All Text, Music, and Illustrations, including Paintings, Photographs, and 3D models, Copyright © 2022 by Jim Robbins.

Poppies near Native American Village Site

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APT. 18

      The people in Apt 18 invite you in with open arms. They provide you with dinner and an intoxicating beverage and show you to a room complete with a comfortable bed and soft, warm blankets. You are so thankful and can't help but love them for their generosity. The next day, they demand that you clean up all the dirt and grime in their apartment, but at dinner they don't give you enough to eat. They let you know then that they are the managers of the apartment complex, and they expect you to clean every vacant apartment until each one is spotless, and you will have to pay them for any extra food that you might need (which means you will have to go into debt). It's your choice, of course, they say. Because it's the only gig you can find, you have to agree. They hang you up on the wall at night on what resembles a black calvary cross and take you down when it's time for you to get ready for work. You are, after all, they say, no better than a sponge or a toilet bowl brush. They want to help you get used to being treated like an object. You'd think, they say, that you would know what that feels like by now.

(You realize that you are still on the right path because near the cross you find an old box containing Chapter Nine of Rooms that Dream....)

Native American Village Site at the Confluence

of Sycamore Creek and the Kings River in a Drought Year

ROOMS THAT DREAM: 

CHAPTER NINE

   That night Peter envisioned the landlord and scanned his energy field. Peter found a streak of black in the landlord’s brain and a lot of images of doctors and nurses in his aura.
   "I’m pretty sure the landlord has a brain tumor," Peter told Justin the following morning.
   "I have a feeling one reason you know that is because you touched the gem of Yesod, the sphere of the Moon, which enhanced your psychic tendencies," Justin said.
   Peter smiled, "When you meet with him, tell him that you know he has a tumor and that I will try to help him."
   "Do you think he’ll believe me?" Cashing asked. "I mean, I believe you, but he'll think I'm out of my freaking mind, and he'll either beat the crap out of me or laugh me out of his office."
   "Just do me a favor and tell him that you know. Also, make sure you take those signatures and letters with you. Let him know we’re not finished yet," Peter emphasized.
   "You got it," Justin stated. "I’m ready for this guy, I think."
   Having some time to kill before the meeting, Justin drove out to the foothills. He stood at the edge of the forest and gazed down at the denuded slopes of a reservoir that was now, in the drought, a wasteland, the river flowing as it had before the dam was built, revealing bridge abutments and an old road etched along the banks. If one stepped beyond the tangle of roots projecting into the reservoir and scrambled down the slope on loose rock and sand, as Justin had recently done, one could hike along the river on an old trail submerged for many decades to ancient village sites of Native Americans, past a chimney with one name carved in several places into the brick.
   Standing at the end of the dirt road, Justin unexpectedly felt tears welling in his eyes, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. His family had come out to the river many times, before they began vanishing one by one, and the dirt road, washed out in places, reminded him of those times decades before when he had taken his family for granted. But it was more than the loss of his family members; he had felt a sudden connection to the earth soul, to a peace that transcended time and space, a peace which had permeated the physical world before any life as we know it, and which would remain long after the human race was gone. He had only felt that connection a few times since his childhood, and it always reminded Justin of his father, who seemed especially in tune with the peace of the earth soul.
   But it was more than that. Justin knew these village sites as if he were gazing from the end of the old road into the collective subconscious, and he felt desolated even as he felt a deep connection with the earth soul, as if he, along with the tribe, had suffered the experience of genocide. And now, as he gazed at the denuded slopes and the river flowing peacefully as it once had before the dam was built, he recognized the partner of genocide, the ecocide that turned lush woodland forest into wasteland.
   It was so quiet. Justin was startled by a newt rustling leaves next to the road. Suddenly he understood another aspect of the magical symbol of Tiphareth, the central sphere on the mystical Tree of life. Tiphareth, meaning Beauty, contained a black crucifix in front of a bright yellow sun, the cross symbolizing, to Justin, the crucifixion of the soul within the physical body, the transmutation of force into form. But now Justin understood the symbol in terms of the vision of sorrow. Everything was transient, so sorrow was inevitable, but when Justin remembered the man on the cross, he understood that the greatest blessing can occur during the worst suffering and desolation, that the greatest potential for the transformation of pain into courage and love sometimes manifested in the worst circumstances.
   Justin hiked back to his car and headed to his meeting with the landlord. At the appointed time, Cashing was quickly ushered into the landlord’s office.
   "Do you know why you’re here?" the landlord asked.
   "Because you want to make a deal?" Cashing replied.
   "Because I want you to look long and hard at me before I crush you," the landlord said.
   "I don’t understand how a man who has cancer can talk like that to other people," Cashing stated.
   The landlord looked surprised. "How did you know that?" he asked. "Nobody else knows. I’ve made sure of that."
   "I have a wise friend who knows many things," Cashing replied.
   "Don't give me that crap," the landlord said. "Tell me or I’ll see that you don't step foot out of this office." The landlord pressed a button and two very large men stepped through the door.
   "Okay, okay. You’re not going to believe this. Just bear with me here a second," Cashing muttered.
   "You have two minutes," the landlord replied.
   "Okay, okay. I have a friend. And this friend has visions. Not only does he have visions, but I'm pretty sure he can heal people too."
   One of the bodyguards hit Cashing hard on the side of the head.
   "Okay, wait a minute. Just listen. The doctors thought I had cancer too, lung cancer. I don’t know how he did it, but my friend saw the cancer in a vision, and somehow the cancer went away. I think he healed me. I know it sounds totally crazy, but he wants you to know that he'll try to help you."
   The bodyguard raised his fist again, but paused.
   "You’re saying that this friend of yours somehow envisioned my brain tumor even though he has never met me?" the landlord laughed.
   "Yeah, that’s what I’m saying," Cashing replied. "He knows who you are. Just knowing your name and what you look like is enough for him. And he said that he’d be willing to help you too. Did I mention that?"
   The landlord motioned and the bodyguard stepped back. "You really expect me to believe this nonsense?" the landlord asked. "Do you know who I am? I don't play games, Mr. Cashing."
   "Look, I know the score. I can only guess how he does it, but I'm here, aren't I? Knowing him has made me realize the power of focused thought. I mean imagine for just one moment that the mind has the power to transcend certain physical limitations. You can see how the human mind has been able to change the environment in truly amazing ways throughout history. But imagine that through concentrated thought we are also able to affect each other on a basic level, a subconscious level. We can heal each other or make each other sick. We can raise each other to the level of angels or reduce each other to the level of beasts through the power of the mind because at some primal level we are all connected. Each of us is an energy field within a vast, cosmic energy field, and everything is connected. We just need to harness that energy by focusing every aspect of our being, our spirit, mind and body, on whatever we intend to do. I firmly believe now that to be truly healed physically we have to heal ourselves and each other on the emotional, mental, and spiritual levels, and I am almost completely certain that my friend can establish a profound connection with almost anyone, even you. He can touch people on a deep, subconscious level. I think everyone is capable of doing that, but somehow he has developed the ability to a very high degree. This is beyond everything that our society wants us to believe, I know. I don't think I would have believed it myself if I hadn't experienced it. He challenges my beliefs every day in one way or another just by being himself. I guess that's why I'm here. Frankly, I don’t know why he or anyone else would want to help you. All I know is that you might have a chance if you just give him a chance. From what I understand everything else has failed for you up to this point. Am I right? What have you got to lose?" Justin was starting to sweat.
   The landlord looked Cashing over. "Very interesting, Mr. Cashing. You realize I’ll break both your kneecaps if this doesn’t work," he stated flatly.
   "Yeah, I realize that now," Cashing replied as he gazed at the box of signatures and letters that he had placed on the landlord’s desk.

Go on a different adventure.

 All Text, Music, and Illustrations, including Paintings, Photographs, and 3D models, Copyright © 2022 by Jim Robbins.

Tenant

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APT. 17

   In Apt. 17 you hear a strange song from some other apartment. As you are falling asleep, you realize that it is the call of the blue whale, and you notice that the whale sometimes repeats what he has sung before but combines it with other melodies, as if trying to find just the right combination that will attract another blue whale, perhaps even from hundreds of miles away. You imagine swimming in a vast ocean by yourself with sharks and killer whales and strange creatures all around you, never finding someone who is like you, so you just keep singing, and no one seems to notice that now and then you repeat yourself. The others seem intimidated by you, perhaps because of your shape and size. In fact, you are never quite sure that anyone around you is even listening, so caught up are they in just surviving from one moment to the next. As you fall asleep you become like a blue whale, combining the music you dream in different ways so that perhaps someday someone in the vast sea will hear you and actually listen. 

(You realize that you are still on the right path because near the bed you find an old box with Chapter Eight of Rooms that Dream....)

Baby Blue Eyes in the San Joaquin River Gorge

ROOMS THAT DREAM: 

CHAPTER EIGHT

   The next day, as Peter was getting on his bike in the courtyard, Cashing opened his door and called him over.
   "You’re not going to tell me that we can’t do anything, are you?" Peter asked.
   "No, no, hang on a minute. I’ve had an idea. Do you want to hear it?"
   Peter got off of his mountain bike and stepped into Cashing’s apartment.
   "Okay, this is my idea. It’s just a stab in the dark," Cashing mumbled, "and it's probably really just a stupid idea anyway."
   "Would you just tell me already?" Peter blurted out.
   "Okay. We could go door to door collecting signatures from people to protest the subdivision. In the process, we could hand out fact sheets, and ask people to call or write their county supervisor. We could also list a few of our landlord’s major businesses on the fact sheet. That probably would be bad for his business. We wouldn’t ask people to boycott those businesses, mind you, because that might get us in trouble. We just want to imply that people can stand up against this guy."
   "Okay, now you’re talkin’. When can we get started?" Peter smiled.
   "Wait just a minute. There are several things to consider before we get started. First of all, you haven’t received permission from your parents. We would be canvassing in the evening on weeknights. Secondly, if our landlord finds out, he will want retribution. In other words, he will probably evict me and your family. We have to do this without letting anyone know who we are or where we live. We would have to be extremely careful."
   "Okay, first of all, my stepdad likes nature. He wouldn’t want to see that place developed anymore than I do. Secondly, my dad hates the landlord, and my parents are planning to move from here anyway. We’re probably only going to be here another month or so, from what I understand. And third, maybe I can convince them that the experience will be good for me, get me out of the house, make me more outgoing, yada, yada, yada," Peter laughed.
   "You can also mention that I canvassed for three years when I was younger and no one in my organization ever had any problems, and I was asking for money in addition to signatures and phone calls and letters. If someone gets ugly, you can just turn and walk away."
   That evening at dinner, Peter told his family about Cashing’s idea. Peter’s mother was dead set against it, but Peter’s father, who knew the area that was going to be developed, changed her mind. He knew the land was right at the edge of a national park. Peter’s father thought that Peter should at least be given a chance. As Peter had predicted, his stepdad thought the experience would help to build Peter's character. Peter had assured them that Cashing would always be canvassing on the other side of the street and would intercede if there were ever a problem. Besides, it would be a good way to get back at the landlord. That evening, after dinner, Peter overheard his father’s prediction that Peter wouldn’t last long on the job, not more than a night or two, anyway.
   Cashing and Peter both wondered out loud what they were doing on more than one occasion, but a month later, they were still going door to door, collecting an average of seventy signatures and ten letters a night between them. By the end of the first month, they had almost 1,500 signatures and close to two hundred letters against the project. Since it was summer, they kept canvassing until about nine o’clock each evening. People, on the whole, were indifferent. A few were nice and gave them something to drink. A few would slam the door in their faces, usually without hearing what they had to say. Justin and Peter just kept knocking on doors and finding supporters wherever they could.
   After a month, though, Justin started getting so tired that he began to suspect something was wrong. He took several days off, hoping that a little rest would solve the problem, but after four days, he didn’t feel any better.
   Peter meditated on Cashing’s illness. Peter mentally scanned Cashing’s body and found a streak of black in his lungs. Peter remembered that Cashing had smoked at a much younger age. Perhaps now, with all of the stress, cells were becoming cancerous. Peter did not want to label the problem, however. He envisioned draining the blackness from Cashing’s lung into a chalice and draining the blackness through a cord under the chalice into the earth, where it was purified by fire. Then Peter mentally filled the tainted area of the lung with blue and yellow and red and brilliant white energy. He had no rational explanation why those colors might be the best energy--he just knew it was right.
   When Peter saw Cashing next, he told Cashing to go to the doctor and have his lungs x-rayed. Cashing took Peter’s advice, and the doctor found a tiny tumor in Cashing’s left lung. The doctor wanted to operate right away to remove the tumors. Peter spent as many hours as possible meditating to rid the spot from Cashing’s left lung, replacing the blackness with blue and yellow and red and white energy. Before the doctors were about to operate, they x-rayed his lungs again. This time they found no sign of tumors in his lung even though they checked and rechecked the tests. Wondering if some mistake had been made, they sent Cashing home and told him to return in a week.
   Justin knew that occasionally there were tears in the fabric of reality and odd things would slip in and out, sometimes terrifying, sometimes healing, sometimes downright crazy. He had little trouble believing therefore that another person could heal him with the mind alone, which he suspected Peter had done.
   Peter had helped Justin to believe in the power of telepathy. Justin had experienced “hits” before, sometimes knowing with great certainty what a person was thinking or feeling, but even though he had opened his subtle senses, he did not trust his intuitions and did not know how to harness that power. Justin was more than a little afraid of the power of a thought combined with intense feeling, which sometimes unexpectedly inspired groups into sudden, focused action as a powerful thought-form swept through the crowd, making individuals do, for better or worse, what they could not have imagined doing alone. It was the power of the mob, but it was also, as Justin was witnessing, the power that an individual had to heal or to harm. Since Justin was a well-educated man, he had always doubted his intuitions, that small voice in his head. Maybe what he “heard” were like the indistinct sounds that seeped through the apartment walls that he could never really label good or bad. Justin was also afraid that he just didn’t have enough faith, in the power of the mind or in himself, for the subtle senses sometimes only translate the energy of emotion and thought. Sometimes he could not even believe in his own fingers. For Peter, though, Justin was willing to take a chance, if only because it made life seem more like an adventure.
   After he got back from the doctor's office, Cashing found Peter waiting for him. "I get this feeling that you’ve been meditating on my problem," Cashing said.
   "Yeah," Peter replied.
   Cashing hugged Peter. "Thank you," Cashing said. "I'm sure you helped me even though every one else I know would think that I'm crazy for saying so."
   "You need to purify yourself spiritually, mentally, emotionally and physically every day from now on. I can't keep you healthy. You've got to do it yourself," Peter explained.
   "I will. I will. I promise," Cashing replied. "Follow me. I have something to show you. I've been debating about the right time to show you, but I think the right time is now."
   They ambled over to Justin’s apartment. After he opened the front door, Justin motioned Peter inside and opened the door to his bedroom. “This is what I have been wanting to show you,” Justin paused, his hand sweeping toward the wall. “The Tree of Life."
   Peter could see a strange structure, about two and half feet tall, on an alter, with gems hanging from it. “You mean the Tree of Life from the Garden of Eden?”
   “It's possible that this Tree of Life came from the Garden of Eden, but no one can prove it, of course."
   “Are the jewels real?"
   “Yes. There are ten different jewels, including a diamond, a ruby, an emerald and a sapphire, each of great value."
   “How much is it worth?" Peter demanded.
   “The Tree itself, as far as I know, is priceless," Justin responded. “It has another value, a magical value that far transcends its worth in gold."
   Peter squinted at the Tree, “Those jewels aren't really real, are they? You're just messin’ with me, right?"
   “Yes, they are real, and no I'm not messin' with you. Some of the most powerful forces in the world are contained within those jewels."
   “What kinds of forces?"
   “The Tree of Life is a symbol of creation representing the different energies within the cosmos and the individual. It symbolically shows the universal energy field, which is mirrored by each human energy field, or aura. The Tree reveals the subtle correspondences between the individual soul and the powers of the cosmos, in other words.”
   Peter pondered Justin's words for a moment. “You mean that a person can use the Tree to gain cosmic powers? How is that possible?”
   “That, my friend, is the mystery. Only a small group of people know how to charge the jewels with cosmic force. For some reason, my uncle left the Tree so that I would find it. I believe that my uncle was one of the people who knew, but he died before he could tell me.”
   “So," Peter drew out the vowel, “how did your uncle get a hold of it?”
   “He found it during the war, World War II, that is, hidden in a concentration camp, of all places. He showed it to me once when I was a young boy, but he didn’t tell me anything else about it. My uncle was an eccentric and seemed a little unbalanced sometimes. Everyone thought he was 'cranky’ because of the War, but I think now it was probably because of this,” Justin pointed at the Tree. “He wanted me to believe that he took it apart after he found it in the Nazi commandant’s quarters and that he wrapped it up and brought it home, and then put it back together in his garage and kept it hidden there for almost fifty years, but I now think it possible that he simply put it together and charged it with cosmic energies himself.”
   Peter still looked doubtful. “Why are you showing this to me now?"
   “I don't completely understand it on a spiritual level, probably because I have trouble trusting my own intuitions. I understand it mentally, but I don't fully understand it spiritually. I sometimes just feel at a loss when I connect spiritually with people or things. I can sometimes talk a good game, but when it gets down to the nitty gritty, I have trouble reconciling the logic of the mind with the logic of the spirit, which sometimes are oddly different. And maybe I'm a little afraid of the unpredictable nature of the spirit. You, if you'll allow me to be frank, are obviously less damaged than I am and seem far more open and tuned in to the spiritual dimension. I am hoping that you will help me understand the Tree of Life on a higher level. I believe that everything happens for a reason. A wise man once said that you should treat all experience as a confrontation of God with your soul. You are having visions of archetypal symbols that can be found in the Tarot and on the Tree of Life, two symbol systems that correspond in every conceivable way. I think for that reason alone I am meant to reveal this to you.”
   Peter looked nonplussed.
   Justin continued, “It’s crucial that the right people take care of the Tree. Try to remember Nazi Germany, for a moment. The Nazis got their hands on knowledge of the Tree of Life and conquered most of Europe, killing millions of innocent people in the process. The Tree of Life is a sacred symbol system revealing different subtle states of being. The swastika, for instance, which is a symbol of the Source of life, is associated with the top sphere of the Tree, the Crown, the Source of all  Creation. The Nazis perverted that symbol, turning it on its side, literally and figuratively. Instead of a symbol of life, it became a symbol of evil. And, instead of a time of great spiritual awakening, the 20th Century was a nightmare. I’m afraid that the people in power are more than a little like the Nazis, and if they got their hands on it, they would use the Tree to establish ‘full-spectrum dominance’ over the world, which is pretty much what they’re currently trying to do. You and I are ‘off the radar,’ so to speak, and we need to keep it that way. Whoever takes care of this Tree must remain humble."
   “So you think your uncle chose you to take care of it?” Peter asked.
   “My guess is that he could see my rebellious spiritual nature. All I know is that he made me the executor of his estate and must have known that I would remember the Tree and try to find it. Sure enough, I found it hidden on the top shelf in his garage.”
   Peter looked over at the Tree of Life. “How does the magic work?”
   Justin smiled. “The gems are like the symbols in the Tarot cards, except the gems are tangible. With the Tarot cards, you have to rely entirely on your imagination to let the forces through. With the gems, all you do is touch them. When you touch a gem the cosmic force comes through and stimulates the subconscious mind. In other words, an influx of power affects your aura, and if your brain is in a receptive state, the subconscious mind will present the force to your conscious mind as an archetypal symbol or God or Archangel in the mind's eye. If you touch the ruby, for instance, you will feel the power of Mars, which can manifest as great courage and energy, and you might see an archetypal symbol such as a sword or a warrior king or God in your mind's eye."
   Peter touched the ruby and felt a wave of power wash over his sphere of sensation, and in his mind’s eye, he envisioned a king dressed in armor and a red cape who was holding a sword and shield. “Wow, why doesn’t everyone know about this?” Peter gasped.
   “The force of the gems, each of which represents a sphere on the Tree of Life, can also be unbalancing. In other words, the force of the ruby, which represents a sphere on the Tree of Life known as Geburah, or Severity, can also manifest as cruelty and destructiveness. Each sphere has a ‘vice’ as well as a ‘virtue.’ Because of the potentially unbalancing aspect of each sphere, the stewards of the Tree have only passed on the knowledge to those who are purified and dedicated. A person who uses the knowledge for selfish ends eventually ends up destroyed by the unbalancing aspect of the forces. How the individual uses the power of the forces is his or her own karma.”
   Peter reached for the sapphire, the jewel opposite the ruby.
   “Whoa, there,” Justin shouted, chuckling. “You need to absorb the energy of the ruby before you invite the other powers into your life. Give it at least a week. If you do become unbalanced in that time, you can invite the powers of the opposite sphere into your aura as a way to balance the forces. The three pillars of the Tree reveal polarity and balance. The two outer pillars represent polarity, and the middle pillar represents the balance of the forces. The sixth sphere, known as Tiphareth, or Beauty, harmonizes the forces, and is therefore known as the ‘Christ Center.’ All of these forces can have a life-changing effect on the psyche, so you need to be extremely careful when handling them, especially since each force tends to be at a much higher frequency than we're used to.”
   “So do people start to think you’re strange if you do this? Is that what happened to your uncle?”
   “I’m not going to lie to you, Peter. That is likely to happen. Just look at the Tarot card ‘The Hanged Man,’ which represents one of the paths on the Tree. Most people live within a very limited range of emotional, mental and spiritual frequencies. You have to choose between being considered ‘normal’ or realizing the potentials of the self, which requires great sacrifice. This is one of the most important choices you will ever make.”
   “I guess I should think about it, but I have a feeling I know what the answer is going to be.”
   “I had a feeling that you might,” Justin laughed.
   "Before I go, I've got something to tell you, which is the reason I came over in the first place. I’ve got some bad news," Peter muttered.
   Justin furrowed his eyebrows.
   Peter continued, "The landlord has evicted us. You're probably about to receive an eviction notice too."
   "That landlord has eyes everywhere."
   "My stepbrother told him."
   "Why?"
   "Because my stepbrother hates me," Peter sighed.
   "Did your stepbrother ask him for money or something?" Cashing asked.
   "He said he was trying to keep the landlord from evicting my family by telling the landlord the truth. I’m not so sure why he really did it," Peter frowned. "Unfortunately, my family is behind on the rent like everyone else."
   Just then, the manager knocked on Justin's door. "Consider yourself served," the manager sneered.
   The envelope containing the eviction notice also contained a short letter from the landlord. "Why don’t we meet tomorrow at three o'clock in my office downtown?" the note read. The address was included in the letterhead.
   "The landlord would like to meet with me tomorrow. I wonder what the landlord wants," Justin mused.    

   Peter ambled over to the Tree and fondled a gem that made him feel incredibly psychic as Justin looked on with concerned amusement. "I guess we'll find out," Peter stated.

Go on a different adventure.

 All Text, Music, and Illustrations, including Paintings, Photographs, and 3D models, Copyright © 2022 by Jim Robbins.

Child Playing by Filled-in Pool

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APT. 16

   From a dark room on the second story above the parking garage, you look out on a series of windows through several rooms where you can finally see the street in a distant window. In one room, a ring is slipped on a finger; in another, a hand reaches up from the floor to touch the dress of a woman ironing a shirt; in the most distant room, a hand is lifted from a coffin and grasped for a long time. Beyond the last room, a man in the street is being chased by a woman with a knife, and as he struggles to escape, he dashes up an escalator that creaks and teeters and takes him toward the clouds; he enters a bathroom and realizes that there are no stalls and that he is surrounded by people; he gallops away and falls into water and can't move. As you watch, you suddenly realize that each window and event, all of which affect the physical senses, are actually projected onto a screen from some place in the wall. Some sensations and words keep reappearing like beliefs, layered with associations and feelings; others disappear, perhaps forever. Occasionally you search for the source of the projections, finding only a light under the door--and you finally turn back to the screen.

(You realize that you are still on the right path because near the door you find an old box with Chapter Seven of Rooms that Dream....)

Pestle near Pounding Stone

ROOMS THAT DREAM: 

CHAPTER SEVEN

   Peter liked meditating early in the morning when other people in his family were still asleep or just beginning to stir. In addition to feeling the security of having his family nearby, unbiased in their sleep by the beliefs that they had established about him, his dreams were still fresh, and he was not in danger of falling asleep. Often he would lie still for over an hour before he got out of bed.
   As he meditated, he intuited that the minds of many people were focused on the black cross. Some, of course, were giving up their sin and regret and suffering, but Peter also sensed others who were supporting the cross with their emotional, mental, and spiritual energy. Jesus was not the only one taking in negative feelings and thoughts in order to cleanse humanity. Many other people and spiritual entities were helping. Suddenly Peter had the feeling that he could help too. He wasn’t sure how, but he began to focus his energy in such as way as to take some of the blackness into himself and then release it, as if he were part of a large effort to cleanse and neutralize the excess dark energy from the world.
   Just as he was filling himself with light to cleanse the blackness from his soul, he heard a commotion in the courtyard. He peeked out the bedroom window and saw the police dragging away the artist who lived in a second story apartment across the way. They were pushing him and nudging him with rifle butts. Once Peter had shown the artist some of his own work, and the artist had been full of praise and encouragement. Then the artist had shown Peter a work in progress: on a huge canvas one person in thirty different poses in three rows on a bright red background. Though the poses were not contorted, when Peter stepped away from the painting, the figures appeared to be writhing in agony, possibly due to the red background.
   The police also brought out the artist’s nine-year-old son, who watched his father get into the police car. The artist just sat in the police car looking straight ahead.
   "Hey, what are you doing?" Peter yelled through the window. People from all over the complex were gathering in the complex, but nobody responded, so Peter ran outside in his pajamas. He found Cashing in the crowd.
   "Apparently they believe your artist friend robbed a 7-11 last night. Looks like people around here are getting desperate," Cashing mourned.
   "What will they do with his son?" Peter asked.
   "They’ll probably take him to his mother, if they can find her. I’ve heard that she’s a drug addict who just got out of jail. If they can’t find her, the boy will probably just go into foster care."
   They watched silently as the police escorted the boy to another police car.
   "Can we do anything?" Peter asked as the police drove away.
   "I don’t think our meditations can help him much," Cashing mumbled, putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder. "I wish there was something we could do."
   "Can’t we bail him out, or something?" Peter said loudly.
   "No one here has that kind of money."
   "What if everyone here gave a little money to bail him out?" Peter was no longer just talking to Cashing, but to what was left of the crowd.
   People just started walking away, shaking their heads and mumbling.
   Peter followed Cashing into his apartment. "You don’t believe that we’re doing any good?" Peter asked.
   "A famous man once said that the more you know, the more you want to crawl into a black hole and die. I like your ideas. Really I do. I think they’re very beautiful. Maybe some ideas are just too beautiful for our world."
   Peter stared at the floor.
   "Look, I found out something else, and you’re not going to like it," Cashing said. "Our friend the landlord owns the place where we meditated the other day. He bought it a year ago from an old lady who doesn’t have any family in the area. Apparently he wants to build a subdivision on that land, an upscale housing project with a golf course."
   "Oh, no, are you kidding? This is just too much of a freaking coincidence!"
   'Too much of a coincidence? I thought so too, so I checked it out to make sure. I told you this guy practically owns this town. I’m not kidding you."
   "Can’t we do something to stop it?" Peter asked.
   "How do you think I ended up in this hole in the first place?" Cashing blurted out. "By fighting people like him--that’s how. The next stop after this is the street, my friend. Hell, he’s probably already planning to evict me. How many fronts do you think I can fight on, anyway?"
   "I just think that we shouldn’t give up so easily. There’s got to be something we can do," Peter mumbled.
   "Like what? This might sound cliched, my friend, but money talks and losers walk. He can buy off the archeologist who surveys the land for Native American artifacts. He can buy off the county planning commission and the board of supervisors. He can even buy off the judges who preside over the lawsuits. I’ve seen it happen before, more than once. Just the promise of financial support, hell just a hamburger and some french fries, is enough to buy the loyalty of the people who make the decisions around here."
   "Okay, okay, but I’m not going to crawl into some black hole and die," Peter blurted out. "I still think we can do something."
   Peter slammed the door and ran home.

Go on a different adventure.

All Text, Music, and Illustrations, including Paintings, Photographs, and 3D models, Copyright © 2022 by Jim Robbins.

Constellations

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APT. 15

   Only when you first turn off the lamp do you notice the tiny lights floating in the room. On closer inspection, you notice the lights have different shapes, some spiral, some with spiral arms extending from a bar across the center, some spherical, and some almost disc-like. Touching the lights causes an unpleasant shock, and since each shape is hopelessly altered by the impression made by your finger, you decide to avoid troubling the lights in any way. Creating an azimuthal chart, you plot the coordinates of each light and then tack the chart to the wall since you cannot see the lights in the daytime. One night, as you lay awake glimpsing the lights slowly whirling, you look out the window. It is a clear night, unusual in this polluted city, and you notice the stars for the first time in years. Only then does the thought occur to you that your room contains a universe. It also occurs to you that each galaxy contains solar systems that are too small to see, each potentially with life forms as significant and complex as your own species, all forms, no matter the size, held together in complex systems by inscrutable forces. For days you cannot move from the bed. Cockroaches and ants scurry over the counters, spiderwebs stretch from ceiling to wall.

(You realize that you are still on the right path because near the bed you find an old box with Chapter Six of Rooms that Dream....)

Pounding Stone with Fiddleneck in House Pits

ROOMS THAT DREAM: 

CHAPTER SIX

   Peter went to his room and closed the door. Fortunately his parents were running errands, and his brother was watching TV. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind. He was drifting, thoughtless, in the void when suddenly he felt a familiar touch on his face, a cross between a scratch and a tickle. Peter envisioned a ridge near Sycamore Creek where he had once found a pestle in a mortar. On that ridge a low rock formed a rough semicircle where the tribe, Peter imagined, had held rituals. Suddenly, a dirt-covered Indian with long, shaggy black hair that hid both face and chest stepped into the semi-circle. The Indian, who carried a spear, wore only a loin cloth, but Peter could not tell if the Indian was a man or a woman.
   Peter was afraid for a moment, but the Indian seemed to be ignoring him.
   "Are you my guide?" Peter mentally asked.
   The Indian stood motionless and silent for what seemed like a long time, then placed the spear on the ground, pointing toward the semi-circle, which suddenly resembled horns.
   Peter opened his eyes, overwhelmed by the urge to go back to Sycamore Creek. He closed his eyes again, trying to meditate some more, but he soon fell asleep.
   When he woke up, he noticed that over an hour had passed since he had started meditating. He headed over to Cashing’s apartment to see if the meeting was over.
   "How did the meeting go?" Peter asked after Cashing opened the door.
   "This is a tough issue. There’s not a lot we can do legally. On a political level, we might stage a press conference and boycott the businesses owned by our landlord. He is a very rich man, by the way, who owns a lot of businesses here in town. There’s no reason for him to be hurting people like this."
   "Hey, you know what? When I was meditating, a spirit guide told me to go to a special place in the woods. We could meditate there, and maybe you might think of a solution to this problem. What do you think?"
   "So you have a spirit guide. I might have known. You want to go now?"
   "Sure, why not? My parents won’t miss me for awhile, at least not till it gets dark."
   "I don't want to piss off your parents again, but, on the other hand, I don’t have anything planned for today. You’re sure your parents won’t mind?"
   "They know you’re okay. Besides, they won’t even realize I’m gone. They’re out running errands. Sometimes they run errands all day long."
   Cashing’s old Corolla struggled up the steep inclines, threatening to overheat, but soon they found a place to park next to an unchained gate.
   "My, my, talk about coincidence. I used to wander around on this property all the time, twenty years ago. I can probably even tell you where you’re planning to take me. Coincidence just seems to be all too common for us."
   "I’ll follow you, then, at least until you start to get us lost," Peter laughed.
   As they hiked down the trail, Justin waxed philosophical, "On one level, the modern 'magician' is a kind of shaman who not only uses symbols and archetypes to connect with invisible subtle energies, but also strives to connect with the subtle energies of visible living creatures, which requires deep cleansing of the subconscious, great empathy, and a kind of rebirth of the self. In other words, the modern shaman is reborn into kinship, relying on the ego as a survival tool but seeing beyond, through sympathetic imagination, to the deep connection he or she has with all living things, and seeing beyond also to the possibilities of indeterminacy and otherness. The shaman strives to know the element of Earth as much as any other element, to know living plants and animals as well as invisible spirits. After all, the ability to know one goes hand in hand with the ability to know the other because sympathy is required for both. The modern shaman thrives on the adventures of otherness and the creative indeterminacy of Being, which is the mercy of eternity."
   Peter just nodded his head.
   Cashing was profoundly curious but didn’t ask any questions. He wanted to see whether or not Peter had a different idea about where they should go. He led Peter down a crumbling oiled road littered by shotgun shells, dried cow patties, and buckeye seeds. Grass and milkweed were growing in the cracks created by run-off from the slopes. Finally they reached a ridge where they could hear a creek in the distance. An old trail ran parallel to the road for a few feet and then curved down toward the creek. Cashing paused.
   "So you do know this place," Peter said.
   "I know it well. Which way do you want to go?"
   "Let’s head out to the ridge," Peter pointed north.
   They crossed the faint trail, stepped over a fallen gray pine, and soon found themselves on a pounding stone overlooking the creek.
   "Notice anything?" Cashing asked.
   "You mean the house pits?" Peter pointed to five circular indentations in the ground near the pounding stone.
   "Precisely. At first I thought cattle had worn those holes in the ground, but then, after I explored the area carefully, I realized that people must have made them."
   "Do you want to follow that trail down to the creek?" Peter pointed back toward the road.
   Cashing, amazed by Peter’s knowledge of the area, was tempted to tell him about an experience that had occurred years before. Cashing had first approached the area by hiking east along the creek. As he was hiking, the sun was going down and the air was cooling off, the creek gurgling and crickets scraping out a pleasant song. Cashing had suddenly experienced the sensation that he had been there before and then felt very powerful feelings of jealousy and rage that did not belong to him. He then knew that he would find something if he kept walking on the stones next to the creek. Soon he came upon a pounding stone right next to the water. He sat down and closed his eyes. He was suddenly sure that he would find a trail not far from the pounding stone. He scrambled up the slope under the low branches of an ancient oak tree and immediately found the trail, which led to where he and Peter were now standing. Cashing, who had contemplated reincarnation as a possible explanation while hiking along the trail those many years ago, had somehow known that he would find a pounding stone on a ridge, even though he had never been there before.
   Cashing began hiking down the trail. Peter followed silently behind him. Soon they were sitting on the pounding stone next to the creek.
   "So, is this where you want to meditate?" Justin asked. Then Justin told Peter his story about finding the area and the path to the pounding stone. "You know," he said, "I've read that spiritually developed people experience coincidences and synchronicities all the time. Maybe we are living proof of that theory."
   "This is not where my spirit guide told me to go," Peter replied. "We need to cross the creek. It’s just up there," Peter pointed to the top of the hill on the other side of the creek.
   The water was high, the rocks were unstable, but they both managed to ford the creek without getting wet. As they were scrambling up the slope, Cashing again had the sense that he had been there before. As they reached the top, Cashing stepped on a pounding stone that was almost completely covered by dirt.
   "It’s over there," Peter blurted out.
   They found the rough semicircle of stone and sat down.
   "For some reason, I feel mighty strange. This must be the place," Cashing smiled.
   "Yeah, this is it," Peter said. "Let’s just meditate for a while and see what happens. I don’t feel like thinking about that landlord right now."
   Cashing found himself sucked very quickly into the meditative state, because, it seemed, he and Peter had suddenly tuned in to the same mental frequency. After awhile, Cashing envisioned himself before a fire in the semicircle of stone. Faces of elders flickered and glowed in the firelight. Suddenly he sensed that Peter was beside him in the vision, but Peter had a different face, not just because the firelight was flickering. They were both Native Americans, but Peter was older, a young man, not a teenager. Cashing then realized that in his vision he was looking at Peter through the eyes of a woman.
   Startled, Cashing opened his eyes. Peter opened his eyes at the same time and turned to Cashing.
   "I just saw something strange," Peter exclaimed.
   "So did I," Cashing replied. "You go first."
   "I saw both of us sitting around a fire," Peter said, "but you were a woman."
   "Don’t tell me," Cashing said. "We were both Native Americans?"
   "Yes," Peter said, "and we were both right here."
   "I think we should keep trying, and this time don’t stop even if you see something really weird," Peter suggested.
   "All right, this is just another one of those things that I'm not going to be able to explain. Let’s do it," Cashing agreed.
   Again Cashing found himself very quickly in the meditative state, but for what seemed like a long time, he sat with his mind in the void, trying to keep from thinking. Then suddenly he saw the hill at sunrise. He envisioned stumbling down to the creek as soldiers were sneaking up on the village from the other side of the hill. Suddenly he heard gunfire. Men, women, and children were being shot down as they dashed around the hill. 

   Suddenly a man stepped out of his hut with a bow and arrow. He sent an arrow straight into the chest of a soldier. Just as he was aiming another arrow, a cowboy who had joined the massacre shot the Native American in the back. Then the cowboy turned around. Cashing recognized the dead Native American as Peter.
   Cashing couldn’t continue meditating. He opened his eyes again. Peter was breathing quietly, his eyes already open.
   "I think I was killed during some kind of massacre," Peter murmured.
   "And I think the person who killed you was our friend the landlord--who must have been a rancher in his past life," Cashing blurted out.

Go on a different adventure.

 All Text, Music, and Illustrations, including Paintings, Photographs, and 3D models, Copyright © 2022 by Jim Robbins.

A Tenant's Dream

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APT. 14

   You wake up in the middle of a room next to a telescope. After blinking twice, you notice that the floor is larger than the base of the most massive pyramid, and as you stand up inside the vast room, you lose your balance. When you step to your right to regain your balance, the entire floor tilts, just the slightest bit, accompanied by a loud whirring, as if many cogwheels had suddenly started turning. When you return to the exact center of the room, the floor returns to its original evenness. Ridges in the floor extend in each cardinal direction, at first appearing merely decorative. After you grow tired of standing in the middle, you take several steps, and the reason for the ridges becomes immediately clear. The floor tilts no matter which way you step, and the ridges become stairs that enable you to proceed downward or upward in whichever direction you choose.
   Then you notice a large, red button in the middle of each stair step. When you stamp down on one, the floor locks into position, enabling you to proceed either upward or downward. You find that it is easier and feels more natural to go downward, but the farther down you go, the more you experience primal instincts and desires, and after awhile, as you continue downward, you discover that you are attracting strange, unbalanced forces that grow darker and darker, so you return to the middle of the room, where you notice another red button under the telescope. When you step on that button, the floor returns to its original position.
   You decide to climb upward and discover that you keep heading into brighter light toward ethereal beings that are so advanced that you feel like an amoeba in comparison. Even so, when you are in their proximity, you manifest their higher energies, becoming more and more like an angel. You find that no matter which way you head, up or down, you enter a different vibration, a different order of existence, the knowledge of which separates you a little more from the rest of humanity, so you again head back to the middle of the room, where, finally, you discover the reason for the telescope: When you peer out of the massive windows into other rooms, you find that you can't locate any other people standing in the middle, no matter how long you search.

(You realize that you are still on the right path because near the telescope in the middle of the room you find an old wooden box with Chapter Five of Rooms that Dream....)

Pounding Stone: Bottom of Pine Flat Reservoir

in a Drought Year

ROOMS THAT DREAM: 

CHAPTER FIVE

   As soon as Peter stepped through the door, he found his mother talking on the phone.
   "Uh-oh," he thought as he rushed to his room.
   "Peter," she called, "I need to talk to you right now." She opened his door and peered in.
   "Yeah?"
   "I just got a call from our minister. He said that you were there with that man--that man I told you not to talk to anymore."
   "What? I’m not allowed to pray anymore?"
   She stepped into his room. "That’s not the point, and you know it. I explicitly told you not to talk to that man, and the first thing you do is go talk to him. Is he some kind of fanatic, or something? Is that why you like him?"
   "I like him because he’s helping me to develop spiritually, mentally and emotionally, if that’s what you mean," Peter retorted.
   "Look, I know that you’re more spiritually inclined than a lot of us. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, but you have to be so careful these days. I would be happy to invite him over for dinner. Would you like that?"
   Peter suddenly imagined how his stepfather and brother might act at dinner. "No," he whispered.
   As though understanding Peter’s thoughts, she asked, "Then what can I do? How do I know that I can trust him?"
   "We’re just trying to think of different ways to help people. Can’t you at least trust me?" Peter asked.
   "Oh, all right. I just want you to tell me if anything strange happens. I want to know more about him. I’m only watching out for you, you know."
   "Yeah, I know. Thanks, Mom."
   Peter ran straight to Cashing’s apartment after pulling his pack of Tarot cards out of the garbage can. He decided to keep the pack with him wherever he went.    

   When Peter got to Cashing’s apartment, he blurted out, "The minister actually called my Mom. Can you believe that?"
   "Here’s to the few who don’t care what you do!" Cashing laughed, raising a glass.
   "I convinced my Mom that you’re okay. I can actually talk to you now."
   "Hallelujah! Come on in then," Cashing smiled.
   "My mom wants to know more about you, though. What can I tell her?"
   Cashing looked a little anxious. "Well, you don’t want to hear my life story, do you?"
   "Only the good stuff."
   "Your mom probably wants to know how I ended up in this dump. Well, believe it or not, I used to be a teacher. For many years, I taught several classes a semester at a community college. I was what they call an adjunct instructor. In other words, I only taught part-time. The college relies heavily on part-time teachers in order to avoid paying benefits or salaries. So I also worked as a substitute teacher. With those two jobs, I managed to scrape by."
   "Doesn’t sound too bad," Peter said.
   "Well, it wasn’t, actually. My schedule was flexible. I could write stories and music and be an activist. I actually decided that I didn’t want to teach full time. The conditions that teachers work in these days are deplorable."
   "What happened?"
   "I mentioned that I was an activist. Well, I wrote an opinion piece for the newspaper. It was one of many opinion pieces that I’ve published, but this was the first one that happened to mention that I was a teacher at a particular community college. I didn’t discover until two days before the next semester began that I had not been rehired. After twelve years of glowing evaluations from students and administrators, I suddenly discovered they didn’t want me to teach there anymore. They didn’t even bother to tell me--I had to call to find out why my name wasn’t mentioned in the schedule of courses. The irony is that I was at the top of my game as a teacher. In all modesty, I had never even imagined when I began that I could teach so effectively."
   "That sucks. Are you still a substitute?"
   "That’s the thing. I never obtained a teaching credential. I only had a master’s degree, so oddly enough the public school district wouldn’t hire me even though I had over sixteen years of experience teaching at a community college under my belt. Since I was never going to be hired full-time, I finally just decided to throw in the towel. I’m now living on a rapidly diminishing retirement fund, and I'll probably need to start subbing again pretty soon. This thirty percent raise in rent is certainly not helping any."
   "God, I know. My family is freakin’ out. Everyone’s been in a really bad mood lately. My mom keeps saying that you can’t trust anyone. My dad keeps pointing out that you can’t be weak in this world, and my brother keeps calling me a sissy. It’s depressing."
   "Maybe we should do that little meditation ritual for our landlord," Cashing laughed.
   "Couldn’t hoit," Peter said with an affected accent.
   "Oh, but you know what? I just remembered. I’m going to a meeting on the rent increase in a few minutes. We’ll have to do our little ritual later. You’re welcome to join us. It’s just me and a couple of others."
   "Naw. I’m not really political," Peter smiled.
   "Everything is political, my friend."
   "I thought everything is spiritual."
   "Okay, everything is political and spiritual. We just have a landlord who believes that one thing is more sacred than others."

Go on a different adventure.

All Text, Music, and Illustrations, including Paintings, Photographs, and 3D models, Copyright © 2022 by Jim Robbins.

Foundation in Floodplain

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APT. 13

   In this apartment, you can freeze a moment in your life and examine each aspect, even down to the molecular level. While someone is about to slug you, his fist raised, you can observe the fly by your ear, the dust mites under the chair, the body ash all over the furniture, the atoms floating in what you once believed was only empty space. You can examine the facial expressions of your loved ones revealing fear, disapproval, anger, amusement. You can go into other rooms to observe things before they are used up, suggesting or corresponding to or reflecting what you perceived as the meaning of your life at that moment, slightly puzzling in retrospect, all the molecules acting as though conscious of how the patterns fit together, as if all possibilities were known.

(You realize that you are still on the right path because on a couch you find an old wooden box with Chapter Four of Rooms that Dream....)

The Emperor

ROOMS THAT DREAM:

CHAPTER FOUR

   Justin had no discretionary income but indulged in short trips to the foothills, where he would often trespass to explore the trails and Native American village sites along creeks and rivers--the price of retaining his sanity, he rationalized. One day as he drove on a single lane road along the Kings River, he glanced at the floodplain and for a second glimpsed the concrete foundation of a large building below in the flood plain of the river. He experienced at that moment a twinge of remembrance but did not recall the significance of the foundation until he was falling asleep that evening; he suddenly remembered a trip to the Kings River with his family when he was eleven or twelve, not long after they had moved to Fresno from Los Angeles. He and his brother had slept on the back seat as the car slowly wound its way up the hills, both of them waking as the car glided into a grassy area next to the road, “In the Ghetto” by Elvis Presley blaring on the radio, his Dad, before turning off the car, uncharacteristically allowing the song to reach its conclusion.
   As his Dad fished from a sandy bank, Justin gazed transfixed at a huge spider web in the foliage near the road until he located a bulbous spider in the corner of the web and jumped back, horrified. Justin's brother called from a dirt road next to the river, excitedly yelling that he had found something, then dashing off down the road and vanishing in bushes behind a tall tree. Justin sprinted after him but couldn’t keep up with him.
   Feeling suddenly very alone, Justin tip-toed between the bushes, expecting an ambush, until he noticed his brother off in the distance in a clearing.
   “What took you so long?” his brother sneered.
   Justin saw several large slabs of concrete. Looking closer, he recognized that the concrete formed the foundation of a large building, a fact that had initially escaped him because several trees were growing inside what used to be a mansion. He jumped up on the foundation wall and inched around it until he reached a point where the concrete was broken up by the roots of the trees.
   Confused, afraid and fascinated all at once, suddenly feeling paralyzed, Justin stared at the uncountable leaves inside what was left of the house.
   “Let’s go,” his brother shouted.
   “No,” Justin responded, uncharacteristically.
   His brother squinted. “C’mon, let’s go! What’s your damn problem?”
   Justin stared at the tumbled concrete of the foundation. His brother dashed away, leaving Justin alone again. He looked around carefully, disappointed, on one hand, by his inability to comprehend the feelings inspired by the foundation, and, on the other, by the fact that he would never be able to walk all the way around the house on the low, concrete wall, as if on a tight rope.
   Finally, Justin got down from the concrete, suddenly hearing a loud voice, “You will be back in thirty-five years….”
   Scared out of his wits, Justin raced back through the bushes to the dirt road, wanting to tell everyone about that voice, which he had never heard before. But when Justin crept up to his father, who was silently reeling in his fishing line, suddenly the voice didn‘t seem real anymore.
   Thirty-five years later, Justin noticed the foundation of the house as he was driving by, never before glancing down at the river bottom at exactly the right moment on any of the other trips he had taken to the Kings River.
   The next day, during the meditation portion of his daily ritual, Justin envisioned the God Horus standing on a concrete stage at one end of the foundation. That didn’t make sense to Justin because he only remembered the concrete where the walls of the different rooms had been, so he drove back to the Kings River the next week to investigate the foundation and discovered that the house did indeed have two concrete patios resembling stages at both ends--his waking vision more accurate than his memory of the place. When he stood next to the concrete, everything seemed to be as it had been that day thirty-five years before, as if he had been gone only a few minutes, the river flowing serenely beyond a small beach of white sand, the dirt road still heading beyond huge sycamores and oaks, the spider web gone, his father dead of a heart attack a few years after that fishing trip thirty-five years ago.
   During the period during which he had rediscovered the foundation, Justin had become an occultist, communing with Horus, Isis, Thoth, and Osiris during his personal rituals. In the process, he had experienced symbolic death several times in meditation as well as an overwhelming sense of cosmic harmony, and he recognized that the Christ is not a man but a cosmic force that the symbolic forms of savior figures such as Horus, Dionysus, and Jesus personify, enabling the worshipper to channel the force into heart and mind and soul. Thoth, the god of magic and communication, embodies the mighty Logos, the Word that channels the primal forces into manifestation, and Isis looms as the Celestial Mother, the root of all form in the manifested universe. Horus shines as the symbol of the higher self, the expression of Divine Will on the physical plane, conceived after Isis found the body parts of Osiris and put them back together.
   When he returned thirty-five years later to the foundation of the house, Justin imagined Horus standing on the concrete slab, which was more like an altar than a patio or a stage, and Justin's inner voice whispered that he should not give his spiritual power away to anything or anyone on the physical plane. Justin consciously became at that moment what he had always suspected was awaiting him, as if he had suddenly grown into a set of clothes that had always been in his closet: A spiritual renegade who would go his own way no matter what. He wondered for a moment if his new-found friendship with Peter was in any way part of his path now.

Knight of Cups

   At breakfast, Peter’s mother asked, "Why are you spending so much time with that man?"
   "What man?" Peter replied.
   "The man in Apartment 104."
   "Oh, you mean Justin. We just talk about stuff."
   "I bet I know why he spends so much time over there," Chuck paused. "Because he’s a sissy!"
   "Mom," Peter whined.
   "Does that man ever touch you?" his mom asked.
   "No! What are you talking about? We just hang out together."
   Chuck stepped behind his mother and mouthed the word "fairy."
   "Where did you get these?" Peter’s mother held out his pack of Tarot cards. "Chuck found these in your top dresser drawer."
   "Tell him to stay out of my stuff!" Peter yelled.
   "Did that man give these to you?" his mom asked.
   "No, he just helps me understand what they mean."
   "And how does he know what they mean?"
   "He knows a lot of things. I don’t know. He reads a lot. He’s a philosopher," Peter replied.
   "I don’t want these cards in my house," his mother insisted. "Your father and I agree. We are a good Christian family and these ungodly cards do not belong here." She threw the Tarot cards in the garbage.
   "Mom!"
   "I don’t want you wasting your money on that sacrilegious crap anymore, and I don’t want you spending any more time with that man. You can’t trust anyone these days. Now go clean your room. I don’t want you to come out until that room is spotless."
   "But, Mom!"
   "Go, now!"
   Later that day, Peter sneaked out of the apartment. When Justin opened the door, Peter mumbled, "My mom found the Tarot cards. She threw them in the trash, and she doesn’t want me to talk to you anymore."
   "You’re kidding? Do you want me to have a chat with her?" Justin asked.
   "No, she won’t listen to you or anyone else. She gets an idea in her head and won’t let it go. She doesn’t trust anybody."
   Justin stared at Peter. "I have an idea," Justin said. "Can you sneak out to the church down the street? We can meet there and act like we’re praying."
   "Okay, I’ll meet you there in ten minutes," Peter blurted out.
   Peter hustled back to the apartment, grabbed his bike and told his mom that he was going out for a ride. He rushed out the door before he could hear her reply.
   He was down the street in no time. Pretty soon, Cashing parked his Corolla next to the curb. They entered together and plopped down in a pew. No one else appeared to be in the church.
   "Remember how I described it, the meditation, I mean," Peter said.
   Cashing stared at the cross on the altar for a moment and then closed his eyes. As Cashing imagined the black Calvary cross, it seemed to come alive in his mind or in some other dimension, and Cashing imagined that black energy was floating from the old woman’s body to the cross. Then Cashing imagined her whole being filling with light, and, perhaps because of his compassion for her, Cashing had the sense that he was really helping her.
   Then Cashing suddenly felt regret for things that he had done wrong, and just as he was about to ask forgiveness for himself, he heard a voice, "Can I help you?"
   Cashing and Peter opened their eyes. The minister was hovering over them. "We’re just prayin’together," Cashing said.
   "I’m sorry. I know Peter here because he comes to youth group, but I’m afraid I don’t know you," the minister said.
   "Justin Cashing. Peter and I have recently become friends," Cashing said.
   "It’s so wonderful to have both of you here," the minister said. "It’s not easy to find men who will mentor the youth in our community. Do you go to a nearby church?"
   "I’m just getting back to my roots, so to speak. I thought I would check out your church because Peter spoke so highly of it."
   The minister looked surprised. "Well, feel free to come by anytime," the minister smiled.
   "Thank you," Peter and Cashing chimed together.
   "I think it’s time to go," Cashing mumbled.
   "Do you think we had any effect?" Peter asked.
   "I’m sure we had an effect, but I’m not sure it’s the one we wanted. How well does the minister know your parents?"
   "Pretty well."
   "Well enough to ask about me?"
   "Yeah, maybe."
   "Well, maybe it’s time you got home."
   "Okay," Peter said and quickly rode off.
   "We probably had an effect, all right," Cashing muttered.

Go on a different adventure.