The Native Iowan

waking up 

“It’s a matter of life force.” He explained. “The more life force or personal energy there is at the point of transition the more there is to move onward.”

I watched his face as he spoke to me. His diction was clear and pleasing to the ear. I could find no trace of an accent. His regal, Semitic nose complimented his fine, long face. His delicate fingers were as articulate as his words. I felt mesmerized by his presence.

“I know it is a side-ways answer to your question but this is the best answer available. Perhaps the only answer available. You will learn more as you wake up and understand. And you will understand. There is very little about this phase of existence which is confusing. “

His sardonic smile, despite my immediate reaction of unease, was not in any way disconcerting or malicious. I had a fleeting glimpse of what that smile normally would have told me. I felt the vestige of distrust or manipulation in the smile. It was as if he had something to hide. My natural reaction was to put up my guard. Yet the total package of the person standing before me was simple and unthreatening. As simple and unthreatening as a small child. The smile held a trace of innuendo but it was as if the innuendo had no place here, now.  As if it was a ghost of a thing since past.

Which brought me back to my original question. “Where am I?” Then I added, “How did I get here?”

“Once again, old chap, the simple answer is life force. Just as the complicated answer is life force.”

His smile flashed and I felt more at ease with it this time. I felt more comfortable with everything. My mind raced to decipher it all. I tried to remember.

I had been on the corner of University and Locust. The light was going to change. I saw the green light facing the oncoming traffic switch to yellow. I saw the cars coming toward me. I watched them slowing to a stop. I remember taking a step off the curb thinking that the flashing “walk” indicator would switch any second.  I was in a hurry. I held my morning paper in my right hand. My blazer was draped over my left arm. I had stuck my tie in my shirt to keep it from blowing in the wind. I was going to cross the street, sit at Rocko’s outdoor café and read my paper while I had coffee.

The next thing I recall, this stately gentleman was helping me up off the ground. He was dressed strangely. He wore what appeared to be an oversized poncho.  I blurted out a string of short questions as I looked around for my paper and coat.

He still held my arm in a solicitous manner. One of his hands held me at the wrist. His other supported my elbow.

“This way my dear boy. Have a seat. Recover some of your senses then we will talk.’

I examined myself. The polished, brown loafers. The green slacks. Striped shirt neatly tucked in. I looked around. We stood in what appeared to be in a small garden. I shook my head as I was led to a small stone bench under a fragrant frangipani tree.

“It will all make sense once you shake out of your shock. It is really a simple matter of waking up. There is no need to look for your newspaper or other personal belongings. You shan’t be needing them here.” This last comment initiated a friendly chuckle. His smile beamed down at me.

He stood admiring the white flowers of the tree. Breathing the fragrance in. His smile was that of understanding and acceptance. He placed a hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes.

“You were killed instantly when you were struck by a moving vehicle. It turned the corner just as you took a step into the roadway. It appears as though both you and the driver of the vehicle were in a hurry this morning. For better or worse his car has little damage and you have passed from one phase of mortal existence to another.”

The look on my face must have mirrored my panic. With a gentle laugh he continued. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Alhim Akmet bin Abdul El-Haj” As he said this he made a flourish with his arms and made a full bow at his waste. Stating his name and making the bow made his clothing change, in my mind, from a funny poncho to a stately robe. “But you can call me Al”. He continued with a beguiling smile.

“As I said, it is a simple matter of life force. You have, shall we say, a full charge of energy thus you are here, now, with me. You are alive. Yet you are simply in a different phase of life. You passed from the phase you knew. The only phase you were aware of. We could use the word “death”. I find it rather ineffective, really. You are not dead. Perhaps one day you will “die” yet I prefer to think of is all as a transition. You moved from one life to another.”

The look on my face brought another friendly chuckle. His hand on my shoulder gave a reassuring squeeze as he went on.

 “You and I will “live”, if you will, in this phase of existence until we “expire” from this phase. If, at the point of expiration, you possess enough life force to move on, you will venture forward to the next phase or, perhaps it is better to think of it as a different phase of existence.”

I felt like crying. Something in me wanted to mourn. Yet I had trouble grasping that which I needed in order to feel grief. In order to grieve.

“Yes, that is right”. He smiled at me. “Look for your emotions. It is good to see what is in you. What has changed. When you can accept the change within you then accepting the change around you will be a breeze.”

I stood up. Looking at my hands, I thought of where I was and what I was doing. I felt the beginning of an understanding form within me. It was not something that I could articulate but it was there. I thought of Al’s smile. How it had first unsettled me. How it had prompted a reaction of distrust and uncertainty. I looked for the emotion to feel sad. Al had just told me I had died. A car had struck me as I jumped the light. The reaction, when being told of a death, any death, was to mourn, to cry. And to be told about my own death made me feel as though I should mourn even more.

Yet the added emotion of being here, now, contemplating the conundrum of being alive, after I had died, gave me a feeling of pure joy. I felt elated. I felt as though I was a winner.

I tried not to smile as I looked back at Al. “So I’m dead but I’m still alive?” I asked in a guarded tone.

“No, no my dear boy. Not at all.” Al said with a hearty pat on my shoulder. “You have, to use the vernacular of the day, “died” in the “world” you came from. When you “died’, oh how I dislike that word, shall we use transpired, please?” he asked. “You transpired after a fatal accident. At that time your life force took a short nap. Your life force, and it is quite strong you know, assessed the situation after the accident. Your injuries were quite massive. Your physical being ceased to function within a single heartbeat. Technically a rib punctured your heart. You bled to death internally. Within seconds of impact your life force chose to shut down. To take a nap, if you will. It was a conscious decision made by you on a level you were not really aware of. In any event your system shut down. You unconsciously did this in order to retain or preserve your life force. It made no sense to expend the energy on, shall we say, a nonviable project. Your physical being in that phase of life was no longer worth the expense of energy. So you went to sleep and woke up here. Very simple, really”.

I felt as though my grin mirrored Al’s. “That’s it, my boy. That’s it.” He patted me on the shoulder. “No need to mourn here. No need to be suspicious or guarded. You are still alive. Death means nothing. You are simply “alive” somewhere else. And that somewhere else is here, with me.”

I felt exposed by his words. “How did you know?” I stammered? “How, I mean, well, you must of, I mean…”

My confusion was undoubtedly clear. “There is no artifice here, my boy. There is no competition. There is no need for treachery. You will soon learn that genuineness leads one to genuineness.  No, I cannot read your thoughts but I can see you. I see what passes through your mind. It is written on your face. I see by your countenance that you are confused. I saw that you had a distrusting thought about me. You disliked my smile I assume. Your guard went up when I smiled at you. And it was clear that you were looking for the means to shed a tear. Your lip pouted out. If you could have found the emotion you would have cried when I told you that you had transpired. Yet the emotion to grieve, even for your own passing, was not to be found. In it’s place you found the joy of life. You were happy to be “alive’ and yet you felt a need to guard your joy. You felt as though your joy was inappropriate. And my seeing these things makes you uncomfortable.”

This final declaration was said with a firm, steady gaze. I felt as though my reaction to these words was a test of some sort. I felt Al watching me. Gauging me.

I returned his gaze. His deep, dark eyes reminded me of my grandfather’s. My long dead, or rather transpired, grandfather. His Semitic features, though different, were in many ways very similar to Al’s. The penetrating eyes. How they looked at me, Expectantly.  As if they were waiting for some type of admission, whether an admission of guilt or otherwise, like now, I never knew.

I could not help myself. Al’s unfaltering gaze. The thoughts of my grandfather. I burst into a huge grin. I felt like hollering. I slapped my knee while shouting out a rebel yell.

“Bravo.” Declared Al. “That’s it. Yes, I agree. It is quite like that, is it not?’

Learning to walk

“It is not a matter of time.” Said Al. “It is a matter of being and doing. It is a matter of understanding. Of attaining deep understanding through the exploration of the self.”

Al sat in a cross leg posture. His long, white robes hung over the edges of the bench. His back was straight and his head was held firm and high. He reminded me of pictures I had seen in the Bagavad Gita. The copies one got conned into buying at airports from supposed devotees. He was composed and apparently very comfortable. He had not moved since he had taken his seat. While I fidgeted he remained clam. His only movements were to punctuate his words with his hands. Or to reassuringly touch my shoulder or pat my knee.

I sat next to him with my knees drawn up under my chin. I still felt somewhat uncomfortable. Al’s total sense of control upset me. His enigmatic composer made it harder for me to find repose. I had been talking with Al for what felt like hours. He had patiently answered all my questions.  He spoke in a scholarly tone. Often making me feel like a dullard with his light chuckles and calm smiles.

“What time is it?” I had asked. “It is not a matter of time.” He relied. “It is a matter of being and doing. It is a matter of understanding. Of attaining deep understanding through the exploration of the self.”

I felt my frustration rise. I hugged my knees tighter.

“Relax.” Al said. “Think of a relaxing question. As I have told you. I am here for you. I am here to help you wake up. I am here to help you come to terms with your new existence. It is not as hard as you think. You are struggling with the facts as I have explained them to you. You are getting frustrated because you cannot, as yet, accept all that I say. Your frustration brings the concept of time to your mind. You become impatient.”

Al held me by my shoulder and looked straight into my eyes. “Acceptance and understanding are often one in the same. You attempt to understand but you refuse to accept. Let’s relax a bit. Why don’t you ask me some questions about the “hows” and “whys” of being here? Your dwelling on the “me” and ‘mine’ of the event clouds your understanding.”

I did feel frustrated. In a strange way I was angry.

“Where the hell did you come from and what made you so damn smart?” I asked with an acid tone.

“Well, that’s more like it.” I was surprised by his response. “A bit of anger is often useful to get over bouts of confusion.”

“As I have told you I am Alhim Akmet bin Abdul El-Haj. I am first of all sons of his Serene Goodness Azim Fassad bin Abdul del-El Haj, Caliph of Abrenzann and Crowned Regent for the Great and Glorious One Who Rules All Lands and Whose Name Can Never be Spoken. I myself was crowned prince. I was educated in the ways of rule. I was trained to follow my father’s path and rule from the Throne of the Winged Tiger. I was to follow the path that 132 of by fore-bearers had trod in my lead.

I was to be the 133^rd of the unbroken line of the house Abdul to sit on the Throne of the Winged Tiger. But my eighth uncle and my second brother, along with his mother, the rest of my father’s wives, and half the palace staff, decided I was too much like my father. They conspired against the Throne. And they succeeded. And thus I am here.”

At this point Al emitted a short, friendly laugh, tapped me on the knee and carried on. “I come from a time and space similar yet different to your own. When you ask I will tell you that I lived on “earth’ as you did. Yet the time and space of the earths we have shared were dimensions apart. I came from a time and space where earth had developed into a very complicated feudalistic aristocracy. The majority of my earth was under the control of the Throne of the Double Headed Serpent. This Throne was, and incidentally still is, controlled by an ancient line of powerful men and women. Their name had been made holy a thousand generations before my own lineage was first recorded in the books of the noble houses.

My world was, and still is, a violent place. My training to be a ruler was as much a conditioning to be cruel as it was a learning to understand what it meant to rule. Power is what allows a person in my world to rule. Having power over vast numbers of armed men, often slaves. Having power and resources to buy arms, to raise an armed force, to protect and to attack. To acquire and retain.

My world developed along similar lines to your own but, at certain critical stages, my world followed the path of feudalism while your world found a path toward technology. In feudalism the most important thing is sheer numbers of subservient people. The Throne of the Winged Tiger commanded areas of incredible size yet, within the entire territory, a small percentage were free, self-owning men. The majority were slaves of varying classes. Some were indentured as soldiers or administrators. Most had been indentured for the entire length of their lineage. From when memory began. From father to Son, the obeisance of duty and commitment were passed down. Even my father was not free. He was as much a vassal to the Double Headed Serpent as was the lowest slave in his castle’s sewers.

Your world found technology. In such a world free thinking and free acting individuals are more important than uneducated troops. So, you see, in answer to your question of “where the hell do I come from”, I answer to you that I come from the house of Abdul, from the city of Abrenzann, from the land of the green river in the realm of the Double Headed Serpent.”

Reaching forward Al lifted his ceramic cup. He swirled the drink inside then took a short sip. He had offered me a cup before but I was preoccupied and had ignored his offer. I now felt an urge to drink. It is not that I was thirsty but I felt somewhat jealous that Al was drinking I wanted to drink as well.

“What is it?” I asked him.

His enigmatic smile flashed again. “It is whatever you wish it to be. To me, I am drinking the waters from the source of the Green River.”
“Will it make you drunk?” I asked with too much anticipation n my voice.

“If you wish.” Was his simple reply.

He watched me closely as I picked up my cup. It was pleasing, almost sensuous to the touch. There were small indentations where my fingers naturally fit the cup. I felt as though the cup was made for my hand.

“Whatever I wish?” I asked with a sly grin?

His reply was to arch an eyebrow and smile over his raised cup in a salute.

I recalled a spring I had found in the wilderness of North America. It sprung from the limestone bluffs near the source of the Mississippi River. Its temperature was near to freezing and was as pure and clean as a thousand feet of limestone filtering could make it. I remembered my first experiences there and the subsequent pilgrimages I made in return. I raised my cup in salute and took a sip.

My teeth were numbed by the cold. The pure fresh water entered my throat and slid down into my stomach. I felt it travel the whole way down. It made me smile.

“A good choice, I must say.” Commented Al. “Or should I say, a good year.”

“In answer to you second question,” Al continued. “I have been “alive’ in this phase of existence for what you would consider a long, long time. I have much experience here. And an ultimate understanding of many aspects of life in this phase of existence. That is why I am often chosen to greet new comers like yourself.” 

more to come…