decided that the Universe wanted me to quiver on the edge of my seat awhile longer. I grabbed my two bags when they appeared on the belt, then proceeded across the street to pick up my rental car. I left the airport with no idea where to go. “Enjoy the beautiful scenery,” Chloe broke in. “You spirits, I tell ya. You sit on velvet thrones eating celestial bonbons, knowing what’s been, knowing what’s to become. No wonder you’re so self- assured. You’ve got all the answers!”

116 Breath After Death “Become heart of hearing and you’ll get all the answers, too.” I savored the scenery. The golden dry grass of the foothills around San Jose had morphed into jagged verdant mountains of Kauai. Peaks jutted out in the distance like a ruffled quilt on an unmade bed. I rolled my car window down. Humid tropical air blasted against my face, flushing Silicon Valley smog from my mind. I pictured myself painting beautiful landscapes here. I drove north along the coast, past sugar cane fields and lush green golf courses. Beautiful rain clouds frosted the peaks to my left, serene like misty froufrou. To my right, blue sky and sunshine hovered over the picture postcard ocean. I thought this looked like a paradise for lovers to ooh and ahh together at the spectacular scenery. “Oooh,” Chloe mused. “Ahhhhh.” I cracked a smile in the privacy of my car, then asked, “Where’s Marilynn?” “Working. Even in paradise, people must earn a living. Enjoy the magic of this wonderful place. She’ll slip into your life soon enough.” “Figures you’d make excuses,” I said. “I see that gobs of waiting and patience are involved in spiritual matters.” “Only when you’re waiting for something specific to happen and you miss the roadside attractions. If you don’t have a strict agenda, there’s no waiting at all.” “Yeah, yeah.” I turned off the main highway and drove down to the water at what appeared to be a city beach. I climbed out of my car for a better view. I kept hoping that Chloe would point the way to the Yellow Brick Road of Love, but whenever I checked in she hammered on the follow-my-intuition theme. If I turned my instincts loose while watching fine women lounge by the sea, their bronzed, oiled bodies barely covered by string bikinis, I’d make animal decisions. Several times I wished I’d found my cosmically selected sweetheart, but none of them waved scarves of recognition. “Your turn will come soon,” Chloe insisted. Down a pathway I spotted a resort hotel. I took off on foot. Inside, I noticed that much of the lobby was open to the air; fresh, warm breeze flowed through it. I approached a beautiful Hawaiian woman who belonged in a slick advertisement. I asked if there were any rooms available. She smiled comely and said yes, there sure were. I asked how much. She smiled comely and said $335 a night. I smiled, thanked her, and left. A whole lotta hula for justa little moola! Bah! I returned to my car and continued driving north up the main highway. I drove through the beach towns of Wailua and Kapaa, passing several smaller

117 Joshua Bagby hotels, all with No Vacancy signs posted. I confess I was happy at what I did not see: beaches lined with hotels and motels of all sizes and descriptions, bright neon vistas crawling with international tourists, vendors selling everything from beach towels to on-the-spot portraiture. “Keep going north,” Chloe said. Later that afternoon, I stopped for something to eat in the small town of Hanalei. Rather than dining conspicuously alone in a restaurant, I bought picnic groceries at a roadside market. I got back in my car and drove through town looking for a motel, but I found none. Two B&Bs posted Sorry signs out front. I pressed on through the lush countryside past sandy beaches and vacation homes. I drove across one-lane bridges and marveled at the houses built high on stilts to protect against flooding. I drove through thick tropical jungles and saw sheer cliffs where nature had carved caves into the limestone. I drove until the road ended at Na Pali Coast State Park and Ke’e Beach. It resembled a parking lot for a fleet of new rental cars, a congregation of tourists fleeing civilization into a setting of breeze-tossed coconut palms and the hypnotic rustle of waves steadily pounding against sandy crescents of shore. It was beautiful, a right-brain extravaganza, but the sun was falling rapidly in the sky and my left-brain hemisphere muscled in with distracting worries. I had no place to stay. It suggested I drive back toward Lihue to find accommodations. “Sleep on the beach,” Chloe countered. “They don’t like that,” I said, reading aNo Beach Camping sign. “You can’t always go by the playbook. Sometimes you have to make your own rules.” “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. A representative of the Almighty Universe recommends I break the law. Have you no shame?” “Actually, no, I don’t. Shame isn’t popular here.” Visualizing the beaches just a little south, I turned around and headed back towards Hanalei. As I drove I decided I could sleep in the car by a beach. With the money I’d save, I could reward myself the next night. All said, sleeping in a rental car or on a beach in Kauai was a cushy way to be homeless. I drove through the jungle-like foliage until I emerged back at the coast. Impulsively, perhaps by Chloe’s hand, I pulled into a turnout. I parked the car, then carefully descended along a path toward the symphonic ocean roar. I soon found a dune to nestle against and dream. Night consumed the remaining day. In a land without streetlights, darkness covered everything. Only dim outdoor lighting from beachside housing offered illumination. Soon the velvet black sky

118 Breath After Death above yielded stars like splattered white droplets on a Jackson Pollack painting. I meditated on my life journey before I picked myself up and headed toward the light. The sand sucked up my feet, making for slow going like crunching through dunes of corn flakes. The surf crashed nearby, but I could barely make out the water; I felt nearly blind except for the glow ahead. Craning my neck near the vacation condos, I noticed that several front curtains remained open, presumably to let people view the ocean from the comfort of their rooms and decks. “They’re smarter than I am. They made better travel arrangements.” “This is fun,” Chloe countered. “Relax.” “Yeah, yeah. You see the big picture. Isn’t Marilynn off work yet?” “Relax. Enjoy the adventure. Geeze, you weren’t this hyper in the Gold Rush.” “What happened to me in the Gold Rush anyway?” “You struck out. It wasn’t pretty.” I looked up at one of the windows on the condo. I imagined Lacey staring out at the sea. Deeper inside the condo, Roman watched her from the other side, verbally abusing her. Deeper still, Max secretly watched them both, shaking his head. I shook my head, too. Minds are a terrible thing to waste, I told myself. I switched mental channels and walked a different beach, imagining myself ever so close to meeting the flesh woman behind that sparkling visitation in my bedroom. I meandered past the resort complex and found a bench that faced the water. I sat down and felt the warm trade winds gently slap my face. I peered up into the vista of bright, densely packed stars. The rhythmic pounding of the surf lulled me into dreams of the future the Universe selected for me. Somewhere on this island, somewhere beyond this night, my mate danced in circles in the light. Max came to mind again. I wondered how Max fared when he returned home from the cemetery. Did he put my name on the table face up in front of her? Had he given her a reckoning? Suddenly from the rear, I heard footsteps over the din of the ocean. My heart pounded. I envisioned a mob of angry natives ambushing me for trespassing on their sacred beachfront. A young blonde man burst through the wall of foliage. “Hey, there! What’s happening?” He looked me over in the dim light. I must have passed inspection because he sat down next to me on the bench as if he belonged there. “Deep thoughts,” I said, startled but relieved. “Practicing your new meditation skills? The energy on this island is awesome, isn’t it?” “Yeah. This is my first day here. I’m from California.”

119 Joshua Bagby “Me, I’m from Boston now. How do you like the workshop so far?” “What workshop?” “Psychic Development.” “Sorry, I’m not in any workshop—well, just the workshop of life.” The young man laughed. “Oh, my God, guess I failed my first quiz! You look like somebody in my Psychic Development Workshop.” “You teach a workshop?” His voice cracked as he laughed again. “No, just a student. You on vacation?” “Yeah. This workshop sounds intriguing.” He pointed back toward the wall of foliage. “They give wicked weird workshops. Psychic development, astral travel, past life regression, how to die.” “How to die?” The young man chuckled. “Uh-huh. It’s mostly for people with terminal diseases. They teach you how to leave your physical body in a heightened energy state so you enter the next world more efficiently.” My insides lit up like a slot machine delivering the goods. “Whoa. How did you find out about this place?” “Googling for adventure.” “Oh, yeah? So what have you learned so far about psychic development?” “Mostly that woo-woo attracts babes.” I laughed. “Truly!” he gushed. “I’ve been here like a week, and women have been hitting on me since the first day. One of them is supposed to meet me out here.” “Sounds pretty wild.” “She says she wants to practice reading my aura, but I think she wants more than my colors, if you get my drift.” He added in a falsetto, “Let me study your aura, little boy.” “You don’t sound too thrilled.” “I’m not that lonely!” the kid laughed. “She’s bored. Married to some rich corporate, workaholic dude. She’s kinda hot, but I’m not into ordinary cheating disguised as some mystical quest.” “You sound like a very wise young man,” I said, wondering if Julie might be cruising the neighborhood. Wouldn’t that be a kick—already cheating on her new Adonis? “Nah. Several women here tell me they remember me from past lives.” I laughed knowingly. “And you don’t feel the same way?” “They might make great moms.” He gave me a playful elbow to the arm. “They

120 Breath After Death might be just right for you, though. Are you looking?” “You’d think I was nuts if I told you.” “Try me.” I was far away from home. I had nothing to lose. “In California, a woman I never saw before comes up and asks to hug me. Unusual. Interesting. A long hug, over a minute. She tells me to come to Kauai, and my intuition would lead me to her.” “I think you’re on to something.” He pointed into the jungle. “They’re the huggiest bunch of people I’ve ever met.” Brain cells programmed by Rose spoke for me. “I just can’t barge in. That’s trespassing.” “No one will care. They don’t check room keys or anything like that.” He laughed at me. I felt like 39 going on 79. A swirl of light down the beach attracted our attention. We turned to watch someone carrying a small flashlight. “Ooh, looks like my aura-reader is here. Gotta go. Check it out. Just disregard all the No Trespassing signs.” The young man chuckled and left. I picked myself up and approached the thick, dark jungle. I was not sure if I was on a path at all. I crept, brailing my way toward faint lights and muffled sounds, thinking that at any moment, thugs would lunge out of the bushes at me. Then I laughed at myself. Civilization had bred the fear now gushing through my bloodstream. Civilization meant driving through crowded streets to massive mall cineplexes to watch Hollywood visions of psychopathic serial killers on the loose. If there’s not enough violence on the news, make it up for our entertainment. Jurassic Park had been filmed near here. Maybe I’d run into a spare T-Rex hungry to snack on a human. Chloe urged me onward. “It discourages me that my dear spirit guide encourage me to trespass,” I said. “Oh, Benjamin, forget Rose. Go with God on this, OK?” Soon the lights got brighter and the pathway more defined. I passed by a garden, and then I saw several buildings outfitted with electric torches. People milled about. I felt as if a scarlet bicycle reflector had been stamped onto my forehead. “Trespasser Alert! Rule-breaker Here!” “When Rose gets here,” Chloe said, “we’ll have words about the fear she taught you!” That didn’t help alleviate the feeling that I’d swallowed an ant farm. I kept moving. I entered a quad between several buildings. One sign announced Conference Center. I peered inside and noticed several dozen people gathered in

121 Joshua Bagby clusters dining and laughing. Another sign pointed toward the Guest Residence. I kept moving ahead. Behind a sign for Hot Pool, I saw steam rising in the distance. My pulse quickened as I arrived at a spa of swimming pool proportions. Several people emerged from their soak and stood naked on a wooden deck. I turned and faced the dark. What have I walked into? “They’re naked.” “Yeah, so? It’s comfortable that way. Join them.” “I can’t go in uninvited.” “I invite you to join them. There. Now you’re invited.” “What do I do?” “Take off your clothes and step into the pool. The rest will just happen.” “But I didn’t pay admission.” “You’ve been paying admission all your life. Do it, Benjamin!” It was more than Chloe’s words ricocheting through my mind. I felt that gentle nudging sensation, like when I mailed that letter to Lacey or entered the cemetery with Max. That mystical energy caress took hold of my fingers and unbuttoned. “OK, I’ll go in. Satisfied?” “All right!” Chloe cheered. “I am so impressed!” Benjamin A watched Benjamin B remove his clothes and step into the hot pool cautiously as if alligators may be lurking nearby. I noticed the blurred figures of strangers in the dark, humans, some quietly embracing one another. As I slowly made my way through the water, several people smiled at me, melting my anxiety. One of them, a short willowy woman, stepped into my path with open arms, scooping me into her embrace without a word. She hugged me for a few seconds, then said “I love you” and wandered away. “See how mean they are to trespassers?” Chloe mused. I found a vacant spot to soak and stare into the heavens. Hot liquid treated my body to its sensuous embrace. I felt as if I had entered a sacred aquatic cathedral, Our Sacred Grand Central Hot Pool of the Cosmos. Souls from all over creation joined here to take the waters and celebrate life. Somewhere before the dawn of shame, we talked freely about our victories and defeats throughout our lifetimes. We shared stories about our universal insights. There were no secrets here. We spoke our truth. If church were more like this, I thought, I’d attend regularly. Could there ever be such a place of naked realism? Mystics often say that if you imagine it, it exists somewhere. Just as I glanced toward the heavens, a shooting star streaked through the window to eternity. It was cobalt blue, like natural gas burning on a stovetop. I’d never even heard of a blue shooting star. Two hands landed delicately on my chest. “Aloha!” a woman sung in a soft,

122 Breath After Death husky voice. “May I welcome you with a hug?” “Please,” I said. My heartbeat thundered. She softly eased her arms around me and nestled her slippery, curvy body against mine. She melted into me fully, closely, without reserve. “My name is Petra.” I did not want to act like a jerk and shatter the sacred moment with small talk, but I said, “I know. We met in California.” She chuckled quietly as if telling private jokes to herself. “Thank you for taking the risk.” “You told me in California that I would be more impressed if I found my way here by myself—without you telling me. You were right.” “You see?” she grinned. “It wasn’t so hard, was it?” “It sounded impossible, or at least improbable.” “But here you are. Superb. Now, feel the pure love energy as it pulsates between us.” I grinned and relaxed, soaking in the heat from her body. Tingling sensations filled me as if I’d transmogrified into a tall glass of sparkling cider. “Yes, that’s it,” she whispered close. “Let yourself go. Feel it deep.” She held onto my body with no sign of bailing anytime soon. Relax. Put your feet up. Would you like some herbal tea? Blood swirling with love and light aroused me. Petra gently rocked me in the buoyancy of the warm water, comforting me after my long journey. Finally she broke her silence and asked, “What does the name Theresa mean to you?” A thrill bullet shot through me. “That’s my mother.” She chuckled. “Mother Theresa?” “ Yes.” “She’s crossed, yes? Long dark hair. She says she died young.” “Yes. She says, you say?” “She’s showing me the trailhead to the Kalalau Trail.” “The what? She’shere? ” “Kalalau Trail. Down at the end of the highway at the park.” “Oh, I don’t know the trail. I just got here this afternoon.” “She insists that you hike to Hanakapiai Beach at the next dawn.” “My mother says this?” “She’s very adamant that you take this walk.” “Is this another test?” I asked. “Let me know what happens.” Petra’s voice smiled, but she peeled herself

123 Joshua Bagby away from my embrace. “Don’t forget to wear sturdy hiking shoes and take plenty of drinking water.” “That’s it?”I’ve come all this way and found you in this miraculous manner, and that’s all you’re going to do? “I love you,” she said. Then she was gone, moving through the steamy waters to welcome someone else.

124 Breath After Death

15. Connecting the Dots

Dear God: This spiritual game of connecting the dots astounds me. Petra challenged me to play Hide ‘n’ Seek with her, and I found her naked in a soaking pool thousands of miles from my home turf. It realized later that I originally wanted her to prove to me that spirits truly existed, but Chloe has since taken care of that—or was it you? I keep hearing glamorous tales about heavenly miracles, and now some have happened to me! This is what I mean about sending Jesus back in a new and improved 21st Century model. This stuff has me riveted. Seeing him would truly be the greatest show on earth.

awoke as first light streaked across a rising dawn sky. I squirmed in a lounge Ichair out near the hot pool, pondering the dream that just played inside my head: I was a child again riding in the front seat of my car with my father and stepmother. From the back seat of the family sedan, my mother cried out in amusement, “Benny still thinks I’m dead!” I returned to my rental car. A few minutes later, I reached the road’s end at Ke’e Beach and found a place to park in the field among the trees. I was so early that less than a dozen cars were scattered about the lot. Sprinkles had left their mark overnight, creating puddles and mud wallows, amusing me that just a couple of miles away I’d stayed dry all night sleeping on a chaise lounge. I freshened up in the park rest room, ate the rest of the picnic food I’d bought, and pondered the wordy warning sign I found at the foot of the Kalalau Trail—“Uneven footing because of protruding roots and rocks, loose dirt and rocks, mud and slippery surfaces. Trail is narrow &/or steep in some places.” The beginning of the trail to Hanakapiai Beach, I had learned from a sign,

125 Joshua Bagby had been cobbled from native stone in the 1930s on a template footpath created a thousand years ago by ancient Hawaiians. Almost immediately the path ascended up the face of the cliff, or pali, from which Na Pali Coast got its name. I threw myself into a steep climb along a staircase fashioned from boulders strapped in place by gnarled roots of trees that looked directly imported from childhood fantasies. The air was thick with bird song. I ascended under a living canopy of countless shades of green. Half-asleep pale blue flowers grew on vines around fan- leafed palms, waiting to be kissed good morning by the sun, which was still hidden by thick shrouds of mist. Tiny wild orchids along the path yawned, stretched, and waved hello, inviting me into their beautiful world. The splendor of nature’s tropical garden more than compensated for my frequent loss of breath from the exertion of the climb. I’d been hiking about ten minutes when from the opposite direction, three backpackers emerged heading down the stone staircase. I saw by their legs caked in mud that the signs about trail conditions were true. “Looks pretty gooey up there,” I said. “It rained last night,” one of them said. “That’s the longest two miles you’ll ever hike,” another grinned wearily. I continued climbing, pausing frequently for new photo opportunities. Framing a dew-covered leaf in my viewfinder, I relished the art I could create in this setting. The auburn-hued trail eventually leveled, yielding spectacular views of rugged cliffs plunging into the sea of churning blues. Clouds still hung in the sky directly overhead, but distant banks offshore captured light from the rising sun. Looking out, I tried imagining the totality of life dwelling in the ocean between where I stood and the next land mass. It was a short respite. The trail climbed once again through several switchbacks over hardened clay and stairways of roots. The ocean disappeared from view, and I found myself passing through verdant mini-grottoes hidden in the folds of the cliffs. I imagined Chloe floating beside me, not having to lug around two hundred ten pounds of body weight. As I emerged from another bend and faced the ocean once again, I met the unexpected sight of a bright double-tiered rainbow. I took several photos for posterity. My father had told me when I was a child, and well out of the range of Rose’s spy-like-hearing, that my mother painted rainbows in the sky, but I had never seen anything like this. Continuing on, I proceeded through another grove of trees, passing one of

126 Breath After Death many springs set amid a floral amphitheater. I came out onto the rim of a sweeping crescent canyon. On the far side of a deep abyss, a lone woman in a white tank top and shorts hiked along the next tier of stone. She was blonde. Is she the woman I have come thousands of miles to see? “Chloe?” “Keep going,” she said. I had no doubt now! I picked up my walking pace. I continued hugging the side of the cliff as the narrow trail ascended. Smiling inwardly at the magic of it all, I marveled at the stunning effort between this guide and that guide, this angel and that angel, to steer mortals to their appointments with destiny. The trail circled away from the side of the cliff and back into the forest. Inside another canopy of trees, a small spring spilled water over onto the trail, creating slippery footing, forcing me to slow my pace and find stones and roots to stabilize my steps. I bypassed the sludge, and emerged from the grove. As I scrambled up another crude staircase fashioned out of stone and root, raindrops splashed against my face. I envisioned Chloe grinning while aiming a squirt gun at me. “Atmosphere,” she said. I felt as if I were in the Wizard of Oz trying to scale the peaks near the witch’s castle to rescue Dorothy. I climbed the cliff in a warm sprinkle, and emerged at the crest with a bird’s eye view of the nearly vertical, densely vegetated cliffs opening like a palatial front gate to sunlit sapphire blue waters far below. Delight filled my soul, then sudden terror struck as my boot slipped on hard, wet clay smooth as glass. My camera case wildly swung around my neck. My foot landed inches from the edge of the trail, which crumbled like piecrust. Balance grabbed me, saving me from several hundred feet of freefall to certain lights out against the sharp crags below. I retreated as fast yet carefully as I could to a safer zone on the trail, surprising myself with laughter, the punch line being that I survived bliss. Past the next bend, I saw the blonde woman fifty yards ahead of me frozen like a child playing Statues. I could feel her fright as I moved closer. To her left was a vertical wall up. To her right was a sheer drop to the ocean far below. She took a tentative step to test her footing, but like mine had, her leading foot sped off like a runaway taxi in a thriller movie. She screamed and flopped forward into the auburn muck. “Oh, God!” she wailed to herself, chest first in the goo. I got within ten yards of her, then found my own footing precarious with nothing to grab for support. I halted before slipping seriously. “Can I help you? Are you OK?” She carefully rose up onto her hands and knees. “I’d feel much better if I knew

127 Joshua Bagby a great place to hide,” she cracked. “Are you hurt?” I asked, inching closer. “Just my pride,” she said, watching me narrow the distance between us. “Careful! I hear this stuff is kinda slippery.” It’s her! It’s Marilynn! She struggled to get to her feet, but as soon as she stood erect and took two steps, her feet betrayed her again. She tumbled again, coating herself with a second slathering of terra-cotta. “There must be something more embarrassing than this,” she cried on all fours, “but right now I can’t imagine what it would be.” “Falling in the mud on your wedding day?” I said, stabilizing myself to pull her up. The woman laughed politely, but she was focused on her freshly dyed tank top, which used to be white, and khaki shorts. “Kauai mud never comes out. It’s instant and potent like beet juice.” She looked down at herself and shook her head in dismay. “Oh, God, what a mess! You’d think I would learn by now.” “Maybe it will rain again,” I said, in awe of the vision before me. Not only had I never seen a woman that muddy before, but she was the fleshed form of the transparent woman who had lit up my bedroom in the middle of the night. “There’s a creek up ahead. I’ll take refuge there,” she said. “I just hope no one else sees me until I get cleaned up.” “Too late,” I said, noticing two more early-risers coming around the bend toting full backpacking regalia. “Whoa,” one of them said moments later. “You’re covered in mud.” “Excellent powers of observation” she said. The two men, already caked in red clay, trudged through the muck with relaxed abandon and did not slip. Marilynn watched them and shook her head. My mud-drenched companion and I headed for the creek. “Sounds like you’ve been on this trail before,” I said. “Oh, yeah. Some people consider it the best hike on the planet. It’s a world classic.” “Do you bathe in mud each time?” “No! I’ve tripped on roots and stumbled on rocks. I’ve slipped and gotten muddy feet. I’ve grown blisters. But I’ve never been the spastic I am today.” “This must be your date with destiny,” I quipped, winking at the Universe. Marilynn groaned. Within seconds, she slipped again. I instinctively reached for her; my

128 Breath After Death serendipitous good footing prevented us both from falling. She held onto me to steady herself. “Oh, geeze, now I’m getting you all muddy, too,” she said. “I’m so sorr y.” Sweet smelling gardenia treated my nose to floral ambrosia. This time I knew the scent that wafted off Marilynn. “What are you wearing?” “Mud!” “I mean, your perfume.” “Oh, a woman in Hanalei makes it for me. Special blend.” I wondered why she wore perfume for a hike; I concluded it was for cosmic identification purposes. Who knows why we do all the things we do, unknowingly following instructions spirits whisper to us. Marilynn clung to my upper arm as we slowly negotiated more slick slopes along the trail. My heart quaked with delight each time I felt her body brush against mine for support. “Is that a camera?” she asked, pointing to the case now splattered with mud. “Yeah. I suppose taking a picture of you is out of the question.” “Only if you have plans to get out of here alive, which explains why some people hike the Kalalau Trail and never return.” Her eyes hooked mine and I held on for the wild ride. “What?” she asked. “You look as if you’d just seen a ghost.” That’s what Chloe said, too! Like a password! “You look strikingly like someone I know.” I said. “Oh,” she said, not the least impressed, just another rerun of, Pardon me, haven’t we met before? As we walked, I stole as many glances as I dared without being obnoxious. Her form up close was much different than Chloe’s. Beautiful, yet it didn’t shine. It didn’t glow. It didn’t sparkle. It was, well, real. Her eyes hinted strongly of the turquoise sea below, but they were not the brilliant discs of light that had shined in Chloe’s face. What now? Now it felt awkward—I had traveled thousands of miles. With pinpoint accuracy, I’d located the women the spirit luminaries had show me. How hand-picked was that? I decided to keep my mouth shut until I could read her better. We walked toward the sound of splashing water. Around one more bend, we arrived at a waterfall of iconic beauty. “Would you mind guarding? I don’t want to startle any tourists.” I agreed and respectfully turned my back. Respectfully? OK, I don’t know about that. That voice in my head, Rose’s, yammered at me from my teenage years about how to treat a lady. Very annoying, this respect business. Chloe had offered

129 Joshua Bagby me a preview of Marilynn’s body, and I had declined. I wanted the first unveiling to be Marilynn’s special gift to me. I viewed the trail and the ocean instead. I heard splashing sounds, and I imagined her scooping water to her chest. “Oh, God, this will take forever. Anybody coming?” “Nobody in sight,” I said, resisting the growing temptation to peek. You just can’t cheat when the whole Universe is on high alert and everyone paying rapt attention to your every thought, your every move. Several moments later, swirls of red mud joined the clear water. Marilynn groaned. “Doesn’t sound like it’s going so well over there,” I said. “Hold the fort. I need to wash my shorts, too.” “All right,” I said, imagining the great mementoes I could capture if I behaved more like a paparazzo for the tabloids. “Still clear?” “I think we’ve beat the tourist rush.” “Yeah, that’s why I get such an early start whenever I take this trek. I meet the hotel crowd on my way back and laugh at their lily-white shoes.” Marilynn returned drenched. She’d gotten much of the mud off, but her top looked tie-dyed in clay. “This outfit will need a decent burial,” she mused. Then, tugging at my shirt, she said, “Maybe we should fix this, too.” I let her take off my polo shirt. “Just what you were hoping to do on your vacation, huh? Laundry!” She met my eyes with hers, causing a bolt of intense emotion to quake through me. In that split second of eye hugging, she penetrated my heart with a loving look before taking my shirt over to the stream and dunking it in the fresh flowing water. I watched her, mesmerized, remembering how Chloe had appeared in my bedroom as a glob of frenetic light. “This is really a mess,” Marilynn said, standing up and wringing out my shirt. “I’m really sorry. I hope it’s not ruined.” A soiled shirt was a small price to pay. “It’ll make a great souvenir to commemorate the moment I met you.” “Oh, you are a twisted traveler, aren’t you?” she said. “Well, we may slip and fall many more times before we’re through.” We continued along the path. I introduced myself. When she said her name was Marilynn Dancer, I resisted saying, “I know, Chloe told me all about you.” “What brings you to the Na Pali Coast?” she asked. There it was; the question slid out of her mouth like a lizard’s tongue. Time for a snap decision. No weighing the consequences of every possible answer. “To find my soul mate.”

130 Breath After Death Marilynn laughed merrily. “That’s a strange reaction,” I said. “Men usually flee from relationships!” she said. “Commitment phobia.” “I’ve never been here before. Suddenly I was bombarded by this overwhelming and repetitive urge to come here.” “Yeah, well, it pays to listen to your intuition.” “That’s how I got here to this trail—following my intuition. Like connecting the dots. One dot leads to the next. A stranger hugs me and suggests that I fly to Kauai. I see all sorts of Hawaii travel posters. I imagine spirits inspiring me to come here and meet my soul mate.” “I hear many stories like that. One dot leads to the next. Yes.” “Last night I stumbled onto a place nearby. They have a conference center and a hot pool.” “You mean the Institute of Light?” “I don’t know its name. A metaphysical retreat.” “Yeah, I own it.” I gasped. “You own it?” “I’m the founder.” A jolt of joy rippled through my body. “Then you know Petra?” “Sure.” She smiled, but suddenly seemed distant like she was listening to a voice on hidden headphones. “I met Petra in California. She challenged me. She told me to fly to Kauai and Spirit would lead me from the airport.” Marilynn shook her head. “That’s my gal. Never a dull moment with her around.” “Sure startled me. She told me I could come learn how to perceive spirits.” “Everyone gets messages from spirits. People just don’t expect communication, so they ignore the messages. I get that you let quite a few signs slip by.” You’re muffing some signs yourself! “When did you become aware of spirits?” I asked. “In my teens.” “How?” “I had a near-death experience.” “Really? Would you tell me about it?” She gave me the once-over and I guess I passed muster. “You aren’t supposed to swim in the ocean alone, but at fifteen I tuned out the warnings. They didn’t apply to me, you know? I was invincible. Sure enough, one day high surf swept

131 Joshua Bagby me away. I thought, ‘OK, I’m doomed.’ I fought to reach shore, but I wasn’t strong enough. The currents dragged me farther out to sea to my inevitable drowning. “I panicked. Then, suddenly, as if waking from a dream, I found myself floating inside a giant air bubble. A surreal bright light surrounded me, and I ceased struggling. Words fail here. It felt like the best hug you’ve ever had to the power of a million. There is nothing on physical earth like this feeling. With each breath, I felt happier, more tuned in, inexorably connected to everyone and everything on the planet, as if I was breathing pure enlightenment and plugged directly into God’s light socket.” It wasn’t just her words. It was the ineffable look in her eyes, the bearer of secret visions. “Did your whole life pass before you?” Marilynn chuckled. “If I had a life review, I don’t remember it. I came away knowing that for a few seconds in earth time I knew everything, and then I couldn’t remember the details, like I had to leave them behind. I do remember a beautiful woman floating in this bubble with me. She wore a magnificent white, gold-trimmed robe. She didn’t speak in words, but thoughts poured into me in streams. I instantly knew she was showing me a world beyond. I also knew I could not stay there. “Then just as quickly and mysteriously, I found myself stuffed back inside my body. I was being resuscitated. Turns out that people on a tourist raft had spotted me going under. They pulled me out, and the tour guide revived me. Dying had been painless. It was much tougher coming back into physical life.” She shook her head like an athlete on the loser’s bench. “I was so pissed! I didn’t want to come back.” “So that must have revolutionized your thinking,” I said, ruminating about the turns my life took after meeting Chloe as a light being. “My whole outlook changed. I’d watch movies or the news or hear people talk about death. They showed nothing like I’d experienced. I know that I survived it, but people refused to listen to me. They thought I was creating fiction, vying for attention.” I nodded, thinking about the charts and graphs I drew at work. “Anything that cannot be explained through science is assumed to be psychotic or fake.” “Oh, yeah. They tell us the brain hallucinates the whole show. I sorta wish that were true. I’d figure a way to put myself there permanently. What also happened, though, is that I became more psychic after that experience. That made me feel even more odd. I heard all the ‘Marilynn is crazy’ talk. Saw the stares and glares. In self-defense I read everything I could about psychic phenomena. I practiced,

132 Breath After Death meditated, went to classes, learned about protection.” “Do you see dead people?” “Sure,” she said nonchalantly. “Your mother’s here.” “My mother?” How do I describe the feeling standing in the presence of my invisible mother who died so long ago and so far away, embalmed and buried in a cemetery in Iowa, now standing here? “She’s in spirit, right?” I choked. “You’re so casual about this! We’re just walking along and, ‘Oh, hello!’” “She must have been a saint. I’m seeing a vision of Mother Teresa.” “Theresa was her name. Just spelled differently. Is she talking to you?” “Not audibly. It’s a combination of hearing subtle inner voices, seeing psychic pictures, and using my intuition. Were you young when she died?” “ Yes. Ver y.” “She wants you to know that it’s really her. She’ll give evidence. I get that she died from head trauma. I hear sounds like shattering glass. Automobile accident? She says she was out of her body before her head hit the windshield.” “Yes, that’s how she died!” “But you weren’t there. She was alone in the car.” “No, she wasn’t alone.” “Hmmm.” Marilynn shrugged. “Was a reckless driver involved?” “Yes. Drunk driver.” “You weren’t there, though.” “Right.” “Maybe the aloneness was about you. Was another child involved?” “Yes, my brother.” “Oh, OK. He crossed, too?” “ Yes.” “I get that they visit you regularly—you’re unaware of it. Every time you think of them, they know it.” “Why don’t they say something? Or appear?” “They do. Usually during dreams. They also like using symbols.” I recalled my morning’s dream—“He still thinks I’m dead!” By recalling it, I felt energy surge through me. Marilynn pointed to a large boulder. We used it as a bench while we played catch with our breath. “She knows how much you suffered when she left so early in your life. Now she helps people cross over. That’s her work. You know of a little

133 Joshua Bagby boy she recently helped cross.” A vision of Caltrain popped into my head. “That happened the same day I met Petra.” “Feels like it was a meaningful event for you.” “My life changed that day.” “Your mother is hugging you hello,” Marilynn said, smiling softly. My heart still thundered in my chest from the physical demands of the hike, but my flesh sprouted tingles with the thought of my mother embracing me.Is that a physical response to a spiritual event? Marilynn stepped in, “Talk to her. She’s right here.” “Talk to her?” “Yeah, start talking normally. I’ll help. It’s the least I can do for mucking up your shirt.” How do I talk normally to the woman who’s been dead for thirty-five years? “It’s really hard to do this.” “Just start. Don’t worry if it feels dumb. You’re not surrounded by friends from home, are you?” She smiled. “Well, friends you can see.” “I feel so silly.” I giggled. “Hi, Mom.” Marilynn encouraged me with another tender smile. “Go on.” “Well, Mom, I always hoped I’d find you alive somewhere. Rose wanted Dad for herself, so I had to pretend you were gone for good. Where did you go when you left?” I looked sheepishly at Marilynn, a woman who claimed first-hand knowledge of heaven. “You’re doing fine,” she said, “She loves you dearly.” “I wonder why she left,” I said. “Ask her, Benjamin, not me.” “Why did you leave?” I asked. Marilynn nodded compassionately. Feelings erupted inside me as if thawed to flow by the tropical sun. “I know that this is supposed to be a perfect universe,” I continued. “There are no accidents, they say, but why did God take you when I was just five? Was anyone paying attention to how that feels for a little kid?” My rational mind kicked in trying to make it palatable. “I guess it all works out in the end. This life after life after life after life stuff. Parents of kids are killed all the time. Wars. Disease. Murder. Crashes. I know that. I’m not that unusual.” So much for rationalizations. “You’d just think if we humans were so smart, someone could figure out a better way to tell a little boy that his Mama and brother are never

134 Breath After Death coming back from lunch—so just forget about ‘em.” “Keep going,” Marilynn said. “You’re doing fine.” My eyes welled with tears. Words stuck in my choking throat. “I don’t blame you, Mama. I don’t think you intentionally abandoned me. But it still sucks.” “She says it’s hard from inside the physical body to understand. The Universe mystifies the mortal mind. As soon as you solve one mystery, ten more replace it. She says that life makes more sense when you understand that death doesn’t exist—only change exists. The drunk driver who killed her this life was an old war buddy from a previous life. She was a man back then. She got drunk one night at a party and shot him by accident.” I choked on the idea. “It’s hard to picture my sweet mother as a wasted soldier!” “In material life you see just a fraction of the whole picture. You wonder why one soldier dies while another survives. Or why one person who is loving and generous to all his friends and neighbors contracts cancer or AIDS and someone else who is miserly and evil lives to a ripe old age. You wonder why good people get shot and bad people do the shooting. There often seems to be no justice, because an eye for an eye or twenty years to life doesn’t make up for the loss. But in the big picture, it all makes sense.” “But why did you leave me?” “In a recent life you left your children on a hunt and never returned. You were killed far away from home.” “So your death punished me for that?” “Not punishment. Her death caused you to seek directions you otherwise would not have chosen. You became more sensitive and compassionate at an early age. It was a gift to you, hard as it may be to comprehend just now.” “Mom, you sound like a guru on cable television. Embrace your pain!” “She’s laughing.” I noticed tears form in Marilynn’s eyes. She drifted off into a private thought, then returned. “I see you in an office. You’re wearing an old- fashion slave collar around your neck. You’re chained to your desk. There’s a big clown-frown on your face.” “My work feeds my stomach, not my heart. I have great benefits, job security, and a decent salary.” “Now I see you with an easel. Do you paint?” “I’m a technical illustrator by trade but an artist at heart.” “Ah, rather be safe than satisfied, huh?” She laughed. “You find that amusing?”

135 Joshua Bagby “I joined the corporate culture once. I graduated from University of Hawaii, then moved to San Francisco. I made a killing in stock options. However, I discovered that what I gave up in food for the soul starved me.” I shrugged. “There isn’t much security in painting fruit bowls.” “I see you standing at a crossroads. You could stay where you are and get same old. Or you can break free and do something else. Looks like your spiritual garden is very overgrown with weeds and untended bushes. A good pruning does wonders.” I inhaled more perfume of the gods. I stood at the crossroads and would accept with love and gratitude the gift of my soul mate. Marilynn was fabulous. Life with her would be nothing short of awesome. No turning back now. The Universe is watching! “Your mother says, ‘You sulk too much. The world’s not going to crash down on you when you make a mistake. There are many blind alleys. You win some, you lose some. Your love of security strangles your creativity. Life is more than finding security. Have faith that you are never truly alone. You have friends both seen and unseen who will respond to you in a crisis.’” We took to the trail again. Marilynn seemed absorbed in thoughts. For all the right-on-target answers she’d pulled out of her mystic’s hat, she appeared forlorn, delivering messages of optimism to everyone else but herself. “She’s showing me a dog, like a husky,” Marilynn said next. “Woofy. Oliver Wendall Woofers. He died about ten years ago.” “She takes care of him now.” That picture ruptured my composure, Mom and Woofy together. I clamped down hard to stave off an ambush of sobs. “What’s with lace?” Marilynn abruptly asked. “I see lots of lace.” That dried the juice. I pictured Lacey giving me the vamp eye. “Could be a woman I know. Her name is Lacey.” Marilynn laughed quietly. “I see someone wrapped in lace like a mummy. They love visual puns like that.” She pondered the great ocean for a few moments, then said quietly, like a doctor making a diagnosis, “You’re predator bait.” I quaked fearing how clearly Marilynn saw inside my world. “Not anymore. I think I’ve got it under control.” She shook her head. “No, you’re not done with her.” I squirmed, never considering that the woman Chloe sent me to meet could tune into my tattered love life on ESP-TV. “I hope you’re wrong about that.” “She’ll suck your energy to empty if you let her.”

136 Breath After Death “I had an enlightening meeting with her husband.” Marilynn’s brows arched. I was shocked to realize that such a detail had slipped out so easily, like talking on a Slip ‘n’ Slide. “He’d love for nothing more than to become her ex-husband.” “She’s very promiscuous.” I felt nails pounding into my coffin. “She’s built an emotional fortress around her. Remember the Alamo. Very secretive, that one.” Marilynn slowed her walking speed as we came upon another spring. Water drenched the Kauai mud, and the only rocks were set perilously close to a drop-off to disaster. “I worry too much. I’m going to fall again if I worry about falling. It’s the law of attraction.” “You’ll do fine,” I said. “Take my arm.” We slogged our way along the slippery path to dry footing. Then we wound down a steep hill over rocks until coming to steps cut into sun-baked terra cotta. The mist had evaporated and the air had warmed. Our shirts had nearly dried already. I felt the onset of aching feet. “How much longer to the beach?” She laughed. “We’re close. Don’t die on me yet.” I felt a strange chill. We finally reached a perch where I saw the beach below. Several minutes later we arrived at a boulder-filled river. “We have to cross on the rocks. There are no bridges,” Marilynn explained. Marilynn took the lead and found a suitable crossing. Admiring her beauty— thank you, God—I fantasized how Sleeping Beauty would awaken with a kiss. Shooting stars would flash through her eyes, blink, blink, blink. We reached the other side and found a resting spot on mammoth driftwood logs strewn along the boulder-choked beach. I imagined the might of the storms that delivered the massive floaters to their final resting spots. Looking just to my right, Marilynn broke her silence, “Did you have a girlfriend who died while you were in school? She’s showing me an old yearbook page.” I culled memories of my school days. As if propelled by a hand from beyond the grave, I saw a smiling face. “Carla. I was wild about her. Unfortunately, she died before we could become very close.” “She says hello.” Warmth rained through me. I recalled my longing gazes as Carla walked around the high school campus. “She appreciates the prayers you sent. They meant a lot to her.” I made a mental note to investigate the prayer idea. I didn’t remember sending prayer a la Rose. “She wishes you hadn’t been so bashful.” “Hi, Carla. I was overwhelmed by my attraction to you. I was tongue-tied. Young and scared.” Sometimes I still felt young and scared—and almost forty.

137 Joshua Bagby Marilynn shifted her posture and looked away. While gazing at her I realized that she had done something I’d hoped Lacey or Julie would have done. Marilynn had seen inside me! When she turned back, several tears dotted her face. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Not wrong. Seeing your mother again,” she said. “Again? You’re not old enough to know her.” “She was the woman I saw underneath the sea.” Marilynn reached out for my hand. “I’m going to disappear and meditate. It was nice meeting you.” She smiled broadly. “And it was awesome seeing your mother again.” “May I see you again?” “I’ll be going back down the trail in about an hour. As merciless as it seems, I have a staff meeting I need to lead this afternoon.” I parked myself on a driftwood bench and pondered the amazements of the day.

138 Breath After Death

16. Soul Mate Fate

Dear God: Is my life planned ahead like a pleasure cruise itinerary? Lose mother and older brother at five. Lose potential girlfriend at seventeen. Finally wed at thirty and divorce at thirty-seven when wife leaves for someone richer and hairier. Flounder around tasting romantic bitterness and loneliness, also known as healing. At thirty-nine meet a past-life wife, a fabulously sexy pathological liar who cheats on her current-life husband with relentless regularity; just call me Predator Bait. Then along comes a sparkling spirit who razzes my choice of lover and points me to the Garden Isle to meet my soul mate, echoed by Petra, who challenges me to a duel between logic and intuition. Who orchestrates this cosmic juggling? Had I not raced home fearing I’d left my iron plugged in, I would have missed two women on the next train chatting about spirit visitations. Would Chloe have entered my mind without their suggestion to chew on? Had the boy not been killed, the train would not have stopped—would I have still met Petra? Without Petra, would I have flown to Kauai? Would Chloe still have appeared in my bedroom? Maybe, maybe not. Would I have met Marilynn somewhere else? Had I not followed my intuition (or Chloe’s suggestion) to sleep on the beach, would I have found the Institute of Light? Maybe there truly is a plan— even when life seems like chaos.

hen Marilynn returned from meditating, her eyes appeared red and puffy. W“Are you all right?” I asked. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Just emotional today.”

139 Joshua Bagby “Is there anything I can do to help?” Marilynn shook her head. “It’s my twelfth wedding anniversary today— Charlie’s and mine.” I swallowed a case of nails. In the time it took for firecrackers to explode, I had an instant review of my sad love life. “We always take this hike on our anniversary,” she said. “We celebrate our commitment to each other by hiking the symbolic trail of our marriage.” “Where is he?” “Here.” Out of habit I looked around for a man. “Where?” “In spirit,” she added. “I’m sorry,” I said, both to her and to me. “He appeared young and healthy. He was only thirty-eight. One morning a little over two years ago I woke up and he didn’t. I got up and took my morning shower. When I stepped back into the bedroom, I thought, gee, he’s dead to the world.” I imagined her pain. “It must have been awful.” “He wasn’t supposed to cross over so young.” A gaze of utter despair crossed her face, yet seconds later she reapplied her mask of composure. “Not that there’s anything I can do about it now. Forward march and all that.” “Do you talk to Charlie like you talk to my mom?” She nodded gravely. “It’s no substitute for holding him in my arms.” She moved toward the river and I followed. I could make you feel comfortable in my arms! I followed her to the boulder crossing in the stream. As we carefully stepped our way across, I noted the coincidence that Charlie and Julie had disappeared from our lives about two years ago. “It was really going well for us. We met a few months after I moved to San Francisco. I was 23, a university graduate, itching to see what Mainland life was like. We worked in the same high-rise in the Financial District. We had a whirlwind romance and got married the following year. I wanted to get married at the foot of the Kalalau Trail, so we did. Then we came back here each anniversary to walk the trail. “By our sixth anniversary, I’d exhausted all my enthusiasm for city life. I wanted to move back here permanently. Charlie enjoyed the urban business life. I was homesick for nature and the spirit of Kauai. Signs rolled in like ocean waves. Serial dreams. Constant thoughts about creating the Institute of Light. Guidance yakking at me to resume the spiritual life. When we made a huge bundle on stock

140 Breath After Death options, I made the squawk from hell. I convinced Charlie to move with me and run the Institute. It was tumultuous at first, but we finally got rhythm. Everything went great for six more years until Charlie bailed.” The way she said it gave me the creeps, as if he had shot himself to end it all. “So you talked to him immediately?” “Oh, yeah,” she said, becoming animated. “He keeps saying he was supposed to leave. It was his time to go. I think he just got bored here. He went over there during his embolism, got a taste of that delicious out-of-the-body life, and said, ‘That’s it, I’m outta there.’” “You believe we choose when we die?” “I had no choice; I had to come back. I think Charlie chose early retirement. I figure he found a better offer in the next neighborhood.” “A better offer?” “I think he got drunk in the light. It made his head swim. It’s fun there. He didn’t want to come back to the material world from paradise. No one I’ve talked to did. They come back to deal with their responsibilities, usually kids, not because they love this place. It’s work here.” I recalled feeling intoxicated in Chloe’s glowy stuff. “Charlie was married once before me. His first wife died very young. Drug overdose. They were recreational drug abusers, and she lost it. Charlie cleaned up his act after that. Work became his drug of choice. Running businesses thrilled him. When Charlie had his embolism, I suspect Gretchen jumped him on the other side. I think she seduced him with nostalgia and convinced him to stay.” I shook my head. “I never knew death was so voluntary.” “Sometimes light beings say, ‘It’s not your time. You need to go back.’ Then zap, you’re back. Sometimes they give you a choice, stay or return. Sometimes you’re dead meat period. Off you go whether you want to or not. I think Charlie chose Gretchen over me.” “What does he say?” “That he would have returned as a squash, so he did me a favor by staying. I think he did himself the favor.” I scratched my scalp. “Don’t you trust his words?” “I’m still angry. I wanted to have a baby. I lost my chance when he left.” “Did Charlie want a baby?” I asked. She glared at me momentarily, then pausing along the trail in front of a steep ascent, she changed the subject. “Every year this hike gets longer and longer!” She chuckled. “A spirit body has its advantages.”

141 Joshua Bagby As she marched ahead of me, climbing over rocks and roots, I wondered if Charlie was tuned into my frequency. Would he intercept my thought bubbles as I admired Marilynn’s long tanned legs and pictured them wrapped tightly around my waist? We’d make music and whisper spontaneous love poems in the soft, moist heat of a tropical moonlit night. I snapped out of that reverie quickly, though, asking Marilynn, “When you hike like this, just walking around the island, do you always talk with spirits?” “When I feel like it, I invite them into my consciousness.” I nodded. “That’s how I talk with Chloe.” “Who’s Chloe?” The moment to seize had arrived! “Several weeks ago, I started conversing with an imaginary woman.” “Only she turns out to be real,” Marilynn said, winking like a quiz kid eager to pounce on the next question. “Uh-huh. Took me awhile to catch on. I’ve talked with imaginary characters for years. This one persisted more than my usual muses. She would break in on my thoughts rather than raise her hand and wait for me to call on her.” “They interject thoughts whether we acknowledge their presence or not.” “Then she predicted my future.” “To grab your attention.” “Last week she zapped into my bedroom like a benevolent spook from Bewitched. Startled me awake from a sound sleep. She danced around my room glowing and sparking like a Roman candle. We talked for about ten minutes until she vanished in a puff of colored dots. Now she’s back to being just a voice inside my head.” Nodding, Marilynn seemed to take all this in stride, nothing too bizarre for her. Been there, done that. (Yawn.) So I fired off the headline: “The thing was, she looked just like you!” Marilynn contemplated the notion for several seconds. “Covered in mud?” “No, she was beautiful.” Marilynn smiled with sealed lips. her eyes said not impressed. “I could see her, I could hear her, just like I’m talking with you now. She was see-through flesh who lookedjust like you.” “I’m see-through flesh?” “She was made in your image like a living picture of you in 3-D.” “Did she say how she pulled that off?” “She said she didn’t do explanations.”

142 Breath After Death Marilynn whispered, feigning that she was keeping secrets from the gods. “They like it when we’re real gullible.” We climbed in silence back up a terra cotta staircase, leaving us gasping and sputtering at the top. When she recaptured her breath, she asked, “No explanations, I get that, but did she say why she cloned my image?” Is that a wince I see? “It was her sign to get me out of myself and over here. She thought it would help me recognize my soul mate.” “Me?” Time to crack through the egg. “Yes!” Ta-dah. “Oh, no.” Marilynn shook her head violently. “No, no, no.” Each no she uttered felt like a cannon ball to the stomach. “I don’t need another soul mate. I had one, and he dropped dead.” The tropical heat seared down on us at mid-morning. We fell into single file and walked in silence. I was thankful we were heading back toward Ke’e Beach. I would dunk my tired body in the ocean and try to make sense out of Marilynn’s reaction. A blister forming on my right foot worsened with each step. Walking was work now. My breath labored more. We passed more hikers heading toward Hanakapiai Beach, most with fresh mud stains on their shoes and socks. We stopped to rest at the waterfall where Marilynn had bathed. The ranting inside my brain finally reached my mouth. “I don’t get this. Chloe pesters me— and I mean pesters me—to drop my life, jump on a plane, and come to Kauai to find love. So, OK, I come here. Petra points me to this trail, and here you are. But instead of aloha, I get disgust. We should be dancing with joy that we found each other!” Marilynn closed her eyes as if she wished I would just vaporize. “Isn’t channeling your mother a worthwhile consolation prize?” “No question. But why didn’t Chloe just tell me to come chat with my mom then? Or why didn’t anybody mention Charlie?” “Hey, she’s your friend,” Marilynn said, sounding annoyed, like I should know how to control unseen entities who lasso my soul. “I guess you don’t do explanations either.” Marilynn turned away from me. She gazed into the flowing stream as if the water could soothe her spirit. In a perfect world, I would comfort her with long embraces. But in this world embraces played like sexual come-ons. I was not Petra. I kept my hands to myself and wondered how Charlie handled the jealousy battle raging between Gretchen and Marilynn. Finally, Marilynn broke her silence. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Charlie had his paw in this.”

143 Joshua Bagby “Like how?” “He desperately wants me to fall in love again. He tells me repeatedly that I need to release him and get on with my life.” “W hat’s releasing him mean?” “He says I obsess on him and keep him from progressing.” “How can you do that?” “It’s an energy concept. When a mortal obsesses on a spirit, it’s like an electromagnet that keeps them stuck. Earthbound.” “You’re doing that?” “He says I am.” “What do you say?” “I’m just living one day at a time trying to get over this.” “So you think Chloe is in cahoots with Charlie?” Marilynn shrugged her shoulders. “It’s possible. Every chance he gets Charlie sends me a new candidate for a mate. A steady stream of men show up claiming they heard I’m their soul mate.” I squirmed. Lumped in with all the boy toys. Pawn in some seedy supernatural conspiracy. “You really think Chloe or Charlie have enough power to con me like that?” “Sure. Invisibility gives spirits an enormous edge. They can do anything, see anything.” Her eyebrows waltzed above her blue eyes. “Think how you could affect somebody’s life with access like that.” I shook my head. “Spirits deceive people?” “You must think they do good deeds all day—feed the starving masses, cheer the lonely hearts, lift the burdens off the oppressed.” I ran a mental newsreel of everything I’d ever thought about Chloe. “Well, yeah. Perhaps less sarcastically put. That’s their purpose, isn’t it? To help humanity?” Marilynn shook her head. “Tsk, tsk. Oh, Benjamin, you can’t believe every word that pops out of a spirit’s mouth. They have their own agendas. Some are as covert as the CIA.” “That’s like learning Batman takes graft or Superman became a drug lord.” Marilynn abruptly rose to her feet. “I need to go. It’s getting late.” I fell in formation behind her. She walked in silence. When we reached the place where she had slipped and sprawled into the mud, she stomped rebelliously through the center of the mud river. She made a mess of her shoes but took confident strides. “Do you think Chloe lied to me?” I asked later.

144 Breath After Death “Maybe it wasn’t always Chloe. Charlie’s good at impersonations.” “Good enough to wear your body in my bedroom?” “I wouldn’t put it past him.” “I’ve never heard of that.” “Shape-shifting. A physical body is just energy slowed way down. How do you know she wasn’t a light projection? Besides, infinity is filled with things we’ve never heard before.” “This is going down like a really bad burrito. I want spirit guides to protect people.” “It’s a nice fantasy, but if guides always protected us from harm, how would we learn anything? We learn most from meeting new challenges.” “I’ve had the same thoughts, but I want spirit life to have an integrity upgrade.” “Do you know for a fact that Chloe exists?” I started to insist that of course she exists because I saw her. Isn’t seeing believing? Then doubt percolated up from the depths. “I’ve only seen her looking like you. I’ve got to admit, that was very impressive. She says I can’t find my soul mate in my living room—go to Kauai.” “You really worship this soul mate idea, don’t you?” Her pink lips curled into an ugly smirk. “I look at you and I see a lonely guy. You dread making any more bad choices, so you wait for a leader to decide a destiny for you. That married woman? A psychic? A soul mate? You are predator bait!” “Gee, you sure know how to puff up a guy’s ego.” “You don’t need fluff. You need truth.” Marilynn pushed on in silence for a few moments, then added, “I don’t need a man to keep me happy.” “Even Charlie?” She looked startled by my own bold strokes. “Even Charlie. And I frankly resent anyone—flesh or not—telling me that I do! I hate how he tries to dictate what happens to me. I make my own choices. No spirit dictates who I fall in love with—you got that?” My mood felt like the new blister now throbbing inside my hiking boot. If I couldn’t trust Chloe, where did that leave me? Aren’t you supposed to trust that little voice emanating from deep within? Would I always fear that I left the iron plugged in? I finally saw signs that we were nearing the trailhead. We would descend to sea level along the stone stairway. Then I would cool off in the turquoise plunge and ponder the rest of my trip. Maybe roam around the island sightseeing. Maybe

145 Joshua Bagby check in with Petra for insight. Maybe see if I could just slip quietly into a coma. When we reached the bottom of the hill, Marilynn offered me a dim smile and said, “Good-bye” before she turned and walked away. I stood at the trailhead and watched her proceed toward her car. “You can’t let her walk away like that,” Chloe cried inside. “Say something.” I watched Marilynn open her car door and climb in. “She needs you to show her joy again,” Chloe insisted. “Can’t you see she’s glued in grief and needs a catalyst. That’s you.” I dug my heels into the red Kauai mud and watched Marilynn drive out of the parking lot.

146 Breath After Death

17. Searching for Goddesses

Dear God, Welcome to another exciting episode of Déjà Vu with Disappointment. Julie disappointed me with her cheating, tossing me for another man. Lacey disappointed me with her lies and stealth. Chloe disappointed me by proffering a vision of Marilynn that blew apart upon landing. Marilynn said no. Chloe was as accurate as a five-day weather planner. I’ve grown used to human beings fabricating stories—could we survive in a truth economy? I thought spirits had more integrity. What do you do when you can’t trust the Universe? Is Chloe real (seeing is believing?) or is she Charlie in disguise? He could easily float on sunrays to all parts of the planet, worming his way into the brain of any lonely man— that frustrated bloke in Australia, that demoralized chap in England, that balding buffoon in the States. We pray for a break. We dream of love. We scour the Internet, cursors blinking like a neon tavern sign on a cold, wet night. Do Drop Inn. Even if spirits can’t snare our thoughts out of the air, they could guess our deep, dark secrets by keen observation from invisible portals. Like Steve they could watch us type and click through cyberspace. They could listen to our phone calls. It wouldn’t take much. If deceit like this happens, I wonder where it ends. Where do we find honesty in the afterlife? When do we grow up?

coped the best I knew how. I tried to enjoy my travels alone around the Garden IIsle, touring Waimea Canyon, the National Tropical Botanical Garden, and Poipu Beach. I took a Fern Grotto cruise up the Wailua River—suffering like a

147 Joshua Bagby jilted lover through the singing of The Hawaiian Wedding Song—and later watched the Pacific swirl and churn in Wailua Bay. I even hit Hilo Hattie’s and bought a de rigueur Hawaiian shirt. But under the occasional smiles and alohas of tourist diversions, my overriding question was what do I make of Chloe now? “We know what we’re doing,” Chloe replied. “It’s hard to trust you. You told me I would find love here.” “Love is here,” Chloe insisted. “I feel lonelier than ever.” “That’s because this is National Beat Up Benjamin Month. We exist to make you miserable with our deceit and negativity.” I ignored her sarcasm; she ignored my anguish. “The facts speak clearly to me. The woman you dressed up as flatly rejected me.” “That’s only because you heard rejection.” “I heard her wail, ‘No, no, no!’ I call that in-my-face rejection.” “You weren’t exactly tactful.” “What about love at first sight?” “What about romance? What about adventure? Her grief is not about you. She feels betrayed by Charlie’s sudden death. Show her a world beyond Charlie. Bring romance back into her life.” “Interesting concept—that I have to romance destiny. You promised me love here. That was the whole point of coming.” “So go find love here.” Chloe or Whoever was back to being just a voice inside my head. Any spirit could assume her identity and whisper sweet and sour nothings in my ear—and I do mean nothings. I decided to seek a second opinion. I entered the Institute of Light in late afternoon. I still felt like a trespasser on sacred ground, but damn it, the Universe owed me answers! I would find and ask Petra. Chloe cheered me on from the ethereal sidelines, shaking her pompons in the trade winds, spewing explosions of color into the sky. I stayed on the path that led by the hot spa. Moments later, I peered into the steamy mist. A friendly woman waved. I waved back, but continued on. Eventually I noticed a sign pointing right to the labyrinth, left to the beach path. The trade winds pushed me left. I passed through the vegetable garden and savored the lushness. Just as I was about to duck through a grove of trees, a couple walking hand-in-hand toward me came into view. “Well, hello!” the woman said, her eyes bright. “I’ve been expecting you.” Petra disengaged herself from her gray-haired companion and planted herself in front of me, a welcoming grin blooming on her face. She opened her arms,

148 Breath After Death reeled me in, and pressed her body close. Maybe Chloe arranged this as a peace offering, I thought. “Later, Petra,” the older man said. “This looks like it may take a decade.” “Aloha, baby,” she purred after him, staying molded to my body, embracing me as if it were the most important thing in the world to do on this beautiful afternoon. First I noticed how cozy I felt wrapped in her arms. Then I noticed how anxious I felt. Would my damn brain ever shut up? “I’m filled with questions,” I said. “I’m filled with answers,” she beamed. “These are personal questions,” I said, melting in her soothing touch. “OK I do personal answers. Let’s walk.” She took my arm and led me back through the lush vegetation toward the beach. “Weird things have happened to me since the day I met you in California,” I said. Petra nodded as if she’d attended Woo-Woo U before me and knew everything I would encounter as a freshman. “Yeah, go on.” “The same day I met you in California, a spirit woman named Chloe popped into my fantasies. She predicted future events for me. Last week she appeared in my bedroom. She looked like a translucent version of Marilynn—this was before I met Marilynn.” Petra nodded and smiled again. “Uh-huh.” “This stuff doesn’t freak you out, does it? Seeing spirits? Talking to them?” She shook her head. “I’m plugged into a global spiritual community. I’ve heard thousands of stories about spirit contact—shape-shifting, bi-location, astral lovers, past-life mate reunions, spirits returning for hugs before leaving for heaven, angels showing up to perform miracles, alternative dimensions, parallel worlds. In my social circle, paranormal is normal.” “Chloe insisted that I fly to Kauai. Every indication was that Marilynn was the woman of my dreams.” “Aww.” Petra chuckled softly. “Didn’t she explain that Marilynn is the woman of many men’s dreams?” “No, she didn’t. And that pisses me off.” Petra rubbed my upper arm with her soft hands as if I needed revival. Good call. “Men constantly log onto our website. They see pretty pictures of Marilynn sporting her slinky chartreuse bikini. They slide in here on trails of drool. They watch her every step, every gesture, with that glassy gaze, like she’s the medicine for every ache and pain they could possibly endure. We see many bleeding hearts

149 Joshua Bagby around here because Marilynn is not looking for love. She’s simply not interested after what she’s been through.” “Then why would Chloe insist that I come to Kauai to meet her?” “Like the Universe lied to you and spoiled your whole Hawaiian vacation!” “Exactly,” I said, elated at her quick grasp of my struggle. She shook her finger at the sky. “Bad Universe!” “It was humiliating. Marilynn was so annoyed when I told her I thought she was my soul mate. She thought Chloe might be her dead husband in disguise.” Petra frowned. “Did she say why?” “Charlie wants her to fall in love so she’ll release him from her psychic stranglehold—something like that.” “That’s true. Marilynn hasn’t been able to let go of her rage. She thinks he abandoned her.” “Do you talk with him, too?” “Nah. That’s for them to work out.” “Until recently I didn’t think spirits would lie to us. I thought when you die, you sail into the light. You stand around in radiant gardens and bask in constant wonderment. There’s no reason to lie when you’re tapped into all that unconditional love and access to knowledge.” “Not everybody goes there. The spirit world is like a huge magnet that attracts you to the place you aspire to in your heart. Just like here, some beings don’t want to live in the light. They prefer dwelling in the shadows. They’re used to torment. They don’t want to change.” “So Chloe really could be an imposter?” “Uh-huh.” “Well, you’re psychic. Can you see her?” “I’m afraid she’s mastered Klingon cloaking technology.” I grunted. “They always do that the moment the questions become too revealing. Am I missing something, or do spirits have carte blanche to trick us?” “If we’re strong and hold high visions, earthbounds can’t interfere with us. Our own spiritual strength protects us through the law of attraction. Of course you can attract a more malicious breed of spirit to you if you pursue dangerous hobbies such as drugs, criminal activity, combat, violence. Most spirits have better things to do than play mind games with us unless we invite it.” Then Petra frowned and asked. “Speaking of mind games, who’s the brunette you’re humping?” Now I wanted to run away and hide from standing naked in a glass universe. “Her name is Lacey. I’m not”—I made a face—“humping her anymore.”

150 Breath After Death “Do you still love her?” “She’s got serious integrity issues.” I thought of Max sitting by Casey’s grave. “That’s not what I asked.” “She intrigues me, but she’s not healthy for me. Besides, she’s annoyed with me, too.” “What intrigues you about her?” “That’s like trying to answer why chocolate tastes good.” “Floating through her energy field, I feel as if I’m walking through slum row at night. This foreboding sense of desperation—like a druggie who needs another needle—not that she’s literally into drugs, but that feeling.” “She doesn’t miss anything. She’s living in the fast lane.” “Besieged by fear, though,” Petra said. “I’m surprised you’d give her such power in your life. She must have a mouthwatering body.” I felt like a beagle caught red-handed with a new leather slipper in my mouth. At least I was 2,500 miles from home. “Well, yeah, she’s a head-turner.” “Question—what do Lacey and Marilynn have in common?” I stalled, trying to find a polite, non-sexist way to express myself. “They’re both eye candy!” Petra impatiently blurted. “Oh, but so much more.” “Like what?” “Intelligence. Intrigue. Unique experiences to share.” “Ha!” she said. “It doesn’t hurt that they’re prime fillet.” I was startled that a woman used such a meaty metaphor. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” “You know what else is interesting? They’re unavailable.” “Lacey said her marriage was dead, otherwise I never would have gone as far as I did.” “Oh, yeah. I love that old story. ‘My marriage is dead. Fuck me. No, I won’t leave my dead marriage. Eat me.’” “I was needy enough to go there,” I said, hoping my outpouring of vulnerability would win a few sympathy points. “There’s more to it, though. Chloe says Lacey and I shared past lives together.” “Oh, how sweet,” Petra said, then chuckled softly. “Your voice just got edgy.” “My advice on that one—till death do you part. A past-life marriage does not justify cheating on her present-life husband. It’s bullshit, you know? I suspect you wouldn’t care about your past lives if she had thighs like mine.”

151 Joshua Bagby I tried to think it through in two seconds. Petra had nailed an ugly truth to my forehead. ”Hard to say.” “Maybe you’re romanticizing a karmic connection to justify your hard-on. I think you should figure out if you’re focused on her soul or on her pussy.” “What’s with the weed-whacker treatment?” “I’m not being mean. I’ve just seen too much. Men have been sold a cosmetic pipedream. You’re brainwashed to compete for women with perfect bodies. Most women don’t have bodies like that. Flesh does not provide deep intimacy; spirits provide it.” “I know that.” “Do you truly? Have you ever seen a real hamburger that looks anything close to the picture on the menu? We eat the things because we’re conditioned to taste the pretty pictures, you know what I’m saying?” I wanted to protest, to fight back, to prove to Petra that I was a sensitive guy who knew better than to put all my eggs in one cosmetic basket. But then maybe I just imagined I knew better. Maybe I hadn’t truly taken a giant leap for mankind. Maybe I swam in a sexist Petri dish with all the other guys raised month after month on airbrushed Playmate fantasies. Still, in my defense, your honor, I respectfully submit I hadn’t gone out looking for Lacey. She’d arrived on the doorstep of Failure Dynamics. I had nothing to do with that. “It’s over between Lacey and me. I’m done with that chapter.” “No, you still have some reading left. You’re still a body man.” “I can’t do anything about how her body thrills me. That’s nature.”Damn nature, anyway. “Ever heard of Pavlov’s dogs?” “Sure. Stimulus, response.” “I don’t think you’re fighting nature. I think you’re fighting cultural conditioning. You’re conditioned to want the perfect bodies you see in the media.” “You’re saying I’m a Pavlovian dog?” Petra laughed giddily. “Let’s face it, you wouldn’t lust so hard after Lacey or Marilynn if they were blubberballs like me? “ “You’re not a blubberball,” I said. “Sure I am,” she countered. “Why do you want Marilynn?” I was relieved to switch topics. “That’s just it. I barely know the woman. Yes, she’s terrific eye candy. You’re right. Mostly I’m intrigued because a sparkling phantasm popped into my bedroom looking just like her and promising me love in Kauai. I was hooked on the idea of what cool stuff I would find here.”

152 Breath After Death “Sweetie, if an extraterrestrial landed on your front lawn, came up to your door, and told you to kill yourself for enlightenment, would you do it?” “I don’t know. Maybe. I’d wonder what he knows that I didn’t know. After all, he knew enough to travel between planets.” “Use your common sense, even with woo-woo. You might kill yourself for enlightenment, and they’d laugh, poke your corpse with a stick, and say, ‘Observe what nit-wits they are!’” “You don’t understand. I’ve been waiting all my life for a visitor like Chloe.” “Why? What’s so special about seeing a spirit?” “It validates life after death. I don’t feel like an idiot for believing in an afterlife and a more loving universe.” “But a spirit is just a spirit, no different than you. You’re a spirit, too. The only difference is that you’re contained in a body most of the time. You’ve got to follow your own heart—your own voice—in all things.” “I did. I came here to find my soul mate.” “Uh-oh. I detect a soul mate fetish,” Petra spoke softly, almost to herself. “Fetish?” Petra seemed captured by her thoughts. She peered into me with glazed eyes. Finally, she asked, “What’s so special about a soul mate?” “Are you kidding? I could converse with someone who would understand me. She would hang in there, not flake away at the first sign of conflict. If she didn’t get me, she would ask, not insult me or bolt. I’d feel like I was on a real team with someone, coupled for life with a shared purpose, mutual understanding.” “Here’s what I’ve found, honey. People passionately searching for soul mates are often very hurt or very lonely. They’ve latched onto a romantic fantasy about meeting one perfect life partner. They often get so picky that they reject great potential lovers for superficial reasons—like that person doesn’t have the right body or the best income or the perfect sun sign. They want to be rewarded for being spiritual. ‘I’ve been good, God, now give me my soul mate!’ Frankly, they act like whiney brats because their gift doesn’t come wrapped with the right bow.” “You make it sound so shallow. Aren’t you being overly critical?” “Nah. I’ve seen too many soul mate shoppers around here. They seek perfection. Like you they see past-life marriages as an insurance policy that they won’t get hurt again.” “It’s romantic. It’s not an insurance policy. It’s great to think of sailing through time together through all of human history.” “I recognized you the first time we hugged.” She closed her eyes and appeared

153 Joshua Bagby to watch mental TV. “You were a fisherman and I was your seaport lover. Maybe married. It looks Mediterranean. I worshipped the sea you sailed on. One day the sea took your life. I was so distraught when you didn’t return—I didn’t know what had happened to you or your ship. No one did. Eventually I could not bear the pain of your absence so I drank poison.” Petra added with a sly grin, “I won’t pull that silly stunt again!” “What happened?” “You found me in the astral plane. You were very upset that I’d committed suicide. After all, you’d died nobly at sea when a storm destroyed your boat. It was your time to go. I’d killed myself voluntarily. No dignity in that. You thought I was weak. I came right back to earth in another body, so I was still separated from you. A pretty high price to pay for this thing called love!” Is it true? Were those wild brain cheers for Lacey being my past-life wife simply because men snap to attention when she passes by? Maybe lusting for Lacey this life was striking while the irony was hot. Maybe past-life Lacey was a genetic disappointment. Maybe my soul knew (in that fancy, snooty, secretive way souls harbor this information) that in some future life, Lacey’s luster would tarnish and dull. Maybe I yearned for Marilynn because my brain linked her with Chloe’s flying sparks. It didn’t hurt that males from all over mobbed her. No one would give Petra a modeling contract to show off her chubby body. Fair’s fair—no one would give me a modeling contract, either. “In a subsequent life,” Petra continued, “I became your mother. Ha! I got to control you in that life. No boats for you, young man! Nevertheless, you ran away and joined the Navy and broke my heart again when your ship sank in battle!” “Gee, sorry about that,” I kidded. She playfully stuck out her tongue. “It took me several hundred years to recover.” “Well, if it’s any consolation, I don’t do boats anymore.” Petra chuckled. “That’s good. You haven’t done boats very well. You loved the sea, but you keep dying in it. It reminds you of diving into an old friend.” “You’re so casual about this. I’d give anything to access all those memories.” Petra shrugged. “It’s not always wonderful to see what others can’t see.” Then her eyes shined at me like lasers. I recoiled from her intensity. She seemed to notice that her high beams were on. She guided me further out toward the crashing surf. “Let’s get some fresh air.” “That’s all there is here—fresh air.” “Spiritually speaking,” she grinned.

154 Breath After Death Maybe she was right about this cultural conditioning stuff, I thought. Maybe my brain had been fed so many images of idealized bodies that I automatically rejected those that did not fit the mold. Perhaps I possessed the depth of a postage stamp. I confess I glowed with pride when other men told me I was lucky to have Julie on my arm. Yet like Steve, I knew nods of admiration meant nothing about the true richness of our relationship. It was just envy—envy based on their fantasy. “Souls reincarnate in groups,” Petra said as we walked. “It’s not uncommon to run into several soul mates in any given lifetime. You’ve had many past-life mates.” “So I can have more than one soul mate?” “Sure. Soul mates aren’t always romantic partners. You could be married to one soul mate and have another as a parent or child or best friend. It can be a teacher, an employer, a relative. There are many possibilities.” “What happens if you fall in love with more than one soul mate at the same time? How do you know which one to get serious with as a lover?” She stopped walking, reached out, and lovingly stroked the side of my face. “Whichever one feels right,” she said, gazing intently at my face with haunting, friendly eyes. She winked at me. “Meanwhile, no law says you need to limit yourself to just one true love.” “You don’t?” “That’s a cultural script. Step out of the box.” “How can you have two true loves?” “It happens.” “Well, if you’re married to one, it would be a hell of a shock to run into another one.” “Perhaps. However, people work it out creatively. Some form unique family relationships, like triads or communes. They learn how to love more than one person openly and responsibly.” “Really? And it works?” I’d heard of that. If you can’t decide which one, choose two. Double your pleasure, double your fun. But also double your headaches and heartaches. “It’s definitely not for everybody, especially the jealous and the possessive. Or for people who worry about what others think.” She winked again. “But it’s a great alternative to cheating, and unfortunately, too many choose that.” “It’s hard enough finding one compatible mate. I can’t imagine finding two at once.” “I cast seeds of love to the universe and see what sprouts.”

155 Joshua Bagby I didn’t know if she intended that to sound erotic. It tickled me that she might. “I don’t expect to become a real couple with anybody,” she continued. “Why? Don’t you want to fall in love?” She laughed. “I fall in love all the time! I don’t expect to couple. A mate just gets in the way of the work I do. Besides, soul mate relationships aren’t perpetual vacations in bliss as the myth goes. They’re work. Like your marriage.” “She divorced me for someone else.” Petra giggled. “Sorry about your pain, but you needed growth. Someone else was sent in to shake things up. By dealing with loss, you’re learning how to value yourself and focusing more on what you want.” “How does being beaten up all the time help me value myself?” “Pain is a gift. It tells us we’re out of harmony with our soul vision.” “I wish personal growth wasn’t so painful.” “Talk to people on a spiritual path. You’ll often find that they attract growth lessons at an accelerated rate. Your life gets tossed like a salad just to shake things up and challenge you to land on your feet.” “That’s a cheery thought.” “Do you want a time out? Do you need to pull over for a glass of lemonade? Do you need to ponder the plumeria?” “No,” I said, “chaos is fine if it’s meant to be.”Oh, boy, aren’t I the voice of heroism? “We don’t learn when we’re spoon fed. Take me. If I had a body like Marilynn’s, would I take the risks I do? I doubt it. Too many men would be vying to take care of me. As it was, I had to overcome being humiliated for my chubby body. I learned to push the envelope.” “Looks like you push it very well.” “The most important lesson to learn here on this planet is love. That’s all. You don’t get brownie points for your million-dollar house in the suburbs, the wall plaques in your den, or how great your lovers look in thong panties. You get points for loving.” “Is that why you hug strangers everywhere?” “I hug them because I’m creating the world I want to live in. Imagine what life would be like if more strangers hugged—I’m talking long embraces, not those one-second body collisions that pass for hugs in our world.” “Do you ever get rejected?” “Constantly! I don’t take it personally. That’s other people’s drama. We’re a

156 Breath After Death touch-paranoid culture. Out of touch, really. If a man wants to hug another man out of friendship, he’s labeled gay. If a man wants to hug a woman besides his mate, he’s labeled a womanizer. If a woman wants to hug strangers, she’s labeled a slut.” “What do you do when people become offended by your boldness?” “I ask for permission before I embrace strangers. I respect no. I don’t throw myself at anyone. Yeah, some people still get offended. Some people can’t tolerate new and different. Other people tell me later that my unexpected embrace made a huge difference in their lives. For some it became a true turning point—and how simple is that?” I thought back to my first experience hugging Petra. “For me it stirred up sadness. I felt more lonely, especially when you left and went on to hug someone else.” She shook her head. “Look at the big picture. Here you are in Kauai. We exchanged energy, and it triggered a chain of events that led you here.” I felt my face scrunch. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” she asked with a glowing smile. “I thought Chloe got me here.” Petra giggled. “I just know this—more people end up here after I embraced them somewhere. I begin each hug with a silent prayer that Spirit touches them. I don’t dictate how the magic works; I just send them love.” How many other men come to see Petra? Is she another Lacey, nymph to the masses? “I wonder what the religious right would think about that method of recruiting.” “It’s not recruiting. We aren’t a cult. We’re a retreat. We simply host workshops here. People come here and choose what they want to do. Free choice. No pressure.” “I don’t think I could hug strangers like you do. They’d freak and think I was a sexual pervert.” “That because you hold the vision that you people will perceive you as a sexual predator. Through the law of attraction, you’ll create that situation. You need to change the story you’re telling yourself.” “I just can’t imagine doing what you do.” “I suspect you haven’t tried it.” “Of course not.” “Maybe it’s time you do. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

157 Joshua Bagby

18. Pushing the Envelope

Dear God: In the depths and privacy of my thoughts, I don’t believe that you are a personality. If I did I would not take the liberties I do while writing these messages to you. I’d grovel more. I don’t believe that if you were human, or human times a trillion billion, that you would tolerate—despite your well-documented advocacy of unconditional love and propensity for mercy—all the shit that goes on in your name, no matter what your name is supposed to be or who makes up your following. I don’t think we have the slightest idea who or what you are because we’re too busy trying to dress you up in human values to support human religious institutions and keep those prayer dollars rolling in. I certainly have not found the right religion for me. Why is that? Am I just not intellectual enough to grasp the pontificating and appreciate the scripture recitals? Am I so sex-starved or love-starved that I find Petra’s hugging ministry more inspiring than any churchy event I have ever attended? I still don’t grasp this fiasco with Marilynn, but I will say that Kauai is the closest I’ve come to Eden.

ur tradition here is creating a spiritual safety zone,” Petra said to a small “Ogroup circle of twelve embarking on her hugging workshop in a meeting room. “I encourage you to push the envelope on speaking your truth. Use this opportunity to explore a new style of openness and honesty. Be real. Don’t put up a false front. Let’s begin by introducing ourselves. Tell us what brings you here to the Institute of Light.” I glanced around the circle. Marilynn sat across from me biting her lip and

158 Breath After Death staring off into space, her forehead furrowed. No matter what great feats of cosmic magic got me here, she did not look pleased to see me. “I ran across the Institute on the Web,” a bald man said in a hearty English accent. “I decided to pop over for an educational holiday. I thought it would make a fabulous outing, especially since I’d never ventured to the Hawaiian Islands. As fate would have it, I paid my money and then learned that my employment had been terminated. I decided to take my holiday anyway. I am here to be healed.” “My daughter was killed in a car crash three years ago,” a demure blonde woman said. “I also want healing. I have a reading scheduled and hope to hear from Debbie.” An older woman next to her said, “I‘m dying of cancer. Is that real enough for you? I figured I should make some spiritual preparations, so that’s why I’m here. If they can’t cure my body, I should at least cure my mind.” “I am also facing death,” the man next to her said. “I have AIDS, and yes, I’m gay. I don’t know how I caught the virus. I was in a monogamous relationship. My partner tested HIV-negative. So far AIDS hasn’t won. I’ve got the death sentence, but I’m fighting my execution date with everything I’ve got.” “I just turned twenty,” a woman said. One of her eyebrows and her lower lip were pierced and garnished with silver rings. “I’m not dying of anything physical. I’m fighting morale death. I met Petra in California and she told me about this place. So here I am. I hope to find my purpose in life because I sure as hell haven’t found it in California.” “My name is Marilynn. I teach here at the Institute of Light, but this evening I’m joining the group to work on some grief issues with my late husband. The truth is that even when you know that there’s breath after death, you don’t grieve any less.” I wondered how Marilynn planned to work on grief issues at a hugging workshop. “I’m Darleen,” another woman said. “I wish I could say I was a widow. My husband left me for a younger woman with a better body. I want to cleanse my soul and reclaim my power. I guess I’m here to get a life.” “I just came here looking for spiritual truth,” a man said. “I heard this was a good place to do that.” He eyed Marilynn as if she were wearing a chartreuse bikini. I took a deep breath when it was my turn. “I thought I came here to meet my soul mate. Instead I met my mother. She crossed over when I was five years old. Now I believe that I was sent here to shake up my whole perspective on what’s

159 Joshua Bagby real. I seem pretty addicted to security. It’s time for me to become a renaissance man.” “I’m Paul. I’m from Seattle,” a clean-cut man in his forties said. “Everybody envies me because I have more money than I know what to do with. Now I’m questioning how to live the rest of my life. I know that life is about more than accumulating material possessions.” “My name is Ruthanne. I’m from Oregon,” a pretty woman about my age spoke up. “I had a fabulous reading with a world-renown psychic. She told me that I’d meet my partner in the tropics, so here I am. I just finished taking a soul mate seminar, so I’m all set—bring him on!” “Soul mates, huh?” a black man said. “I lost Beverly a few years ago. She was my soul mate. When she died unexpectedly, I spent months in my house, a recluse. One day I finally had the urge to take a walk in the forest. A tingling sensation filled my whole body. Then I heard a voice, a real voice. Said, ‘Look up.’ I looked up and there was Beverly. She looked so beautiful, so happy. Reality. Whew. My reality changed for good. Now I want to learn all about how this stuff works.” Petra nodded to the man, then to the group, then said, “I came here to the Institute of Light to join a community that shared my values and experiences. About twelve years ago, I was clinically dead for seven minutes. During that time, I found myself in a beautiful meadow in another world with unbelievable colors, sounds, and smells. The air itself was filled with beautiful music and pulsating light. A group of light beings formed a circle around me. “In earth terms, this is next to impossible to describe. No one talked in words, but I knew things intuitively. I was passed around the light circle on a force field. Every soul embraced me. Each one filled me with a deep loving energy far more potent than anything I knew in the physical world. I felt plugged into infinity, to all that ever was and will be. Then I was told that I had to go back—I wasn’t finished with this life yet. I woke up inside my body in intense pain. I told my doctor and then-husband about what happened. They assumed I was hallucinating. I learned to shut up. Spirit eventually led me to Marilynn. That’s when I found other people who had experienced alternative realities. “My near-death experience transformed me. Suddenly I saw life as a continuum, not a finite block of time from birth to death. People pile a great deal of pressure on themselves when they believe that they have to cram all their living into a few years before oblivion engulfs them. It’s really not like that. You don’t go around just once. You don’t have to build monuments to yourself in one lifetime. You have many lifetimes. Life is learning to be fully human.

160 Breath After Death “Many of you met me in a hot pool somewhere. Hot pools remind me of my near-death journey. Now, I’ll just say this to get it out of the way. The tall tales of my nymphomania leave me breathless with wonder. My God, what are they thinking? What I do is not about sex, although some of you might hope it is! It’s about cosmic love. “When I was out of my body, I was shown the power of the love force. When you hear expressions like ‘embracing the light,’ they’re talking about this energy. Our most important purpose for incarnating life after life is to learn how to give and receive unconditional love. “I firmly believe that you are at this workshop to learn about love, no matter what other reason you mentioned. If you are seeking enlightenment, you are learning how to love. If you are bored with your wealth or are out of work or are seeking your life purpose, you are seeking to feel and give more love. If you want a romantic partner, you are searching for a mirror for your love, and you may face many lessons about what unconditional love really means. If you have a health problem—and in fact are dying—or if you are grieving, you are seeking the unconditional love of the Universe, the love in your future. You want to know that life goes on. “I was given a precious gift—a seven-minute Earth time ride through heaven. Over ten million Americans from all walks of life have had near-death experiences, but you wouldn’t know it to listen to the medical profession. People like me are resolutely ignored, thought to be hallucinating or lying or just plain nut cases. Quite frankly, people like me begin to think that people in the medical profession are the nutso ones. We’ve seen beings of light, friends and relatives who’ve crossed, and a magnificent spirit world that we all inhabit between lives on Earth. We know irrefutably that life goes on after death. We know that unconditional love is the ruling force of the Universe and that anything we can do to expand our love is our most important pursuit.” Petra clapped her hands once. “All right! I’m asking you all to take a big leap in consciousness. I would like for us all to return to the state of childlike innocence. Let’s remove our clothes and reconvene in the workshop pool.” “Excuse me.” It was the woman whose husband left for a younger woman. “Petra, do I understand right? Do you want us to take our clothes off?” “Yes, I would like that.” “That doesn’t feel right to meat all.” “All right, let’s discuss it.” “I am a very private and moral person.”

161 Joshua Bagby “I respect anyone’s comfort level with nudity. Our culture teaches us that being nude is all about sex and sin. For this experience, I prefer that you choose to overcome your cultural conditioning. I see nudity as stripping away layers of pretense. It’s egalitarian. No one’s wearing jewelry or tailored suits or body armor or any other indication of status. Most of you are thousands of miles away from home. No one will tattle on you.” “But why do we have to remove our clothes? Can’t we overcome our conditioning clothed?” “Perhaps. The choice is ultimately yours to make.” “I don’t feel comfortable showing off my body.” “I understand that. However, this experience is not about showing off your body or making glamour poses.” With that Petra reached for the hem of her blouse and pulled it over her head. “Look! Cosmopolitan would reject my body in about half a second.” Tears streamed from the woman’s eyes. “I am so ashamed of my body. It revolted my husband. He left me.” “What’s wrong with your body?” the wealthy man, Paul, asked. “It’s old and worn.” “You want to talk pain? Look at this,” the cancer patient said as she unbuttoned her blouse and removed it. “Stretch marks from bearing three children.” She unhooked her bra. When it fell away, she said, “Knife wounds from a double mastectomy. But it is not over yet. I will be dead soon. The cancer still spreads. They give me a few more months.” I noticed several men squirm. The centerfold staples had become real-life battle scars. “Thank you for being so courageous,” Petra said. “I wish more people had your spirit.” “If the doctors are right, that’s all I’ll be soon—a spirit.” “I am on Death Row, too” the gay man piped in. “Ultimately, we all are. Our bodies all die sometime,” Petra said. She turned to the woman whose husband skipped home. “We will support you whether or not you remove your clothes. It’s your choice. However, all hugging in this workshop takes place in the workshop pool.” Then to the whole group she said, “Please join me out in the warm water.” I joined the others in removing my clothes. It was a bittersweet moment when my eyes, as they inevitably would, focused on Marilynn’s body. I had saved that intimate sight for later, only later never arrived, not as her gift to me, anyway.

162 Breath After Death Now I felt more like a peeping tom. Charlie had been one lucky dude, despite his early death—and who knew what pleasures he was savoring now? I followed several people to the pool, thrilled that I was doing something unusual. Petra stood in the center of the pool and motioned for us to join her. The woman who’d objected to nudity wore her white bra and panties. She stepped quickly into the warm sheltering waters. When everyone had entered the pool, Petra continued, “Now I want you to choose a partner.” I wanted to partner with Marilynn. I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the woman dying of cancer. “Would you be my partner, young man?” I nodded, yet I felt a twinge of angst. My Marilynn vision shattered, but I decided I was selfish to think that!The woman is dying, for heaven’s sake! If she wants to choose me, the least I can do is oblige her. “I’m not contagious or anything,” the woman said with a faint smile. She must have seen through me. “I would be honored,” I said. As I stood by her, I noticed that the man looking for spiritual growth and the gay man were looking out of sorts. “Is this fair?” the heterosexual man said. “Is what fair?” Petra asked. “There are six men and six women—shouldn’t we have opposite sex partners to hug?” Petra gave up a gotcha grin. “I’ll let you in on a secret. We’ll change partners shortly, and each time, you’ll choose someone you haven’t hugged yet. By the end of the night you’ll have partnered with everyone—of both genders. Now, I want each of you to think privately for a moment about how that went for you. What criteria did you use to select your partner? Physical traits? Mental traits? Did you choose someone or did you wait to be chosen? Did you choose someone in your mind but not act on your desire? These are all microcosms of how you lead your everyday life.” I looked at my partner in the subdued light. She looked healthy enough despite her surgical scars. It was hard to imagine that disease was killing her. Our eyes met. She smiled Mona Lisa fashion. I was very aware that she had chosen me. One more time, life led me around. Correction—I chose to let life lead me around! “Now let’s do something else unique for our culture,” Petra said. “I want you to embrace your partner. Embrace him or her as a soul. Embrace physically, but as you do, think about embracing this person with your mind and your heart.” The woman looked at me with an awe I found unsettling. “You are such a beautiful man,” she said. Her hands adoringly stroked the outsides of my arms.

163 Joshua Bagby I immediately envisioned my bald spot, the blemishes still dotting my back, my ugly toes. Beautiful man? Maybe beautiful to a dying woman. I did not know how to respond. Oh, you’re such a beautiful woman? But that would sound contrived. I smiled and thanked her for the compliment, then gazed into her eyes and searched for the eternal spirit within. “As you hold this person in your arms,” Petra said, “reflect in your mind that he or she has come here to Kauai to release pain. It may be intense pain, like impending death or grief. Or it may be more subtle pain, like the search for love or for more meaning in life. Pain most likely motivated the person in your arms to travel all this way to be here this evening. “I ask you to embrace the being in your arms with love and acceptance. Honor this person’s resolve to come here. Honor this person’s courage to stand unclothed in your arms. Honor this person’s pain as being a cosmic messenger, for often we do not grow unless we feel pain. Let healing energy flow through you. Picture it as a bright white light passing through you and into your partner. It is the force of Spirit, of Source, of God, of Holy Presence, or whatever other words you use to describe it.” My mind filled with many questions—what is it like to know that you’re going to die? What do you want to do in the last months of your life? What do you think you’ll enter when you travel to the next realm? Who are you leaving behind? What is the most important message you learned in this life? Does light channeled from the great cosmos actually heal? “Oh, I can feel the wheels turning, young man,” the woman said softly into my ear. “Does my cancer scare you?” “No, it’s not that. My mother died in a car crash when I was a child. She would be about your age had she not been killed.” “I’ll say hello for you,” she said wryly. “A couple of days ago, I met her through Marilynn. It was a wonderful reunion. I’d spoken to her before, but I never got answers back.” “I feel fortunate that I can say goodbye to my loved ones. I’m eager to learn how to communicate with them when I’m a spirit again.” “Time to gently say good-bye to your partner and choose a new one,” Petra instructed. “When you have made a selection, start embracing that person.” I nodded to the woman. She smiled back and blew me a kiss. I turned and noticed the wealthy man, Paul from Seattle, looking at me. “You want to be my partner?” he asked. “We can get the creepy embraces out of the way.” “Sure,” I said, noticing how my feelings quickly shifted on that remark. He was

164 Breath After Death slightly shorter than I was. “You’re balding. I’ll have to work hard to pretend you’re a woman!” “A bald yet hairy woman,” I said, thinking of my body fur. Paul pulled me into a hug and slapped my back in a jarring manly display. I tensed. I’d never hugged a man naked before, and I could feel him bowing his pelvis as far away from me as possible. We must have amused the gods with our phobic antics. “Now I want you to take one more step,” Petra said to the group. “I want you to each take a turn and share an intimate secret about yourself with your partner. Remember, you probably live thousands of miles away from here. You’ll most likely never see this person again when you leave Kauai. Share something deep and meaningful with this person—a fear, a secret, a reaction to something. Don’t engage in conversation, just share your story.” “OK, I’ll go,” Paul said. “I have a tremendous business. I’m very successful. I love my work, but I am discovering that I want more out of life than a day job. I’m not sure what that is yet, and that’s why I’m here.” That’s odd, I thought, he’s just repeating his story from before. “I don’t think it’s going to be hugging guys, though,” he said. “Your turn.” I decided to talk as if I still had my arms around the woman dying of cancer. She would be interested in what I had to say. “I’m afraid to leave the comfort and security of my day job—my salary, my fringe benefits, my roots. I don’t love that job. It’s actually rather demoralizing. I would much rather be a creative artist, but I am too afraid to quit. I don’t know how I could afford to live if I did what my heart wants to do, which is digital painting and feeling intimate with life.” Paul squirmed and slipped out of our embrace. I took the cue and dropped my arms. I did not know what to do with my eyes. Paul stared beyond me and focused on Marilynn, who seemed deeply into sharing secrets with her partner. I wished I could overhear her words. Then I heard Paul say, “Don’t be a wimp. Do what your gut says to do.” I nodded, stunned at his candor. “You must find great freedom being so successful.” He grunted, but his eyes sought out other naked bodies to study. I glanced at Petra who watched over her flock of spiritual explorers with maternal concern. It felt like hours before she spoke to the group. “Remember, every time you pick a partner, choose someone you have not embraced yet. Then commence embracing. When you feel ready, share a new fear or secret. It will be very valuable for you to share a different fear or secret than before. Reach deep inside.”

165 Joshua Bagby Another man headed for me, the one who’d said he was seeking spiritual enlightenment. He opened his arms. I accepted the nonverbal invitation. His hands glided around my back without slapping me and he pressed himself firmly against my chest. Our flaccid penises brushed. I ordered myself not to jerk away in terror. Stand there and take it like a man! “I’m not used to hugging men,” he said. “It’s not bad, though, is it? You feel pretty comfortable. I’ll confess, I heard this place was sensational for finding widows and divorcees. I hate the bar scene. I figured coming here would interest me more than going to some Club Med. Before I got here, I fantasized getting laid, but you know, I’ve discovered that I like what’s going on here. I took the reincarnation workshop and ate it up.” “Back home I fell in love with a married woman,” I said when it was my turn. “It happened at work. This woman overwhelmed me. Gorgeous, funny, seductive. A lethal combination. I don’t break up marriages and our flirting was innocent— but then she told me that she and her husband had a dead marriage. She made it clear if I wanted her, the door was open. Here it comes, I thought. Big changes.” “Trust me, you don’t want to go there,” the man interrupted. “You think it’s such a great deal. She’s hot, she’s hungry, she wants to prove to herself that she still turns heads. But what you don’t know is that she’s filled with rage. You have to make up for all the hurt she got from the other guy. Don’t go there, man. You’ll live to regret it.” “I already do. I found out soon after that she was lying to me. She has other lovers.” “Yeah, you don’t want to go there.” “You’ve been there, I take it.” “Yeah, twice. No runs, no hits, two divorces. Don’t ever get serious about a woman who’s stuck in a bad relationship. I used to think get there early before the other guys find out she’s a free agent. Oh, no. Bad idea.” On the next rotation, I took the initiative and asked the young woman with the pierced face to be my partner. She agreed with a slight frown. My eyes drifted over her young, lithesome body. Not a stretch mark or a scar on it except for her decorative hardware. I wondered what I could make of life if I were that young again and knew everything I knew now. She was raring to share. “I wish that men weren’t so obnoxious about my body. They stare all the time. I know they just want pussy. It makes me want to puke.” I felt embarrassed thinking back to my high school and college days. I wondered how many women then thought I was obnoxious for staring at them. Is

166 Breath After Death it obnoxious when you feel such awe and wonder inside? I decided to upgrade the conversation: “I know that it’s difficult when you want to reach for the stars and no one else seems to understand you. I look back on my marriage and in some ways I feel very embarrassed about it. I was lonely and she was, too. We came together more out of fear than out of love. We were desperate to belong to somebody. Unfortunately, we didn’t make a very good choice. We really didn’t know each other as people. We were more like cartoon characters—more like objects for each other. I wish I had taken more time to get to know her mind. So you’re right. I was trained to be obnoxious about women’s bodies.” “I didn’t mean you,” she said. “You’re nice.” Petra broke in, “The person you are with is a mirror-image reflection of you. What you like about someone is something you agree with or aspire to. What you don’t like about a person revolts you or scares you. It reflects something about you that you don’t want to see or admit to. It is your shadow side. If you are afraid of embracing someone of the same sex, it could be your own masculinity or femininity that you fear. If you are afraid of someone who is dying, you could be worried about your own mortality. “Tune in. Go deeper. As you embrace your partner, be aware that you are also embracing yourself. It’s a spiritual law that we are all one. We are one energy. In our society, we are forced to compete so much against one another we forget our unity. Spend a few more moments embracing, and then choose your next partner.” I sent my spirit swirling around the young woman as if I was hugging Carla from high school. I imagined that I had mustered the strength over my shyness back then to merge with her heart and mind and not follow the collective male immaturity of the time. I would embrace Carla in heaven. I sent the woman in my arms the energy to find the man who saw her magic. For my next partner, I chose Darleen, the woman in the bra and panties whose husband left her for a younger woman. She looked near tears. “This is a really stupid exercise,” she snapped. “It’s just some cheap excuse to get people out of their clothes. There’s nothing spiritual about this. It’s totally immoral. It’s just a sleazy way to promote promiscuity by disguising nudity as therapy. Who ever heard of such a thing? It just goes to show you—don’t trust anybody with a psychology degree!” I felt myself reeling from her verbal assault as if my stepmother were shaming me again for discovering a Playboy magazine. I wanted to lash out against her harsh words. But I stopped and told myself that she was reacting out of misery.

167 Joshua Bagby She needed comfort. She felt betrayed and lonely. “Well, personally, I like holding you and feeling a human connection with you.” “You know nothing about me. We’re total strangers.” “I think it’s wonderful. We’re in a safe space where we step out of our habits and preconceptions and just be with one another.” “It makes me feel cheap. You’ll hug me now and then forget me. I’ll just be your temporary lust fix.” “I’m sorry for your pain.” “I shouldn’t have come here. It was a big mistake.” “Well, for what it’s worth, I respect your decision to stay dressed. I respect your opinions. I am pleased that you’re participating.” I wasn’t sure, but I thought I felt her quietly sob against my chest. Maybe something I said had broken through the crack in her armor. I visualized white light pouring in from the starry skies above. I gently rocked the woman in my arms until Petra called for another change in partners. “When people die, they often have a life review. A spirit guide or a being of light might ask what you have done with your life. So as you share a secret with your next partner, share something about what you have done with your life.” “When I lost my job,” the Englishman said, “I felt as though I lost everything. My whole identity was wrapped up in that bloody job. There’s got to be more to life than that, but lack of funds quickly reared its ugly head. I found myself envying hurricane victims. At least when they lose it all, they get assistance. When your livelihood gets pruned by the corporate loppers, you can’t blame the disaster on nature, only on the nature of business.” I thought about my life. When it was my turn, I said, “I’m almost forty. My life is nearly half over. I’m divorced and have no one. I have a secure job, but it drains me. I’ve played by the rules my whole life, and still I’ve come up empty. I still want to know what to be when I grow up. I haven’t done anything I consider important. If I were to die in my sleep tonight, I would not go with much pride. I hear what other people here are dealing with, and I realize how fortunate I am. It makes me want to give something back to the planet. I just don’t know how or where.” I felt energy pouring up and down my spine and throughout my body. Maybe this was the crossroads. I could go back and draw courtboards for lawyers, or I could go somewhere else and help people. When Petra called for another change of partner, I approached the woman who’d lost her daughter in a car crash. I imagined myself as a loving being of light stepping in to comfort her in her grief. Wordlessly she stepped into my arms and

168 Breath After Death pressed herself close into the comfort of my body. “When I lost Debbie, I lost my mind. She was the only real reason I had for living. My husband drank himself into a stupor nearly every night. He could not stand my emotions. I wanted so much to be dead. I felt like I had totally wasted my life. I’d given up all my opportunities to become a wife and mother. When that crash snatched Debbie from me, I became nothing. Not only that, but she had gotten my wish! I constantly flirted with suicide. I was close to taking pills when a friend suggested that I search the Internet for a grief group. Now I swear that Debbie led me here. Little coincidences happen. You think you’re doing one thing, and you end up somewhere else for the answer to your question. Petra convinced me that we don’t die. Debbie is just somewhere else. I’ll see her again. I still miss her horribly, but now I want to rediscover my life.” “My mom was killed when I was five. She dropped me off at school one day. I cried because she took my older brother for a drive and not me. She said she would return for me but she never did. A drunk driver got ‘em. My dad remarried and we moved to California. His new wife was jealous of my mom. Imagine being jealous of a dead woman. I blamed God for letting Mom die. It didn’t seem fair. But as you said, you think the world is one thing; look through different eyes and you see something else. Thirty-four years after Mom died I’m meeting people who survived death and tell me about the next life. I was even visited by a spirit entity. So I don’t blame God anymore. I see there’s more to life than what the news tells us reality is.” Petra’s voice cut in, “It’s time to say good-bye to your current partner and find your next one.” I felt an electric snap in my body as if in the final few seconds I had to convey all the compassion I felt for this woman. We could talk far into the night. “If you have not shared first in your pairings,” Petra continued, “I invite you to do that now. Share first. If you speak second, you probably want to shield yourself a little bit. You want to see what the other person shares to judge how much you’re willing to reveal.” Just as I was about to greet Marilynn, the man with AIDS stepped into my path. I had not spoken first, so I began. “I have been afraid of you. I’m not sure why. Your being gay doesn’t bother me—although I worry about what you might want from me. I’ve never talked about intimate subjects with a gay person. I don’t know how you think.” “I don’t rape people,” he said with a sly grin. “Straight men think all gay men want to rape them. Jesus, it gets so ugly in their minds.” “I might think something like that unconsciously, illogically.”

169 Joshua Bagby “Relax. I don’t need to prove my masculinity.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. I grinned. “I like your humor.” “You need to have a quirky sense of humor to be queer. No one would choose aggravation like this on purpose.” I thought of how much courage it must have taken for him to make this journey and expose his most vulnerable core to strangers. “Are you afraid to die?” “I’ve faced death for seven years now. When I was first diagnosed I didn’t think I would live this long. I thought I would flake away like dandruff leaving my poor Philip alone to fend for himself. He came up HIV-negative. I’m still here, waking up to the sunrise each morning, listening to the birds. Philip drowned three years ago. He wore a life jacket, but he flipped a kayak and got pinned the wrong way underwater. I was devastated, but at least he wasn’t required to watch me wither away. That prospect terrified him. Me, I’m concerned about my future. Are we gays nuked in hell with bad-ass Christians praising the Lord over our demise? I truly cannot conceive of God devising some diabolic plot to create a bunch of fags out of twisted love, then tossing us into the eternal fire pit.” Petra called for a change in partners. Marilynn made eye contact. Raw emotion filled me when she slid into my arms. She felt so relentlessly good that heartache overwhelmed me. “I don’t know how to feel about you,” I said. “Some sparkling phantasm appearing in your image lures me to Kauai, promising that you’ll welcome me with open arms. Considering what happened, that’s embarrassing. To you I’m just another lost, wandering man who wants a piece of your precious body. Petra tells me you’re bombarded with men entranced by your beauty. I can’t blame them. You feel better in my arms than I ever imagined. But where does this leave me? Why am I the butt of this creepy joke? How can I trust spiritual guidance if it lies? “On the other hand, this retreat is magical. I’ve often dreamt about sacred places where people share from the heart like this. I don’t control chemistry. If I disappoint you, I can’t do anything about it. But I’m grateful for what I found here. It’s nothing short of miraculous. This is a dream come true. Maybe it’s already done, whatever you were meant to give me. I know that I romanticize soul mates. I romanticized you, and it annoyed you. Maybe it also annoys the gods. I don’t know what my future holds, but I’m OK with it now.” She held me close. Her warmth welcomed me. “You are a mirror for me, Benjamin. You’re wide-eyed and eager to learn. Concepts like soul mates fascinate you. I live in the insulated embrace of my spiritual community. Sometimes I

170 Breath After Death forget what it’s like to live in the lonely crowd in a huge metro area. Thank you for reminding me that everyone comes from a different reality. “But that’s not the main thing I wanted to share. Charlie was my dream man. My soul mate. Your words on my anniversary jarred me. They mirrored for me the whole dream I had about him. When you gazed at me on the trail, I saw how I looked at Charlie. When I peered into your heart, I saw and felt my own vulnerability. I realized how much I still clutched onto that dream. Letting go of Charlie means letting go of many dreams. That’s painful. I suspended my life when he left. I haven’t let any man inside since. If I open up to another man, I need to know that it’s real love, not just some airy-fairy soul mate fantasy.” “I can see that you’re all getting much more into this,” Petra said, “but you have another partner to find. Please partner with someone new.” I spotted the woman who’d announced that she was looking for her soul mate. Our eyes met. She smiled warmly. “Hi, my name is Ruthanne.” She wrapped herself around me without a shred of shyness. “You must be the man searching for a soul mate.” “Yep, that’s me,” I said. “A voice told me to come to Kauai to meet my soul mate.” “Really? How exciting! Whose voice?” “A voice in my head. A spirit voice.” “Your method is cheaper. My reading cost me $700. Sickening, huh? I wanted the best. You can’t trust those art faire psychics.” Ruthanne’s enthusiasm surged forth through her tall, slender body like whipped cream spewing from an aerosol can. “She said I’ll meet my soul mate while on vacation in the tropics.” “So you booked several South Seas cruises.” “You nut!” she lilted, burrowing deeper into my embrace and held me silently for several moments. Then she said, “That’s my secret. I want to find my man.” “That’s no secret. You said that in your introduction.” “Well, I’m sick and tired of being single and looking. I want to be married. I’m embarrassed that I sound so provincial. I don’t want any exotic New Age alternative relationship. I just want to find one great man and settle down. I want to live in my own house in a peaceful setting, not in a commune. I want to care for my own family. I want to pursue my own art.” Her voice trailed off. She floated with a thought. Then she said, “God, you’re such a great hugger!” “I’m surprised you’re alone. You have so much going for you.” It felt like the manly thing to say. What could her tragic flaw be? “You’re sweet,” she cooed, a womanly response. “Six years ago I left Sam Jose.”

171 Joshua Bagby “That’s where I’m from. San Jose.” “Willow Glen to be precise. I left when I decided to become a full-time artist. I moved to Oregon near Eugene.” “You’re an artist?” “Yes, I paint. Mystical works mostly. Celestial landscapes.” “I’m a technical illustrator, but I’d rather paint from the heart.” “Why don’t you then?” “Fear of poverty.” “Have you heard about the law of attraction? If you constantly fear poverty, you’ll constantly attract it. I had a great job—it just suffocated me. I was always stressed out and spiritually unfulfilled. One day I had enough. I just quit. And I mean just quit. It was the most irrational thing I’d ever done. No planning. I jumped into the wind and it blew me to Oregon. Guess what? I found great friends. I make a pretty good living doing work I love. I’m only missing a mate to share it with. The good ones are taken or they live thousands of miles away. I don’t want an Internet lover. I want a real man and a real relationship.” Her hands traveled softly over my back spreading shivers through me. Mixed signals already. She was ensconced in a hot pool of naked strangers in exotic Kauai, but she spoke of being exhausted by the single life. Maybe she was paying the high price of mate selection, unfurling to the whims of chance like a wildflower until one true love picked her for himself. “I want a clear choice in a mate,” I said. “A spirit visited me in my bedroom.” “Wow,” Ruthanne cooed. “Awesome!” “She told me to fly to Kauai for love. She even projected Marilynn’s face so I’d recognize her. But when I arrived here, Marilynn wanted nothing to do with me. Turns out she’s got a international following.” “Ooh, that must have hurt.” “It was more confusing. I felt foolish. Why would a see-through woman apply the pressure to me to go visit a woman who doesn’t want a lover?” “I should learn how to project into your bedroom. You could come to Oregon instead. I won’t turn you away.” Petra’s voice broke in, “Now, I want us all to join hands please and form a circle.” Time had sped by. After we formed a circle, Petra continued. “This is what happens when you think out of the box. I hear it all the time—people tell me had they known they’d be hugging strangers in hot water, they never would have shown up. It just sounds way too weird, too threatening.”

172 Breath After Death Ruthanne squeezed my hand. My eyes darted to Marilynn’s face. She stared blankly in my direction, her mind cruising inner space. “Weird or not,” Petra continued, “I see people finding unusual closeness with strangers. When you’re back home far away from our sanctuary, I hope you remember what it feels like to find spiritual intimacy even in places you consider it unlikely. Think out of the box. Spirit does not come to you just in a church or sacred spot. Spirit does not come only through enlightened teachers or great masters. You can find spirit anywhere because it’s everywhere.” Ruthanne squeezed my hand another time. I squeezed back. Marilynn now gazed at Petra. “This brings the structured workshop to a close,” Petra said. “As in everyday life, what you do now is up to you. Feel free to stay in the workshop pool. I encourage you to share your feelings with others about your insights from this experience.” Ruthanne pulled me back into an embrace. I did not resist. Go with the flow. Go with the love. My body melted into hers like two merging streams. “You should visit me in Oregon,” Ruthanne said. “I could show you around. I know lots of artists and spiritually inclined folks.” How bizarre, I thought. She doesn’t know me from Adam, and yet she’s opening up to me as if she has known me for three hundred years. “That would be great. It might open up my eyes to some good possibilities.” Marilynn suddenly appeared at my side while Ruthanne and I embraced. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Marilynn said. I turned and gazed into her face. “Oh, hello.” Ruthanne slid off me like a candy wrapper blowing away. “I need to talk to you,” Marilynn said in a staid voice. “Look for me when you’re finished socializing, OK?” “Sure.” “Is everything OK?” Ruthanne asked after Marilynn left. “I don’t know.” “She looked jealous of me.” The idea teased me, illogical as it was. “So Ruthanne,” Paul, the wealthy man, interrupted from her other side, “am I going to see you again?” “I’ll give you my email address, Paul,” she said. “How about another hug for the road?” he said, stepping between us like a bully taking cuts in a school cafeteria line. Don’t be a wimp!

173 Joshua Bagby As Paul hugged Ruthanne, I looked around the pool. I saw Petra and Marilynn in a corner. Marilynn looked agitated. Petra reached out with a comforting hand. I focused my vision closer in on a woman approaching me. It was the woman who had been afraid to take off all her clothes. Now Darleen was nude. She opened her arms for me. “I’ll fly you up to Seattle in my jet,” I heard Paul say to Ruthanne. “Cool,” she said. “After I return from Maui.” “I see you lost some clothes,” I said to Darleen as we hugged. “I decided not to let fear rule my life,” she said. “How does it feel?” I asked. “Won-der-ful,” she giggled. “I never realized respectable people behaved like this!” She squeezed me hard and exhaled a deep sigh that sounded to me like a fake orgasm. “Oh, my,” a male bystander said. “Sounds like she’s enjoying herself.” “Oh, I am, I am,” she crowed with gleeful giggles. “Don’t hold her forever. A line is forming, Darleen,” another guy said. As if on cue, Darleen uncoupled herself from me. She threw her arms above her head to signal her availability. “Next!” Self-confidence made her sexy, even in a body she’d been ashamed to dwell in. Somewhere she’d gotten the power. The other guy swooped in like an eagle, talons extended. I wanted to scoop her back in my arms and protect her from flying testosterone darts.Talk about predator bait. A voice inside me pooh-poohed my concern. It said I was feeling my own vulnerability. The man whose soul mate had died eventually took over from Paul and embraced Ruthanne. Paul moved on to the woman whose daughter perished in a crash. The young woman with piercings clung to the man fighting AIDS. “You inspire me with your courage,” she said. “It’s easy to be courageous when all you want is to survive,” he said. The Englishman who’d just lost his job embraced the woman on the verge of losing her body to cancer. “Next to you my problems look a trifle petty,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine. I’m going to where the sun never sets.” I spotted Marilynn in the distance stepping out of the pool. Petra followed her up the stairs. Several pairs of eyes followed them. Ruthanne had become a target of choice. I decided to check in with Marilynn instead. Ruthanne seemed too wrapped up in another man to notice my departure.

174 Breath After Death I had no claims on her. Meetings were not coincidental. They were part of a grand design. If Ruthanne and I were meant to be, the Universe would aim us toward another intersection with one another. I entered the room where we had shed our clothes. I stood and rubbed my scalp. Marilynn and Petra had already disappeared, having wasted no time dressing. They might even be walking around nude. Not as bold, I dressed before going outside. I poked around in front of the workshop house. I paced for several minutes, thinking that maybe she’d return. Down for the count. No sign. Maybe no sign was a sign. I decided to return to Ruthanne and schmooze. Maybe she was my sign—an artist openly searching for a soul mate who’d be willing to go the distance with her. She had broken out of her career rut and found satisfaction. Maybe she would teach me her secrets. Back inside, the woman whose daughter had died embraced the widower who’d seen his wife’s spirit. They were still naked. She sobbed quietly in his arms. Sweet healing. I wondered if Lacey ever sobbed in Roman’s arms. Did she ever quit being an erotic temptress long enough to express her true feelings? As I removed my shirt, I heard footsteps. Darleen and two men entered the changing room. My eyes met hers. “Party in my room. Want to come?” “Yes, join us,” the man who’d warned me against affairs said. “You might get lucky,” the Englishman said. “We’ll all get lucky,” Darleen said. “Thank you, but I’m meeting someone,” I said. “Awww,” Darleen pouted. I finished undressing and headed toward the pool. I saw Ruthanne dripping wet. She was attached to Paul’s arm. “Hey, Benjamin,” she said. “How did it go with Marilynn?” I hated how ugly and alone her beauty made me feel just then. “I don’t know. She vanished.” “That’s too bad,” she said. “I hope you find her.” I know, I know, don’t assume things. But Paul resembled a lion guarding fresh kill. Ruthanne appeared as if she were already selecting furniture for her new country home. In the blink of an eye, the Universe had sent me to the penalty box, and Paul had scored. When you snooze, you lose.

175 Joshua Bagby

19. What’s Meant to Be?

Dear God: Why do I keep missing the hand-off? Just tonight I mishandled cues from Ruthanne and lost her attention to Paul. I couldn’t find Marilynn all night. Petra vanished, too. My Universal transponder is faulty—yeah, even though we dwell in a perfect world where there are no accidents. My hunt for deep love has taken me through a candy store of possibilities with no sale at the end. What now? This leads to a larger question. Should we wait patiently for what’s meant to be or should we get our hands dirty with good ol’ creativity on and make what’s meant to be? I suffocate in patience, forever waiting for something to happen as if you’re an author writing my life for me. Waiting has been my life strategy. Like in Petra’s workshop, I had to be reminded to make the first move. Choose a new partner. Make the first statement. Divulge the first secret. For me, waiting is an action verb. So I’m waiting for your answer.

teve’s voice boomed through the earpiece from California to Kauai. “It Shappened, Dude. I thought I had more time. They dropkicked my ass today. I’m no longer employed at Failure Dynamics.” “Shit.” “No shit shit. They gave me half an hour to clean up nine years. They even posted a guard in front of my office.” “Why?” “Probably afraid I’d piss all over the network server.” I glanced around the hot pool area where I had spent another night alone on

176 Breath After Death the chaise. The morning sun was rising, and Steve’s voice was rude to me ears as a blaring alarm clock. “Who else did they cut loose?” “I don’t know, man. They rushed me out like I was a spy, but not before I archived the good stuff.” No telling what Steve had archived—he didn’t offer me a list—but I figured it wasn’t company business. “When are you heading home?” “Friday night.” “Good, because I routed about eighteen gigs your way.” “Of what?” “The best show in town, man,” Steve teased. His laughter across the Pacific reminded me I was not in California anymore. “Lacey like you’ve never seen her. Two big dicks way up!” Droplets of panic squirted through my bloodstream. “Wait! You stored that under my name?” “Well, yeah. They were breathing down my neck.” “You should have called me.” “I didn’t have time for consultations, Benjamin. The guard was already there when I arrived at daybreak. These guys played hardball.” “What if someone discovers it?” “Don’t be a wuss. Give me some credit.” “You turned me into a co-conspirator.” “Dude, chill, I just borrowed disk space. You should feel indebted to me. You’ll have your very own copy of the best reality porn you ever jerked off to.” I pictured myself being ambushed at work by Federal agents accusing me of operating a porn ring from the company mainframe. Uplinks. Downlinks. I pictured Steve concluding that his hastily conceived plan had one tragic flaw: he’d handed off the bloody glove to the wrong guy.Fumble in the end zone! Turns out he had other talking points on his agenda: “Now tell me about Lacey’s visit to your apartment! I’m dying to hear!” Steve was as wired as Yahoo, but I was surprised at how quickly he’d fetched that information. After all, my apartment was far away from prying eyes. “Am I on your eighteen gigabytes, too?” I asked sarcastically. “Yeah, you are. I want to hear your side of the story as soon as you get back, but I’ve got to break the bad job news to Trisha. She’s going to be extremely pissed.” I turned off my phone and unplugged from the world. Things had been weird and disappointing here, I decided, but Steve’s call instantly reminded me that things were still so much better here. In Petra’s workshop, strangers had removed several layers of disguise. They reached out and hugged. Strangers were more

177 Joshua Bagby forthcoming than any of my friends or co-workers at home where I had to guess what was really going on inside other people’s minds. My alleged best friend Steve and I didn’t share secrets. Must be that man thing. Real men stuff their emotions. Real men don’t reveal weakness, spotlight softness, or share sensuality with other men. They’ve got to be pushed to the limits, like desperately needing to retrieve eighteen gigabytes, before they open up with any sign of vulnerability. Women seemed more poised to go there, or at least that’s what I wanted to believe. Lacey trounced that theory. Two years ago I tried sharing my secrets with Steve. When Julie left me, it wasn’t even a matter oftrying. I could no longer muster the energy to hoist up a false front. I showed Steve the email I’d written Julie begging her to reconsider the divorce. He shook his head. “You’re selling your soul to stay married to a cheating whore.” Soul was not a word Steve brandied about easily. In an email back, Julie demanded that I destroy the videos I’d shot of her because now she loved Aaron. Steve pretended to care about my pain, but pressured me to see the video. Of course, he thought they were nasty. Later that morning outside the cafeteria I spotted Ruthanne walking by herself with slumped shoulders and downcast eyes as if tuning out the rest of the world. She claimed a resting spot on a bench near the hot pool and spun a cocoon around herself with body language. I moved in closer. When she rejoined the human race and looked around, she said. “Benjamin? Where did you come from?” “I’ve been here. Your body language told me not to barge right in.” She smiled meekly, then shrugged. “Paul left.” “Oh, dear,” I said. “You meet someone whose light brightens your world. Then parting is such sweet sorrow.” “That’s not what happened?” “What happened?” “Fuck and bye.” I thought instantly of Lacey. “Oh. I’m sorry.” “I was such a pushover.” “Didn’t you know he was leaving today?” “No, he was too busy convincing me that we were meant to be.” She looked at me with wincing blue eyes. “So you feel used?” “Oh, yeah. I never go to bed on the first date.” “You turned the corner on never.”

178 Breath After Death “He fed me this whole story about our past life together in Europe. I saw this amazing picture show in my mind. It felt so real. God, it was so romantic! Everything here is so intoxicating! ” I remembered how eerie it felt hugging Paul in Petra’s workshop. He did not impress me as a man of great romantic technique. Maybe he hid that from men. “And now you think it was all lies?” “Well, it lifted foreplay to a whole new level, I’ll say that.” “Maybe you actually had a life like that.” “Do you think so?” she asked, her eyes searched for answers in mine. “I was so enthralled I wanted him to take me to bed. He was quick and to the point. I didn’t foresee how quick. I thought he’d linger over me since he’d made such a fuss about how beautiful I was. But he came in under a minute and then he got up and left. He said he was coming back. I thought he’d come back and we’d make love again. I fell asleep, woke up in bed an hour later, and no Paul. So I got up, searched for him outside, and found him sitting cozily with another woman. I guess he was going for a double-header.” “What did he say?” “I couldn’t face it. I just turned and walked away.” She smiled wanly. “I need to get better at picking men. I’m off to Maui in a couple of hours.” Dark clouds crossed her inner sky. “Oh, damn…” “What?” “Paul is so good-looking. He really had me swooning.” I flashed on the bald spot eating away at my scalp, then about my draining liquid assets. I would never amount to any Paul. “He’d be quite a brass ring to snatch,” I said. “Rich, too.” “Yeah, rich, too.” She sighed in a lingering way like an accountant calculating fourth quarter losses that triggered a sudden stock sell-off. “Of course he could be lying. Maybe he was making all that up to impress everybody. Maybe he’s married and cheating. It wouldn’t be the first time.” “It’s like a national sport.” “I was really blind-sided. I thought in a place as the Institute of Light is supposed to be, people would act with spiritual integrity.” “Do you wonder why things happen the way they do? Like last night. Marilynn interrupted us while you and I were hugging. She said she wanted to see me. So when you were hugging Paul and the line of other men was forming, I went to see what she wanted. Couldn’t find her. She’d vanished. By the time I got back to you—because I really wanted to get to know you better—there you are already

179 Joshua Bagby walking away arm-in-arm with Paul for the night.” “Really? You came back to see me?” “ Yes.” “I never knew that.” “We seem to have lots in common.” “There I go again. I just ruined it by telling you I slutted myself last night.” “I’m still attracted.” “Really? I don’t see how you could be.” “You didn’t do anything wrong. You followed your heart. OK, so it led you to a dead end. So you start over. You’re a beautiful woman. I’d like to get to know you better.” “But what about Marilynn?” I shook my head. “Marilynn vanished on me last night. She said she wanted to see me and then poof. Last seen climbing out of the pool with Petra and then gone. I wandered around looking for her but I never saw her.” “That’s weird. At the workshop I saw her studying you as if she were gazing at Michaelangelo’s David. It was intense, Benjamin. Besides, didn’t you say you had a spirit visitor who told you to fly to Kauai to meet her?” “Yeah, explain that, will you? I can’t. I found Marilynn under miraculous circumstances. But then nothing happened. No sizzle.” “You weren’t awed by her? What’s wrong with you?” “No, I was a dud for her.” “What?” “Yep, total rejection. She has no interest in me. She was appalled that at the idea of a spirit playing matchmaker.” “Makes no sense. She was really giving you the eye.” Ruthanne smiled sweetly. “Oh, well, maybe you were supposed to meet me.” “So you like rejects, huh?” I said. “Yeah, they’re some of my favorite people,” she said. “Right now I could use a hug.” Ruthanne stood up and glided into my embrace. Tall and willowy, she fit snugly against my body. “I’ve got a warm feeling about you,” she said. “I should have gone with my first hunch and not been scared away when Marilynn interrupted us.” Damage control? As we embraced, swaying in each other’s arms, I peered inside myself. How odd this was! Wondrous but odd. Could she really change her mind so fast, re- focusing her sights on me after having swooned over Paul just last night? And

180 Breath After Death what about me? Was I that fickle meandering from Lacey to Marilynn and now Ruthanne? Or was it more a matter of looking at candidates for love until one of them is in heat, eager as me to build something? Timing is everything. “I won’t play games, Benjamin,” Ruthanne said a few moments later. “Waiting around for Prince Charming to appear isn’t my strong suit. I’m an action woman. If the first one doesn’t work out, keep on trucking. Paul didn’t work out for me. Sounds like Marilynn didn’t work out for you. If you feel something for me, let’s explore it.” She fed me a comely smile. “You’re not a dud in my grade book.” I felt myself feel flush with her sweet words. “I know we’re still strangers, but let’s say magic happens between us. How would you feel about moving to Oregon?” “I don’t know. Why not move here to Kauai?” I asked. “Well, I’m stuck in Oregon.” “Why stuck?” “I have a little girl. I’m a halftime parent.” “Oh. Shared custody, huh?” “Yeah, but not with a husband. One of my artist friends got a little too creative with his sperm. We decided to raise her jointly as single parents.” “I thought you wanted to get married.” “I do, but not to him. Silly me, I thought I couldn’t get pregnant. I’d tried for years when I was married. Nothing. Then after my divorce I have this spontaneous fling, andzing . Suddenly I’m Miss Fertility.” “Well, you know what they say—there are no accidents.” “I believe it. I wasn’t planning on Liza, but she’s a little heart-stealer. I firmly believe that she chose me to be her mom.” “How old is she?” I asked, thinking how her story reminded me of how Casey came along and changed Max’s whole life. “Three years going on three hundred.” “What do you mean by that?” “This sounds hard to believe, but if we’re going to be close you need to know. She tells me about her former life. I’d been pretty skeptical about reincarnation until my own daughter described her last life.”` “And it wasn’t fantasy?” “No! A three-year-old could not make up this stuff.” “Like what?” “Her life as a man! She even told me how she died—caught in a firestorm while fighting a forest fire. Not in those words but that’s what I pieced together.

181 Joshua Bagby I’ve got to say that she’s the most environmentally conscious three-year-old I have ever met! She’s obsessive about home recycling!” “Like a forest ranger?” “Yeah, exactly.” “I’ve heard that little kids are quite psychic. You should ask her questions and save hundreds on your psychic bill.” “Would you at least visit me in Oregon?” Ruthanne asked. “I would like that,” I said. “I’ll show you around,” she said. “Maybe you’ll fall in love with it—and with me—and won’t hesitate to move up.” Oh, she felt good in my embrace, all right, but she was still licking her wounds from Paul’s rejection. How serious could I get about this? She changed channels as if fingering a remote control. “I wish I would have spent the night with you instead,” she whispered. Olive branch? “So Ruthanne, should I wish you great luck in Maui, or should I hope that you come home empty-handed so you till want me?” Ruthanne chuckled into my shoulder. “Come visit me,” she cooed. “How will I find you? And don’t say, ‘Follow your intuition.’” She reached into her purse and withdrew a business card for her art studio. “I’ll be home in four days. Call me, OK?” We hugged our farewells and Ruthanne left to pack. “So that explains your absence,” a voice said from behind me. I spun around and saw Petra standing there in her floral muumuu. “What absence?” “We waited a couple of hours for you last night,” she said. “I told Marilynn I thought you probably got waylaid by one of the pool nymphs.” “I was alone all night.” I felt the thud of my sinking heart. “Waited for me where?” “In the office.” “What office?” “The admin office. Marilynn said she told you.” “No! I don’t even know where that is.” “The admin office where you checked in.” All right, so I never did check in. I was an illegal. “Marilynn said she wanted to see me later. She didn’t say where. She got out of the pool with you and that was the last I saw of her. I went looking. You two had vanished.”

182 Breath After Death “That gal gets more scattered by the day.” Petra shrugged, then said, “All right, well, whatever. You’re a computer geek, right?” “Yeah. Technical illustrator.” “Can you make Web pages?” “I’m pretty good at faking my way through.” “We’re in the midst of a computer crisis,” Petra explained. Amazing how she suddenly sounded just like Faye back home with another rush project. “Our Webmaster just abandoned us. We desperately need someone to make updates on our site.” “I’d be happy to look.” “I need to tell you something else. Marilynn’s got attitude right now. Don’t take it personally, OK? She’s fighting like a marlin on a hook.” “Fighting what?” “The Universe.”

183 Joshua Bagby

20. Searching for Gold

Dear God: You’re toying with me, aren’t you? You tease me with Ruthanne. She’s lovely to look at. She’s an artist doing the work of her heart. She ditched Silicon Valley and found a better life in Oregon. She could mentor me in breaking free. She’s spiritually sensitive and even has a precocious daughter who remembers a past life! Best of all she’s single—no husband—and on a flag-waving soul mate safari. We met in the tropics, like that expensive psychic predicted. If I listen to my intuition, those are heavy hits in her favor. So why am I disturbed? If I was destined to meet Ruthanne, why didn’t Chloe enter my bedroom wearing Ruthanne’s light body? Why didn’t she dispatch me to Oregon? I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time that guidance did not follow logic, but I’m confused. Is being confused part of this journey?

ose used to say, “Never visit the kitchen of your favorite restaurant. You won’t Reat there again.” I thought of that as I entered the office of the Institute of Light. This was it: the mystical workroom. Four computers sat on folding banquet tables, reminding me of little old men sitting on park benches. Mismatched filing cabinets created an eyesore along one wall. A green floral sofa severely faded by the tropical sun found a functional yet feng shui offending spot in a corner by two windows. This setting was not like the posh Silicon Valley workspaces I knew, with designer office furnishings and state-of-the-art computers. Someone called out, “Is there a Web doctor in the house?” I answered the call. It was the manly thing to do. You’ve got something for me to fix? Do ya, huh? I need to feel important. Petra gushed appropriately—that womanly thing—when I

184 Breath After Death made cool stuff happen onscreen. It was actually the software that made the cool stuff happen, but I accepted the kudos anyway. Settling into the task of updating the Web site, I marveled at the power I held at the keyboard. Here I saw the light at the beginning of the tunnel. The call out to the deep wilds of cyberspace emanated from this clunky computer in this aesthetically challenged workroom. Here a team of brains formed the image of this sanctuary that was translated into pixels on monitors across the globe. Here I tinkered with the innards of the software shell with my surgeon’s fingers. I saw someone else’s vision of the metaphysical mecca. I read someone else’s words about building a spiritual community where everyone mattered. I read the call to join the quest for universal truth. Leading the charge was Marilynn on the home page posing fashionista-lovely in her chartreuse bikini by the hot pool, the lure Petra had mentioned that tempted peniskind to travel to Kauai. Now Marilynn sat in an imitation black leather executive chair staring blankly into space. She’d ditched the bikini for standard issue khaki shorts and embroidered Institute of Light polo shirt. I wondered if her clairvoyant eyes noticed any discarnate souls standing in the room like guests at a cocktail party swilling libations and chatting up astral storms. Petra, still in her muumuu, hovered over printouts of web page text at her desk. She made edits with a number 2 pencil. Each time she handed me a new page to update on the site, she gifted me with a warm smile. She was the designated happy face that day. “What did you think of the hugging workshop last night?” Marilynn piped in as if awakening from the dead. “Awesome. It fulfilled a dream I’ve had for years.” “What dream is that?” Marilynn asked, an edge creeping into her voice. “A safe place where people gather together and share their secret stories.” “With their clothes off?” Marilynn asked. I noticed Petra frown in response. “Well, that doesn’t happen every day,” I conceded. “It does around here,” Petra chortled. “Was the nudity the reason you came here?” Marilynn asked. “Spirit led me here,” I said, disappointed that she had already forgotten my story. “I hadn’t heard of this place. I’ve never been to a place like this and probably would have been too intimidated had I known.” “That’s why we don’t publicize it,” Petra said. “It’s not a closely guarded secret, though, is it?” Marilynn retorted, adding, “Especially with the reach of the Internet.”

185 Joshua Bagby “Nudity works better when it’s a surprise,” Petra continued. “That way people don’t have oodles of time to concoct perverse fantasies of what goes on here.” “Nudity makes people crazy,” Marilynn said, shaking her head. “But it’s less erotic than I ever would have thought,” I added. “Nudity is not about showing off and being erotic,” Petra said. “It’s about removing uniforms and status symbols and throwing some curves to the brain.” “No matter what it is within our little sanctuary,” Marilynn said, “we still need to deal with what the general public thinks. That worries me—not what we actually do here but what outsiders think we do here.” “You can’t control that,” Petra said. “People think what they will think.” “I don’t know why I ever let you talk me into these hugging workshops,” Marilynn said. “I wait in dread for the day the police show up.” “We do great work here, Marilynn,” Petra said standing. She put her hands on her hips and puffed out her chest. “It’s unconventional, but it changes lives. Last night a surgery-scarred woman with terminal cancer took off her clothes in public. She stood proud and with dignity among the others. She felt good about herself. She was respected.” “That was very moving,” I said. “A man with AIDS waded among us,” Petra continued. “He felt good about himself too.” “I know, that’s beautiful,” Marilynn said. “But one of these days someone won’t get it, and it won’t have a happy ending.” “Well, don’t think like that then,” Petra snapped. “What? If it happens it was meant to be?” Marilynn sneered. “Worry is a prayer for a negative consequence. Don’t worry.” Marilynn shook her head. “Be happy!” Petra flailed her arms in the air. Marilynn rolled her eyes. “If it happens, it happens, and then we’ll deal with it. Focus on the people we help, the emotional lives we save, not the disasters waiting to happen.” “We’re getting too popular, too trendy,” Marilynn said. “I see more people working the pool. We’re turning into a single’s bar.” “Working the pool?” I asked. “Shopping for sex partners,” Petra explained, chuckling. “You laugh,” Marilynn said in a quavering voice. “Doesn’t it bother you?” I asked Petra. “It bothers me,” Marilynn exploded like a bursting pop-top. “We’re turning

186 Breath After Death into a woo-woo sex club.” “Actually, no. It doesn’t bother me,” Petra replied. “We’re getting a reputation,” Marilynn said. “So? What’s wrong with getting laid?” Petra asked, brushing a hand through her copious curls. “It’s one of the most spiritually moving experiences I know.” “For you, Pet. You’re a master at sex energy. They want ordinary nookie.” “People have to start somewhere,” she beamed, winking at me. My mind was off and running.Master of sex energy? “I’d rather they didn’t start here,” Marilynn grumbled. “The image of our Institute is on the line.” I motioned toward the computer screen prominently featuring Marilynn in her chartreuse bikini. “If you’re concerned about image, what do these photos add?” Petra came up behind me to look. “Marilynn’s hard body,” she smirked. Marilynn frowned. “Charlie loves those pictures.” “Well, they’re great photos,” I said, “but they don’t scream spiritual leader to me. They scream Club Med.” Marilynn shook her head as if confused. “Club Med?” “I think Benjamin’s point is that you don’t see a glamour shot of my fat ass.” “I’m not a prude, you guys,” Marilynn groaned. She came up behind me and studied the screen. I could feel her breath on my neck. I swore I could feel her heart beating through the air. “Do you think it’s over the top, Benjamin?” “I don’t know. How do I answer that?” “Does looking at her give you a woody?” Petra fluted. “Honestly, Pet, sometimes you’re so second chakra!” “Well, at least I use my second chakra!” Petra retorted, impishly bugging out her eyes. “Yours sits there like a stale doughnut.” “Well, thank you very much, CNN,” Marilynn snapped. “I prefer to use my energy for higher spiritual pursuits.” “Oh, yeah, I love that one. Like a jolt of good dick is toxic to spiritual purity.” It felt as if Hairy Thunderer had hurled boomers through the room, followed by a couple of live, pissed rattlesnakes for good measure. “Petra!” Marilynn cried. “It’s love thy neighbor, not lust thy neighbor.” “Don’t go there, Marilynn,” Petra warned. “I believe in building a loyal relationship with one person and devoting all my energy to it,” Marilynn said, apparently going there anyway. “Marilynn, how many times are you going to bring this up? If monogamy

187 Joshua Bagby works for you, no problem. Find someone else and glorify monogamy.” “Honey, do you sincerely believe your light beings had promiscuity in mind when they passed you around the circle of light?” “It’s not promiscuity when your heart is filled with unconditional love. I never felt so loved or loved as much as when I was passed around that circle. If I can bring even the tiniest speck of that essence to this earth, I will be satisfied.” “I want you, honey,” Marilynn said to Petra. “Why can’t you be satisfied with having each other?” I scratched my scalp as the picture of a whole new reality formed. “That’s just notme . This is my lifetime to travel. I’m a catalyst. I’m living the life I am meant to lead.” Marilynn threw her hands up. “Does that mean that you have to sleep with them all?” Petra shrugged. “I think you’re exaggerating to make your point.” “I think you’re terrified to commit to someone,” Marilynn cried, pointing at Petra. “I’m committed to a different path than you are.” Petra and Marilynn both looked at me and asked in unison, “What?” “Somebody left the closet door open,” I said. Marilynn rolled her eyes and covered her face. Petra smirked, bad girl caught writing nasty graffiti on the chalkboard. “Another small detail Chloe left out of her sales pitch,” I said. Petra came over and sat down next to me. “Poor Benjamin.” “Are you two more than colleagues?” It was an unnecessary question that bought a few extra seconds of reaction time to deal with a broadside collision. “Well, yeah,” Marilynn droned. “We be queers!” Petra fluted with a toothy, goofy grin and flailing arms. “We’re not queers,” Marilynn protested. “We just love each other.” “Marilynn, dear, we sleep together. You yearn for a committed relationship together. Honey, face it, if that be so, we be queers!” Marilynn glanced my way. “I don’t hate men.” She sighed. “Charlie is my man.” “Your man is on permanent vacation in another dimension,” Petra said with razor wire in her voice. “Climb onto another saddle. Blow some male energy through your pipes. Clear up that nasty clog.” Petra locked sight on me. “It wouldn’t hurt you either, Buster. Rotate your tires, hon. It would do you both a world of good to take each other to bed and run

188 Breath After Death some sweet, loving energy through each other.” “Me and Benjamin?” Marilynn cried, sounding like a startled teenager. “Yeah, you and Benjamin.” Petra touched Marilynn tenderly on the shoulder. “Charlie wants to go home. Take the chains off. Let him soar into the light.” “So he can be with Gretchen?” “Get over Gretchen. It’s stifling your whole life.” “Do we need to discuss my personal problems in front of Benjamin?” “He’s family.” “I barely know the man,” she protested. “Oh, you know the man—well, historically speaking.” Marilynn groaned. I felt as welcome as a gopher in someone’s pristine new lawn. “Let’s sneak a peek and see,” Petra interrupted. Looking at Marilynn, she asked, “Are you OK with that?” Marilynn muttered some secret code to herself. “Great!” Petra cried. “Benjamin, how about you?” “I don’t really know what you’re asking.” “To lead you in a regression to a past life.” “Why can’t you just tell me what you already know?” “If I tell you then you’ll question my credibility. If you experience something, you’re more apt to accept it because it came from you. Have you ever been hypnotized?” I shook my head. “I’ll guide you into a deeply relaxed state and will ask you to let memories of past lives bubble up into present time. Don’t worry about thinking you’re making it up. Everybody thinks that. Ready to go?” I nodded. We gathered in a small circle. Marilynn sat on the sofa. Petra and I each grabbed desk chairs. Petra lit two white candles and said a little prayer, asking God to protect us in our wanderings through time and space. Her face took on a more serious cast as she instructed, “OK, I want you to close your eyes and relax. Take slow, deep breaths. Let peace fill your being. When you breathe, inhale feelings that are calming and relaxing. When you exhale, let the tension flow from your body.” As she continued with the relaxation routine, I told myself to let Petra escort me through inner space. “This is a time to set aside your conscious, critical mind,” she continued. “Keep relaxing every part of your body. Inhale white light and exhale the tension. Mentally form a protective bubble of bright white light around

189 Joshua Bagby yourself. Continue breathing deeply, inhaling love and light and knowledge and peacefulness.” She instructed me to visualize a staircase descending down into a cave. She slowly counted me down each of seven steps. Each step would take me a step nearer the truth. I figured that this was a standard hypnotic induction, and I let myself climb down the steps that I pictured in my mind, wondering what mysteries— and skeletons—I would find hidden in the caverns. “Memories of everything that has ever happened in any of your lifetimes are stored in your mind. You can retrieve any memory you want, from any life, past and future. You can easily and effortlessly let the memories come back to your conscious mind. “We are moving back in time now. It is another time and another place. As I count backwards from five to one, you will move with your mind to another lifetime. You are completely protected. You trust yourself completely. You find information that will help you understand your present life and present circumstances. I want you to go back to the year 1850. “Number five. You are moving back through time to the year 1850. “Number four. Letting it happen, trusting yourself completely. “Number three. Going back through time and space to where you were in the year 1850. “Number two. On the next count, you will be there. You will be living in the year 1850, and vivid memories of your life easily appear. “Number one. You are there now. Vivid impressions flow into your mind. What do you see?” OK, I felt silly. I didn’t feel as if I were under anything or had gone anywhere. I figured Petra knew what she was doing. I searched my inner looking glass for something–anything—to report. The image of a river slowly formed, and I saw a man standing on the bank. “I see a river. It’s in the mountains. There’s a man there.” “Are you that man?” “Yes,” I said on impulse. Odds were 50-50. “Are you alone?” I noticed others. “No. This place is crawling with people.” “What are you doing?” “Panning for gold.” “How do you feel?” “Exhausted and frustrated.” A feeling overtook me as if I were there. “They lied. It’s nothing like they said. The gold in the river has long since been removed. I work myself to the bone. I am too poor to get back home. The woman cooking

190 Breath After Death and selling meat pies earns more than I do!” “Are others having better luck?” “A few. Most are as pitiful as me. The skeptics knew. Thisis Gullible’s Travels. There are too many men here for any one of us to prosper. They say big companies will move in with big equipment.” “Where are you?” “California. In the Mother Lode country.” “Do you have a family?” “In Missouri. I miss them so much. I have never known loneliness like this.” “Tell me about your family.” “My wife is Sophie. We have three children—a boy and a girl living. Another boy dead since ‘48. ” “What name do you go by?” A name popped into my mind. “Samuel Wade.” “What will you do about your plight, Samuel?” “I wrote my family and confessed my failure here. I have not heard from Sophie since I left. She may never forgive me for leaving her, but God gave me no choice. I needed to support my family. Once I pan enough to buy passage back, I will leave this damnable place. God owes me that for all the torture I have suffered.” “How do you feel about returning home?” “I will be a laughing stock. They jeered me for making this trip. I boasted how I would prove them all wrong with a wagon full of gold. Sophie begged me not to go, but I was sure God would bless me and I would strike it rich. What a fool!” “I want you to move forward in time,” Petra instructed. “Trusting yourself completely, find a time when you are happy in this life as Samuel Wade. What is happening?” I spoke when I saw something. “I panned enough to leave. I can go home now!” “How do you feel?” “Relieved I can escape the stench here. Ashamed of myself for losing everything. I hope Sophie will forgive me. The trip ahead frightens me, too. There are many dangers ahead.” “What do you do next?” “I find a place with a real bed and bath. It is crude but it feels like the finest hotel after what I have been through.” “What happens?” “A woman—she manages the establishment. She tries to sell me things I don’t

191 Joshua Bagby want—liquor, gambling, wanton women.” “What is her name?” “Lillith. She annoys me.” “Aren’t you tempted by these pleasures?” “No!” A bolt of irritation fired through me. “I just want to take a hot bath and sleep comfortable.” “What happens?” “I tell her how I need to get back home. She taunts me. She says I don’t act like a real man. She calls me yellow in front of other men.” “What do they do? You can watch the events unfold like a movie, feeling safe and protected but able to see everything as it happens.” “They laugh at me. She says I’m not fit company to stay there. They frighten me. I should leave, but I already gave her my money. I want my soft bed!” “What do you do?” “I try to ignore them, but they taunt me more. A man hits me, shouts at me. Other men crowd around. Lillith cackles. She says I stay in the swamp room. They hit me harder. Hands rip at my dungarees. They snatch my knife and gold pouch. Someone shouts that soiled doves are on the house. They pull me out and throw me into a putrid swamp; they beat me more.” “What happens then?” “I’m covered in muck. Lillith comes my way swinging a frying pan over her head. Men laugh. She swings it hard at me. I protect my head with my hand. The pan crushes my hand and head, and I go black.” “Do you die then?” “No, I wake up filthy and bloody. The first man I see won’t help. He thinks I am a drunkard. I look for help. No one helps me. I walk toward the settlement. No one helps me. It’s just like the church people when my son died of the croup. They all thought the devil was in us. They wouldn’t help us or even let us pray with them. No one helps me!” “What do you do then?” “Winter is coming fast. If I don’t leave now, I won’t see Sophie and the young ones until next autumn. I am desperate. I have nothing. Everything is lost. God has given up on me and left me to fend for myself. I steal just to survive. I steal a horse.” “What happens then?” “I ride into the mountains. Hoodlums ambush me in camp. One of them shoots me and leaves me for dead. They take everything, which is nothing.”

192 Breath After Death “What happens then?” “I lay in the snow. It is so cold. My body is numb.” “Are you dying?” “I beg for God’s mercy to deliver me. I failed Sophie. I failed the children. I failed everyone.” “Did God answer your prayer?” “Yes! The colors are much brighter. Even the snow sparkles like precious jewels.” “Can you see your body?” “It’s beneath me. I am floating! No more pain. I feel so free!” “What do you want to do?” “To see Sophie.” “There are no limits now. Go to Sophie now and tell me what you see.” A woman in finery appeared to me. “Sophie!” I exclaimed. Then I cry, “She is blind and deaf to me. She looks right through me. Oh, it will be this way forever. She will always think that I abandoned her.” “Where is she? What are her surroundings like?” “She is inside a beautiful city home.” “Is it yours?” “Oh, no, we live poorly.” “What happened with Sophie after you left home?” “I see she took another husband. He is wealthy. That is why she never answered my letters.” “How does she feel about you?” “Her heart hardened. She did not want me to leave her even though we had nothing but dirt. Now her lot in life has risen. God has bestowed upon her and the children a great gift.” “Are you angry that she left you?” “She received the riches I wanted to provide for her and the family. God must have decided I wasn’t the right man to bring it to her. I failed her as a man.” “I want you to look away from Sophie now. Notice your surroundings. What do you see?” With inner eyes I peered through a mist and suddenly burst with a feeling of immense delight. “Oh, yes! Edward is here!” “Who is Edward?” “My son.” “Edward is in spirit with you?”

193 Joshua Bagby “Yes, he left in ‘48. I was very angry with God about that. Oh, I was so stupid!” “How did Edward die?” “I told you, he caught the croup. But we do not die. He is dancing for me and laughing! He knew all along that we would reunite.” “As you finish that life, what lessons stand out?” “I was headstrong. I would not listen to my wife or anyone who spoke of the evil of my thinking. God had taken my son, and I demanded restitution. I wanted God to pay me with gold to spare me the shame of my poverty. Gold would show me God’s mercy.” “But instead you were robbed and shot.” “I got my mercy. A different mercy. I gave up my life and my family for my stubbornness. Then God granted my wish and provided for my family through another man. God did not ruin my life. I lost faith and ruined it myself by not trusting.” “I want you to open a mental door. You can see from your life as Samuel into your life as Benjamin. Has Edward returned to human form?” “Yes.” The weirdest, funkiest sensation accompanied the picture that formed center stage in my mind’s eye. “He is now my friend Steve Butterfield.” “Has Sophie returned?” A mental vision of Lacey appeared. “She became Lacey Brown.” “I want Samuel Wade to go back to the place where he is dying in the snow in the mountains. Tell me when you are there.” Pictures of a man lying face down in a drift formed once again. “Yes, I am here.” “You can look at the scene and feel all your emotions. You are safe. It is like watching a show. Tell Lillith how you feel.” Before my eyes I saw the leering face of a vindictive woman. “You ruined my life. You prevented me from returning to Missouri to see my family. You are an evil soul.” “Do you wish to see her punished?” “Frying her alive in boiling oil would be too merciful for how I feel about her cruelty.” “Why do you think such vengeful thoughts?” “I want her to feel the same torment she and her cronies caused me.” “Now, I want you to travel ahead to a place where the person you knew as Lillith crosses into spirit. Tell me where you are.”

194 Breath After Death I searched my cerebral skies until a new picture formed. “I see it. A great temple. Like the Taj Mahal only a thousand times bigger. A magnificent edifice.” “In the distance, a woman approaches you. It is the spirit of the woman you knew as Lillith. Tell me when you see her.” “I see her.” “Describe what you see.” The vision had totally changed. “She smiles like an angel, a being of radiant light.” “What are you feeling for this spirit?” “Great affection, like coming home from war.” “What happens?” “We embrace.” “What do you feel?” “Filled with light and song.” “Is this the woman who tormented you?” “Not exactly. It is the soul of the woman who tormented me.” “Why do you feel such warmth and affection for her?” “She is my soul mate.” “Your soul mate tortured you?” “Not exactly. We agreed beforehand that she would play that role.” “Do you feel differently about her now? You don’t want to see her boiled in oil?” “Heavens no!” “She was cruel to you as Lillith.” “Only to teach me.” “What did you learn?” “Her life was futile. She lived deep in the shadows of fear without trust in the light. I didn’t trust it and she didn’t trust it, and we both suffered as a result.” “I want you to do me a favor. Now that you can see how important it is to trust in the light, I want you to forgive Samuel Wade for his ignorance. Forgive him for his evil deeds. His only true crime was not trusting in God to provide for him. See Samuel through the eyes of great compassion. Forgive him for his sins.” I saw Samuel’s pain and suffering as he rode away from the mining camp on a stolen horse. “Yes, I forgive him,” I said. “I want you to feel the weight of guilt and shame evaporate from this and all future lives.’ I saw a coating of black ooze melt away from a being of light.

195 Joshua Bagby “Now I want you to return to Kauai in the 21st Century. What is your current name?” “Benjamin Fields.” “How old are you today?” “Thirty-nine.” “Is Lillith alive?” “Not exactly. Lillith is dead. The soul who inhabited Lillith’s brain is alive today.” “Who has that soul become?” A vision waltzed into my mind, then sashayed around taunting me to give it voice. “Marilynn Dancer,” I finally said. “And what is your relationship now?” “My presence disturbs her.” “Why did you come to Kauai?” “To find love.” “And did you find love in Marilynn?” “Not exactly. She does not want me.” “Why not?” “She fears another death.” “What death?” The words spilled out like gurgles from a spring. “I left her for battle and never returned.” “You died in battle and left her a widow?” “Not exactly. We were to be married when I returned from war, but I was killed. I was only seventeen.” “What was the karmic purpose of your death?” “To help her learn compassion through suffering loss.” “Where did you die?” “In a boat in the Atlantic Ocean.” “When?” “In 1943.” “What were you doing in a boat?” “Manning a U-boat fighting for the Third Reich.” Petra brought me back through time to the present, telling me that I would have a clear memory of everything I had experienced. She grinned in the face of my silence. Finally, she asked, “So what do you think?” “I think I’m becoming a great fiction writer.”

196 Breath After Death “I saw you covered in blood trapped inside that German submarine,” Petra said. The thought chilled me. “I can’t believe I was a Nazi. That’s demoralizing!” “It was your calling that life. The soul needs many different experiences on its journey through Earth time. Many people see soul progression as linear, from primitive to highly evolved or from bad and evil to good and saintly. It’s comforting to see it that way, but that’s not the way it is. Each brain grows independently. All those brains are linked to one soul. The sweet little Sunday school teacher from one life may grow up in her next life as a hardened gang member in the inner city. The woman who beats up prospectors with frying pans one life may become a spiritual teacher in another life.” I glanced at Marilynn. She’d sequestered herself in the far corner of the floral print sofa, still drifting with her thoughts in a lagoon filled with memories. “You threw me into the swamp and banged me on the noggin with an iron skillet,” I said in a calm voice with a sweet smile. Marilynn shrugged. “Marilynn didn’t,” Petra intervened. “Lillith did. Same soul. Different brain.” “OK, in one life one of my brains is a frustrated gold prospector. Another brain becomes a warrior at sea who dies as a teenager while fighting for the wrong side. Yet another brain becomes me, this introverted, bored-senseless technical illustrator.” “Yes, these different brain experiences all feed into one soul experience. Much of your sensitivity today comes from savage experiences from your past lives,” Petra said. “No wonder I crave life in a comfy chair. Have you noticed I’m always dying? I go to sea and I get killed. I go to the Gold Rush and I get killed. I go to war and I get killed. Why is it that whenever I go places, I never return?” “Yeah, and who says you’ll make your flight back to California?” Petra stuck her tongue out. Then I heard Marilynn behind me quietly sobbing.

197 Joshua Bagby

21. Past Lives in Present Bodies

Dear God: Why do things happen as they do? Is chance the mighty mechanism? Things happen for no reason except what chance in its infinite random chaos creates. Or is the mechanism will power? Something happens because someone wills it. Blood, sweat, tears, and consciousness in full compliance with the law of attraction. We make things happen by getting in the game, and if necessary, by pushing hard, even if it’s only with our imaginations. Then maybe there’s a third mechanism beyond chance and will—divinity. A cosmic force field. An agenda from another dimension reaches through the veil, opening doors, pulling strings, tweaking dials. Miracles happen, and not through chance or will power. Someone like you or your son or one of your helpers makes something happen.

arilynn abruptly rose from the florals sofa. “I’m going to walk the Mbeach.” Her voice wavered. I watched from my chair. Petra made no move to stop her or to inquire about the reason for her sobs. Marilynn slipped out the office door. “Aren’t you going to see what’s wrong?” I asked. Petra moved over to the floral sofa and left enough room on it to land a large aircraft. “She’s a big girl. If she wants help she’ll ask for it. She likes to sort out her thoughts alone—and that leaves us alone.” The smile on her face resembled an engraved invitation—The bearer of this face kindly requests the pleasure of your attendance in a spontaneous celebration of erotic energy. I had no doubt about the meaning behind the comely smile on her face. Yet whether it was damn nature or damn conditioning, my brain had been wired to balk at the sight of excessive fat deposits. There, I said it for all to see.

198 Breath After Death Criticize me at will. Shoot me. Skewer me. Sue me. I knew it wasn’t fair. I knew it marked me in the eyes of supreme intelligence as a low-minded creature filled with superficial, media-manicured tastes and values. My brain reacted to Petra’s blubber as Julie’s brain reacted to my thinning hair. Uncontrollable, out of my hands. Pavlovian to the max. That’s irony for you. How could I ever get beyond such warped, vapid reactions? If I could guarantee that my penis would function properly, assuming that showing me her sex mastery was her intent, I would eagerly accept her bidding. But if I surrendered to the gleem in Petra’s green eyes, then wilted in revulsion at the sight of her body—because who can trust the damn thing?—I would feel utterly humiliated. It’s my brain defect, not hers. If there are no accidents, no coincidences, why would the Universe set me up like this? “Your mood just shifted,” Petra observed. “Your aura looks like you’re one torn stitch away from a full-scale panic attack.” How could I admit my ugly truth? “I’m having a hard time keeping up with all of the changes,” I said, retreating, buying time. “What changes?” She winked as if she read my mind and brazenly hoped to embarrass me. “The transparent woman in my bedroom never mentioned that she was wearing a lesbian’s body.” “Well, nobody’s perfect.” “Why would the Universe do that?” “Why does the Universe do anything? We’re here for one reason, Benjamin— to walk through the chaos and still find the love. Once you learn how to love unconditionally, it all falls into place, and even chaos doesn’t matter anymore.” Love unconditionally. Love rolls of fat. Is it too much to ask God to package Petra’s personality in something more like Marilynn’s body? Balloons of light filled her eyes. She rubbed the fabric suggestively on the landing strip in front of her. I took evasive action again. “Why do you suppose Marilynn was sobbing?” Her balloons dimmed. “She’s afraid I’m leaving her.” “Are you?” “That’s just it. I’m notwith her. More accurately, I’m with everybody.” “Have you always been interested in women?” “What?” “You know, as lovers.” Petra chuckled. “It’s not women. I love people. The gender of the body is irrelevant to me. I barely notice gender.”

199 Joshua Bagby “And Marilynn feels the same?” “No, Marilynn is more provincial.” “Then how did it start with her?” “Charlie died. Marilynn shattered into a thousand pieces. We were already close but she and Charlie had been joined at the hip. After he died she grabbed onto me for comfort and support. Over time, holding progressed to sensuality, then sexuality.” “You seduced her, you mean?” She grinned. “It wasn’t premeditated.” “I can’t believe you don’t notice you’re having lesbian sex.” I said. “Lesbian sex?” She laughed merrily. At me? With me? I don’t know. “It’s not that trite. In my world, honey, sex transcends sex.” She eyed me to see if my brain needed rescuing. Apparently so. “Sex for me has little to do with making physical orgasms. It’s about energy pop.” “What?” “Soul connection and slipping into other dimensions.” “What other dimensions?” “Beyond-the-body. Energy spaces. I forget I’m having sex.” “It’s like that with Marilynn?” “Uh-huh.” Petra suddenly ejected from the sofa. She planted herself in front of me, extended her hand, and said, “Come on. I’m taking you to walk the labyrinth.” “Why?” “Because your mom said so. Come on. She says you’ve got a visitor.” We walked outside into the late afternoon sun. Petra led us along the garden path toward the sea and explained what we were about to do. “People have been building labyrinths for over 3,000 years. There are some great ones, both ancient and modern, around the world. Grace Cathedral in San Francisco has two good ones. They aren’t clothing optional, though.” She chuckled. “What is a labyrinth exactly?” “It’s a walking meditation experience. A labyrinth resembles a maze, but it’s one continuous pathway from gateway to center. There are no trick paths, no choices to make. You just walk the path to reach the center. When you’re finished in the center, there’s only one way out—back the way you came.” “Finished doing what?” “Meditating. Communing with spirit. Pose a question at the entrance. Then as you walk the labyrinth, listen for your answer.”

200 Breath After Death “Sounds like a Magic 8-Ball.” “It is decidedly so! As with any sacred space, our labyrinth collects energy from all those people walking through it. We’ve got especially high energy here because Kauai sits on a huge energy vortex. That energy boosts everyone’s inner tuning fork.” “What does that mean exactly?” “You’ll be more sensitive to psychic experiences. Psychologically, walking the labyrinth confuses logical, rational thought, and that frees your mind to transcend into right-brained experiences. Suddenly you focus attention on new and different stimuli. You notice things that may have eluded you before. Many people report meeting with spirits as they walk. You may meet some—see them, hear them, feel them.” Petra led me into the clearing where the labyrinth took center stage. The sun already dipped beyond the trees casting long shadows. A lone woman sat off to the side playing meditative music on a bamboo flute. About twenty people walked the labyrinth, which had been set on the lawn with white stones. Two young women, one with blue hair and tattoos spinning around her upper arm, walked the labyrinth nude. Votive candles burned at the gate. “A labyrinth walk is also a metaphor for walking life’s path,” Petra continued. “You walk life alone, but many times you’ll find yourself walking in parallel with someone. Sometimes you meet people on the path, either ahead of you or coming from the other direction. You may pass someone moving slower than you want to go. When you reach the center, feel free to stay however long you like. There’s no ticking meter, no rush.” Standing near the labyrinth gate, I wondered what I wanted from this spiritual walk. I didn’t want to bother the Universe with trivialities. I was overwhelmed with questions! Who was the visitor Petra had mentioned? What about newsflashes from my mother and Nick? A mate? A career change? Who was Chloe? Why had I been sent to Marilynn? Why had Lacey appeared in my life? Was the FBI waiting at home to arrest me for Steve’s video dump? Petra ambled down the path ahead of me. Now I saw her as Marilynn’s lover. Now I was envious. All those other men vying for Marilynn’s affection would be, too, if they knew that soft-bodied Petra had lassoed hard-bodied Marilynn around the libido. I wished I wasn’t so afraid of disappointing Petra. She knew things I didn’t know—had never even imagined. I watched her take the first leg of the walk and make the first turn. My eyes meandered around the labyrinth before me. Some walkers moved

201 Joshua Bagby briskly as if in life’s express lane. Others ambled ponderously, as if trying to fathom Einstein. One woman moved like a modern dancer, taking each turn with half a pirouette. I imagined thousands of travelers before me strolling along this very path, step-by-mindful-step, deeply feeling their joys and sorrows. I kicked off my sandals and proceeded slowly down the grass path. I walked very slowly, reverently, for several minutes, my mind buzzing with the gifts I had received since meeting Petra. She had issued me the strangest of challenges in Silicon Valley, and from accepting it I had learned more about how the Universe worked. Chance? Will power? Divine finger? After several minutes in the labyrinth, I turned around a half-circle and noticed a familiar face. The man who had contracted AIDS had begun the journey. He walked briskly as if the angel of death were tailing him. He would pass me by before I reached the center. Turning and looking towards the center of the circle, I noticed the two young nudists had arrived at their destination. I wondered what dramas played in their youthful minds. Their whole lives spread out ahead of them like a boulevard of infinite adventure. I wasn’t sure about my prognosis now, but if life doesn’t stop at the morgue, I had much more to look forward to. A woman approached from the other direction on our shared path. We met as strangers, yet were we truly? Even though her eyes avoided mine and she walked by me as if I were just another lamppost, I visualized us tied together by a cosmic cord of oneness. Strangers, yet not strangers. The bewitching flute music captured my attention, and I mentally drifted in its waves. With my eyes closed, I took a step, waited, took a step, waited, took a step, waited. Then I opened my eyes, made sure I was on the path, and repeated the process. With eyes shut I saw behind my lids a shimmering palette of colors. Suddenly, a pleasing yet unusual dizzy feeling poured over me as if I had stepped into a stream of Chloe’s glowy stuff. My fingers danced in air, yet I felt as if they traced through cosmic liquid. The hair on my arms stuck out straight and seemed to drink in energy through osmosis. I felt so high I lost my balance, stumbling like a drunk. Drunk in the light? I pulled myself steady, chuckled at the wobbly sensation, and continued on. I opened my eyes as the man with AIDS darted by me in a mad hatter rush; he had to snare as much life as he could before the clock quit ticking. Petra entered the center circle ahead of me. She stopped to hug the girl with blue hair. I hated that the first thought bubble from my brain waslesbo love tryst. Was the blue-haired girl kinky? Did she transmit kinky thoughts?

202 Breath After Death I upgraded my thoughts, wondering if my mother walked invisibly beside me. Was Nick the visitor she had whispered into Petra’s psychic ear? The blue-haired girl left the center circle and approached me on the path. I thought of the precious time I had wasted since I was her age. Would she make better choices than I had? Would her experiences at the Institute of Light send her on a brighter ray than my departure from San Jose State University? I considered inviting her into an embrace, but no matter how sacred this space was, I chickened out. I pictured her screaming in the labyrinth, “There’s a bald pervert in there! Run for your lives!” We passed, strangers at sunset. I finally entered the center of the labyrinth. Petra appeared absorbed in a meditative trance. I headed to one side of the center circle and meditated facing that direction. My inner picture show became brighter as if God had flicked on an extra projection bulb inside my head. I saw fire burning up through me in raging leaps of orange and yellow, spouting from a cobalt blue base. My body quivered with tingles as the purifying flame burned through me. A stairway of fire appeared. A slight lifting sensation propelled me upwards as if I were being levitated in an ethereal carpet ride. Then I turned to the next direction, west, looking toward the setting sun. In my mind’s eye, a cross formed. It looked like rough-hewn logs, something like railroad ties. I immediately thought this was the cross upon which Jesus Christ had been crucified. He must have known how squeamish I was about torture scenes because he was no longer nailed up. As soon as I questioned where he might be, I felt jolts of invigorating electricity. It was more of the glowy stuff I had walked through earlier. Jesus stood inside my head! He radiated love from his berth in inner space— even knowing that I wasn’t a churchgoer. It was with a mixture of shock and elation when his booming voice ricocheted throughout my soul, ringing louder than celebratory cathedral bells—“Follow your heart!” His voice rippled through me like Chloe’s voice had, but he felt different. My flesh quaked in response as I considered the possibility that somewhere just beyond the veil between the two worlds, Jesus the iconic Christ and Son of God stood communing with me, Benjamin Fields, Technical Illustrator and bald son of Ted, stepson of Rose. “I did not expect to see you here,” I said inside. “Should I go away?” He grinned, his visage inside forming like a mixture of pulsation and swirl the way Chloe had appeared in my bedroom. “No, please stay.”

203 Joshua Bagby “I know how you feel, Benjamin,“ he said. Imagine, Jesus calling me by my name! “I know the pain you’ve endured, but you will see that there is a reason for everything.” Complaining about my petty anguish seemed ludicrous now. I hadn’t been brutally tortured and crucified, after all. And what had I done with my tidy life? Followed parental blueprints and taken as few risks as possible. “You’ve endured rough times,” he said. I felt exquisite love pouring from his face as he spoke to me. To me! Jesus, the regular guy, talking without a wisp of the judgmental rhetoric I’d learned from Rose! So naturally I thought, just like sex, if it feels this good, it must be a mistake, illegal, or demonic. “Will I be torched in hell for having the audacity to fantasize about Jesus like this? Jesus, a regular guy? A Jesus I could deeply respect? A Jesus I could relate to?” I felt an energy blast to the side of my head. Ideas tumbled into my consciousness too rapidly for words, like listening to a roaring waterfall and trying to hear individual droplets. Instead I embraced the whole cascade of meaning, of Jesus convincing me that he is—and the Universe is—far greater than anything I had ever imagined. I had bought a petty worldly view of him, the vision sold to me from small-minded vendors selling worldly ideological trinkets. Long ago I rejected God for the horrors he allowed to happen in my life, but in truth, human beings had concocted and perpetrated the God I rejected. I had not attempted to find the God dwelling inside my heart and inside my blood stream. Before I could ask, Jesus answered a question forming in my brain. “Don’t worry about turning your back on religion,” he said. “God is greater than any religion. You can dial direct to the source, and we’ll answer the phone.” My soul suddenly filled with sadness. I flashed on how my early experiences with religion had stifled my spiritual creativity. It was nothing like this! Religion had been about controlling my emotions, reeling me in from spontaneity, and too often pasting on a phony mask. “I’m saddened that your experiences with churches demoralized you,” Jesus said. “However, you don’t have to stay there. Fill the air around you with what you know to be true. Fill it with humor and light and love.” I felt a rush of feeling charging inside me. I commanded myself not to cry. Tears trickled down my face anyway no matter how I willed them to behave. “Jesus loves you” permeated my soul without any pressure to hawk the book, ingest the sermons, condemn the sinners, or irritate the neighbors. “I am everywhere you look for me. I am in cafes and grocery stores and senior

204 Breath After Death centers and soup kitchens and schools and nudist resorts. I am in rivers and forests and hot spas and park benches. I am even in the faces of those you perceive to be your enemies—and in the faces of those you perceive to be your lovers.” Outside my inner space rapport with Jesus, ordinary life continued in the labyrinth. I felt like shouting, “Hey everybody, come meet my buddy, Jesus! He talks to me and he’ll talk to you!” The quintessential Christian effervesced with me in the center of the circle. “Are you coming back to this Planet soon?” I asked in thought. “We need you more than ever.” “I never left. Trouble is I’d be tossed out of many Christian establishments for my sacrilegious beliefs!” His golden laughter rushed through every atom of my being. As if blown by the cosmic wind, I turned to the south. A large heart shape unfurled before me, revealing a cascading waterfall. More energy rippled through me in a spiritual spring thaw. It happened so quickly it was as if Jesus morphed into Nick. “What are you doing lazing around in the afterlife?” I asked my brother. “I don’t know. What are you doing lazing around in the beforelife?” “I don’t know.” I nearly laughed out loud. It felt so sweet to laugh with my brother. “Building bad karma, I suppose.” Maybe it lasted only a few seconds, but I savored our reunion. “Don’t ask the gods to assign your path for you,” he said inside my head. “Live your own life. All paths lead to God—no matter how straight and narrow or long and winding. Choose the one that feels best for each moment.” “I chose that with Lacey, and look what happened!” “What happened?” Nick asked. “I joined her in the lie against her husband.” “You had love in your heart, not deceit,” he replied. Then he laughed. “Love conquers all. You’ll see.” I opened my eyes and turned to face east in the circle. I didn’t ask. I didn’t plan. I floated into Petra’s arms as if I were pure current, choosing a path and pouring myself into her. My whole body moaned “Oh, my God,” and it felt that way. Of God. I clung to her and she clung to me as we washed through each other in waves of quiet passion. Barely aware of where I was, unstuck in time, I felt my mouth like a glider soaring toward Petra’s mouth. Then, suddenly, my rational brain whapped me hard with the biggest stick it could find. I remembered where I was—in a public place—and stopped. Wordlessly, we separated.

205 Joshua Bagby “Choose any path,” my mother said to me. “Like the labyrinth, they all lead to the center of the circle. You took a perfect path. No path is better. Anything different would have created different results—but none is better in the eyes of the Universe.” I thought of my ancestors who had lived on earth and crossed-over. I felt their presence around me, reveling in my new discoveries. My mother held me in an energy embrace. She felt much younger than her physical self would be, a spirit lover like Chloe had been, as if we, too, played relationship hopscotch over the centuries. More tears clouded my vision as I rejoiced in the love feelings. This was such a creativity on place! Sniffles brought me from the ethereal back down into my physical body. Suddenly Marilynn darted into my consciousness. I saw a mental picture of her looking sad and withdrawn as if a mere breath would blow her into a million soaring dandelion kites. I sent her beams of love. No one should suffer like that. If I wasn’t the right man for her, let the right man—or woman—appear. Lacey popped into my mind. I envisioned how she looked in my regression with Petra when I was in spirit and visited Sophie standing in her new home, presumably with her new husband. Different brains, though. I recalled Chloe telling me that it would not be long before I would hardly care that Lacey existed on the same planet. It had come to that! “Bring my father to Kauai,” another voice broke through. Here in this time and place, it did not feel like an imaginary voice. “Your father?” I asked inwardly, although as I asked it I immediately knew the answer. “I do not live buried in the ground.” “Hi, Casey,” I intoned inwardly. “I am everywhere he is.” “I know you are.” “He suffers too much. Bring him here. Let him see. Will you tell him to come?” I did not question neither the sincerity nor the authenticity of this request. “Yes,” I said. “I will tell him.” I opened my eyes and noticed that the center of the circle had filled with more people. I decided that my cup overflowed with revelations. I stepped around the man with AIDS. It seemed more real than ever that he would survive even when his body finally gave out. If he left soon, he would become another voice in the wind. Maybe right now he was chatting with Christ, being reassured that despite

206 Breath After Death public opinion heaven’s open door policy is truly open. I began the journey back through the labyrinth. Petra had already left the inner circle. At a switchback on the path she stopped and embraced a woman, spreading more love. I passed several people I did not know, at least brain-to-brain. Somewhere or somehow we were created from the same star stuff. Perhaps it was on this spaceship Earth, or perhaps it was in a celestial ballroom in another dimension. We are all, ultimately, one, and that’s why loving people freely is the right thing to do. God loves everyone. Jesus loves everyone. And so will I. Spontaneously I opened my arms. A woman I had never met stepped into my embrace. My heart soared as I realized I’d sailed beyond a fear barrier. I hugged her as I imagined Jesus would hug her, a man of love and light, with purity of heart and no agenda but to simply beam love soul-to-soul. We held onto each other quietly, wordlessly. When another woman reached our spot on the path, we slipped apart and went our own ways. The second woman opened her arms and drew me into an embrace. Our mouths said nothing, but our bodies spoke of wishes to create a world where hearts opened. I made every second count. There weren’t so many, but they all counted. Suddenly I remembered, as if a blip in the light field forced me back into time, that I was flying home tomorrow. I would not be here to soak up the magic this time tomorrow. Up ahead I noticed Petra entwined with a man who walked the labyrinth nude. That triggered a few neurons to explode inside my brain like popping corn. One of those neurons fed me wonderment of how I’d feel if Jesus walked naked among us. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the tacos? Walk naked for Jesus. Jesus loves you. Jesus, the ultimate polyamorist of the known Universe, loving everybody as if we were all special, each and every one of us a divine spark of the holy light! How would that stack up against two millennia of Christian sin-bashing? “I died for your sins. Now I’m back. Let’s discuss what we learned from my pain.” He loves everyone and sees no one superior to the next. Would that ever fly among mortals who vie for being the best and having the most? If Jesus loves everyone, it’s holy. If people love everyone, it’s promiscuity. Oh, is that because Jesus doesn’t have sex with everybody? What if he does? Maybe it’s not sex like, “Eh, baby, hunka- hunka-hunka!” Maybe for Jesus sex is merging at the molecular level. Maybe in the case of Jesus the cosmic four-letter f-word would be f-l-o-w. Flow into one another in waves of love energy. When I met the naked man on the path, I opened my arms. A slightly stunned

207 Joshua Bagby grin blossomed on his face, and we hugged. Briefly. A baby step. And that was that. I exited the labyrinth. Petra hugged someone else, but I felt too wobbly to stand up straight. I shuffled to a nearby bench like a punch-drunk boxer. Stunned by the light, I sat down and tried to make sense of all this. Petra finally planted herself in front of me. She laid her hands tenderly on my shoulders and her green eyes washed over me like emerald waves. “Am I right? You really got zapped in there.” “I’m an imaginative guy, but I had visions in there that floored even me.” “Your aura was erupting like Kilauea.” “I ran into Jesus! I don’t even believe in Jesus!” Petra giggled. “Well, apparently Jesus believes in you—enough to show up.” “But this Jesus was so different from the guy millions of people believe in. He was funny, totally accepting, more like a supernatural best friend, way out of the traditional Christian box.” Petra laughed deep and rich like gourmet chocolate mousse. “Will the real Jesus please stand up?” “Yeah, but how can this be real? We’re talkin’ the Main Man. The Legend. The iconic trendsetter himself. Why would he come visitme ?” “Why not you? He’s a major way-shower. That’s what he does. That’s his job. You want the way shown. He shows the way. Sounds like a perfect match.” “Has he ever visited you?” She smiled on the wings of a memory. “Oh, yeah.” “Yet you’re not a Christian, are you?” “I’m not anything. Religiously, I am totally disorganized and proud of it. None of the organized religions speak to my heart. God speaks to me directly, inwardly, so together we make up our own religion.” She pressed herself against me on the bench. “I had this other fantasy,” I said, still holding her. “A little dead boy wants me to bring his father here to prove that he’s not really dead.” “Why do you call it a fantasy?” “If it’s real it puts a whole new layer of responsibility on my shoulders—telling someone to do something because some spirit said so.” “True.” “Look at what happened when I listened to Chloe—or whoever it was. Say I tell Max his son wants him to come to Kauai. He makes the trip and nothing happens. Then what?” “Oh, ye of little faith!”

208 Breath After Death “I have no trust in my psychic abilities when it comes to other people.” “You’re about to get a crash course in psychic reading.” “I am?” “Marilynn needs you.” “She does?” “Yes, come along. It’s time.”

209 Joshua Bagby

22. Voices in the Wind

Dear God: If some cantankerous journalist grilled me about what happened in that labyrinth, I wouldn’t know what to say. Was that Jesus the real deal? Had arguably the most famous human being ever to walk Planet Earth actually spoken to me in spirit-person? It would be so easy to dismiss that whole labyrinth walk as cerebral entertainment, but that’s a Jesus I could see spending eternity with. If he’s a fantasy prepared by that dastardly fallen angel, curator of the boiler room downstairs, I’ll be plenty bummed. I’d hate to think this rousing Jesus was spiritual fool’s gold. The prospect of a spirit world where different laws of physics apply thrills me. Creativity way on! Perhaps in that spaceless space it may be no big deal for Jesus (or any other bright light) to commune with tens of thousands of souls at once. I look at it this way. Fish swimming in an aquarium probably have no concept of the freedom of movement other beings have—those who walk on land or fly through the air. Maybe when I am in spirit, living outside Aquarium Earth, even I could multitask with ease.

didn’t know what Petra knew, or what time it was, or why we rushed off to find IMarilynn, but she marched like a woman with a mission. Her psychic eyes finely tuned, Petra made short work of it. We found Marilynn sitting alone by the vegetable garden. I thought it was Petra’s mastery of mystery, but she admitted, “I know Marilynn’s secret hiding places.” “I’ve been meditating,” Marilynn announced. Petra nodded like a consulting surgeon.

210 Breath After Death “It’s time,” Marilynn said. Petra apparently knew what Marilynn was talking about. “Benjamin can help.” Now Marilynn nodded. “I can?” I asked, bewildered at being volunteered. They both nodded. “Doing what?” I asked. “I want to release Charlie,” Marilynn said. She placed her hands tenderly on my shoulders, sweet and intimate. I peered into her pretty please eyes. Some decision had been reached inside that vortex of neurons. “Excellent choice,” Petra said, smiling. “Will you let Charlie come through you?” Marilynn asked. “I think you overestimate my psychic abilities,” I protested. “Cow cookies,” Petra challenged. “You do it all the time!” “For me, maybe. Not for other people.” “Just do what you’ve always done—and do it out loud.” “Do it for me,” Marilynn said. The sound of her voice, like a Stradivarius playing every part of a string concerto written by her heart, seduced my will. Petra’s famous refrain returned—how did I know I could not do something if I never gave it a shot? Why do things happen as they do? Chance? Will power? Divine force? I glanced at Petra, and she nodded again. I nodded in return. “Where shall we go?” Petra asked. “Follow me,” Marilynn said. She led us down the path toward the surf. The sun had set minutes ago, and darkness rapidly descended upon us, but the women moved with assurance as if their third eyes, like a miner’s helmet, illuminated every step. As I followed, the demons of doubt shouted anti-peace slogans. Who was I kidding? I was just an active daydreamer. What if I said something that turned out as dead wrong as my apartment being engulfed in flames or that Marilynn would pledge eternal love to me? We eventually arrived at a small grove of trees alongside the shore. We settled down in a circle in the sand underneath the natural canopy. The ocean thundered nearby, but it was barely visible that new moonless night. “Charlie and I used to make love here,” Marilynn said. I could have lived a full, rich life without hearing that. Petra called forth the divine forces. “Great Spirit, we bring our open and loving hearts to this sacred place. We affirm that we are fully present as we open

211 Joshua Bagby the doorway between the physical and spiritual worlds. Please surround us in the sacred light of protection. With every breath, we quiet our minds and welcome the sacred Christ light of being. Amen.” “Amen,” Marilynn said. “Amen,” I said. Jesus from the labyrinth popped into my mind. I glowed inside from the recent memories, then made my mind as blank as an artist’s canvas. Nothing fancy going on here. Just a few friends sitting around paging dead people. Petra quickly arrived at the gate of another dimension. “I’m being led to take us back to Germany,” she said, taking charge in directing us. “Is that all right with you two?” Marilynn nodded. I nodded. What do I know? “Then let’s meditate on this lifetime together,” Petra said. “Benjamin, just flow with it. Don’t question what happens. If you think you’re fictionalizing, it’s OK. Spirit will move you in the right direction.” Marilynn and Petra closed their eyes. I marveled at how I could see their faces in such darkness. My logical mind could never answer this conundrum. I settled on some vague metaphysical explanation about seeing energy bodies with psychic eyes. I never fully understood it, but I saw as if I wore night goggles. Petra sent our minds floating outside the box of time. I listened to the surf crashing in the distance. Random pictures floated behind my eyelids. Pictures are always there. Just close the eyes (sometimes leave them open) and watch images of places and faces gather like clouds, ever changing in the winds of consciousness. They appeared at random, but maybe they each meant something in the jigsaw puzzle of multiple lives. Maybe being psychic meant learning the picture language flowing through my awareness. Marilynn’s picture language apparently made sense to her. “I see this life,” she announced. These two women snatched visions out of the air, stringing pearls together into necklaces of meaning. They speed-read while I still chugged throughDick and Jane. “What is happening?” Petra asked Marilynn. I felt slightly dizzy. Electricity buzzed up my spine. Someone took my physical hands. I opened my eyes and met Marilynn’s eyes. Or was it truly Marilynn? “I am not yet a woman, but I must act older than my years. I must hide my true feelings. You must go to battle for our country.” “I have no choice,” I said spontaneously. Instantly I felt tension filling my body. At first I wondered if by some handiwork of consciousness I had literally stepped

212 Breath After Death into someone else’s life. Then I surrendered to it, reassuring myself inwardly that it was OK to step in another spirit’s shoes—for Marilynn. “You don’t question your duty to Hitler. I pretend to support you and your patriotism.” Her voice slipped into a somber tone. “But I feel certain that I am saying goodbye to you forever.” “How do you know that?” Petra asked. “I just know. I feel it.” She gazed into my face where another me dwelled. “What is your name?” Petra asked. “Erika.” “Benjamin, I want you to let go of this physical reality here and now,” Petra said. “Drift through the time tunnel of your mind. Go back and see clearly.” I let go—and let go some more. Sitting on a beach in Kauai, I bailed out of the material world as I knew it and parachuted through my imagination into Nazi Germany. “Erika is correct. The duty I must perform for my country is to become a casualty of war.” “Why do you say that?” Petra asked. “I am fulfilling a sacred contract,” I replied. Marilynn’s face—or was it Erika’s face?—mirrored the face of death. “Go to the moment of death,” Petra said. “What do you see?” I said what I imagined. “I see myself above the ocean. I am suspended in air. I soar like a gull over the vast blue.” “What is your name?” Petra asked. “Werner,” I said, the first name leaping into my mind. “Are you dead, Werner?” Petra asked. “I was blown up, that’s true, but I cannot be dead. I am still alive, you see. Still breathing, but I am flying around.” “What do you long for, Werner?” “To find Erika.” “You can be anywhere you’d like to be. You can join Erika. Tell me when you see her.” “She’s looking at her reflection in the mirror and wondering where I am today.” “Tell her.” “I am standing right beside you.” “I imagine you whispering to me,” Erika said suddenly, “but I cannot accept the thought. It would mean that you are dead. I pretend that I’m lost in a sad daydream.”

213 Joshua Bagby “You were right. I was meant to die.” “I want you home with me, Werner. I miss you so much!” I found myself splitting into two people. Benjamin A was still very much aware that I was by the sea in Kauai pretending to be a German sailor from World War II. Benjamin B felt as if I truly were Werner in a far off place, indeed beyond Earth lamenting the horrors of warfare. “Being torn from you is the worst feeling I’ve ever known,” I said. “I sacrificed my true love for this war. I curse the day that we did not run far away together. I am so lonely. With this damn war I could lose you and all of my dreams.” “We can still be together. I was transported to another world.” “You do me no good in any other world. I mourn for you in this world.” “But we will meet again soon. God will grant us a long life together.” “No God will forgive me. My thoughts have been filled with undiluted evil.” “I cursed God at sea! But when he showed me the glory of the next world, I knew that God was all-forgiving, and even this wretched combat was part of a grand plan.” “I will not listen to that thought! No war can be good. It brings only suffering.” “You are safe now,” Petra said. “I want both Werner and Erika to travel forward in time to a place of joy.” “I see Werner!” Erika exclaimed suddenly. “Where are you?” Petra asked. “I can’t believe my eyes. Destruction is everywhere—but I see Werner walking toward me with his arms stretched wide!” “Where is Werner?” “Walking amid the rubble of blown-out buildings. He is grinning broadly as if the horror amuses him.” “Erika, were you killed?” Petra asked. “Our city was bombed. I see destruction all over, but I don’t feel dead.” “And Werner is there?” “Yes!” “Let your love flow,” Petra said. Erika threw her arms around Werner and squeezed him tight. She burst into ecstatic laughter that immediately gripped Werner in its spell. “You are safe here,” Petra echoed. Soon I felt her hands as if an angel stroked me, too. “Let go, let go.”

214 Breath After Death “I love you so much,” Erika gasped. ”I love you, I love you!” Her words twisted me open like a thousand keys. Werner lost it. A ringing in my ears swallowed my words, which erupted as primal cries. Werner sobbed in the supple comfort of Erika’s body. Erika sobbed. We clutched as if long-lost lovers who found each other in the choking smoke of a terrible disaster. Like an ocean wave my grief formed and crested. As we relaxed I felt soothing waves of warmth flow through my body and spirit. Finally Werner was able to say something. “I could not wait until you arrived here.” “Where is here?” Petra interjected. “You call it heaven,” Werner replied. “You’re taking me to heaven?” Erika squealed girlishly. “We’re already here.” Again I felt as if I had twin brains. Benjamin A was bewildered by Benjamin B’s wartime melodrama. Where had those sobs come from? I could not see Benjamin Fields feeling so much emotion for Marilynn Dancer, even in romantic fantasy. She was beautiful, but I barely knew the woman, and until she put herself into this trance, she had not seemed any too eager to know me. Yet Benjamin B felt the ecstasy of reuniting. That spirit from a past life still dwelled inside me. Erika held Werner close; he was the only thing that mattered in her universe. “What is heaven like?” Petra asked. “You never reach its borders. You can go anywhere you desire on a carpet of thought. Oceans, lakes, rivers, meadows, mountains, valleys, skies.” “It is magnificent here,” Erika said as if birthing an epiphany. “The air feels soft as mink. I’d forgotten about the rich color and the radiating light. Oh, and the singing flowers!” “Everything sparkles wherever I look.” With inner vision I saw landscapes not of Earth. The gardens pulsated to the heartbeat of the Universe. I floated airborne through lush foliage, feeling Erika right alongside me, sharing the bliss. “While Werner and Erika savor heaven,” Petra said, “I want to shift focus now to Benjamin and Marilynn. Benjamin, where in the spirit world are you now?” My inner vision transformed on her call. I noticed bursts of yellow and green and blue. “I am standing in a field of bright sunflowers.” I heard Marilynn hum with approval. “Sunflowers!” “Is anyone with you?” Petra asked. “I don’t think so. I am alone,” I replied. “Then I want you to look for a visitor,” Petra said.

215 Joshua Bagby Within moments, I pictured a man walking toward me between rows of sunflowers. The movie inside wasn’t exquisite cerebral cinematography. The image jerked and sputtered as if photographed by a five-year old child with a handheld video camera. “OK, I see a man approaching me.” “Charlie,” Marilynn cried. “Charlie calls you Sunflower,” Petra said spontaneously. “Yes,” Marilynn said. I realized that I had spoken one of Marilynn’s truths. There are no accidents. Someone had slipped this vision of sunflowers inside my head, and it meant something! Yes, do what I always do, just do it out loud! “Charlie has joined us,” Petra explained. “He showed this to us through the sunflowers. Benjamin, I empower you to speak on Charlie’s behalf with clear hearing. Spirit inspires thoughts. Focus on the feelings coming up for you, and say the words you are moved to speak.” This was not some unverifiable voice from centuries ago. Petra referred to the love of Marilynn’s life, the man she slept with and woke up with for years! I did not want to let her down. Following a hunch, I asked my labyrinth pal Jesus for help. As I asked, I felt my physical being fill with the elixir of inspiration, overpowering the fear. I felt as if Charlie had joined me inside my body, assuring me I would speak well. I opened my eyes and found Marilynn’s eyes ablaze as if lit from within. “Hi!” she said. “Hello, Sunflower,” I said for Charlie. I felt a literal blast from the past. Electrical storms from spirit snapped and crackled inside. “Oh, Charlie,” she said with a deep sigh. This would have been so much easier had she not zeroed into him with such heartfelt emotion. Would a woman ever glow at me—the real me—with intense passion like this—and truly mean it? “I love you!” she said to him. Mentally, I stepped aside. Charlie took the helm. “I love you, Sunflower.” “You were the one, Charlie. You were the man I gave my heart to. I loved what we created together.” Darkness eclipsed the smile in her voice. “The day you left was the most dreadful day of my life. I couldn’t believe you’d leave me like that. No warning from anyone, flesh or spirit.” “I was meant to return home on that day, Sunflower.” “You know how I hate that idea, Charlie.” “It’s not an idea. It’s what was meant to be,” Charlie said. “Did you have a choice, Charlie? Could you have come back to me?”

216 Breath After Death “Not in the same form. I would have come back paralyzed.” “So you had a choice?” “I did not see much choice. My body would have been useless. We would have lost the Institute. You would have become a full-time nurse for me.” “I felt abandoned.” “I know. I witnessed your pain.” “Did Gretchen convince you to stay?” “She was not involved in my decision.” “Nevertheless, I expect she’s taking full advantage of your presence.” “We’ve been through this before. I was fulfilling our agreement. I left for your growth.” “Oh, fuck my growth!” Marilynn wailed. “This really hurt!” Words, just words. This really hurt. I felt her pain in a way words could not describe. I felt his pain, too. Then Charlie’s spirit rose through my body. I felt his longing to comfort her. “In time you will see that you chose this lesson. You learned how to stand on your own two feet and accomplish things you never would have with me around.” “I thought we were growing—as a couple. We were going to have our own family. Then suddenly you’re ripped from me! I wanted to have your baby. I wanted to give life!” Marilynn fought the pain, sobbing. Charlie rocked her in his arms until she was spent. Then she said, “I know there’s a reason for all this. My wishes don’t determine the schedule of life and leaving. I just wanted to live a different story than what I got. I am not blind to the gifts of your early departure. Petra is a huge gift.” “I hope that’s not a comment on my size,” Petra mused. The lightness of laughter filled our circle of humans and spirits. “Your size is great, my love,” Marilynn said. “Literally,” Petra mused. Then Marilynn reached out and stroked Charlie’s face, using mine as a template. “Yes, Charlie, you crossed for a reason. Petra moved closer into my life. With her help the Institute of Light has grown and prospered.” Energy poured through me like a wall of undulating fizz. I closed my eyes briefly and saw swirling colors exploding in celestial light poetry—turquoise, azure, indigo, purple, forest green, peach, pink—reminding me of Chloe’s visit. “I still miss you, though, Charlie. You are my man. I don’t want any other. I grieve over the loss of your physical presence. I miss your sweet voice awakening

217 Joshua Bagby me from slumber. I miss your wry sense of humor and your goofy laugh. I miss how you smell and how you touch me. I miss that look in your eye when you watched me dress and undress. Most of all I miss how you never took me for granted. You always checked in with me to see how I was.” We sat with Marilynn as another wave of weeping crested and ebbed. “I am so sorry that I took you for granted, Charlie. I did. I admit it. I always thought you would be there for me, hour after hour, day after day. I wanted so much to be a spiritual teacher that I forgot about being a devoted wife. You had to leave as you did. That’s how I learned—from my horrible loss.” Charlie filled me with his essence that I poured into Marilynn’s soul as we embraced. She wiped back her tears. “So, Charlie—my husband, my teacher, my dear friend—tonight I honor you. I say goodbye to you for the rest of my physical life. I release your spirit to soar. Let the wind lift you to be warmed by eternal sunlight. Be cheered by lush beautiful gardens and magnificent vistas. Sip bountifully and feast heartily from the grand banquets of heaven. I have no right to deprive you joy. I want your happiness, with or without me, my love.” Benjamin A felt overwhelmed feeling Marilynn’s love for Benjamin B, or was it now Benjamin C? Benjamin A should feel so loved as Charlie felt when he said, “You are on the far side of the tunnel where time and space rule. Before you know it you will awaken from your physical life and we will laugh at what we went through together. I will always love you, Sunflower. Thaw your grief-frozen heart. It’s time for change.” “What change?” Marilynn asked. “You will know a man’s love once again. Loving again is your next step in healing.” Marilynn put her finger on Charlie’s lips. “I know,” she said softly. She leaned forward and kissed Charlie on the forehead. Her lips lingered along his eyebrows. She kissed his left cheek, then his right cheek. Then she kissed him softly on the lips. The moment was unbearably sweet. When her tongue stole its way inside his mouth, I felt the full weight of sacred responsibility to keep pure thoughts. This was their private moment. “Goodbye, my sweet angel,” Marilynn said a few moments later. “Goodbye, Sunflower.” We stood up together as if choreographed by unseen angels. She embraced Charlie through me one last time, embraced him without holding anything in reserve for later, holding me as close as eternity squeezing infinity. In one embrace

218 Breath After Death that would last for the rest of her life, she hugged him for every Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday to come. She soaked up Charlie until he dissolved into the hues of the Universe. Behind my closed eyelids, sunflowers danced in an animated frenzy in the warm breath of the trade winds. I opened my eyes and heard Petra sniffling. Then she embraced Marilynn. I felt their intensity of love for each other as they kissed. The sight awed me, not just seeing two women kiss shamelessly, but also feeling the intensity of their love. When she finally left the embrace, Marilynn looked at me and said, “Thank you, Benjamin, I will never forget this moment.” I would never forget it either. She kissed me on the cheek with such antiseptic detachment it shocked me back to my ordinary world. Oh, yeah, I forgot, I’m just Benjamin Fields. I guess Charlie rates higher than Werner. Then Petra called after Marilynn, “You’re leaving?” Several yards away, Marilynn stopped and turned. “I need to be alone for awhile.” “What’s your hurry?” Petra inquired. “That was very intense. I need to let it sink in.” “Why don’t you sink in with us instead?” Petra circled around from behind, playfully nudging Marilynn against me. “Come on, hug sandwich.” Marilynn spontaneously took hold of me, chuckled girlishly, but then said, “No, no, no, I’m not ready for this.” “Honey, you said your goodbyes. It’s time to start your new life.” “I know. And for my next choice,” Marilynn said, “I choose to walk the beach alone.” “Marilynn, you’ve walked the beach alone a thousand times,” Petra snapped. “What good comes from it? You just stew with the ghosts of your past.” “Maybe I need to walk it alone a thousand times more!” “Charlie’s off the clock, honey. Like it or not, you’re here and he’s there.” “I know my esoteric geography, Pet. Saying goodbye doesn’t mean I’m ready to frolic instantly like I never had a husband.” Petra threw up her arms, then slapped her hands heavily against her rounded hips. ”OK. All right. It’s your call. It’s your life.” “Thank you,” Marilynn snapped, heading off into the darkness. Petra peered in the direction of Marilynn’s departure. “There she goes again. She’ll mull things over. Process it. Turn each and every memory marked Charlie over and over as if it were a chunk of crystal. She’ll study each facet for new angles,

219 Joshua Bagby searching for any quark of insight she may have overlooked on her last thousand passes.” “Some of us like to ponder, I guess.” “She used to be so vibrant. She doesn’t have a clue how lucky she is. Money, brains, a killer body—now there’s irony for you—and she wastes it all on Charlie’s memory.” “Maybe I freaked her out with my speech about her finding another man.” Petra laughed. “Charlie said that, not you.” “It sounded self-serving to me. Like I was hinting that she have another go with Werner.” “You still have unfinished business with your married tart.” “My past life wife, you mean? No, I’m done with her. And she’s done with me. Besides, gorgeous as she is, the turth is she’s a pain in the ass.” “Pain in the ass now, but in another life, she will become your heroine.” “How do you mean?” “Have you ever wondered about the logic behind loving your enemies?” “The power of forgiveness?” “That’s part of it. Forgiveness frees the soul. When you sit around stewing at your enemies, you’re wasting valuable time and energy. Forgiveness breaks the cycle of hate. But the other part is the cosmic joke. You’ll probably be reunited some day, some life.” “Reunited?” “That’s how reincarnation works. We’re all actors in the movie calledLife . Each lifetime we play a different role. Sometimes we play the good guys and sometimes we play the bad guys, just like in Hollywood.” We sat back down together on the sand. “With that logic, I could end up being a real sleazeburger next life.” “Yep, it’s possible. Between incarnations, your soul chooses what experience it needs for balance. Somebody has to play the heavy.” “Well, that’s disappointing. If I spend my whole life being good and learning how to love, then had to be a schmuck, wouldn’t I lose all my gains?” “Not lose your gains. The soul assimilates all those lessons. Each lifetime challenges us with new lessons. We take turns being the hero or the villain in a myriad of ways. To make life even more interesting, everyone is a mixture of light and shadow, what we call good and bad.” Like actors in a movie? At the end of the day, Julie and I snap out of our chosen life movie roles as estranged spouses and sip wine together. We poke fun at each

220 Breath After Death other’s performance in creating dramatic conflict in our marital hissy fit. “You really nailed it to me when you abandoned me for that rich, long-haired Adonis,” I would say. Julie and I, along with the cast and crew of spirits who produced our movie, would chortle and guffaw at how well it went, speaking in karmic terms. Turns out Julie wasn’t a ruthless gold digger after all. She was a teacher helping me discover that I had a backbone I simply needed to locate. Sometimes I’m a slow learner. Then Lacey would join the cast party, stepping out of her slave costume. “I sure had you going there, didn’t I, Benjamin? Almost made up for that abandonment stunt you pulled during the Gold Rush.” We would all hug and toast the Universe. “So this is what I think,” Petra said, taking my hand and holding it in hers. “I think that if you kill somebody in one life, you join that person as a helper in another life.” It happened sweetly, casually, like Aunt Bea offering a hot dinner roll to a houseguest. Petra raised my hand and placed it on her plump right breast. And then she said…nothing. “I noticed you just put my hand on your breast,” I finally said. “I’ve been waiting over a hundred fifty years to do it. Lillith whacked you on the head with that skillet and left you a bloody mess in the swamp. I finished you off later with a gun.” I did what any sane person would do upon hearing such a claim. I laughed. She echoed my amusement with laughter of her own. Her breast quaked under my palm. “You murdered me?” “Bang, bang!” “But I thought I was robbed and killed on the mountain pass.” “You were. That was me.” “But why?” “I was playing a bad guy that life.” “A man?” “ Yes.” I searched for signs of outrage, but I found none. Facing my murderer while I was breathing took the sting out of any bullet holes she—or he—drilled into my past-life body. I could not even be indignant, which perhaps may have stemmed from where she had placed my hand. More surprising was the unmistakable stirring between my legs, that mysterious relationship between mind and matter. Like Chloe, I don’t do explanations. I don’t know why I became so eerily tantalized

221 Joshua Bagby when Petra told me she’d blown my brains out—being a whole new spin on blowjobs. “You killed me?” “Yes, do you forgive me?” she purred with a sweet smile. “I don’t know. Do you feel remorse?” I mused. “Ever so much.” “Do you promise never to kill me again?” “I will kill you only with love and light.” “Then I forgive you,” I said. “Benjamin, you’re leaving tomorrow. I want to give you something to remember me by.” She took me in her arms and ambushed me with intimacy. “I want to make love to you tonight.” I froze just like Marilynn had frozen. Brains. Damn brains. The wonder woman offers me lovemaking, and the first response my brain delivers is that pathetic vision of failing muster. Like a scared teenager my erection caught sight of cops patrolling the neighborhood and fled on foot to hide in the bushes. Wouldn’t that be the twisted end to a bizarre soul mate vacation—me limping out at the moment of truth? What if my damn brain wouldn’t cooperate and those damn- conditioning-anyway neurons refused to ignite in passion? What if I couldn’t act like a real man? “Do you always respond so quietly to offers of sharing love?” she asked, letting me go. “I’m sorry,” I said, looking desperately for a way to save face and not hurt her feelings. This was getting ugly fast. I was about to be discovered as the truly shallow dweeb I always feared deep down I might be, so focused on the right way a lover should look that I rejected women who did not fit the mold. “What’s the matter, puppy? Don’t you like fat women?” she asked. The splat you hear is me being tossed up against the wall of my personal reality by someone who could read my 2-point print in 72-point type. “It’s not that.” “Then what is it?” A huge magnifying glass descended from the heavens so that everyone floating there could get a better view of my moment of truth. I took a deep breath and said, “I’m afraid of fat women.” “What’s to be afraid of?” “That I won’t—you know—perform right.” “Benjamin, you have a blubber phobia!” Petra cried in a hauntingly sweet tone, like a kindergarten teacher cooing at a child in her class. “You want Marilynn’s hard body in a chartreuse bikini after all!”

222 Breath After Death Flush me, Jesus. “I feel awful saying it.” She shook her head, almost in slow motion, side to side, a slight grin sprouting on her thick, moist lips. “It doesn’t bother me.” “I hate thinking I’m this shallow.” She stepped closer and placed one of her palms softly against my face. “Oh, sweet darling. What goes on inside your brain? Let me mirror this for you. Fat girl, not a head spinner, lonely as hell, must be hard up for dick.” She grinned bright as a spotlight, haunting me with its power. “You look at my body and go, ‘Yuck! Rolls of fat. Cellulite. Damaged goods! I can’t be seen in public with this! What will people think?’ And Marilynn, bless her clamshell heart. Spectacular body! Perfection fit for a king. All the other boys would beso jealous.” Petra beamed again, face like a sun goddess, stroking me all the while with a loving hand. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she and you turned out to be destined for eternal happiness together?” “Yeah, right, Beauty and the Bald Guy.” “Ah, so really, you think of yourself as damaged goods, not worthy of ecstasy. Welcome to Mirror World.” She kissed me softly on the lips. “The secret is not what your lover looks like. The body shape. Hair or no hair. Stylish fashions and the right make-up. No matter what Madison Avenue, Hollywood, or the local pornmeister say, five-to-ten seconds of orgasm with a centerfold body does not produce the ultimate satisfaction. It produced five to ten seconds or orgasm. Ecstasy happens when you share a God connection with someone.” “God connection?” I repeated in a murmur. That didn’t sound pulse-pounding. It sounded like the congregation sitting around on lawn chairs in Sunday best, trying not to get dirty and staying as politically correct (or perfectly colorless) for as long as humanly possible. “Have you ever truly been plugged into a woman?” I shrugged. “I’ve had my moments.” “Benjamin, happiness in love eludes you because your blueprint for happiness creates misery. It’s a design flaw in your thinking. You use the law of attraction to attract the wrong kind of goddess. If you were less focused on appearance and more focused on spiritual juice, you’d get somewhere.” “Spiritual juice?” “Heart. Energy. Inner chi. Being plugged in is an energy exchange. Yeah, bodies go along for the ride. Bodies give us tangible sensual pleasure. But the mind and heart give us ecstasy. Why settle for mere pleasure when you can delight in ecstasy?”

223 Joshua Bagby “In a God connection?” “Yes!” she woo-hooed. “Remember how you felt in the labyrinth in that heightened energy field?” “Yes, of course.” “I make my big Buddha body sacred with my heart and mind. Through all the hugging I do every day—with friends, lovers, strangers—I collect energy like a labyrinth.” “You’re a walking battery?” She grinned. “That’s how I believe Jesus hugs. I embrace people with unconditional love, and the God force flows through me into them and back.” I recalled how good it felt to spontaneously hug people in the labyrinth. Her smile—that electrifying grin of utter confidence—returned. “Will you give me permission to hug you to ecstasy? We’ve hugged before, but this time I’ll crank up the heat.” “Well, OK, you already promised not to kill me. What do I have to do?” “Just let go,” she said, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and pressing her soft, curvy body against mine. “Let go how?” “Relax. Put your mind in a quiet space. Soar with your spirit. Just let go.” I put my head into full alert, scanning all frequencies of sensory input to understand what cranking up the heat meant. It felt sweet, it felt good, it felt comforting, but it also felt normal. The seconds ticked off in my internal data center. She held me close, then said, “Mother-Father God, help us honor our yearning for giving and receiving pleasure. Help us honor the sacred love that connects us with all living beings. Help us heal the bond between our spirit and our flesh. Help us honor the sexual in the spiritual and the spiritual in the sexual. Amen.” “Amen,” I echoed. I leaned into her body and pictured her words rallying a crowd of spirits to come watch the humans sizzle on the sand. “Just let go. Let go of your control,” she whispered in my ear. “Don’t try to make anything happen. Just be in the moment. Stay in the present. Feel the love.” I listened to the waves crashing on the reefs nearby. I melted into her body as if falling through miles and miles of puffy white clouds. “Let it go. Let it go, honey,” she whispered close, repeatedly, like a mantra stirring up my emotions. Green light, keep going. We rocked from side to side, a dance to the rhythm of nature’s music. “Let it go. Let it go,” she continued in her soft voice. The trade winds blew

224 Breath After Death warm kisses against us. I felt my temperature rising. The love kept flowing as if someone had left the faucet turned on. “You’re safe now. Let go. I’m here for you.” Petra’s mouth landed on mine. I kissed her sweetly, sweetly, sweetly, then deeply. She tasted like squishy fruit squirting welcome messages across my taste buds. Spikes of delight shot up my spine. My body shuddered sweetly against her. She moaned in response, then breathed again, “You’re safe now. Let go. I’m here for you.” Deep down in the basement of my psyche, a pipe burst with a loud explosion, spewing love sparks in all directions. My blood flowed with shimmering light. Behind closed eyelids I saw a purple field appear with golden flecks shooting through me like meteors. “You’re safe now. Let go. I’m here for you.” I felt my body tremble in her arms, convulsing in a whole new way for me. Driven by her words of love, I peeled away the armor I’d worn to protect my soul. Petra spread butterfly kisses around my face with her soft lips, continuing her flood of words, sending me deeper, deeper, deeper. “You’re safe now, baby. Safe with me. Safe in my arms. You’re with beauty now. Let the beauty flow inside.” I pictured ethereal beings gathering around us in a circle. Friends and lovers from past lives held out their palms and fired lightning bolts to energize us. “Let the beauty in honey. Feel the love flow through you, enlightening every cell of your body.” Heat radiated from Petra’s hands. “Go deep, baby. Go trancing.” Her touch, her love, her words, her permission—they combined to drive me deeper into a tumult of emotions. It suddenly all fell into place—or out of place outside the box. Like riding the wind I soared into a new world pulsating with animated life. My body shuddered another time like a crashing wave against Petra’s yielding flesh. “Yes, sweetheart, let it go. Let it go.” I was in my body—Petra rubbed her breasts and belly against me and my erection throbbed like a neon casino sign—yet I was out of my body, too, shedding my old world skin and fluttering like a cosmic butterfly through another universe. “Let the love in. Let the beauty in,” Petra cried. I opened my mouth; loud sobs rushed out of me. Instantly, Petra echoed with cries of her own, a duet of soul sounds weaving through the warm tropical night. She clutched me tighter and pushed into me as if our bodies would fuse into one flesh. What I felt was physically impossible; we were still fully dressed. Yet I felt as if my penis had plugged deep inside her, carrying my entire consciousness with it. In seconds hot flashes jolted the pit of my groin. What does it feel like to be popcorn in mid-pop? What does it feel like to be a sweet jasmine spewing your fragrance in the warm sun? What does it feel

225 Joshua Bagby like to be a brook creating the gurgling sound or the waterfall in mid-crescendo? How do puffy clouds feel floating in the azure blue skies? How do autumn leaves feel bursting with crackle under someone’s feet? That’s what it felt like to be deep inside Petra’s energy spell, welded together in some mystical joining I’d never heard of, much less imagined. We fell onto the sand in a pile of past and future lives. She lay on her back and guided me atop her. When my heart covered her heart, a mighty tug of magnetic attraction fused our chests together. I cried out again. My whole being felt sucked up into the depths of her like diving into a deep pool. With loud cries of we rode a perfect wave of primal nature. It tossed us wildly about in a psychic froth that delivered us to the sandy beach, energy spent in sublime release. We burst out in gleeful uncontrollable laughter. “You’re not done yet,” Petra said a few moments later. “I’m not?” Famous last words. Several moments later, Petra rolled over on her side. She gently slid her hand over my shirt down my chest and stomach, coming to rest over my walking shorts covering my erection. In a sweet voice, she said, “Let God talk to you.” Within seconds, her hand produced incredible heat. My body bucked and quivered as if blissful bolts traveled through her palms. The feeling ripped through my body as her fingers molded themselves around my testes, firing an electric charge straight from the heavens. I was on my back in the sand, but my head and heart found the most alive place I had ever been, soaring like a comet in deep space, as if stuck in a relentless procession of electric orgasms. “This is God’s gift,” Petra said. I was able to get out an uh-huh. I laughed so hard from the rapture blast I had no choice but to hang out with it. With every beat of my heart, I felt an outpouring of love flowing from me to Petra and back. Love fell like the rains over the island, flowing like the streams through the jungles, rippling like the waves in the ocean. It was a gift like the sun and the stars and rainbows and life itself.

226 Breath After Death

23. Eighteen Gigabytes

Dear God: Before Kauai I never imagined inviting God to enlighten my balls. I knew you invented them but I’d heard you didn’t approve of me enjoying the feeling they give unless I was married, monogamous, heterosexual, stubbornly critical of erotic diversity, tithed regularly, voted Republican, supported the military industrial complex, and patronized Mel Gibson movies. Holy epiphany! I’m awed at fully-clothed sex, and even more awed that spirituality can be sexually fulfilling. You quaked me with rapture through Petra, and I shook as if the whole world shared orgasm with me. If word leaks out that you enhance sex, this could profoundly shake up both the religious right and the pornographic left.

y body cringed like rusty hinges from the sound of Steve’s voice. He, of Mcourse, was worried about the safety of his eighteen gigabytes, two dicks way up. I had been absent from California for barely a week, but in the language of experience it felt like months. Against a backdrop of four unanswered voice mails, I caved in and placed the dreaded call to my old shoe. “I’m back in town, Dude,” I said into my cell phone. “Aw right. First things first. Did you score pussy?” Yep, definitely back in Silicon Valley. “I scored epiphanies,” I said, hoping to shut him up. No way would I tell him about Petra. “I called and called. Why did you turn off your phone?” “Because I knew you’d be calling and calling.” “What were you doing that was so interesting?” I took a deep breath. I didn’t need to be psychic to predict the outcome. “I stumbled onto a metaphysical retreat. People come from around the world to

227 Joshua Bagby attend classes and network with one another.” “Oh, dear,” he said with a noticeable drop of enthusiasm. “Lost souls congregate to support each other’s delusions.” “That’s not the description they use on the website,” I retorted. “So what happened?” “I had a conversation with my so-called dead mother.” “Benjamin! Tell me you didn’t fall for that ghost whisperer crap,” he cracked with a theatrical guffaw. “Yeah, I fell for that.” “Well, forget it. Psychics have this schtick. They’re pros at garnering personal information from people, and they make it appear as if they’re talking to dead relatives. It’s a magician’s trick called cold reading.” “Excuse me—were you there? This wasn’t cold reading.” “You’d be surprised. They talk fast. Ask a lot of questions. People in grief are desperate to hear from their departed loved ones. They’ll unconsciously feed psychics the right answers. Body language. How they phrase their questions and comments. Tone of voice. Maybe one statement out of three makes sense—just a 33% hit rate, but that’ll amaze and reassure them about the truth of what they want to believe. It’s a sick and sorry scam. People will pay any amount to have someone convince them that we get heaven after this life of shit.” “I didn’t pay a cent, Steve. They were amazing and I had the time of my life.” Steve waved the topic off his plate and it fell to its death. “Whatever. Suit yourself. So when can I get my footage?” Damn conditioning anyway. My fantasy mind whirled searchlight beams overhead, announcing with gusto the star-studded debut of the wildest X-rated video I’d ever see. I already knew it was bogus, like video box cover hype. My imagination would create something far superior to anything Steve would proffer. But there was always that wafer-thin chance that I would blow my opportunity to witness the pornographic equivalent of a UFO landing on the White House lawn, the first human to walk on Mars, the inauguration of the first transsexual president, the day I won the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes. Despite all odds to the contrary, maybe Steve finally had something worth risking it all for. Now this is what I wonder. Why do things happen as they do? Chance? Will power? Divine force? I had a vision, sunlight pouring through a hole in a bank of storm clouds. I realized that Steve’s video discovery was cosmic truth serum. How could Lacey deny behavior emblazoned on video? If she played hardball with Max, screwing him over as Julie had screwed me, I would have his ace in the hole

228 Breath After Death solution. Video of her debauchery would lead the charge for his defense, payback for any karmic pain I caused him in this or any other lifetime. It didn’t stop my heart from pounding as I passed through the employee’s entrance that Saturday. I fired up my computer in Graphics. Cerebral artillery from opposing forces strafed the beachhead. Yeah, this was war, and how do you know when the gods support your victory? Spirit guides pledged to protect us also dispatch us to confront our destiny, to combat our fears, to wage war with the demons we create with our own thoughts. So who knows? I bit the bullet, plugged in my portable hard drive, and with a few keystrokes sent it gobbling up data. Nothing in the Universe is truly secret, the mystics say. A giant camcorder never stops recording us. Day in and day out it records every thought I have, every deed I do. There are no hideaways spirit beings cannot penetrate. Every confidence I take to the grave is already common knowledge in the next world. Any soul can sneak a peek at any second of my life. My top secrets, like anything in this video I was copying, become spirit people’s idle amusements that they can watch on their heavenly iPods. Alerted by cell phone, Steve awaited me on my front steps. He followed me inside my apartment and plopped his bulk in the powder blue recliner in the living room. I shook my head thinking of him as my past-life son, Edward. I couldn’t get over it. Stuck back in a body, Steve recalled nothing of any other lifetime, even pontificating that psychics were full of hooey. Who knows how real or simply imaginary that regression was? But then who knows how real or simply imaginary any of it is? That was then; this was now. Steve took the portable drive with the wide eyes of a young boy who finally got that shiny new bike for Christmas. He laughed in the silk sheet luxury of his crowning achievement. Throwing his massive arms up over his head, he rapidly he bellowed, “We’ve got him by the balls now.” “Not we. I’m out of it. I got you what you asked for, and I’m done,” I said. He laughed as if the joke was on me. “You’ve got to watch this footage. Lacey does anything Roman wants.” He left it there like dropping a cookie on the patio to watch the ants gather. When I didn’t respond, he continued, “I mean anything. She’s his slave. He treats her like a dog, man. I’m serious. She wears his collar, gets on all fours, laps water up from a dog dish, barks and rolls over on command, the whole nine yards. If he told her to, she’d probably even go to the dog park and sniff butt with the others.” My eyes drifted to the portrait of Chloe I had painted on my computer— or was it Marilynn? Steve would never tolerate my truth—a see-through woman

229 Joshua Bagby glowing and sparkling in my bedroom or anything that followed. But woo-woo was my truth now, and I had to take a stand. “Maybe ruining somebody’s reputation isn’t the best way to prove your superiority.” “That corporate weasel took my job. That corporate weasel can pay with his.” I suffered from post-ecstatic bliss syndrome. I kept thinking about strangers hugging and becoming instant intimates in the hot pools. Even if it had been a 100% all-artificial fantasy (with a slim chance that it wasn’t), meeting Jesus reminded me that revenge was a waste of time. I wouldn’t want to face Jesus—or any number of afterlife luminaries—and explain why I helped Steve exact revenge, especially after receiving a wondrous spiritual gift pack. “I don’t believe revenge does any good. Say you bring him down. You ruin his career. You embarrass Failure Dynamics. What does that prove?” Steve sighed deeply. “I hope your wuss virus isn’t contagious.” “It’s a total waste of your energy.” I flashed on how Ruthanne had changed her life by taking control. “Focus instead on what you want to create in your life. Go for something positive.” “I’m going to edit the best movie from this footage,” Steve cajoled, rubbing his hands together in a show of amped anticipation. “They don’t call it Final Cut Express for nothing. He’s getting the express lane to pain.” “Why do you want to degrade Lacey to get to Roman?” “That’s cute. That’s real cute. You’re so clueless.” “So educate me.” “She carries wireless spy equipment inside her purse. Why? For Roman’s voyeuristic pleasure. Dude, she recorded her whole visit with you, then she went down and joined Roman in his car in your parking lot listening. He was listening in the whole time. It’s part of her slut training he puts her through. They’ve got a secret blog where they share their stories with members.” The frigid winds of reality blew through my soul. I did not have to ask if Steve was making this up. I felt the numbing ether of truth seep into the sewer of my blood stream. “Roman dares her to do really insane shit. You were the lucky victim that night.” Steve snickered at me, the newly crowned Dunce of the Universe. He studied my reaction, then said, “Oh, come on. Did you really believe a hottie like Lacey would seriously love a geek like you? I warned you about her, man. But did you listen? No!” I nodded, too stunned to speak. Forgive me. The Universe knows my secrets and so should you. No, I didn’t

230 Breath After Death watch the nasty show with Steve. He thought I was a wuss for passing up the opportunity. But I had duped my own copy of those eighteen gigabytes onto a second hard drive for later just in case curiosity beckoned me. After Steve left, it did. Damn conditioning anyway. I stared at the computer drive that held so many secrets. I knew what would happen if I caved in and viewed it. Lacey would mysteriously look better than ever. Seeing her would remind me how much enthusiasm she devotes to erotic pleasure. Then I would crave her again. I would convince myself through the temporary insanity of damn conditioning anyway that I could get beyond her deceptive practices. Even if she was a pathological liar, a candidate for the mental hospital, she was like a tornado to a storm chaser, fascinating in her awesome beauty even if she could rip you apart limb from limb with her big wind. I would hope that with enough love I could crack through her hard shell and find her soft, sweet, juicy center. I could morph her hard-hearted lust to melt-in-your-heart love. Of course wanting and doing are two different things. I wouldn’t do anything with Lacey because now I knew Max. Now I knew Jesus (or some reasonable facsimile) and the image of all that love inspired me to stay in the light. And now I knew Petra and the magic possible in enlightened fondling. Still, I would feel the pangs of emptiness. I would watch her parade on the screen and stew in the reality that no one in Silicon Valley wanted to cuddle up with me. If Petra ever felt lonely she would simply take her body and soul out into the mass of humanity and attract a companion. That’s what she did daily. She even did it not long after giving me great balls of fire. One minute we were rolling around in the sand peaking in ecstasy and the next we were back in the hot pool hugging and laughing. Before I knew it she was hugging and laughing with someone else. A few minutes beyond that, it was as if she’d dissolved into the steamy waters. Yet Petra had never promised me devotion. No hint at Relationship. She gave a free will gift, waving green flags in a red-flag world, and then went on her way to do the magic again for someone else. She was not playing a sex game. It was all about cosmic love for her. Meeting an angel would amount to the same thing. You might fall helplessly in love with an angel for all the wonders he or she delivered to your doorstep, but an angel’s job is to keep giving love, over and over, to different people, and not to form attachments because you had such an exquisite time. I turned on the news. I had not seen it for a week. Names and faces changed, but the stories sounded the same. Same ol’ crimes. Same ol’ disasters. Same ol’ war news. The same-old video tabloid was decorated with all the death and dying clichés and assumptions that coddle and comfort the pessimists, skeptics, and

231 Joshua Bagby realists. I turned off the news. I turned my creativity on. Why didn’t the news cover near-death experiences and out-of-body adventures and what happens when someone adept at sex energy sends a beam of God’s healing light into your balls? Let’s hear it for news that would make a difference. As I stared at the tube, my mind wandered back to Kauai. Maybe it had all been an elaborate group fantasy, a giant game of pretend. If the news and the skeptics were right, Charlie was just a mound of dust now, nothing more. Petra and Marilynn had been hallucinating during their near-death experiences. Our need to believe in immortality compels some of us to seek the light fantastic. The media controllers consider us losers, people who cannot cope with an ugly world and who invent fantasy escapes. It makes more sense to them to exploit materialism, incite competition, send armored posses off to faraway lands to destroy and re- build nations, and generally make us look like the United States of Assholes in the eyes of so many of our neighbors. We supposedly fight for everyone’s freedom, which sounds choke-me-up noble until you add up the profit and loss statement of what all our Missions Accomplished cost. If going to The Institute of Light was an elaborate fantasy game, an escape from precious reality, it was still the best ride of my life! They say that once someone decides to commit suicide, a calm resolve takes command where hysteria or depression or mental fog ruled before. Once the decision is reached, it’s just a matter of calmly doing the deed. I wasn’t committing suicide. I was committing liberation. When I entered Faye’s office to break the news to her, it was just to do the deed. This is Mission Control. You are go for launch. How strange it felt. How invigorating it felt. For all those days I worked weekends or overtime to complete a rush project (fearing the consequences if I did not perform with team player grit), for all the professionalism I had embodied there for eight years, not even Faye’s rigid body posture and beady pupils caused me to abort my mission. Thank you, Ruthanne. Thank you, Petra. “Well, if there’s nothing I can say to convince you to stay, “ Faye said, hanging it out there with no finish. Easy come, easy go.

232 Breath After Death

24. Epiphany Shuffle

Dear God: I’ve got to be honest (you’d see right through me if I wasn’t): reincarnation intrigues me. I never understood how you could cast everyone’s fate to one toss of the genetic dice and expect the lot of us to vote for Jesus as their true one and only. How loving would that be? “Sorry, you were born and thoroughly indoctrinated as a Muslim. No heaven for you!” I like that if we screw up in one life, and most of us do, we get more chances to evolve. We get to try on new roles. I also enjoy that we shuffle the diversity deck before popping back into each life. A man one life, a woman in another life. A Christian one life, a Muslim in another, or a Jew, a Buddhist, an atheist, or other. A black person one life, a white person in another, or an Asian, Indian, Eskimo, or other. That’s real creativity- on thinking! I like the idea that I travel through time with friends and family playing musical chairs with our roles and relationships. My only problem now is what if this great system is bogus? What if evil beings concocted reincarnation to thwart us with a too-cool deception? What if it’s really a creativity-off universe and you’ve stacked the deck against billions of non-Christians? Confusion like this is why you should send Jesus back for an encore (but I shudder thinking how much a modern Jesus would charge for a Conversations with Dad seminar).

n my last day at work while illustrating my last project for Roman, I ran into Othe giant himself in one of the materials labs. “Fields, I understand from the grapevine that you’re leaving us,” he said, quite amicably, I noted.

233 Joshua Bagby “The grapes are right.” “Are they? Did you land another job?” “No,” I said. I concluded that his question was just for small talk. Faye had obviously briefed him on my departure since he was the man in charge of approving the requisition for my replacement. “I was in Kauai where I had a spiritual epiphany about my future.” “Is that so? A spiritual epiphany, you say?” I sensed that my choice of words already toyed with his scientific inclinations, so I hammed it up even more. “I decided I needed a change of scene from Failure. I’m quitting the real world and searching for answers to cosmic mysteries.” “Well, who are we to argue with a higher power, eh?” he said, his steely eyes already looking bored with the subject of my future. “That’s what I feel, too.” “We’ll hate to see you leave. Your supervisor is already tearing out her hair over the idea of replacing you.” More office politics. I will never know what got into me. It was so damn unlike me, unlike anything my dad or Rose cultivated in me, unlike anything you would do in school if you wanted to earn good grades, unlike anything you would do on the job if you wanted a stellar performance review or glowing recommendation letters for new employment opportunities. Maybe the wire from the part of the brain that thinks private thoughts got patched by mistake into my mouth—shots of truth serum for everybody. Maybe that jolt of energy Petra fired into my cajones reconfigured my brain cells and gave me several extra volts of courage—or recklessness, take your pick. Maybe I just got tired of putting on the usual false front we’re so pressured to erect. Creativity on. The words slid out of me without completing the liability survey and proper political correctness forms, without duly noting that this question was being directed to the god of my paycheck. “I’ve been meaning to ask—how in the world did you get Mrs. Brown to become your sex slave?” “Fields?” “Damn, you’re one awesome taskmeister.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Sure you do.” He looked like an oversized teenage boy with a doctorate trying to figure out how his devious step-mommy discovered his porn stash carefully hidden behind a loose floorboard in the closet. “Where do you come up with these insinuations, Fields?”

234 Breath After Death “I’ve just heard people talk.” His intrepid eyes didn’t budge from mine. “I don’t indulge in petty gossip.” “Maybe not, but you do indulge in playing with a married librarian—treating her like a dog while she’s dressed up in whore clothes.” Just when I thought I had him checkmated, he said, “Aren’t you late for the train on that one, Fields?” “Masterson?” “Let’s put our cards on the table, shall we? I have it on very sound authority that you sampled from the dessert tray yourself.” He laughed out loud. “Am I right, hmm?” “Under false pretenses. She didn’t tell me the whole story.” Roman apparently decided not to thrash about at the end of my fishing line. “Have you ever had a personal slave, Fields?” “Uh, no.” “Ever wonder what it’s like to have a woman of intoxicating beauty do your bidding as if you were her one and only god?” “No, not like that. I’m neither into inflicting pain nor degrading women.” “You might want to give it a go sometime.” “Why would I want to do that?” “Contrary to simplistic vanilla thinking, it’s not about degrading women. It’s about power exchange.” “Exchange nothing! You degrade Lacey for your sadistic sexual entertainment. I can’t respect that.” “I figured you for more astuteness, Fields.” “Is that right? Tell me what’s not degrading about having a woman crawl around on her fours on a concrete floor acting like a dog?” Far from riling him, my words appeared to arouse him like a brainy comedian fielding barbs from an inebriated heckler and weaving them into pithy comebacks. “W hat’s not degrading? She wants to do it. For her it’s an exercise in trust. For me it’s about taking charge. From what I see, you could benefit from some assertiveness training.” “I don’t want someone acting like a submissive mutt to prove my alpha dominance.” He shook his head. “You don’t get it. Submission is about giving yourself to another person, body and soul. I become responsible for all her choices.” “Exactly. If she gives herself to you, why do you need to humiliate her?” “Because if I didn’t dominate her, Fields, she would be unfulfilled. She needs

235 Joshua Bagby that extra push to get her over the top—that’s where she wants to go. If I didn’t instruct her to act foolishly, she would stay stuck in a rut. This frees her. It takes her beyond the edge.” Loud sighs escaped me like steam venting. “The edge of what?” “Habit. Conformity. Conditioning. Sleepwalking through life. Beyond the edge, she jumps off into the land of the new.” “Very poetic,” I scowled. “There are different routes to epiphany, Fields. You don’t understand a woman’s fascination for being treated like Bowser? Fine. To your rational mind it appears to be heightened vulgarity. Immaturity? Perversion? Misogynistic? Am I close?” “Yes, you’re right in the neighborhood.” “Yet certain other pursuits appear perfectly normal and acceptable. For example, sitting like a narcoticized mental patient in front of the TV watching the media circus for hours on end. Somehow that’s dignified and acceptable, despite overwhelming evidence that it rots brains and decays society—the dumbing down of America.” “Let me understand you. You think that lapping water from a dog dish is healthier for Lacey—and more intellectually expansive—than, say, watching Sixty Minutes?” “Could be.” “That’s such bullshit!” “I’m listening. Prove your point.” “It’s obvious.” “Is it?” “Yes!” “You think it’s healthier to bask in an easy chair being spoon-fed packaged, edited, manipulative news-as-entertainment than it is to get off your butt and live?” “You call that disgusting scene living?” “Fields, many experiences taken out of context and placed under the analytical microscope as you’re doing would appear equally ludicrous. Smoking. Football. Arguing. Meditating.” “Acting like a dog.” “Precisely. Or a chicken or a cow or a baby in a crib. Understand what’s going on here. It’s not what’s seen objectively on video, which I presume you saw. That’s a wholly detached, passive viewpoint. The true action is the drama occurring

236 Breath After Death inside her mind. It’s the interior landscape that’s important.” “Has it ever occurred to you that your interior landscaping may be causing irreparable psychological damage to this woman?” “In what way?” “For starters, what about her self-esteem? She’s married, you know. So she’s got the guilt of cheating compounded by whatever guilt and shame you heap on her in your role playing.” “Behind every failed marriage, there are extenuating and compelling circumstances, which in this case I don’t feel at liberty to share. Suffice it to say, you have your way; she has her way.” “You’ve encouraged her to lie. She lied to me. She pretended to be in love with me when she dropped by to seduce me.” “I must say you’ve been doing your homework. I’ll concede I instructed her to visit you.” “You’re admitting that it wasyour idea?” He nodded, looking rather proud of himself. “Why?” “To propel her beyond mediocre, pointless, American-style sex. When she returned from your apartment, she was emotionally prepared to step farther out of the cocoon.” “That’s disgusting! You used me!” He shrugged. “Did you complain when she bared her body for you?” “Yes! Turns out all she gave me was her body, and I thought she was giving me heart and mind, too.” A fleeting grimace crept across his face like a thief in the night. “Can’t say. She’d never have visited you unless I instructed her to do it. Those are the rules she abides by.” “What about Max?” “Fields, it’s clear you see me as the enemy. You see Lacey as the poor victim. You see yourself as her noble rescuer. I appreciate that. I don’t fault you for your ignorance in these matters. The thing is, you don’t know the whole story.” “No, you don’t know the whole story!” I retorted, thinking of Max in the cemetery. “As I said, I’m not at liberty to reveal everything I know. But I will tell you that nothing glues her to me except her desire. She’s always free to leave. Butterfield is an amusing character, Fields. He criticizes me for my carelessness with email practices and then he blabs away on a cell phone under full audio surveillance. We

237 Joshua Bagby have great fun watching him spy on us.” I laughed. Roman’s eyes glistened in response, a cosmic wink at me. “Fields, spiritual growth comes in many shades of gray. It’s not just the path you choose to take.” He winked and added, “Be a little more creativity-on.” With me, conversations don’t just end. They become fruitful and multiply inside my brain. Roman’s observation stunned me—he’s a scientist and an engineer, for Christ’s sake! I left that day with a question rolling around my brain like a loose marble. How bad is Roman really? I pulled the multiple-life camera lens way back. In a past life, I had abandoned Lacey and my family for the lure of riches and revenge. By comparison, what had Roman done? Played sex games I didn’t understand? It wasn’t my cup of tease, but was behaving like a canine more fundamentally odd for spiritual growth than firewalking or chanting for hours or sweat lodge vegging (and maybe dying) or holy rolling? Just because I didn’t get it didn’t mean it wasn’t holy. Which led me to another thought: I just quit Failure Dynamics to launch a more spiritual life. Had I been short-sighted? Had I been blind to the spiritual opportunities present yet unaccounted for right where I’d been? Oh, Auntie Em, there’s no place like home. On my last train ride home from Failure, I passed by the spot where the little boy had been killed. I reached inside my wallet, fished out Ruthanne’s business card, and dialed her number. My life seemed to pass before my eyes until someone answered after the fourth ring. “Hello.” “Ruthanne?” “ Yeah.” “Hey, this is Benjamin Fields from California. We met in Kauai.” “Benjamin! How sweet of you to call.” “Yeah, I took your advice.” “You did? What was that?” “I just quit my job.” She laughed, nervously it sounded like. “That was my advice?” “Well, mmmm. You did say to come visit you in Oregon, and now I’ve got a lot of free time—that is until my money runs out.” “Well, you know, a lot of people are into the law of attraction. It’s all over the internet. People are making a fortune in social media networking. They’re Twittering and Facebooking and Googling their way to riches.” I didn’t need a $700 an hour psychic to know that Ruthanne’s game plan had already changed and she was in full backpedal mode. She just hadn’t drawn the line in the sand yet. Her brain was probably on overdrive madly trying to figure

238 Breath After Death out how to break the news to me gently so that I wouldn’t be hurt. She rattled on about the joys of creating the life she wanted to lead—suggesting that following her lead would save me. The law of attraction attracts all possibilities, just not intimacy with her. Petra’s lifestyle already looked better. “I’ve got a great online webinar series I could turn you onto,” she said. “That’s all very helpful but I was more interested in having you show me the Oregon art scene. You were real specific about doing that, and if we hit it off, you wondered if I would move up there.” “Did I? I can’t imagine me saying to quit your job, though. At least not until you scoped it out for yourself.” “I’m getting the distinct impression that—” “—Look, Benjamin, you’re a great guy and I was taken by you in Kauai, but things change.” “It’s only been a week!” “I’d be happy to help you out with your Oregon art quest but I’m not available anymore for romance.” “What happened? Did bad-ass Paul head you off at the pass in Maui?” “Actually, yes.” “I was joking!” “It was all a big misunderstanding. He apologized profusely and promised to make it up to me.” Picture your favorite movie scene where somebody suddenly flies off a cliff. That’s how the conversation went downhill from there. I could feel Ruthanne scurrying around inside the mansion of her soul locking doors with loud crashes and madly shutting the curtains in all her windows. Time for her to withdraw all those sweet treat offers now that Paul had bought his way back. Yet I also noticed that I didn’t care. So another rich man had altered my life by luring a girl away from me? So what? It was nothing more than a traffic signal changing from green to amber to red. The Universe was showing me the way. I just had to pay attention to the signs.

239 Joshua Bagby

26. Serendipity Calling

Dear God: Rumor has it that you created everything, so I must presume that everything includes the dark side. I must admit that Roman’s defense of dog training has me at odds. I have been so eager to condemn him as a compulsive corporate degenerate, basically the enemy, so why am I intrigued by what he says? I confess I am shocked yet awed by how he mesmerizes Lacey. I couldn’t treat her as a bad dog, but I wonder how I’d feel if someone would woof and roll over for me like that. He said it wasn’t the activity but the stew simmering in Lacey’s mind that counted. I wish I could penetrate her mind to catch that show. As for my own mind, I’ve done it again. I remember when I thought Max was the enemy, and he turned out to be a great guy. Could Roman be the same? Petra told me why loving your enemy was a great idea. One day that soul may greet you as a friend, ally, or lover.

hen I plugged myself into the Internet and took a virtual reunion tour Wof the Institute of Light, I saw Marilynn at poolside looking awesome in her chartreuse bikini. Memories of Marilynn exploded in my mind like a 4th of July fireworks show. Marilynn covered in mud on the trail. Marilynn relaying my mother’s voice from heaven. Marilynn trouncing my soul mate dream. Marilynn at the hugging workshop churning through grief over Charlie. Marilynn leaking that she lived like a lesbian even if she wouldn’t step out of the closet. Marilynn in hypnotic TV starring as Lillith, swinging a frying pan and connecting with Samuel Wade’s scalp. Marilynn embodied as Erika lamenting Werner’s death, then seeing him after she had perished in a bombing. Marilynn saying farewell to her beloved Charlie, using me as a stand-in. Marilynn kissing Petra affectionately and then

240 Breath After Death kissing me off to walk by herself through the night, the last time I had seen her. I felt the strongest, and I would have to say the strangest urge to call her. That’s when war broke out inside my head. Why call her? Why would she want to hear from me? I no longer trusted the link to Chloe, for when I tested the waters, the waters said that I could still change Marilynn’s mind about me if I wanted. What makes things happen? Chance? Will power? Divine intervention? I had tossed aside my security blanket and was now free falling. Lacey was gone. Ruthanne was gone. Would chance catch me and send me off in a grand new direction? Would the law of attraction listen to my longing for a mate and a new career path and deliver them through will power? Would the Universe support me if I asked Marilynn for a job? Or would angels appear sparkling in my bedroom like Chloe had done and point me in the direction of divine intervention? It didn’t take much deliberation, not after remembering the hugging workshop where I learned how I would characteristically wait for someone to approach me. It was time for me to take the initiative. I consulted the website once more and then dialed. “May I speak with Marilynn Dancer please?” “This is Marilynn. Who’s this?” “Benjamin Fields.” “Silicon Valley Benjamin?” she cried. “Did Petra put you up to this?” That’s odd, I thought. “No, I haven’t talked to her since I said good-bye to her in Kauai.” “She’s been harping on me non-stop to see if you’d come work with us. I keep telling her you’ve got a perfectly good job in Silicon Valley.” “Steady there. I just quit my job.” “You quit the slave collar job?” That vision was more appropriate now than ever. “Uh-huh. So much happened to me in Kauai that I decided to follow my heart. I’m quitting California, too. I’m not sure where I’ll relocate. Oregon and Kauai are my top candidates.” “Does Petra know this?” “I didn’t say anything to her, but what doesn’t Petra know?” “Good point. So you’d be available?” “I was calling you to ask for a job.” “We need to find someone to keep up our website and handle our publications. We also want more of a presence in social media. People say we’re falling behind the times in our networking and promotion.” “I could do all that,” I said. “Of course we couldn’t offer you much salary. Nothing like you’re used to.

241 Joshua Bagby On the other hand, we can feed you. You’d get your own apartment. The fringe benefits will be unlike anything you’ll find in Corporate America. We’ll put you on the cutting edge of the spiritual frontier.” I liked how she was suddenly selling the job to me. “Exactly. I want to do work that feels like I’m putting out something positive for the world. I don’t get that here.” What makes things happen? Chance? Will power? Divine intervention? Opportunity knocked, and I opened the door. A painless, invisible tornado whisked me up and set me down gently in Oz. Toto, we’re not in California anymore. This Century’s Gold Rush was upon me. Maybe I had learned my lessons from those two lifetimes ago, Samuel and Werner, prospector and U-boat warrior. Now I could step out of mediocrity and throttle creativity full-speed ahead. “If you’re offering, I’m accepting,” I said. The words slipped out easily, likeyes to chocolate. I could hardly contain the steam of my life-changing decision. Two short weeks after closing one door, the next one flew open. No sooner had I set myself free, liberated myself from the chains of corporate bondage, then bam. Just one spontaneous call to Marilynn Dancer. The Universe works in serendipitous ways, pointing me towards Kauai, gently nudging Ruthanne and Oregon out of the picture. If I were supposed to head north instead, I’d need a heftier whack from the what’s meant to be paddle. While replaying visions of Kauai during an afternoon meditation, I remembered a promise I had made inside the labyrinth. I had agreed to bring Max to Kauai, a promise that in California seemed much more difficult to fulfill than it had in Kauai. But in thinking about it, I decided that if the Universe had credibility, I would find Max at the cemetery like I found Petra in a hot pool, Marilynn on a mountain trail, and Lacey’s wedding ring in the rain-soaked grass. I would know what to say on the fly. I grabbed my van keys and took off. While driving I previewed how Max would be settled in by Casey’s grave. Logic told me odds were good he would be there. He did say, after all, that he spent hours there, and with blue skies overhead it was a lovely evening to grieve. I rekindled the joy I felt meeting Jesus while walking the labyrinth, then hearing from Casey. As if on cue I saw Max peering into the grass near Casey’s headstone. “I was hoping you would be here,” I said. Max looked up from his reverie. “Hey.” He eyed me like a man studying a new car in the showroom. “What brings you to Afterlife Acres?” “I came to find you.”

242 Breath After Death “How uncanny,” he deadpanned. “And here I am.” “I just returned from an awesome trip to Kauai.” “Awesome?” he said with a bitey voice. “As in way cool?” “So awesome I came home and quit my job. I’ve left Failure Dynamics and I’m moving to Kauai.” “I’m sure that’s thrilling news. I’m not sure why you feel compelled to tell me all about it.” “Because I received a message for you from Casey.” Max eyed me with the look one gives an insurance adjuster delivering evil news about the heretofore unmentioned exclusionary fine print. I instantly knew that I had made a serious error in judgment, but I wasn’t quick enough to slam the brakes on my next sentence. “He paid me a visit when I was in Kauai.” “No,” Max said. His look of annoyance deepened. I had fallen through the rotten boards of the perilous rope bridge into the abyss of my loose-cannon mouth. “It’s true.” I hurried to reset the mood. “I found this metaphysical retreat, the Institute of Light. They do great spiritual work there, Max. Classes, workshops. They’ve got a labyrinth. I met psychics.” Max wanted me to cut the crap. “Casey came to you?” “He wants you to come to Kauai.” “Casey came to you?” “ Yes.” “Why didn’t he come to me? I’m his father.” “He wants you to come to Kauai.” “He could have come here to me. I’m his father.” “Yes, you are. Of course you are.” “You are a stranger. You never met him. All you did was screw his mother.” Day by day that act became more and more of an enigma. “I think he chose me, Max, because I know the way out of here. I can show you how to contact him.” I couldn’t believe I spoke with such authority! “Maybe he doesn’t think much of me after what I did to him.” “No, that’s not true.” Max studied the tombstone as if it could spring to life. “I was meditating when Casey spoke to me,” I said. “It was out of the blue, not like a seance or anything. He wants to get you out of the cemetery. He says he’s not here.”

243 Joshua Bagby “I know he’s not here. That’s why they use the termremains .” “He loves you. He made me promise to give you his message.” Max’s voice quaked with agony. “If he can go anywhere on Earth, why doesn’t he show up here? Doesn’t he know I’ve been praying—begging—to see him?” “Spirit doesn’t work on our terms. We have to give. We need to have faith.” “I’ve given so much my faith is on empty.” “I know the feeling.” He made a paper-thin size space with his thumb and index finger. “I’m this close to a meltdown,” he said. “You can’t fathom what it’s like to be in my place.” “Probably not. But I do know wonderful people in Kauai who can help you, and they know what it’s like.” “I’ve been to the psychics. I’ve heard their bullshit.” “Yeah, me, too. This is different.” I recalled the day I first met Petra—how wary I had been of what she was trying to sell me! “They play sophisticated guessing games.” Max took on a battle stance. “No, I won’t be fooled again.” A picture of Roman’s strange wink crossed my mind’s eye. “Sounds like you only want the world your way. Your way has gotten you nowhere.” Tears welled in Max’s eyes. “I’m losing it.” “It almost seems like you don’t want to meet Casey,” I said, wondering as the words bailed out of my mouth where my balls came from. “How can you say that?” “If you met him face-to-face, flesh-to-spirit, you might have to do something you don’t want to do.” “Do what?” “I don’t know. Face something hard to face. Guilt? Shame? Change? You tell me. Do you really want to see your son or don’t you?” “If you’re baiting me, I swear—“ I took my cell phone out of my jacket. “If you won’t go to Kauai, maybe I can bring Kauai to you.” I dialed the phone number stored in my cell phone from earlier. “What are you doing?” he asked shakily. “You wanted Casey to come to you. I’ll make that happen.” Marilynn answered the phone. “This is Benjamin. My friend, Max, really needs your help.” “I’ve got a workshop to lead soon.” “Please. This hasdivine appointment written all over it.”

244 Breath After Death She chuckled. “All right, put him on, Sweetheart.” Thrilled by theSweetheart , I handed Max the phone. “Talk to her.” “No, no.” “Talk to her,” I repeated more firmly, pushing the phone closer to his face. “It’s the call you’ve been dying for.” Max reluctantly took the phone. “Hi. This is Max.” Max listened to the voice traveling through space from brain to mouth to telephone to satellite to telephone to ear to brain. “No, we’ve never met.” he said. “I don’t know who you are. Benjamin just stuck this phone in my face.” Max listened more, then asked, “I need to warn you that I don’t believe in this.” What kind of alchemy did Marilynn of the Garden Isle produce on Max of the Golden State? I could barely hear the murmur of her electronic voice, like the buzzing of an insect in the distance. Yet in the dimming light I could sense Max’s whole countenance softening, shifting, as seeds of enlightenment germinated in his consciousness. I imagined my mother standing alongside me. “Did you set this up,?” I thought yes—but what do I know? I remembered Marilynn saying that my mother was an official hostess who welcomed and oriented crossovers to their new world. “Yes, that’s right,” Max said, his voice coming more alive. Max turned around and looked at me. “No, I just met him.” He turned his face away. “Yes! Casey. Did Benjamin tell you that?” I wondered if I had ever used the name Casey in Marilynn’s presence. “Yes. A motorcycle,” he said. Then Max looked down at the headstone. His whole body stiffened in response to what Marilynn told him. “He said that?” Another burst of tingles poured through my body like a hug of light. Cold reading, my ass. Max looked at me as if for reassurance. I nodded. “Yes, that’s right,” Max said excitedly into the phone. “A little stuffed panda. He carried it everywhere. We buried him with it.” I watched Max’s body language spring to life as his mind pondered an alternate reality. “Where is he now?” he asked. I listened to the silence. “Yeah, Bob,” Max said. “He died four years ago.” I suddenly realized that in my Gold Rush life I had supposedly lost a boy, and

245 Joshua Bagby Lacey—or Sophie—had been Edward’s mother. I had been like Max, a grieving father, grieving over Edward’s death. (That said Edward later reincarnated into Steve was a screwball comedy I would savor later.) “How can something like that be ordained? He was only three years old!” Listening to Max struggle with voices from beyond, I pondered the big picture. Marilynn was doing what John Edward did, yet she was not a psychic superstar. What would the world be like if hearing spirit voices was not regarded as strange or unusual? What if instead of life and death we routinely talked about life and rebirth or life and next life? What if all those news and entertainment shows that dramatize death didn’t? “I don’t comprehend innocent children scheduled to die,” Max said. He appeared to be holding back tears as he listened. My brother Nick had been scheduled to die as a youngster, too, I thought. Plucked from Earth and transferred to paradise for a reason I don;t grasp. Yet. “My wife,” Max said, once again looking at me. “Uh-huh. Yeah, very hostile.” Anxiety shot through me as I pictured spirit tattlers filling Marilynn’s psychic ears with seedy accounts of my behavior. “She wants nothing to do with counseling,” Max said. “...No, she doesn’t believe in life after death…Fat chance! No offense, but no way!” Marilynn apparently said something that caused Max to sit down on a concrete slab. “You think it will help me?” Max listened intently for half a minute more, then said goodbye and handed the phone back to me. “Benjamin, I’ve got more to tell him, but it’s too emotional to share over the phone,” Marilynn said. “You need to bring him here. It will change his life. Will you help? Can I count on you?” “I’ll do my best.” Then I added for fun, “Boss.” After Marilynn and I exchanged our good-byes, Max looked up and said, “You’ve got an impressive friend. I’ve blown a wad on psychics with little satisfaction. I’ve learned to heed that phrase ‘for entertainment purposes only.’ But Marilynn mentioned things only Casey and me would know. This could really mess with my reality.”

246 Breath After Death

26. Put It on Freeze Frame

Dear God: While cool things have happened to me, I still don’t know what to make of you. Who are you? Love? Everything? The I Am? The Hairy Thunderer? The Ultimate Anal Retentive? I’m still irked that the system that makes the most sense, is the most fun, is the most fair, is the most inspired, is the most creative, is equally regarded by so many as un-Christian and un-American. Fundamentalists condemn reincarnation; scientists pooh-pooh it; satirists lambaste it. Jesus told me to follow my heart. My heart tells me we’re still verging on annihilation on many fronts—war, ecology, disease, corporate greed, loveless relationships, dumbing down. My heart doesn’t resonate to that rhetorical monstrosity, the Holy Bible. If you want my opinion—You probably don’t—I still vote for the really big show. Send mortal Jesus back. Give a modern Christ a spin around the block. Update that enigmatic book in plain English. Put up a Web site. Deliver Jesus in a mammoth mothership from Venus. I know we’ve got this hallowed separation of Church and State thing going, but I think it would really rock if the irrepressible Jesus—or other wayshower of your choosing—would land on the White House lawn and give a little speech and reality check.

opened the front door and my life soared in front of my eyes like a boomerang. IIt soared to Kauai, hooked a memory of Petra, and flew back.Not done yet. One step in the future; one step in the past. Then the boomerang circled the cemetery where I had encountered Max. Does Lacey know about Max and me meeting? Does she know I know about Casey? Was a disaster about to happen? A blue denim

247 Joshua Bagby vest barely covered a sheer cream scoop-necked tank top, and a front-buttoned denim skirt looked suspiciously capable of hiding damn-conditioning-anyway visions. She dropped her purse on the floor by the front door (what secrets of spy technology did it contain?), entered my living room, and surveyed the packing boxes strewn about in strategic locations. “So it’s true. You really are leaving.” “Yeah,” I said. I imagined a huge audience of spirit guides hushed in the room, hanging onto my every thought, her every thought, my every word, her every word. They scribbled furiously on their clipboards. This was a test. I was being graded. “Were you going to leave Failure without saying good-bye?” I answered with the sound of silence. “No hug?” she asked. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” I smiled sheepishly and opened my arms. She stepped inside, pressing close. She sighed, acting—overacting—as if sparks from my t-shirt set her body ablaze. The last time she’d dropped by, I’d bought her theatrics. I’d wanted to cross a threshold from loneliness to new love. This time, even as she acted as if she burned for me, I’d drenched myself with flame retardant. “You feel as far away as Pluto. What’s happened to you, Benjamin?” She pulled away. “We used to be such good friends. I even let you fuck me.” Do you ever wish you could stop life? Put it on freeze frame. Analyze it with play-by-play, point-by-point commentary. Think it through before moving on, committing to the next box in the flowchart. Shelet me fuck her? Permission to enter granted. Nothing in it for her. No breaking bread together. No sharing stories and feelings. A one-way street. “Yeah, and then you whooshed out of bed like a slingshot.” “I told you—I had to get back home.” Put it on freeze frame. The truth shall set you free. Lies keep me tied like a victim lashed to a chair in an old cowboy serial. The music blares. Can I unravel the bondage before the evildoers ignite the dynamite and blow me to smithereens? If I wriggled free of the ropes of secrecy, what horrible consequence would I unravel? “But you didn’t go straight home. Roman was down in the parking lot waiting for you.” One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. “Of course I went home. I should know what happened to me.” She looked slightly dazed, then added, “Did you eat a bad pineapple or something?” I took a seat in the powder blue recliner. “Roman and I had a little chat.”

248 Breath After Death One Louisiana, two Louisiana, three Louisiana. “So he told me.” She dropped to the sofa, eyes darting about like minnows in a small tank. Then she grinned, a show business kind of grin concocted for the viewers of Entertainment Tonight. “He loves to mess with people’s minds.” Put it on freeze frame. I need a rest. Does anybody want a pee break? I was up against the wall of secrets. Max’s secrets. Steve’s secrets, which Roman had hinted weren’t very secret. Why was I expected to remain silent, holding the cloak around other people’s shadow worlds? Why couldn’t life be played out in the bright sun with everyone telling the truth? “Did he mention that he informed me about how you are his collared slave?” Her eyes cradled the carpet as the news sunk in like a fresh cabernet stain. I could just fire up my computer and show her Steve’s evidence. Piece o’ cheesecake. But why tip Max’s hand by showing her the evidence she could encounter in court should she pursue her financial assault? “Roman gave me a dissertation on the spiritual benefits of bondage and humiliation. He suggested I try it sometime. That seems to confirm the rumor that you’re having an affair.” Cat out of the bag. She looked bewildered, as if I were ambushing her on Cops with a warrant to search her memory drawer. Suddenly someone she thought was firmly in her palm slithered away with her secrets. But truth itself was slippery. What did I know for certain? I knew what people told me, and that was often not true, or true as only they saw it, bent to their own creative needs? Everybody’s a spin doctor. “I only lied to protect your feelings,” she said with a shrug. “In your office you shamed me for thinking you were Roman’s whore.” “I did?” “You don’t remember? You then said I wasn’t your friend anymore. You tossed me out of your office and out of your life.” She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “I warned you from the very beginning—my life is a mess. You said you still wanted me.” Put it on freeze frame. Damn conditioning anyway. Love is a mystery. Why had I been so driven to grow close to Lacey? If it all came back to how she jiggled when she walked, I should shoot myself right now. Every day is a series of choices. Every hour brings fresh choices. Some lead to bliss. Some come back to haunt. “I was falling in love with you. I thought you were trapped in a dead marriage that you hated. You didn’t mention that while you were dissing your husband you were Roman’s private property.” “I couldn’t risk sharing that with you.”

249 Joshua Bagby “Didn’t you think it would matter to me?” “Benjamin, really, you’d gone eight months without getting laid. Come on. What sex-starved man wouldn’t be overjoyed with a gift like that?” Put it on freeze frame. That might be a sweet gesture in a love thy neighbor context. If more people gave pleasure like that, like Petra’s unconditional love hugging, we’d all live in a better world. It goes both ways, of course. Men would comfort lonely women and women would comfort lonely men. No one would be left out. But then pile on jealousy, possessiveness, the desire to control people, self-esteem issues, tales of perversion trumped and trumpeted by moralistic motor mouths. So Lacey wanted to make me feel good? So she says, but— “Roman says he instructed you to seduce me. He said it was his idea.” Lacey shook her head, a girlish, guilty-as-charged grin creeping through her lips. “His idea? That’s like saying ‘I command you to eat chocolate cake, and if you refuse, you’ll be severely flogged.’” Her grin widened. Proud of herself. “I gave him that idea, Benjamin.” “How?” “A variation on Brer Rabbit. ‘Don’t throw me in the briar patch, Massah Fox.’ Well, he threw me at you because I made him think I would find that repulsive.” Put it on freeze frame. Ever feel like even when two of you speak English, you’re still wagging at each other with foreign tongues? Was she telling the truth or just playing defense—and why was her vest peeling away, revealing just how sheer her top was? “Doesn’t that defeat the whole point of being a submissive—if you can so easily outfox your dominant, aren’t you the real dominant?” “It boggles the mind, doesn’t it? I told him how you kept leering down my blouse and how revolting I thought it was.” “If he thinks I revolt you, why would he encourage you to seduce me?” “He’s training me to break down my barriers to passion. He thinks the more men I’m exposed to, and expose myself to, the better I’ll be for him.” I couldn’t help myself: “I worked so hard to avoid being just another guy staring down your blouse.” “Maybe you try too hard to be a good boy,” she said, winking and brushing her lip with her tongue. “Maybe you should let your bad boy out now and then.” “Do you really enjoy being treated like a dog?” “Like a dog?” she said in a wobbly voice. “I want to uplift my partner’s spirit. If you want to crawl around on your hands and knees lapping water from a dog dish, more power to you.”

250 Breath After Death “It was champagne.” She smirked. “But why humiliate yourself?” She didn’t bat an eye. “It takes me to indescribable places. It bowls me over.” Put it on freeze frame. I saw in her eyes she thought I was just another inhibited dork shocked by what she and Master did to each other. She could not see the light. Maybe that was the message I needed. She wouldn’t see it, maybe couldn’t see it, and the Universe had introduced me to people who would, could, and did. “I couldn’t treat you like Roman does, Lacey. I‘d think about all those real slaves tortured in real slave camps. It just seems wrong to play games of amusement using symbols and images of the worst times in human history.” “That misses the whole point! It’s not about celebrating slave torture. It’s about transcending ordinary, meaningless sex.” I thought about how I transcended ordinary sex with Petra. She sent me to ecstasy with light energy. “Explain it to me.” “I give up control. I am bound to follow my Master’s instructions. He’s shown me worlds and experiences no one else has. I don’t question what he asks of me or how weird I might think it is. It is part of my training.” Her eyes attached onto me like suction cups. “Oh, Benjamin, don’t you want to break out of a life of creativity off?” “I am breaking out. I’m moving to Kauai.” “You don’t need Kauai. I’m offering you paradise right here.” Put it on freeze frame. Amazing! The woman who has made herself famous for stealth and disappearing acts is now selling visions of paradise. But I went to paradise and I know the difference. “You’re married to Max and bound to Roman. I‘d get leftovers at best.” “Just don’t worry about Max. I don’t. Think creativity on. Roman is training me to be an uber slut. It would be perfect for you. Stare down my blouse whenever you crave. Lots of sex, no hassles. Hey, you only go around once.” Put it on freeze frame. So here it gets sticky. Here’s the hook. A woman with the sexiest body this side of Kauai implores me to break out of my everyday normal and play with her. Past experience says I’ll get burned. Witnesses wave their affidavits about Lacey’s lack of sincerity—or the deteriorated state of her mental health. But still. Her hypnotic eyes. Her mesmerizing breasts. Her luscious legs. Her intoxicating way with words. Her sense of adventure. Her explorer spirit. She gave me thumbs up to sneak off the beaten path of conformity and run wild in the tall green grass. Different paths to epiphany, Roman had said. Yet no matter how alluring Lacey’s charms were, I reminded myself of Petra’s energy blast. Her

251 Joshua Bagby balls o’ fire caresses took me to a place inside I never even knew existed. So why even entertain Lacey’s offer? Petra was uncoupled by choice anddamn conditioning anyway, Lacey is one hot alternative—if she was being sincere. “Speaking of ‘you only go around once,’ in Kauai I discovered that you and I were married in the mid-19th Century.” She brushed me off with the wave of her hand. “Oh, please! Don’t go there, hon. I stay here in the 21st Century.” I kept rolling along despite her clenching jaw. “But it’s interesting! We lived in Missouri. Isn’t that ironic? We were dirt farmers. We lost a child in 1848.” I scanned her face for a sign, but it was a blind alley. “During the midst of our grief, I heard about the Gold Rush in California.” “Yeah, it was in all the papers,” Lacey deadpanned. “I left you and our two other children and went to seek our fortune. I thought God would save us from poverty. It was a disaster. I lost everything. Ever since then, my soul has sought your forgiveness.” “I forgive you, honey,” she said with a snicker. “Take me to your bed and I’ll show you how much I forgive you.” “But what if reincarnation is the real deal?” “People get into that stuff when they aren’t happy with the here and now. They use it as an escape. Benjamin, who cares if we were married before? It’s what we do now that’s important.” Put it on freeze frame. And right now she wanted to go to bed. She didn’t want to talk about the nature of the universe or the nature of reality. Julie all over again. Julie reincarnated, albeit in a deluxe temptress version. They say that men are dominated by their dickbrains. But if she was just offering me access to her body, how fulfilling was that? It meant that everything she would do would be for entertainment value, not for intimacy. “I don’t understand you, Benjamin. I’m giving you everything you could possibly want. I thought you loved my body. Do you have any idea how many men would love to be you right about now?” “I do love your body, but I want more.” “What more is there?” Put it on freeze frame. Her question shook me with a soul-jarring gonging. Lacey was nowhere near understanding what I had been through with Petra, and even with Marilynn. We were not marching to the same drummer. Then a thunderous pounding at the front door added to the cacophony. “Is that your slavemaster—or your husband?” I asked rhetorically, rising from

252 Breath After Death my chair and looking toward the door with dread. I held my breath, and opened up. I was surprised to see Steve standing on my porch, but not half as surprised as he was to see Lacey sitting on my sofa. Put it on freeze frame. Tick-tock-tick-tock. The cosmic timekeeping astounded me. Chance? Will power? Divine intervention? It was uncanny having them show up at the same time when they rarely came over at all. Did some spirit guide coordinate this extraordinary meeting schedule? Steve crossed in front of Lacey and flopped his big body into the powder blue recliner. “Whenever Steve comes over, he sits in that chair,” I said. “Hey, it’s the only comfy thing here,” he said, looking as if terrorists had just blown up the doughnut shop. “Do you want to take it with you?” I said. “I’ll gladly give it to you.” Steve stared into space. “Maybe,” he said blankly. “I don’t know.” “It probably won’t meet with Trisha’s decorating taste,” I said. “She’s upscale trendy.” His eyes swept searchlight circles in the room. “Doesn’t matter. Trisha just threw me out of the house.” “Oh,” Lacey sighed compassionately. “What?” I asked, though I heard his words. “Why?” “I’d rather not say.” “We’re all friends here.” I added. Steve looked at Lacey. She nodded. He looked at me. I nodded. “Trisha raided my computer again. When I got home, she clawed me to death.” “I’m so sorry,” Lacey said. “That’s horrible when people invade your privacy.” “So what did she find?” I asked. “About eighteen gigabytes,” he sighed. “Porn,” Lacey said, appearing to guess. “Yeah,” Steve said. “I’ve never seen her this pissed. Screaming. Throwing things. She threw me out.” “It’s your apartment, Steve,” I reminded him. “She can’t evict you from your own apartment.” “Just for having porn?” Lacey asked, shaking her head. “Everybody has porn.” “Actually, I’d rather leave. I can move into a new place and not reflect on all the good times we had in that place.” “Fresh start,” Lacey said. “Good idea.” “There’s something to be said for that,” I said. “That’s what I’m doing.”

253 Joshua Bagby “Are you moving?” he asked, as if it had just dawned on him that the piles of boxes on the floor weren’t just sloppy housekeeping. Put it on freeze frame. When something is meant to be, mystics say, things just drop into place, click, click, click. The Red Sea parts. Suddenly my pathway to Kauai seemed greased on an even faster track. Just put myself in a tuck position and let the force whiz me to my new destiny. Steve’s face lit up. I knew he was picturing his new apartment stuffed with my old furniture. He wasn’t a karma man. No cause and effect outside of Lady Luck for him. Chance? Will power? Divine intervention? Did Trisha discover the eighteen gigabytes entirely by accident? There are no accidents. Did Steve unconsciously will it to happen by not taking precautions to password-protect his computer? Was this a passive- aggressive modus operandi to bring about the break-up he couldn’t master head- on? Or had some other source prompted Trisha’s sleuthing, perhaps email from an anonymous informant? Maybe it was Steve’s instant karma. Maybe his revenge plot had instantly backfired, and he was already reaping what he wanted someone else to sow. Lacey stirred, like she was preparing to leave. Steve seemed to notice, too, as his eyes locked onto her. “Would you guys like to fuck or something?” Lacey asked with less fanfare than a price check at Wal-Mart. “Are you serious?” Steve asked, gasping with laughter. “Sure,” she said. “Why waste time twiddling our thumbs?” “Hell, yeah!” Steve yahooed. “Let’s twiddle other things.” Heavens, no. That was my first thought. Lacey quickly honed into my hesitance. “Benjamin?” Did her purse contain secret recording devices? “No, thanks anyway.” Steve immediately sent an emergency pop quiz to me with his entire face. What the bleep are you doing? Lacey pouted. “Oh, well. Some other time, I guess.” Panic descended onto Steve’s face. “Ben, c’mon, don’t be a party pooper!” He resembled a canine dinner table beggar, waiting, hoping, willing me to cave in and flip him a meat scrap. Every brain cell in his body must have been enlisted to fight the battle against my prudish ways. Lacey brushed her vest aside to show off her see-through top. Steve faced Lacey with more beggar eyes. “I’m in, that’s for damn sure.” He looked back at me. “Trisha tossed me out on my fat ass. I’m free to strike while the iron is hot.”

254 Breath After Death That’s irony for you. “This iron is hot and wet,” Lacey said, looking at me. “Have some fun, son.” Put it on freeze frame. Visions of Kaui wafted through my mind. This was a test, wasn’t it? A character test. Focus on the bliss of the future. Be the change I wished to see. When Marilynn or Petra will ask how I behaved with that married woman, I could look them in the eye and declare with pride that I had passed the predator bait test. “You two go without me,” I said. “You can use my bedroom. I’ll take a walk.” Steve stood up. Every atom in his body floated toward the bedroom as if he were attempting to pull Lacey toward pay dirt in molecular tug-of-war. “There’s nothing I can do to tantalize you?” Lacey asked, stalling. “Any fantasies you want fulfilled?” “I don’t feel right about this.” She smirked again. “What’s not to feel right about?” Her animal face returned. As she watched me watch her, she gyrated the goods. “Stare at the goodies.” “Hey, baby, come on, I’m horny,” Steve’s voice blew in from the bedroom. Lacey peeled away her top. “You go to Kauai then. You chase your next Gold Rush.” Her voice sounded like an angry mob. “It will work out the same way. You’ll wish you’d never left me. It doesn’t get better than this, Benjamin. I promise you’ll look back on this moment and go, ‘What was I thinking?’” I turned and left, thinking about my fresh start.

255 Joshua Bagby

27. That’s Irony for You

Dear God: Two months ago my life was cemented in like a patio; routine and security prevailed. That chipped and flaked away—my job, Lacey, even Steve. My former best friend moved into my mostly furnished apartment, but something changed the night I refused a threesome. Steve blamed me for ruining his good luck with Lacey. Isn’t illogic fun? He had her in bed all to himself, yet he says I jinxed his chances to win her heart by shifting her mood! I guess if you won’t blame yourself, blame somebody else. Mine is just one little life. You must see all sorts of wild things with your omnipotent presence in everything. Talk about reality TV.

uppose we had never met,” Max said from seat 28F, Kauai bound. “Had “Sit not been for you, I never would have talked with Marilynn. I’d still be loitering in the bone yard waiting for the show to start.” “I call it connecting the dots,” I said from seat 28D. We had comfy karma. No one occupied 28E, so we stretched out. “When the Universe wants me to do something, Celestial Traffic Control leads me from person to person, from dot to dot, until I reach the eventual target.” “By that logic, I’m grateful you found Lacey’s dot alluring.” Damn conditioning anyway. “I’m still embarrassed about my behavior with her—cavorting with a married woman. Your wife.” “Stow it. When Lacey amps up the heat with her body you’d either have to be militantly gay or comatose to resist.” I silently applauded myself. Finally I had just said no to Lacey. I had kicked the habit. I did not cave in to peer pressure. Clear conscience. I could hold my

256 Breath After Death head up high while I surfed the wave carrying me to my new life in Kauai. “Our home life is worse than ever,” Max said later. “It’s not a marriage; it’s a war zone. We live like tombmates. Separate bedrooms. Fend-for-ourselves meals. Occasional sniper fire. She comes and goes as she pleases. A wide variety of aftershaves waft in when she returns to base camp.” “How can you stand living like that?” I asked. “I can’t totally blame her. The woman is mentally ill. On the other hand, I pushed her further into the abyss. My negligence created this disaster.” “How long do you plan to endure this torture?” I asked. “It reeks of severe masochism.” “I don’t yearn for a new romance; ergo, I have no need for divorce court. Status quo saves me money, and I’m used to the wretched living conditions.” “Even so that’s got to drag you down day after day. It can’t be healthy.” “I always thought I was smarter than this.” His pained whimper returned for an encore. “I never thought Roman would steal her, either. I trusted him. We go back. He and Sylvia used to come over for barbecue and bridge. They were lifesavers right after Casey’s death, especially to Lacey. Sylvia performed great emotional triage. And Roman, well—” “Does Sylvia know about the two of them then?” “Sylvia decided after twenty-some years that she prefers women. They aren’t divorcing, though, for the sake of their twin daughters. To the outside world, they appear content, but she secretly visits her lover and you already know what Roman does.” “So did Roman, Sylvia, and Lacey ever have a threesome?” He sneered at me, but with a twinkle. “No, Geraldo. Sylvia doesn’t play like that. She’s very feminine. Her softness probably bored Roman. Within a few months Sylvia withdrew from the picture. Then Roman took the reigns of power and created the bewildered nymphomaniac Lacey is today. There was nothing I could do. Lacey had already abandoned me in her heart.” “Maybe they’ll wind up married, and you’ll be set free.” “Perhaps. However, my money rests on his voracious appetite for variety. How many stupid slut tricks can Lacey perform before he yawns himself into a prolonged slumber?” A few hours later, we landed mid-afternoon at Lihue, picked up the rental car, and started our trek to the northern end of the island. On our drive we stopped to savor the tranquil ambiance of shimmering waterfalls and scenic overlooks. We drove through picturesque taro fields past the town of Hanalei, where the narrow

257 Joshua Bagby road wound through jungle-like surrounds, bordered on one side by emerald mountains and on the other by stretches of white sand and aquamarine seas. Max looked pleased by the sights, yet I noticed him clawing his thighs with his fingertips. As soon as I spotted Marilynn in the Institute of Light business office, headlines spilled from her strangely dull blue eyes. “Benjamin,” she said, smiling awkwardly. I knew that look, a Faye look. “Benjamin!” Petra popped off her office chair with little girl energy to claim first hugs and smother me with aloha spirit. I noticed Marilynn hug Max with a polite embrace. “Benjamin has told me so much about this place,” Max said. “And you.” “None of it is true. We drugged him,” Petra cracked, still giving me squish. “Well, I’m ready for drug therapy then,” he countered as Petra changed partners. “It’s hug therapy around here,” Petra replied. When Marilynn hugged me a quick hello, her body language betrayed her pretty public face. “What’s going on?” I asked. “You feel worried.” “And you claim you’re not psychic,” Petra mused to me, then to Marilynn said, “Go on, tell him.” Marilynn checked Max out, apparently judging if she could speak freely in front of him. She shrugged and said, “We just got word this morning that we’re being sued.” “For what?” “A million bucks.” “Why?” “A woman’s legal team contends that she was raped here. The term we think is more accurate is seduced. Big difference.” Marilynn squinted. “She doesn’t want to take any personal responsibility for what happened, for what she created, so she hired some heavy artillery to make us pay.” “Someone else playing Litigation Lotto,” I said. “It happened here after one of Petra’s hugging workshops,” Marilynn explained. “That being the case, they decided we’re responsible—we’re to blame.” “How can that be?” Max asked. “We instructed workshop participants to remove their clothes,” Marilynn said. “They decided that nudity is grounds for legal assault—and silly us, we didn’t have people sign liability waivers.” “We hate that legal shit,” Petra added.

258 Breath After Death Max cocked his head, his brain busily extrapolating, perhaps wondering if he should race to catch the next flight back home. A mental picture popped into view. Ruthanne, charmed by the wealthy tycoon, Paul, who gave her fuck and bye. She was a wounded puppy until he mysteriously showed up in Maui in his airplane. Who knows how long that reunion will last? What if he disappears again? Then there was Darleen, ashamed to disrobe, finally willing to let go. Soon she became intoxicated with male attention. Maybe when she left this paradise, alone again, she had a long chat with her ego and decided that the only good that could come out of this embarrassment was a cash payout. “Her attorneys filed the papers,” Marilynn growled. “They claim that our hypnotic, hedonistic atmosphere tricked the innocent plaintiff into having sex against her better judgment.” “She amassed a million dollars worth of pain and suffering in the process of reaching orgasm,” Petra cracked. “Punitive damages. Apparently she got very pissed,” Marilynn said. “Maybe she didn’t reach orgasm,” Max suggested. Laughter filled the room. “Whatever happened to saying no, thank you?” Petra asked later. “Or even coming to us when she felt her pain?” “Hiring an attorney is like having a reality makeover,” Max said. “They create a new reality of pain and suffering for you to fit the demands of the lawsuit.” “Do you have a good attorney over here?” I asked. “Sweet Benjamin,” Marilynn said with a deep sigh. “We don’t have the kind of money it takes to wage a courtroom battle. You should see our profit and loss statements. This could well be a 9/11 for our little Shangri-la.” “Doesn’t your liability insurance cover court expenses and that sort of thing?” Max asked. Marilynn and Petra eyed each other in wonderment. “Charlie took care of that, and Charlie’s gone,” Marilynn finally admitted. “That’s not the primary issue,” Petra said. “If this proceeds, they’ll dig into our lives like a mob of moles,” Marilynn said. “They’ll expect us to explain every facet of our work—nude workshops, nude labyrinth walking, talking to spirits, unconventional psychic therapies—” “—Group gropes, lesbo action, delusions du jour,” Petra added. “You know how the tabloid community would treat this stuff. Prosecutors would shovel it to them as fast as they could.” “We would be overwhelmed with negative energy. It would consume us and all our resources. Why choose that path?”

259 Joshua Bagby “What about divine protection?” I offered. Marilynn and Petra exchanged glances again, then bug-eyed me. Here I am tripping over another fantasy about how the Universe works. “Well, isn’t it logical?” I asked. “Don’t you get help from your angelic allies?” “Spirit moves in mysterious ways,” Petra finally volunteered. “Some people believe that if you walk a spiritual path, you’ll be rewarded with ass-saving insight 24/7. The truth is we don’t get insider information like that. We aren’t immune to rejected lovers with attitude.” “We struggle along just like everybody else,” Marilynn said. “Spirit doesn’t see the world in mortal terms. If the Institute of Light goes dark for lack of funds, Spirit will find another lighthouse somewhere else. No big deal.” “That’s it?” I asked. ”Marilynn told me working here would put me on the cutting edge of the spiritual frontier.” “Yes, I did say that, and I meant it then,” Marilynn admitted. “For your sake I do regret the lousy timing. Sorry, Benjamin.” “But we need this place,” I protested, seeing my new career explode moments off the launch pad. “Just to let one embittered woman ruin it for everyone—that’s sickening.” “Benjamin, think big picture. The whole world is the Institute of Light,” Petra said. “I’ve never seen anything like it before,” I said. “Maybe you haven’t been looking in the right places—or looking for it at all until you met me. The whole world is a spiritual school. You create heaven or hell right here no matter where you are.” “But things like the labyrinths or hugging workshops or the hot pools or this beautiful tropical setting—you can’t find that just anywhere.” “You can create it anywhere,” Marilynn said. “Ultimately it’s a state of mind.” “What about all your work? All Charlie’s work?” I asked. “You sound like you’re already resigned to let it go poof.” “Maybe it’s Charlie’s way of saying, ‘Get a life already.’” Marilynn said. “You have a fabulous life!” I retorted. “Charlie’s plan was to eventually sell our property to a big hotel chain for a ritzy resort. Take the money. Travel. Let somebody else run the next leg of the relay. Maybe it’s time for me to hand off the baton.” The idea of a hotel on this sacred spot soured my stomach. This is where Jesus had walked with me! I instantly felt more empathy for those American Indians

260 Breath After Death who felt personally tormented when construction crews plowed into sacred burial grounds to erect a shopping mall. “This really upsets me,” I said, trying to keep my voice light and cordial. “I had a whole new life planned.” “You’ve got a whole new life no matter what happens here,” Petra said. Marilynn seemed to lose patience for the subject of my pain. She put on her polite mask and changed the subject. “So, Max, I’m glad you made it here. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” “I’m glad to be here—thanks to Benjamin.” “You’re dealing with intense shit, Max,” Petra said, drilling to the point. “Yeah,” he said. “Grim reaper time.” “I see heaps of soul growth, though,” Petra quickly added. Max stared into his past. “It’s been dark and dreary for two years.” “Dark night of the soul,” Petra replied. Marilynn suddenly rose from her seat. “Let’s continue this discussion in the sacred circle, all right?” The four of us walked through the grounds toward the surf. It was as lush and beautiful as I remembered. Just my luck—or my karma—to think I’d reached the safety and comfort of my great new bed, only to find that someone had already swiped my pillows and blankets. Max seemed eager to probe the psychic treasure chest walking alongside him. “Ever since we talked on the phone,” he said to Marilynn, “I’ve been pouring over each and every syllable you uttered. I want to believe you. Your psychic abilities are most impressive. But—” “—It still feels like fantasy,” Marilynn suggested. “Yes. I like to imagine Casey dwelling in Elysium. It’s better than thinking of him as meat for the worms in a buried box. But I’m suspicious, too. Your version creates an easy out for me. An instant absolution of guilt. It takes me off the hook—this meant-to-be death by timetable.” “It was Casey’s time to go,” Marilynn said in a comforting tone. How odd for her to say that, I thought. After all, she couldn’t accept Charlie’s express lane checkout as keeping to a life-and-death script. I guess it’s easier to teach a concept than to live it. I kept my mouth shut. “If it was Casey’s time to go, nothing I could have done would have stopped it, eh?” “No, nothing.” “If I would have locked the front door, he would have died some other way?” “Some other way. That’s how it works.”

261 Joshua Bagby We arrived at a grove of trees by the ocean. I recognized it as the sacred spot where Marilynn, Petra, and I had said goodbye to Charlie. We sat on the sand. Petra led us in a prayer to prepare the sacred circle. When she finished, Marilynn took hold of Max’s arm. “Are you OK?” Max appeared to be a few breaths shy of throwing up. “I just miss Casey,” he said in a shaking voice. “I know the feeling,” Marilynn said. “I felt the same way when I lost my husband.” “I don’t understand why we’re forced to endure these grief marathons,” Max said. “If Casey were killed on a predetermined schedule, it means that I was set up to suffer—which excuse my French totally fucks with my mind!” “Petra was once clinically dead for seven minutes. I nearly drowned,” Marilynn said. “During our experiences, we both previewed other dimensions of life. We don’t fear death now. We can tell you with assurance that Casey is alive and well in a nearby world just beyond the physical senses. Grief still exists, I’m living proof, but it puts life and death into perspective. We are eternal. We do go on.” “I haven’t had an experience like theirs,” I said. “I rely on Marilynn and Petra to tell me what death is like. If they are right—the big if, as far as I am concerned— death doesn’t kill us. If that’s true, it changes everything. If Casey as a soul scripted his death like a plot twist in a movie, how much of your guilt is too much guilt?” “Precisely,” Max said. “This lets me off the guilt hook if what you ladies say is true.” “I’m no lady,” Petra fluted. “I’m a social deviant.” “Dear Petra definitely perverts our minds,” Marilynn teased. “I refuse to drink grape Kool-Aid,” Max mused. Welcome laughter filled the circle. “When does our flying saucer land?” I asked. “So you both died and were brought back to life,” Max said. “And these experiences lead you—with confidence—to conclude that death—as Benjamin puts it—doesn’t kill us?” “That’s the size of it, Cookie,” Petra said. Marilynn nodded in agreement. “There’s breath after death.” Max shook his head as it all sunk in. “Don’t get a headache,” Petra added. “Casey lost his life on my watch. Lacey will never forgive me for that. My life has been a living hell for two years. If it’s all an illusion, what’s the point?” “I questioned that very thing when my husband dropped dead,” Marilynn

262 Breath After Death said. “I even had the advantage of seeing the other side with my own eyes.” “Most grief stems from our culture’s perversely limited view of death,” Petra said. “We don’t honor the soul journey. When people I know die, I’m sad for my loss, but I celebrate their ascension to the joys of spirit.” “But if what you say is real, why is it kept such a secret?” Max asked. “Why are only a chosen few invited to peer beyond the curtain—and get visits?” “Conditioning mostly,” Petra said. “It used to be a big secret that the world was round. Everybody assumed it was pancake flat. Same thing here. The mass view assumes that death kills. It’s all about how people die—the tragedy of it all. That view is slowly changing. Technology—specifically the Internet—helps people from all over the globe share their visions. Go on the Web now and you’ll find thousands of people coming forward with their near-death and out-of-body experiences. We’re on the verge of a huge paradigm shift.” “That’s all terrific, but why did Casey come to seeBenjamin ? No offense, but I’m his father. Why not me?” “Conditioning,” Petra repeated. “You have a passionate desire to see Casey, but you have a stronger belief that it’s impossible. Your stronger belief acts like a perceptual repellent. Your beliefs literally create a blind eye to what you could be seeing.” “It’s the law of attraction in action,” Marilynn said. “Excuse me, but I find that incongruous,” Max blurted. “No one wants to see Casey more than me. I’m open to it. I’ve been open to it.” “I disagree,” Marilynn said. “You’ve been open to being tortured. You’re constantly beating yourself up for what happened.” “Well, I should be. It happened on my watch—when I wasn’t looking.” “There’s something I didn’t want to reveal over the phone when I received it. It was too important to spring on you across an ocean.” Max braced himself for the flash. So did I. “Nothing can bring Casey back, not as the little boy you knew anyway. But you’ve been living in a thick fog for a couple of years now, and I think you need to know something—you are not responsible for Casey’s death.” “Yes, I understand. As a soul he chose his time of death,” Max said. “There are no accidents. Everybody takes a number and when it’s your time, you go.” “That and more. You think Casey died because you left the door unlocked. I don’t think you left the door unlocked.” Chills raced through my body as Marilynn’s words formed a line-up in my brain. Flashbulbs popped. Murmurs erupted at the press conference.

263 Joshua Bagby “Of course I did,” Max insisted. “Are you sure that’s what happened?” “Yes, of course!” Max looked stupefied. “I’ve been over it a million times. I came home with groceries. I was dog-tired. It was a sweltering day. It was all I could do to unpack the groceries. I forgot to lock the front screen door. I collapsed on the sofa and fell asleep with Casey playing at my feet.” Max grimaced as if someone had thrust a knife deep inside his gut and twisted the blade. “I woke up later with Lacey screaming outside and my son dead on the street.” “How do you know you forgot to lock the front door?” Petra asked. “Because I couldn’t remember locking it.” “You were exhausted. What if you had locked it but you didn’t remember doing it? That’s easy enough to do, right? We do lots of little things automatically, out of habit.” “I’m sure I left the door unlatched,” he insisted. “No, you didn’t,” Marilynn said. “That’s what I’m telling you.” “No, you didn’t,” Petra seconded in stereo. “Casey couldn’t reach it. The latch is up too high.” “Casey says it wasn’t your fault,” Marilynn said. “What if you locked the door and someone unlocked it while you slept?” Petra asked. “Is that possible?” “The only other person in the house—are you serious?” “Maybe someone sold you a story that it was you who forgot to lock the door,” Petra said. Emotion crashed through his body like a concentrated hurricane. “She all but had me indicted for first-degree homicide,” he gasped. “Maybe she couldn’t face her guilt,” Marilynn said. “Maybe she didn’t lock the door after she unlocked it.” “She’s tormented me for over two years!” “The big lie,” Petra said. “How do you know this?” Max asked. “How can you be sure?” “I’m just the messenger,” Marilynn said. “But yes, I’m sure.” “How? This is a horrible accusation! Did you get the message right? You’re implying that my wife committed a horrific act!” “You’re willing to believe in your negligence,” Marilynn said, “but not willing to believe that your wife, who abuses you, would deceive you?” “She was so adamant—so vicious toward me. It never occurred to me that she could be covering her own ass.” Max rocked from side to side as the message

264 Breath After Death infiltrated his brain and scrambled his reality. His face contorted with the meaning of the message until he finally burst in sobs. He reached out for Marilynn. She enfolded him in her arms and helped him ride out his emotional hurricane. “My God, my God.” Marilynn stroked him lovingly. “Sweet baby. Sweet baby.” The birds sang chants in the trees surrounding us. The waves pounded the shore nearby. Life moved on in the rest of the world as Max stepped out of his energy prison and took a fresh look around. “It’s not my fault?” he asked, his voice sounding almost like a little boy Casey’s age. “No,” Marilynn said, her own eyes welling. “It’s not your fault.” We sat quietly. Marilynn held Max in a loving way. Petra and I embraced. I could only imagine the mayhem going through Max’s mind. Pillars holding up a huge platform of guilt and self-hatred cracked and toppled in the psychic mirror. Pillars cracked for me, too. At one time Lacey had been my dream girl. What had I been thinking? A few minutes later, Petra said, “Your next challenge is to figure out what to do with this knowledge.” Max shook his head. “I’m stunned. I don’t know where to begin with this.” “That’s why I insisted on telling you in person, Max. This information won’t help you legally. No judge would ever believe two weirdo psychics. Maybe, though, you can heal the trauma in your soul,” Marilynn said. “She played me for a patsy. She made me take the fall for her. Everyone believed Casey’s death was my fault. Even me. She got everyone’s sympathy, and now you say she was lying through her perfect smile!” Petra fielded that one. “Yeah, that’s it. She committed acts of violence against your reputation—and your soul. The conditioned thing to do would be to fight back with the same force your attackers used to get you—an eye for an eye.” “Yeah,” Max nodded. “She needs her reckoning.” “Does she?” Petra asked. “She needs her reckoning,” Max repeated. “I can’t ignore it.” “The big picture,” Petra replied, looking like a mother slightly amused at her teenage son’s temper tantrum over being blown up again in another video game. “My God, look at what she did to me. Look at what she did to Casey. There’s no virtue in letting her walk away from this unscathed.” “I disagree. Thereis virtue in letting her walk,” Petra said. “Sometimes you have to step out of the box to truly see.” “She ingrained in me that I was a miserable, incompetent parent. I heard it

265 Joshua Bagby so often it became a litany.” He clenched his jaw hard. “I did all I could to make it work—to be a family—to please her. She sabotaged me the whole way. Now it turns out that my only incompetence was not seeing that I was being deceived.” “The big picture, Max,” Petra repeated softly. “What?” “What Lacey did was lousy, but in another lifetime, you did worse to her.” “Did I?” “You were once a magistrate,” Petra said. “For your own political gains, you routinely condemned political adversaries to torture.” Max frowned. “And Lacey was of of them, I presume?” “She was a man then. You ordered one of his hands chopped off for his insubordination.” Max winced at the idea. “I suppose this must be my reckoning then.” “More like a choice point,” Marilynn broke in. “You can fill your heart with pain and seek revenge. Is it worth it? You place yourself back in a vicious karmic circle. You harm her for harming you, and you’re stuck in war. You can devote your energy to battle, but at what price? What hell do you create for yourself? Or you can empathize with your wife’s pain and forgive her for her abuses.” “I sucked up to her my whole marriage. Now you advise me to suck up more and forgive her?” “Even without retribution from you,” Marilynn replied, “she lives in a hell of her own creation. Deep beneath her wall of denial she knows the truth. She knows she lied. It eats her alive like a cancer. Someday her path will lead to a life review. She’ll literally feel all the pain she ever caused anyone. Why do more?” Max rubbed his forehead. “I think she’s impervious to guilt. She’s still planning assaults on me, on my finances. Lawyers. Lawsuits. Threats. Does my karma force me to suffer this?” “No,” Marilynn replied, “but if you seek revenge, you’ll just be torturing yourself with hatred. It will only justify and energize the rage she holds against you. Use that energy to forge a new and better life for yourself, and when you do that, your thinking will be more clear, too.” “It’s the love your enemy technique, right?” I asked, glancing at Petra. “It’s like what you’re doing with that lawsuit.” Marilynn nodded. “Rise above your indignation. Take the spiritual high road. Forgive. Move on. Don’t look back, Jack.” Max’s eyes glazed over. “This is like a steak dinner. Wonderful to taste but hard to digest.”

266 Breath After Death “Casey is here now,” Marilynn said nonchalantly, making a circular gesture inside our space. “Talk to him about it.” Max shuddered at the news. He glanced at Petra. “Do you see him, too?” She nodded. “I feel his presence.” His owl eyes peered at me. “I don’t see him,” I said, “but I’m getting the fizzy feeling.” “Is Casey aware of me and my world?” Max asked the group. “Oh, yeah. Clear channel,” Marilynn said. “Much more than vice versa.” “Must be pretty rough on a kid to watch his mommy and daddy slug it out,” he said. “Naturally you think of him as your little son. He’s not really a child anymore.” Max froze as this latest news avalanche crashed around him. “What is he?” “Here we would call him an adult. When we transform back into spirit, we blend back with our eternal soul energy state.” I watched Max grapple with the concept that his three-year-old son had instantly aged to perfection. It reminded me of night dreams when I would have adult conversations with babies or animals. Marilynn reached out and softly rubbed Max’s shoulder. “Go ahead. Talk with him.” “Casey, I’ve talked to you thousands of times since you left, but never with an audience present. Well, those I could see anyway.” Max’s eyes flew around the circle, an embarrassed grin lurking on his lips. “My whole perception of you has been humpty-dumptied.” “He’s glad that you joined us by the sea,” Marilynn spoke for Casey. “He says your anguish at the cemetery vigils broke his heart.” “If I would have known about this place—and Marilynn and Petra—I would have flown over much earlier. I would not have wasted so much time.” “He says everything happens when you are ready to proceed.” “I want to hear from you—is it true that I didn’t cause your death?” “He says his death fulfilled a sacred contract with you and his mother.” “To have you ripped away like that, Casey? God might as well have yanked both arms from my shoulders.” Max shuddered, lost in a vision. “He felt your agony. In earth terms, his death was horrible for you. He says he left his body before the motorcycle struck him. He instantly appeared in his new home. You will be there, too, eventually. His death triggered challenges you asked to experience this life.”

267 Joshua Bagby “Challenges? I haven’t met them very successfully.” “He says his death brought you closer to your divinity than you have ever been. You don’t understand yet what those hours of suffering sown at the cemetery will reap you in wisdom.” “Those were the worst hours of my life—made far worse by the guilt I felt for falling asleep on the sofa.” “He says to reflect on those feelings you had when you thought you had caused his death. Then consider how his mother must feel, only worse, because she is so deep in grief she cannot face her truth.” “Yet if what you say is true,” Max says, “you came to this life knowing you would leave it soon, and your mother is not responsible for your death, either.” “That’s true,” Marilynn replied. “He says you believe that he was cheated out of a rich, full life. Yet for him life hasn’t stopped; it’s only changed form.” “You came to me like an accident—a responsibility I didn’t think I could handle. I thought that Lacey had deliberately gotten pregnant to control me. But once you arrived, I found paternal feelings I never knew I had.” “He says that your hunch was correct. His mother secretly quit taking birth control pills. She wanted a child on her own terms, even though it meant deceiving you. He says that should not take away from the beauty you discovered when you became a father.” Max looked as if bulldozers had just razed his home while he was napping. “Is there anything else I don’t know?” Marilynn chuckled on Casey’s behalf. “You will love another woman, and you will see her with wide-open eyes—with clear sight you’ve never had before.” “Uh-oh,” I spontaneously broke in. Everyone looked at me quizzically. “Spirits love to promise you’ll be meeting soul mates,” I explained. “It’s a great motivator. Chloe appeared in my bedroom looking like a cross between Marilynn and a roman candle. She told me to come here to Kauai to find love—which I assumed to mean Marilynn. Hey, if a see-through woman hadn’t promised me a soul mate, I never would have come here.” “Awww,” Petra purred, rubbing my scalp lovingly. “The glass slipper didn’t fit Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty never woke up.” “Benjamin, there’s a real parallel here between what Max experienced and what you experienced.” Marilynn said. “Max has been in so much grief about Casey’s death that he wasn’t able to tune in to Casey’s presence. Casey has been there all along but he couldn’t get through to Max to say, “Hey, Dad, everything’s

268 Breath After Death cool. I’m in a wonderful place and have met some great new friends. Don’t worry about me, OK? “You’ve got the same thing going with your hunger for a soul mate. The Universe gets that you want a soul mate with all your heart, but you’re also churning out this great obstacle field of rage and hurt from the past. You’ve got to stop feeling so sorry for yourself. It’s keeping you from the very happiness you want The reality you’re creating for yourself is being a lonely man, a victim of mean and loose women.” “I get that part,” I said. “The part I don’t get is Chloe.” “You mean Casey,” Patra said. “I mean Chloe. The woman who showed up in my bedroom.” Marilynn grinned Eureka. “It’s actually quite simple, Benjamin. Casey is a female impersonator named Chloe.” “What?” Max and I said in unison. The psychics laughed at our reactions. “I spent fifteen minutes with a woman who looked exactly like you!” I cried. “You’re such a sucker for a hot light body,” Petra said, tickling me in the ribs. “Creativity on, Benjamin,” Marilynn said. “Casey morphed into Chloe to help Petra capture your attention. He knew that Lacey thrilled you, so he used that passion to connect the dots to Max. He’s laughing and says he especially liked leading you to the lost wedding ring and watching you get your reward.” I heard a loud gasp escape my lungs as the psychic clue-by-four careened into my noggin.

269 Joshua Bagby

28. Creativity On!

Dear God: Is this yet another test by divine forces, the celestial bait and switch? For over thirty-four years, I thought you had kidnapped my mother and brother. Then I saw the light, or at least the light being, thank you very much. Seeing Chloe felt like I had just acquired proof positive of the whole cosmic enchilada. I had newfound faith in you, in a wonderland of past lives, in karmic reunions amid streamers and confetti, and in a system of spiritual evolution far more exciting than material reality. Now I find out that spirits can play masquerades! Could some trickster show up pretending to be Elvis, John Lennon, Shoeless Joe Jackson, Marilyn Monroe? More to the point, could one pretend to be my mother or brother? Do you allow that? And what’s the deal with that lawsuit? Does everything cool for me have to end up in the dumpster? My flesh crawls wondering if maybe God and Satan are one in the same. How are we saps supposed to know what is truly good and what is truly evil when there are so many secrets?

ellow light. Red light. Green light. What mechanism orchestrates cosmic Ytraffic control? Chance? Will power? Divine intervention? What force powers the lights so that sometimes we crawl to our destination a block or two at a time through a procession of red lights—then sometimes we sail through a flurry of greens with the wind magically blowing at our backs? I wanted to earn my green lights. Petra, Marilynn, and I spent several days discussing the fate of the Institute of Light. No greens there. We invited Max and several others with business and legal acumen to discuss our options. Whether by chance, will power, or divine intervention, the lawsuit threat grew like a brain

270 Breath After Death tumor sapping strength and energy. Max said it sounded like a “nuisance suit perpetrated by a woman with a bruised ego—and hell hath no fury like a scorned woman’s attorneys.” The suit was meritoriously questionable and defendable, but fighting it would prove very costly and could easily turn into a public relations nightmare. “Wait until Howard Stern hears about it,” Petra added. To me this was going down like Titanic. Petra and Marilynn seemed resigned, even somewhat relieved, to let the Institute of Light sink into the dark, icy seas of the spiritual night. It was hard to understand their position. They had put so much time, energy, and money into their creation. Yet the best I could get out of them was that near-death experiences are such brain changers that so much of what used to matter to them no longer does. Eyes are windows to the soul. At first I saw teacher and student, little to disturb me. Then as I waited for the red light to change—biding my time, modeling patience, showing sensitivity, not pestering Marilynn with my notorious soul mate obsession—I realized that my new friend Max, who suffered none of those inhibitions, saw only green. Marilynn laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t very funny, or was that just sour grapes? Whenever he spoke, she appeared first in line to listen with devout attention. I knew I was in deep trouble when he offered suggestions about the website that I was supposed to be building, and she thought they were brilliant, despite the imminent closure of the Institute and the futility of implementing new publicity ideas. When Petra mentioned that Marilynn was showing Max the Kalalau Trail, I expected the worst. When she returned, Marilynn cooed about having conquered mud slicks—and I had not been there. I knew for sure the fifth morning. I left my new apartment and arrived at the hot pool for a meditative soak before breakfast. When I had collected myself from the rush of warmth around my body, I realized that in the corner of the pool my designated soul mate was embracing Max. I knew with every cell of my being that she had fallen again, this time not in terra cotta goo. Marilynn gave Max eye fondling she never gave me. Her arms and heart followed. Max, who had ventured to Kauai with no hunger for romance, suddenly found his appetite and licked his chops. I could not watch this. Just as I sought psychic refuge, Petra appeared at poolside like a battlefield medic. She quickly lost her muumuu and dipped into the spa. She met me near the bottom of the ladder. “Well, it looks like Max and Marilynn are getting cozy.” “Yeah,” I said. “Green light.” “Where’s your happy face?” she goaded. “Aren’t you pleased for them?”

271 Joshua Bagby “Is everything a laugh riot to you?” I snapped. “I know. Occupational hazard of being a cosmic comic.” “Max just had to show up! And I brought him here! He didn’t even want a relationship. Now look at them.” “Watching two people find comfort and delight holding each other like that. It’s pitiful. It’s pathetic. Benjamin, how about a hug?” I melted into Petra’s warm embrace. Her soft body provided a brief respite, but my brain kept lobbing in reminders of my losses. “Did you know this would happen?” She shook her head. “If I were omnipotent I would run my own universe.” “What’s up with your selective vision? The last time I was here, you knew that I had more dealings with Lacey. I went back home and you were right. So why didn’t you see that Max and Marilynn would hit it off like Romeo and Juliet? Why didn’t you know that the Institute was scheduled to whirl down the toilet? Why couldn’t you see that Chloe was Casey in disguise?” “The Universe doesn’t give me advance notice on everything. I guess God figures a little mystery keeps us in the game.” “I feel duped again, like my only role here was to bring those two together. When is it my turn?” “Thirteen days, four hours, seventeen minutes.” “I followed all the instructions everyone gave me. Changed my thinking. Quit my job. Brought Max to Kauai. I spent a fortune making it happen. Right now all my stuff is on some cargo ship in the middle of the ocean. The moment I give up my security, God snatches my rifle and tosses me unarmed into a snake pit!” “S-s-s-s-s,” Petra snickered, flicking her tongue like a viper. “Where am I going to live? What will I do when my money runs out?” “Trust God to provide for you.” “Oh, uh-huh, that’s a great line for your woo-woo seminars. In the real world, what do I say? ‘I don’t have the rent money right now, but I’m trusting God to send you a check for me first thing tomorrow!’” Petra chortled like I was a dim-witted TV commentator. “That’s exactly what happens. I’ve been doing it for years. I’ve been homeless. Stuck in poverty. When I trust in God, miracles become ordinary and happen routinely!” “That’s the thing—I trusted God and look where it got me!” “To an exotic tropical island for a new start.” “Where I immediately crashed and burned.” “Bad universe!” she mocked with a shaking finger.

272 Breath After Death All right, whining wouldn’t work with this gal. No sympathy points for complaining. “I just want to understand. Is it my bad karma? Does God condone spiritual fraud?” “Benjamin, you’re blind to your victories. You’re trained to fear rejection and failure. You focus your attention on playing defense worrying about anything that could go wrong. But what you think is what you get—that’s the law of attraction. You create failure by constantly thinking about failure.” “Don’t you ever get scared? Don’t you ever worry about things?” “Oh, sure, sometimes. I just don’t invite fear. When you fully understand that you get what you think, you’ll pay attention to your mental diet. You won’t stew in scary stories day after day. You won’t feed your addiction to fear.” “How did you quit feeding yours?” “I got lucky. I died,” she said with a grin. “There isn’t much worse to fear once you’ve encountered the big kahuna.” “Yeah, I haven’t tried that strategy.” “When you think about being homeless, you’re tapping into every movie, TV show, book, or scary story you’ve seen or heard about destitution. With all that input, you look at your future in filters of fear. If you train your brain with love and positive thinking, love takes care of you.” I’m so sorry. It still sounded like the same old crap to me—like how dummies make instant fortunes by trading on eBay, no experience necessary. Or how you can make millions by stuffing envelopes at home in your spare time, no brains necessary. Or how you can heal your AIDS or cancer or bipolar disorder by thinking good thoughts. Just buy the ebook at iamanothersucker.com. Believe, believe, believe, and paradise is yours for the taking! Don’t believe, even with so- called healthy skepticism, and the universal engines of prosperity grind to a halt. “Maybe I’ve overdosed on fear, but I don’t understand how love will take care of me when I’m deep in debt with no job prospects.” “It’s all about focus. Trust that a solution will appear for you. That keeps your intuition receptive to inspiration. And stay in this moment. Now is the God moment. You can’t do anything about the past. You will never reach the future no matter how hard you try.Now is the only moment that means anything. Are you sufferingright now if you’re not worried about your future?” I pointed over to Max. “I feel silly pointing out the obvious.” “Is it that obvious? What if you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be to catch the next gift toss?” she asked. I watched Marilynn’s hair gleam golden in the morning sun as she gazed at her

273 Joshua Bagby Adonis. Max was in the right place to catch his gift toss. “Look, Benjamin, you received a marvelous gift. You’re re-doing the Gold Rush. Someone stole your claim and grabbed your gal’s heart before you did. You’re angry at God, feeling disillusioned again. Look at the symmetry! In a previous life, Lillith mauled you. In this life, you bring her a new love partner! What an exciting legacy to create! It’s just like what we told Max to do by forgiving his wife.” “Oh, yeah, OK,” I grumbled. “Fits nicely. Very tidy.” “By supporting their happiness, you empower the Universe to support your happiness. That’s how the Golden Rule works. There’s karmic logic tolove thy enemy. You brought joy to two long-suffering people. So rather than getting gloomy about what you didn’t get or what didn’t happen, be open and excited about the next great surprise God has put in your queue.” Petra opened her arms and slid around me again. Welcome to Pillow Town, land of soft warmth, a reminder spoken in body language that she cared. “Let’s look at some other truths,” she said later. “First, when you watch Max and Marilynn together, what do you see?” “A couple falling in love.” “Good. What else?” “They are feeling the joy I was hoping to feel.” “Exactly. By the way, any answer would have been right because it’s about what’s in your head. In watching them you see the joy you want for yourself. But that’s your projection onto them. It’s your fantasy. You have no way of knowing what’s actually going on inside their souls. They aren’t living your love story. They’re living theirs. They came together for a cosmic reason. They won’t always be living the romantic cake walk I imagine you’re fantasizing. “And that leads to another truth. When you meet up with your next love, you’ll be swept away in that great new adventure. You’ll forget all about Marilynn.” “Maybe. Will I forget all about you, too?” “You sweet talker you! No, actually, you won’t. I’m unforgettable.” “You kid, but you are unforgettable. You’re a huge part of why I came back here. You gave me experiences totally beyond ordinary. You led me to ecstasy.” “That wasn’t me. That was God. It’s important that you remember the real source. People feel ecstasy when they are with me and ascribe it to something I do to them. I’m just an energy conduit.” “So it’s my projection that you’re responsible for my ecstasy.” “By Jove I think he’s got it.” “I’d love to channel ecstasy for people.”

274 Breath After Death “Why don’t you do it then?” “I’m a man.” “And your point is...?” “It’s different for a man. Women would take it as a sexual come-on—as an excuse to smush against their breasts.” “If that happens, it’s primarily because you’re playing defense again, worried about all the bad things that can happen to you. Your thinking has so much to do with the experiences you attract.” “So when you hug all these people, what do you think about?” “Love. Energy. Goodness. Godness.” “Don’t people dismiss you as just being slutty?” “Why would they think that?” She grinned as if she enjoyed this. “I don’t see many women hugging strangers one after another.” “It’s my calling. Besides, I don’t live my life worried about what other people think of my morals. I just need to be true to me.” “Well, you don’t seem to make attachments. You’re with Marilynn, then you’re not with Marilynn, and you don’t seem the least bit hurt or shaken up. Don’t you miss having a partner who’s always there for you?” “I live in the now. God is always there for me. I focus on God. I feel God through everyone I embrace and everyone I love.” In unison we both turned our heads as Marilynn and Max kissed. When I glanced at Petra, I saw a woman who genuinely cared about other people’s happiness. “I think you’re several centuries ahead of your time,” I said. “It doesn’t feel that way to me. I constantly attract people who long for that connection. They share the vision. I’ve got emails from all over the world inviting me to come lead workshops.” I could tell that Petra would be off globe-trekking soon. She didn’t let anything get in her way. Lack of money didn’t slow her down. She didn’t need an Institute to be an institution. She didn’t worry how her body weighed in against others. She had morphed self-consciousness into self-confidence and wasn’t worried what anyone thought. I wanted that. I asked Petra if she would enjoy walking the labyrinth again. She preferred to hug her way around the pool. I excused myself, donned some walking shorts, and wandered through the garden, inhaling floral aromas as I went. When I arrived at the labyrinth, I saw a dozen or so people milling along the sacred pathway in the palm-filtered sunlight. Figures—just as I arrived one

275 Joshua Bagby young woman with curly auburn hair like a long waterfall nonchalantly shed her wrap. With no water to dip into, she slipped into sacred air instead. Standing at the gateway, I watched the long-haired woman stroll down the path ahead. I recalled my last journey along this route, running into Jesus—oh, hello—and Nick and Theresa and Casey. I took a deep breath as I prepared to walk. Marilynn and Petra would soon be taking off on their new lives. I decided to ask for more clarity on creating my own future. I stepped barefoot along the grass path. This little oasis of light would meet its doom by supporting love, openness, freedom. That’s irony for you. Freedom had exposed the darkness. I envisioned the news of the Institute’s eminent closure rippling across the Internet. End of an era in sight. Dig in while you can. Walk the labyrinth one last time. Hug as many strangers as you can. Make those last- minute connections. At least I had supped from the spiritual buffet while it was here. No one could steal my precious memories. Eventually this sacred spot would be buried under some new hotel or tennis court or swimming pool. People would cease coming here for spiritual renewal. Instead they would come to unwind in a trendier fashion, pampered with beauty treatments and massages and championship golf courses and champagne brunches. Spirit would go somewhere else to awaken the sleepwalkers. You get what you think. At first I thoughtdamn conditioning anyway. I felt my eyes pulled toward the labyrinthine siren ahead. I reminded myself that whatever I thought about her was my projection. I wondered if God created our human bodies, would He (or She or It) consider clothing an insult or an enhancement? Would He (or She or It) like to see designer fashions walking the labyrinth? Or would He (or She or It) as the ultimate designer prefer designer nudity? The woman ahead of me turned a corner and faced me, noticing that I was watching her. She surprised me with cheery eyes and a bright light grin. I saw exquisite lightness of being. She was a conduit of energy to my wonderful thoughts. The goddess within me beamed back. Then I thought of the thousands who had walked the labyrinth, leaving energy puffs along the path like lingering perfume. I pictured myself like a satellite in space soaking up aromatic energy with solar collectors. I imagined being like Petra, throwing my arms around strangers, male and female, young and old, thin and fat, this and that. Last time I had followed Petra’s lead. She had set the stage for me hugging strangers. Now I walked alone. I could see how easy it was to walk in fear, crawl in fear, sit stupefied in fear, sleep in fear. Projection! I dressed everyone else in my fears like hand-me-down jackets. I thought if I offered men a hug, they

276 Breath After Death would fear I was a flaming gay cruising for company or some deluded anarchist bent on bringing down social order. I thought if I offered women a hug, they would fear that I was some pathetic lonely guy only seeking refuge in their bodies. But I invented their personalities in my own mind! I fabricated all their objections to loving embraces. Did I really want to keep living in fear’s strangulating grasp? I approached the inner circle of the labyrinth. The red-headed woman had just entered the bull’s eye. “Don’t hide from a beautiful human any more than you would hide from a beautiful lake or river,” a voice said, emanating from within. Chloe no longer existed for me. As soon as I thought Casey, the voice continued, “Thank you for bringing Max here. It’s made a world of difference for him.” “I’m happy to serve,” I said, but I noticed that confusion still wore my copasetic veneer thin. I wasn’t supposed to entertain fear, but still I faced unemployment, homelessness, and loneliness. I duly noted those fears as choices like items in a thought menu. I did not need to sup on a fearburger. I could choose anything. In the sweet buzz of the labyrinth, I chose to think bliss, and a burst of energy shot through me. My focus turned to Casey’s birth mother. “Did Lacey really cause your death?” “Yes,” he said in a concentrated thought dump. “but dying early was my job. As souls, Lacey knew, Max knew, and the man who hit me with his motorcycle knew. We created this destiny together before we incarnated. It was my gift to them. You cannot truly understand light without experiencing dark. Max the soul wanted to learn forgiveness, and now with the truth he discovered, he has his opportunity.” “What about Lacey?” I asked. I watched my own judgments about her character surface. She had aroused and seduced me, then deceived and betrayed me. I had my own forgiveness issues to resolve. “Her shame is so profound she accepts neither blame nor forgiveness for what she did. She’s fighting her way through a morass of fear that began long ago.” I plucked a vision out of the air—Lacey held a dead baby in her arms. I knew without being told that I was seeing a past life. “Sophie blamed Samuel for Edward’s death.” Casey said. “She blamed him for bringing God’s wrath onto the family. She did it again with Max. But don’t despise her for the pain she’s caused you. A bitter heart will keep you from loving others. Forgive her. Yes, she lies, she cheats, she hurts people. But the dark night never lasts forever. Someday she will awaken and see the light.” I smiled thinking that one day in the future a sparkling, translucent visitor might pop into her bedroom late one night. “She took on an enormous quest this life,” Casey said. “She needs our love

277 Joshua Bagby and prayers, not our scorn and wrath. Give her the understanding you’d want if you chose a lifetime bursting with horrific lessons.” If the truth of the Universe is that death does not kill us, it made sense that spirits were blasé about morbidity. Like ho-hum, yeah, I got tenderized to death in the karmic meat grinder. Just like rolling from one dream into the next, no big deal. Our mortal histrionics surrounding death made it a big deal. The death scenes I had witnessed at the Institute of Light had been liberations. Samuel Wade popped out of his body like soup set free from a tin can, and he rejoiced in the new world he found. Werner had been blown free from his submarine crucible to soar the skies like an eagle. Erika had found instant bliss emerging from the utter destruction imposed by the Allied bombing. Marilynn and Petra both had their accounts of the afterlife, passing from one world to the next in beautiful segues, then back again. Casey, too, just woke up somewhere else, released from his body before the impact occurred. If reincarnation were the natural order of things, cosmic reality, then he had done his job, like hitting a game-winning sacrifice fly, and now it was on to the next adventure. “It must be great where you are,” I said. “You can always see the big-screen picture of everything.” “Yes, it is beyond description. But as soon as you arrive and rediscover reality, you can’t wait to get back in the game.” “Really? With all the gloom, the war, the disasters, the inhumanity here? With all the pain and suffering?” He didn’t say it in words. It grew within me like a seed of sunlight that bloomed as wildflowers of insight. I knew it in the way we somehow just know things like who’s calling or what’s on a mate’s mind—Casey was coming back! He would be reborn to the same father, the man who loved him so dearly he spent countless hours holding vigil at the cemetery. He had chosen his new mother out of the world’s populace of females, a grieving woman in Kauai who wanted a baby. And he had chosen me to deliver Max to her. That’s what all these twists and turns were about—Casey’s rebirth! The propagation of the species! “That’s our secret, OK?” he said. “Sure,” I chimed inside. A smile formed inside my heart, a feeling like I was in Command Central being briefed on a different facet of birth control—the migration of souls to physical form. I saw a vision of Casey swimming up the birth canal leading a pack of charging sperm, pointing the way to the egg-in-waiting to assure proper conception from

278 Breath After Death the chosen one. I recalled Max saying that Casey had been an accident—but there are no accidents—and now Casey may do it again. I would tell neither Max nor Marilynn that they were about to receive a precious do-over! When I would hear that Marilynn had, in fact, become pregnant, I would get another one of those divine signs I keep wanting. My very next breath brought a ripple of electricity through me. I recognized the energy of my mother. Thoughts flashed inside me, as if she dropped data packets for me to open and attach words to later. Words slowed telepathy down. I felt her love for me. I felt her assurance that even when I thought I walked alone, nope, I never truly did. Being alone was an illusion caused by physical senses that could not perceive big picture reality. We don’t trust our voices that tell us there’s more to this world than what our physical eyes show and our physical ears tell. Now she assured me that being alone served a divine purpose. It helped me figure out who I was and what I wanted. In Earth life our souls explore what life offers by sorting through what makes us happy and what makes us sad. If it were not for having explored loneliness, would I ever understand the true value of love? In the center of the labyrinth my eyes met those of the unclothed woman. Without touching each other’s flesh, spirit hugged spirit in a festive jolt of the love force. It lasted just a few seconds in clock time, but during our psychic embrace I had the strangest musing. How would it rock humanity if Jesus showed up next time as the daughter of God? What if the daughter of God walked the labyrinth naked to reclaim nature? The rush rocked me to my core. Lovemaking would always feel this great if I got my wish. “Then empower your wish and make it so,” a voice said. I turned and imagined Jesus standing alongside me. “Aloha!” he grinned. “Hi again,” I said. In my mind’s eye he waved and glided on air to enfold me in his arms. “I hear you think I’m a dullard,” he said with a throaty laugh chaser. “Now you even want me to transform into a naked woman for you?” “It would solve the problem of if I love Jesus, does that make me gay?” Oh, Jesus, a regular guy, one of the gang. No matter how many oceans he could part or terminally dead patients he could resurrect, he’d still make time to share a brewsky and pretzels with me. We could sit around discussing the mysteries of life without me agreeing to ask only softball questions and without him ducking tough, direct questions with vague, nebulous answers. He knew he had me at Aloha. He knew every thought I ever had. He knew my love was a lake that runneth over. He knew he accomplished with a friendly wave

279 Joshua Bagby in inner space what no minister I’d ever known had done for me. Maybe this is the force that drove Petra! My questions formed instantly and congealed into a data packet: “Why is the Institute scheduled to die? Is someone in authority punishing us? Why do Christian religions treat sex with such hostility? Do you hate gay people? Would you ever hug someone nude? Is it OK to appreciate a beautiful nude woman labyrinth walker? Can evil people ever impersonate you? What if what you say doesn’t agree with what other men and women say you say? Should I be concerned that I don’t agree with much that’s in the Bible?” How can I communicate the light within a wink? Jesus winked at me, and my being filled with light and love and go and green. He answered my questions with a feeling, that internal fizzy feeling that shot up my spine like fireworks swirling up Jack’s beanstalk, its leaves aglow with unconditional love. Meant to be. Good to go. Enjoy the feeling. Don’t worry—be happy.

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29. Finding Grace

Dear God: I still cringe hearing how people stuff you and Jesus and religious icons into a thought box. The vision of you I embrace now is so much greater in scope than the Almighty Anal Retentive crammed down my childhood throat. You are the force of creativity itself, so much grander than most of us dare to think. I wonder how many people like me learned to distrust you—In God We Distrust—because they saw you not as you are, but as a concoction peddled as fact by tired old dogmatists.

hen are you supposed to stop and listen—really listen—to those wispy Winner voices that inspire or warn? I felt wonderful thinking that there was reality to the Jesus who wafted like a sweet, holy perfume through my imagination. How do you know for sure if the fantasy that you’re talking to Jesus is steeped in metaphysical truth or if it is merely an early warning sign of impending schizophrenia? Jesus in the church of my mind was an ultimate lover. Humor-filled. Joy filled. A bright light who attracted me through the power of positive vision over the force of fear-mongering. Nope, I didn’t have any proof. No videos, finger prints, birth certificates, Social Security records. I just felt a direct connection with Jesus through my heart. Creativity on. As the warm trade winds blew around me, I stepped into the hot pool. How many times had it been now? Fifty? The end was near. Marilynn had announced that the commercial real estate agent was fielding great interest in the property. Occasionally we would see people in business suits walking about. I wondered how the real estate agents would explain the nude people. I decided to be the change I wanted to see. Here I am in the center of humanity, put on this physical planet to learn love, then to be that love in body and soul. It

281 Joshua Bagby would be my task to learn how to stay in that space for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. I would not be standing on city street corners bellowing out scriptures in exclamations of shame and promises of eternal torture for sinners. Instead I would be offering loving words and feelings. I looked around and picked out a friendly face in the pool. “May I give you a hug?” I asked. “A what?” “A hug. An embrace. Or I’ll shake your hand if you prefer.” “Mmmm,” she said, pondered briefly, and opened her arms to me. I felt Jesus near me just then. I heard him laugh, the kind of delighted chuckle a dad gives when his son does something fresh and remarkable. I mentally encircled a loving light around this woman and silently blessed her for the journey she was taking. A voice inside rolled through me. “Give energy as the sun gives, as the flowing river gives, as the trade winds give.” “I am new to all this,” she said as we gently rocked in the warm water. “New to what?” “I never would have guessed that I’d enjoy being in a pool full of nude people hugging a stranger, let alone a nude stranger.” I could feel her warm smile even though I couldn’t see her face. “Well, we’re no longer strangers,” I said. “We’ve just touched souls.” “That and more,” she said. Later I spotted someone else whose heart opened with her arms. I held her and passed along the energy I’d just absorbed. I wasn’t losing anything. Love was God’s energy, in infinite supply, very low utility bills. I lost track of time, envisioning energy flowing from the great cosmic generator through me and into her, through her and back into me. We parted with thank-yous and went our separate ways. I did not know her name, but for a minute we had shared love without expectation or judgment. For me, and maybe for her, the miracle reoccurred every time I embraced someone else. All individuals, yet all one. My childhood religious training had never mentioned Jesus being a touchie-feelie prophet, the warm and fuzzy Christ, yet I wanted this to be how Jesus hugged, according to the gospel of Benjamin Fields. A man’s body language reeled me in. He got the love message. “I won’t tell the guys at work that I hugged men on my vacation,” he said. “But imagine how everyone’s life would change if you hugged your work mates like this.” “That’ll never, ever happen,” he said.

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“I know why, but don’t you wonder why? How do social designs change? Why couldn’t humanity flip a paradigm and create a hugging culture? If everyone felt included and valued, the new mantra would be about working together for a common goal, not about competition and exploitation.” “You obviously require serious medical attention.” “You aren’t the first to suggest that.” We laughed, exchanged another hug, then parted. I asked another woman if she would accept a hug. She shook her head and looked away. When I noticed the psychic stab wound appear in my heart, I told myself not to project feelings of rejection. She had every right to say no. It was fine. Pick yourself up off the ground, I thought. Climb back on. A few moments later, I saw another woman whose eyes welcomed me. She opened her arms for me without my asking. Another stranger became a new friend. “I like feeling a male nurturer,” she said a few moments later still in my arms. “It’s refreshing to have a man freely giving affection for a change.” “Thank you. I had to step out of fear to recognize that it would be welcome.” She held me close. “You’re all about love. I can feel it in how you hold me.” Nerve cells danced in the streets of my body as I reveled in the gift of understanding she had just given me. “Oh, there’s the hugging man,” another woman said later I opened my arms. She slid into my embrace. “I just love you,” she cried. “And I just hate that I have to go back home at the crack of dawn—I won’t get my hugs back in Lonely Town.” “Take your experiences here back with you.” “I want real hugs, not just memories of Kauai.” She clung to me as if she meant it. I could feel her fear already building. “Now that you’ve got the model for it, create it in your own life.” “How do I do that?” “You could start a hugging group of your own.” She snickered at the idea. “I’m serious. If you build it, they will come.” “Only in my daydreams,” she said. “If you never try it, how do you know you can’t make it happen?” My stomach reminded me that a news crew could be filming all my words. Follow-up questions would seriously pester me if I failed to deliver that same spirit of adventure to my own universe after the Institute of Light was bulldozed into oblivion. “You’ve never been to Lonely Town,” she retorted.

283 Joshua Bagby “Oh, but I have! I’ve explored every back street. I know it well. I just escaped from the corporate world and showed up here.” I pictured in my mind effervescent liquid rainbows flowing as energy droplets between us. “Are you married? Do you have a mate?” “Right now my love life is a blank canvas.” Then I amended that, “A beautiful blank canvas.” “Well, I suppose with your charisma you get plenty of attention at bedtime,” she said with a wink in her voice. Charisma? Me? I didn’t explain that my bed wasn’t crowded at night. Being entwined in so many arms nourished my soul with a power elixir stronger than any energy drink. Love flowed so freely all day long that I didn’t feel lonely at night. I went to bed happy and fulfilled. I could understand Petra hugging habits better. I smiled picturing people driving up to roadside stands all across America. Instead of caffeine buzzes, they would receive hug buzzes from morale technicians. It was a free service, free as the air that we breathe. Later in the day when I walked out to the beach, I saw Max wandering alone. It was unusual to see him unglued from Marilynn. They had been welded together for several weeks now. He apparently saw me too and veered his course in my direction. “I’m surprised you abandoned your post as the hot pool welcoming committee for all those women.” “You should talk! Shacked up with Marilynn for all hours, keeping her from taking care of business.” For a fleeting moment he looked as if he had been shot with a stun gun. “I must say it’s been a most unexpected development.” “So how are you doing? Hanging in there?” “Oh, yes. Marilynn has performed miracles on my state of mind. For instance, I don’t feel the need to artificially shorten Lacey’s life span.” “That’s probably a good thing. It’ll keep you out of prison anyway.” “Marilynn has been indoctrinating me into the law of attraction and energy management. Revenge and retribution would only cripple me. The best thing to do is forgive her and hold positive visions that Lacey will find her way out of the dark cavernous hole she’s dug for herself.” “So how do you handle her threat of lawsuits?” “It’s astounding what a few orgasms with the right lover can do to bolster one’s courage. I already phoned in my resignation. Marilynn and I have our sights set on moving to New Zealand.”

284 Breath After Death My very first thought was why didn’t I have a beautiful woman who wanted to move to New Zealand with me. Other neurons quickly responded with first aid, replying that I could make my own hugging club wherever I wanted. Every person I embraced presented a new opportunity to make a life-changing connection. Think in more positive terms. Invite solutions instead of problems. “If Lacey wants to pursue me across international borders,” Max continued, “so be it. But I am not feeling sorry for myself anymore. I quit wearing my official Victim t-shirt. Now I focus my energy on seeing positive outcomes. I project what I want to happen rather than what I fear.” “I hope it all works out for you and Marilynn. You guys deserve your joy.” “I had a dream last night,” Max said. “Casey was in it. He looked like the little boy I remember but he spoke to me like a mature adult. He told me that he was coming back.” I got goosebumps. “Really?” “In my dream he meant that Marilynn was pregnant.” “With him? With Casey?” “Yes! He had been taken away from me and now he was coming back to me. When I awoke, I thought oh, my God. It’s the second chance I’ve begged for.” My very first thought was wondering how Marilynn would take news like this, told by her lover of just a few weeks to expect a special sperm packet. We headed back toward the Institute of Light. Max pointed to the spot where we made our sacred circles. Petra and Marilynn sat together. In unison they turned their heads and escorted us with their welcoming eyes into the circle. No coincidences. We sat and Petra said a prayer of protection and gratitude. Then Marilynn bubbled over like I have never seen. “Max, my darling, fasten your seat belt. We have been given a great honor. Our passion for each other has been noticed and appreciated. You once had a son who came to you and then left, much to your grief. You recognized, especially after his passing, how much you loved him. Now the spirit of that son wants your blessing to return as your child.” Tears quickly appeared in Max’s eyes. “I know, I know.” Marilynn looked slightly puzzled. “He came to me in a dream,” Max said. “He wanted to return...as our child.” Tears appeared in Marilynn’s eyes, too. “Oh, yeah, sign me up for that.” She and Max embraced. Petra rose and extended her hand to me and said, “Come on, Benjamin. We need to let Marilynn and Max share a moment together. They need to warm up their procreation skills.” As we walked together chit-chatting Petra held onto me as if we were the best

285 Joshua Bagby of lovers. In the now moment, we were. In the near future she would leave my side and love someone else in another now moment. And so would I. I finally gotI love you and gone. When you see God in everyone and live in the now moment, love radiates free like sunshine. You don’t leave one to love another if you are always loving God within everyone. Maybe down the road I would find a special someone. But right now I had found the love I had been promised. Every new someone I spent a now moment with was special someone. It was now and Petra and I were the best of lovers. Right here right now in love in light.

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Epilogue

Dear God: People talk about procreation, the biological urge to mate and propagate. It’s all about nature. Something called nature drives us through a frenzy of sexual antics for the purpose of reproducing ourselves. Men become lost in lust, allegedly overpowered when their intelligence abandons their brains and re-establishes command and control inside their penises. Whether driving consciously or asleep at the wheel, assorted dickbrains impregnate women, and for better or for worse, the human race marches on. Take Max. Lacey’s hot words or several provocative poses rendered him senseless. Max did not intend to make a baby with Lacey, but she deceived him by going off birth control, and then biology triumphed. My odyssey has taught me that there is more to life and death and nature than what I thought. Wouldn’t it advance humanity if it was normal to sit in sacred circles and to converse with the spirits of those who would become our sons or daughters? Wouldn’t we make better choices in life if we knew beyond doubt that our children had reasons for being born besides becoming a new wave of consumers for the corporate bazaar? I think Casey will have a much different life with Max and Marilynn as his new parents. They know his spiritual story. I suppose Casey will grow up with a New Zealand accent. He may or may not remember his past life and death in California. He may grow up thinking his mom and dad are bonkers for believing in that reincarnation crap. Or he may be born and bred with a shining light of past-life memory and take off on

287 Joshua Bagby some enlightened soul mission. Whatever the case, I got a tweet from Max. It’s official. Marilynn is expecting. Petra said that not having all the answers was your way of keeping us in the game. Franklin Roosevelt said we have nothing to fear but fear itself. Max quit his job and abandoned most of his personal belongings. It’s been months now—and no delivery of the threatened catastrophe. Of course I wonder if Casey had any hand in that? Or did you? Do we ever know the big picture of why things happen as they do? It was also mystical how that lawsuit worked its way through the court system of the cosmos. It had entered our lives like a black plague. Marilynn sold the Institute expecting to pay an out-of-court settlement with the proceeds. It sold very quickly, not an obstacle in sight. Then after Petra left Kauai, the lawsuit unexpectedly evaporated leaving Marilynn with a pile of money. That was quite a cud for us to chew on. Eventually we learned that Petra called on the litigant without attorneys present. A little unconditional love eased the woman’s hostility and changed her mind about waging war. That, in turn, prompted more speculation. Had Casey intervened to lighten Marilynn’s load, freeing her time for motherhood? Or was that you? After that Petra landed in New Mexico. It’s called the Land of Enchantment. She is the most enchanting woman I know. (Or am I just projecting?) I enjoy picturing her adventures and how she changes lives with her zippity-doo-dah hugs. I like envisioning a world where there are more Petras. Speaking of changed lives, Petra had given me a rousing pep talk about how to trust that you provide for us, especially when we have faith. I admit I found that notion preposterous considering all the poverty in the world and my own history with money struggles. Then out of the blue Marilynn handed me a fat check from her proceeds. Amazing grace. I could go off thinking of that as a lucky break, but I prefer to think of it as the way Petra taught me. Steve called last week. An earthquake shook up San Jose. He had forgotten to unplug his iron. It fell into a trash pile and

288 Breath After Death set the apartment ablaze. That’s irony for you. The fire toasted Steve’s computer, including eighteen gigabytes of incendiary video. Even though I am in Seattle now, Steve still pesters me to tell him stories about wahine pussy. He wants me to find out where Lacey went. He still thinks he has a chance with her. I don’t know where Lacey is, at least in the physical world. She appeared in one of my recent dreams, though. We sat in a plush living room sipping champagne and feasting on catered delicacies. Tattered copies of the movie script we’d just filmed were piled on the coffee table. She joked about the scene where she tried to seduce me. “I served up my most wanton moves and you totally ignored the bait. You were awesome!” I’d never seen her eyes so shine clear and bright.

289 Discussion OR Journaling questions BASED ON BREATH AFTER DEATH

You know how DVDs have bonus features? I am creating a variation of that for Breath After Death that I offer you free for the asking.

I didn’t include the bonuses in this version because it would potentially spoil your first reading. But it includes questions about many of the issues brought up in the book. I think it’s way fun and offers you a whole different level of involvement and enjoyment. It provides a learning experience that you can share with your friends and loved ones and may lead to some great life experiences.

Please email me (Joshua Bagby) at [email protected] and request the Breath After Death Bonus Edition. It, too, is free and will be delivered to requesters via email as a PDF file.