Casey Jumps Ship
- An Intergalactic Fable for the 21st Century -

1903, en route to the North Pole.

Casey tucked his bearded chin behind his seal-fur-hood to protect his face from the wind’s icy kiss. Icicles dangled from his moustache like frozen fingers. He could tell from the throbbing in his left knee that a storm was coming, and he feared getting caught without shelter. He and the other explorers had left the ship for the North Pole five days prior, and were already down to just three sled dogs—enough to pull some supplies, but not enough to pull a man if one of them fell ill. Food shortages during the sea voyage had forced the explorers to kill one of the dogs for its meat. Then, two long and grueling days ago, they lost three others in a night storm.

Ever since the storm, Casey let the surviving dogs share his tent. The warmth of other lives comforted him in this harsh environment. Even their caustic breath, which smelled of dried meat and caused him to turn his face away, helped him feel protected from the hostile wind that had stolen the lives of the other dogs. In the vast loneliness of the arctic, even the most repellent functions of life were moments with value.

Going down in history as the first men to reach the North Pole wasn’t worth dying for. The Captain however, didn’t share Casey’s outlook.

Looking back at the three explorers trudging across the flat expanse of crusted snow, Casey felt a strong love for the men he had journeyed so far with—the men he had slept and eaten with for over six months. They were his brothers, and the ship was their home. Together they’d faced freezing temperatures and starvation. He trusted them with his inner thoughts, telling them at length about Harriet, the woman he hoped to court when they returned home as heroes. They’d teased him when he had compared the unquenchable love inside his heart to an eagle soaring above all else, but the teasing had been in brotherly fun and he’d teased them back when their turns came. None had judged him for coming from a poor family. Rather, they’d welcomed him warmly, respecting the hard work that had earned him a spot on the boat. They valued his keen intellect and determination. This respect had brought with it a feeling of validity, allowing Casey to easily open to the others.

Trudging through the snow, Casey slowed his pace to let the Captain catch up to him. His legs ached. Breaking trail through the snow used a considerable amount more energy than following did. But, like so many of the difficult tasks faced throughout the voyage, Casey accepted the burden, wanting to ease the load on the others. “Captain, there’s a storm on the way. I think we should set up camp before it arrives.” He nodded his head toward the dark clouds dragging their swollen bellies across the horizon.

“No. We’re not far from the pole. We can make it there, plant our flag, and set up camp before the storm hits.” The Captain’s voice puffed from his mouth, barely audible over the sharp wind.

“But the risk—”

“We won’t get another chance like this. No one's ever been this close to the pole.”

“Let’s set up camp here, wait out the storm.”

“The ice receding this far is unheard of. If it shifts, we’ll have days further to trek. We’ll run out of supplies and have to kill another dog for its meat.”
Casey nodded his head in respect. For the duration of the five thousand mile voyage, the Captain had been the epitome of courage, his leadership both authoritative and brilliant.

The wind picked up and the men bowed their heads to avoid the snow blowing upward from the giant sheet of ice they were walking across. The ice whined and moaned as it shifted underfoot. Casey shivered, tightened his hood, and then began moving his fingertips to stimulate his circulation. Thinking about the ship, he imagined himself sitting onboard, under the cover of a blanket, his mind lost in a book as his icy fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of tea.

He looked up at the sun, thankful that the clouds hadn’t yet blocked out its glowing reassurance. At least I can still feel my toes, he thought, as he wiped the fog from the outside of his goggles. His legs were heavy from cutting the path through the snow, so he let himself fall to the back of the line. He could hear the dogs grunting, straining their exhausted muscles as they dragged the heavy sled through the snow. He felt their pain, three doing the work of eight.

The sun reflected sharply off the snow, causing Casey to squint against the glare. As he watched the grey bodies wading through the white powder, he saw the Captain hesitate at the front of the line. The ice groaned. The Captain turned to yell, but his voice was lost in the wind. As he strained to hear, Casey felt the ice shift below his feet. It squealed as small fractures in the ice rubbed below the snow. The dogs whined at the sudden movement beneath them. The ice rose and then fell as the Arctic Ocean rolled underneath. Casey spread his stance for balance, breathing deep, yet slow, the Arctic air stinging his sinuses and lungs.

A crack opened between Casey and the others, filling the air with the sound of shattering ice. Snow disappeared into the crack as it widened. The others turned to run, knowing that if they got trapped on the far side of the gap, they would be unable to make it back to the ship. Their movements were slow, weighed down by the snow they pushed through. The dogs were on the ship side of the crack with Casey, still harnessed and dragging the supplies. They stopped pulling and began barking wildly, their cries swept away by the wind. As the men ran toward Casey, the water rolled below them, lifting the ice and spilling up through the crack. Casey stared as the others ran towards the rapidly widening gap.

They’re not going to make it, he thought. The fear surged through him, lonely and sour. The vision of himself losing his friends, left in a frozen loneliness at the end of the world and unable to survive on his own, flashed in his mind’s eye. Then, suddenly aware that he was in the throes of a futile and self-absorbed emotion, he snapped to attention.

Grabbing the pickaxe from his backpack, he sank the pick into the ice on the far side of the crack and struggled to hold the ice together. The first man leapt across, landing in the powder. The crack continued to spread and Casey’s body and arms were stretched to their limit—feet on one side of the crack, pickaxe on the other. His boots slid across the surface of the ice, piling the snow forward until his toes gripped a jagged protrusion in the ice. He held tight to the pickaxe, his resolve fueled by his love for his friends.

His muscles rippled under layers of clothes as he tried to stop the crack from spreading. His comrade grabbed Casey’s feet. The frigid water churned below. The darkness brought with it a cavernous horror, but Casey refused to give in to it, using the love he felt for his mates to rise above the fear. His shoulders and abdominal muscles burned. His arms ached and he felt the tension in his tendons and joints. His shoulders felt as though they were being pulled from the sockets, but he wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t fail his brothers when they needed him most. The second explorer jumped the crack and barely landed on the other side.

The crack grew and Casey held on, his feet slipping from the grip they had on the icy lip and dragging toward the edge. Each explorer who had made the leap held one of Casey’s feet, keeping him from slipping into the gap. Another wave lifted the ice as the Captain approached the gap. Casey groaned, fierce and guttural, muscles tightening, trying to keep the crack together long enough for the Captain to make it across. Water rushed up, soaking Casey’s coat.

The Captain leapt into the air, a grey streak of fur soaring toward his men. Falling short, he hit the edge of the crack with his chest. His legs dangled as his arms frantically swept the surface of the ice, searching for a hold, sliding toward the water. The explorers let go of Casey’s ankles in order to help the Captain.

The ice shifted again, water surging underneath, and Casey was pulled away from the others as he reflexively held on to his pickaxe. Stuck on the far side, he dangled into the crack as he held on. He craned his neck to look across the gap at the others, his wind-burnt skin wrinkling with horror as he called out for help.

The Captain rolled onto his knees and flung his backpack to the ground, quickly pulling out a rope. He tossed one end to Casey. It landed a few feet away, draped over the edge of the crack. Casey let go of the pickaxe with one hand in order to reach for the rope. The ice shifted again, shaking him loose, sending him sliding toward the turbulent water.

He hung from an outstretched arm as the water churned below, soaking his legs as they frantically scraped at the side of the ice. He held the pickaxe with both hands, momentarily closing his eyes, struck by visions of losing his grip and being sucked into the dark water under the ice, lost forever. The desire to live, elemental and all-consuming, flooded over him as he held tight to the pickaxe—his anchor to safety.

A wave pounded up, the force of the water thrust him upward, enabling him to pull himself over the edge. He laid bent at the waist with his chest on the ice and his legs dangling. The cold water soaked through his clothes, biting into him and draining his energy. He was exhausted, but feared another wave would reach up and suck him under. Reaching into his depths for his last remnants of strength, he rolled himself up and over the ledge and fully onto the ice.

He lay on his back, wet clothes clinging to his shivering skin as he looked across to the others, now separated by more than ten feet of freezing water. Realizing he would surely die if he lay still any longer, he stood and ran up and down the length of the watery barrier. He cried out to God for a way across, but the gap in the ice stretched as far as he could see in both directions. Waterlogged clothes hung heavily from his tired limbs. His chest heaved, each gulp of air bringing screaming pain to his throat and lungs.

He ran the length of the fast-growing fissure until his legs could carry him no further and buckled under him. The cold burned his flesh. His hands and knees sunk into the snow. He lifted his head, the air stinging his lungs and eyes. The Captain approached on the far side of the gap. Casey motioned for them to get back to shelter before the storm hit. He knew there was no point in trying to fool himself. His strength was all but gone, stolen by the insurmountable cold. He was going to die.

The Captain hesitated, then nodded in respect, knowing that there was no way for Casey to cross the gap. The two men locked eyes as they drifted apart. The Captain raised his right hand to his heart as he stared painfully at his friend, then he turned and walked into the white abyss.

Casey didn’t blame him. What other choice was there? Dark clouds were rolling in fast, and there were three more lives at stake. A prayer left his lips, carried away on the wind as his friends hurried towards the ship. Facing his cold and bitter death, Casey didn’t regret his actions, and knew that if faced with the choice again, he wouldn’t hesitate to risk his life for the lives of his three friends. Casey lay on his back and looked at the sun, observing the last of its rays as the clouds drifted in front of it. His body convulsed, shivering, rattling his teeth in a feverish rhythm—the soundtrack to his death. The cold air cut like razors. He couldn’t calm his breathing. Snowflakes began to drift down, small and spread out at first, then in monstrous gusts, accompanied by the raging wind’s dirge.

Pain bit into his extremities as his body lost its battle to stay warm. His nose and ears burned in frozen torment, and he lost the ability to wiggle his fingers and toes. Each desperate breath was an icy dagger in his chest.

As he lay staring into the grey and white expanse above, a calm feeling fell over Casey. He accepted his fate with resignation and courage. His perception of time became faded, stretched, and, finally, lost. Snow piled around him, pure and white. He knew he was cold, but the pain ceased. He felt at peace. Thank you, he thought as he gazed at the sky. Thank you for this life. It’s been beautiful, every moment, even now. Please help my friends make it home safely.

And with that last thought his heart stopped.

Warmth rushed in and his vision blurred. The sun’s luminosity swelled behind the clouds. So, this is death, he pondered, realizing it is the ultimate journey into the unknown. Fear faded, giving way to childlike curiosity. Death took on an adventuresome quality as he suddenly knew that it is not the end of life, but rather a reunion with the source—a date with God. He felt a sudden excitement for this new adventure.

His brain, still full of blood, remained active, in a dream state, even though his heart had stopped. The light grew in intensity until his eyes held nothing else. He felt as if he was being pulled upward by an invisible harness. He had the distinct feeling of moving quickly. Colors streaked the light, twisting and turning, rushing all around him—even inside him, as if he was travelling through a kaleidoscope. He felt his body disintegrate. He was no longer connected to his earthbound form. He became light.

Time and space ceased to exist, Earthly reality melted into a vague concept, and Casey journeyed through a novel dimension at mind-melting speeds. All of eternity happened in an instant, and he faced his life. His brain brought up every choice he’d made, every thought he’d had, and every feeling he’d felt, and immersed him in all of it—at once and forever. Then, six minutes later, his brain shut down.
Casey Caldwell was no more.

                                                                                                               ~

1,768,584 light-years across the universe on a small, earth-like planet known as Timballa, a female was being born amidst a great celebration. The mother lay on a bed of fuzzy leaves in the center of a large circle, as the community danced around—a sea of bodies, arms raised, chanting and singing praises to the creator. Birds circled above, bestowing their blessings. A group of musicians sang praise— drummers beat primal rhythms, lute players strummed their strings, and a horn section blew melodies through loops of the finest metals. The music filled the air with the splendor and excitement that accompanies the entrance of new life into the world, calling forth the powers of love to surround the newborn.
It was a beautiful day for a birthing. The sun shone high, two of the three moons were visible, a breeze blew through the forest, and Necritone, the closest planet, was directly overhead—a very good omen.

An old medicine woman held a masterfully carved wooden staff, pointing its crystal top at the sun. She wiped the exhausted mother’s forehead with a wet sponge from the holy lake. In a tender voice, she spoke words of encouragement. The mother pushed, letting out a tortured groan. The medicine woman took the mother’s green hand and spoke a prayer to the heavens. Her eyes rolled back, revealing the whites as she chanted in the sacred language of the ancestors.

The mother grunted, breathing deep and hard. Sweat covered her naked flesh. Her hands shook as they balled into fists. She pushed, groaning, eyes wide, muscles clenched. Her hand slapped the ground, fingers digging into the soil. Her chest heaved as she pushed, screaming. Her back arched upward. Her birth canal stretched, and a large blob of green slime squirted out, landing on the forest floor with a splat. The mother collapsed back onto the leaves, exhausted. The medicine woman reached her hands into the sac of slime and pulled out the newborn, wiping the slime from it with a cloth. The baby’s head appeared, followed by the shoulders, then the arms, then the wings, the waist, and finally the legs.

The medicine woman wiped the goo from the newborn’s face and placed her in her mother’s arms for the first time. The family looked the baby over. She was perfect—webbed toes for swimming, gills on her neck, and strong double wings similar to those of a dragonfly for swift, focused flying. The baby girl held up her green head, opened her bright eyes to look at her world for the first time, and then let out a small cry.

The mother held her daughter next to her hearts. She looked into her daughter’s eyes and then emptied all thoughts from her mind so that she could allow the name to come to her. The mother closed her eyes, and then when her mind was fully clear, she spoke the name ‘Ghianna’, and held her daughter high in the air. The community burst into a frenzy of cheers and began chanting the newborn’s name.

                                                                                                               ~

As the years passed, Ghianna’s life on Timballa progressed in a rather ordinary manner. She lived in a modest clay house with her mother, father, sister, and two brothers. The small community where she was raised existed in harmony with the environment, and Ghianna was taught that every inch of Timballa was sacred—all of it given by the creator so that they could experience the gift of life. She attended school, where she learned to read, to write, to play the lute, to dance the sacred dances, to swim and catch fish, to fly, to grow vegetables, to make clay houses, and to travel through the dream dimensions. She studied the great philosophers of Timballa, and when she was old enough, she flew to the temple in the sky where she studied the art of meditation with the great priestess.

Among the millions of species on Timballa, there were three highly intelligent types that could communicate with each other. There were the Maundil (of which Ghianna belonged), the Shepfins (who lived only in the sea and built magnificent cities along the bottom of the oceans), and the Diadolites (who were gigantic, covered in white hair, and lived primarily in the far north where it was always winter).

The Maundil had two hearts, of which it was said that one beat for themselves and one beat for others.

​The concept of greed had never existed on Timballa. Everyone shared what they had, understanding that the greatest crime was to take more for yourself than you needed, because that would throw off nature’s balance, leaving someone somewhere else without enough. It was common knowledge that all life was connected, and that beyond the perceptual limitations of the senses, there existed an interwoven dimension of the spirit, in which all shared the same source.

Ghianna had an adventurous spirit. While in school, she dreamed of travelling around the vastness of Timballa, seeing all the various landscapes. She wanted to swim to the bottom of the Great Thar Ocean to see the city of Olexis—the largest city on all of Timballa, home to almost ten thousand Shepfins. She wanted to fly to all the sky temples to learn from the priestesses. She wanted to climb the great mountains and journey down through the volcanoes into the underground and see the Gaven, fuzzy little creatures that secreted goo which instantly healed wounds.

When she was fully grown, and the high priestess ordained that she was ready, Ghianna left her town in search of adventure and knowledge. She became a scribe, understanding that sharing knowledge between species was crucial for the evolution of life on Timballa. She met Maundil, Shepfins, and Diadolites, learning along the way, and writing scrolls which she shared with all. 

Ghianna lived this way for many years—until her hair turned from pink to yellow, her green skin began to crease around her mouth and eyes, and she began to feel like she was ready to settle in one place. Her longing for a permanent home came surprisingly suddenly, biological in its urgency.

She had been visiting a tree-house village in the jungle to celebrate a double lunar eclipse. A family had given her a place to rest in their home. The love shared there made her realize that she wanted a family of her own. She’d had lovers in the past, but her time with them had been fleeting, the romance passionate and complete, but short-lived. Her nomadic lifestyle hadn’t lent itself easily to lasting relationships.

The problem that plagued her mind when thinking of settling down, was that she couldn’t decide where she most wanted to live. Her parents had died a few years back, and all her siblings were off on their own adventures. No political borders existed on Timballa, leaving its inhabitants free to live anywhere on the planet that felt right to them. Ghianna had been to every corner of every continent, and she loved each place equally, but for different reasons. It was with this dilemma in mind that she walked alone into the great forest of the Nagul to sit and contemplate.

The forest floor spread out before her, blanketed in a yellow moss, which gently cushioned each footstep. Translucent fungi sprouted in large disks from the base of a tree, giving off a faint blue shine. Glowing insects sat in a jomiberry bush, singing their love songs. Ghianna thought about eating a jomiberry, but decided against it. She loved the energy and euphoria they gave her, but wanted to stay clear-headed while she made her decision.

She gathered some nuts from the bottom of a giant blue-needle tree and sat on a log to eat them. As she ate, she thought about her world. She loved all the creatures and the harmony shared, but deep in her heart she wanted more. It was an unconscious longing to be challenged, to be given the opportunity to rise against challenges and become a hero. But she knew it was impossible in a perfect world. In Utopia, there is no greed or wrath, yet she sensed that it is through confronting and overcoming life’s negativities that the greatest opportunities for personal growth occur.

Deep in her cells lived vague, unfocused memories of good and evil and heroes and heroic deeds. Looking into the sky, Ghianna wondered if there were other worlds out there, worlds whose inhabitants were still driven by greed, worlds that needed heroes to rise up and light the darkness.

When she finished eating, she stretched out her naked body and lay on a pile of large leaves, looking up at the layers of flora and fauna twisting skyward in vibrant exhibits of life. Her lean legs lay out, taut from a lifetime of activity. She’d never worn clothes, except when she’d journeyed into the far north to see the Diadolites. Nobody on Timballa wore them. The idea seemed absurd. Why block the skin from breathing when it felt so much better to feel the wind’s kiss?

Thirsty from eating the nuts, Ghianna walked through the ancient forest in search of a drink. She came across a red Ochano flower and pinched a little of the powder from the stamen, thanking the flower for its gift as she rubbed the powder onto her neck to make herself smell nice. A friendly breeze embraced her. Smiling, she felt that the breeze was the forest’s way of giving her a hug, approving of her flowery scent.

After a short walk, she came to a lake that stretched as far as she could see. Letting out a whooping cry, she ran into the water and dove in, exhilarated by its gentle chill.

She dove deep, breathing through her gills. It had been days since she had swum, and the sensation made her feel like a child again. She loved to feel the touch of nature’s magic as she floated on her back, letting the sun’s peaceful rays warm her. Then, diving deep, where the sun barely penetrated, she frolicked for a while with a school of brightly-colored fish. When she had had enough, Ghianna swam as fast as she could toward the surface, webbed feet thrusting her onward. Bursting through the surface of the lake, she soared into the air, shook the water from her wings, spread them, and took flight.

With an audible buzzing, much like that of a giant bee, she took to the sky, zigzagging and flying in excited loops. The trees on the edge of the lake reached to the clouds. She flew to the top of the tallest tree and alit on a branch with a view over the forest. She could see a large crater in the distance that had been created by a meteor thousands of years before. This inspired thoughts about the planet’s existence, how it lasts, stable yet dynamic as living residents come and go, full of all the passions and trials that accompany being alive. In its own way, the planet is itself alive and sharing in the experiences of its children, giving itself to the lives that inhabit it. It too evolves, just as the life-forms populating it evolve.

She turned her thoughts back to considering where she should build her home.

                                                                                                                  ~

Meanwhile, in another part of the universe, Earth had made one-hundred-and-thirty-one circles around its sun since Casey Caldwell had frozen in his icy tomb. Many things had changed. Humans had fallen even further away from their connection with nature, increasingly developing and becoming dependent upon technology. They had become more and more enamored with the concept of time and lived their lives according to strict schedules. They invented cars to get around their giant cities, and airplanes so they could fly around their world. They had little phones that they carried around in their pockets so they could talk to their friends and play video games whenever they wanted. And they spent the majority of their day either working in offices or sitting in front of a screen in their house watching other people live make-believe lives. All of their great technological inventions needed energy to run, so the earthlings spent much time and money drilling for a highly combustible black substance called oil.

It was on one of these oil-drilling missions in the Arctic that Casey Caldwell’s body was discovered, perfectly preserved in a block of ice. Sensing its scientific value, the oil drillers kept the body frozen and shipped it back to Boston, where scientists could examine it.

                                                                                                                   ~

Dr. Wahaki’s lips stretched in a wide smile as he treated the final small patch of tissue damage on Casey’s body. The doctor’s grey hair surrounded a face wrinkled from a lifetime of study and a lack of exercise. His small frame hunched over the thawed body as he checked Casey’s IV. The sticky pads of the cardioelectro-dynamismgenerator were placed on Casey’s chest, abdomen, and limbs. Wires ran from each pad to a large machine in the corner of the room. The doctor picked up the defibrillator and turned to the others, “Hurry. We’ve got to start the heart before the body goes into rigor mortis.”

He rubbed the defibrillator’s metal paddles together then touched them to the chest of the body. “Charge.”

The body heaved upward with the electric jolt, and then fell limply onto the bed.

“Again,” the Doctor ordered.

The electric pulse was conducted through Casey’s flesh to his heart, causing the muscle to contract and the blood to flow. The blood pumped through his veins to his lungs, which were now full of oxygen. The body lay still.

“Again.”

Casey’s body arched upwards and his lungs expanded, sucking in air as his heart began to beat on its own.

The doctors cheered.

                                                                                                              ~

In the forest of Nagul on the far away planet of Timballa, Ghianna’s body fell into a coma. Her soul was sucked from her body and thrust through an inter-dimensional wormhole back into the body of her past life, Casey Caldwell.

                                                                                                              ~

Casey sat up on the hospital bed, mind rattled with confusion. He looked around the strange room. Was this a dream? Where was he? His vision was blurred and the florescent light burned his eyes. His muscles twitched as they awoke. Nausea caused him to wobble in his seat and he scrunched his eyes to combat it. Invasive tubes and wires jutted from his body. He wanted to tear them out, but was too weak. His head throbbed. Sickness came in waves, lessening with each passing assault. Slowly, as he breathed, a hint of strength seeped back in. His vision came slowly into focus, revealing the forms of the doctors surrounding him, staring.

They looked alien, all wearing white masks over their mouths, gloves up to their elbows, and the same blue clothes. He wanted to leap from the bed and run, be free from this dreadful place and these strange men, but his limbs felt like dead weight. A stabbing pain in his head slowed his thoughts as he struggled to figure out what was going on. He was overwhelmed by the peculiar phenomenon of sorting out information from two separate lives vying for reign of his head. He vaguely remembered Timballa and the adventures of Ghianna as if it was a fading dream, but was also acutely aware that he was Casey Caldwell, the explorer.

“What’s your name?” Dr. Wahaki asked.

Casey eyed him suspiciously. The man had an odd accent that he didn’t recognize, but at least he spoke English. “…Casey Caldwell.” Casey’s voice felt foreign and small in his throat.

“What were you doing in the Arctic?”

“I… I was on an expedition. We were going to be the first men to reach the North Pole. Where’s the Captain? The others, did they make it back?”

“Captain who?”

“Captain Jones.”

“I don’t know of any Captain Jones.”

“You mean Captain Michael Jones?” one of the other doctors asked.

“Yes.”

The doctor put his hand to his mouth. “I don’t believe it. Captain Michael Jones was the first man to make it to the North Pole. He died over a hundred years ago.”

“Wha, what?” Casey’s voice cracked through trembling lips.

“I’m sorry.”

Casey’s head turned slowly, wide eyes observing the stale room.

“What year is it?”

“It’s July 27th, 2034.”

Casey stared mutely, the impact of what he’d just been told drilling into his conscious mind. Looking around, he began to notice the unfamiliar machines, lights blinking from their screens. He noted that the tubes coming from his arms and nose were made of a material he didn’t recognize. They itched where they entered his body. This place certainly seemed futuristic. Sterile and evil too.

Could his body actually have been preserved in the ice? If it was 2034, he must have been frozen for one-hundred-and-thirty-one years. The news weighed heavy on him, pressing him back down on the bed. Overwhelmed, he closed his eyes, wanting to wake up back on the boat with the Captain and the others. He lay with his eyes closed, but couldn’t sleep. The doctors asked him questions, but he ignored them. He wanted to drift into a slumber, away from this depressing place, but the opposite occurred; he began to feel more alert as time passed. His body began to feel lighter, the aches lessening.

One of the doctors left the room and was greeted by a surge of flashes and microphones thrust into his face as a crowd of journalists shot questions at him. Cheers erupted as he told the crowd the news. The doctor spoke of scientific breakthrough, telling the reporters that, through Casey, they would not only be able to learn of the afterlife, but they would also be able to develop a procedure for freezing people and bringing them back in the future.

Except for some frostbite, Casey was unharmed. After the doctors unhooked the tubes and gave him the go ahead, he stood up. His legs, although weak, worked fine. His first steps were shaky, but his strength slowly found its way back. He stretched, working out the stiffness in his joints, finding that movement helped him to feel sensation in his body again. The doctors examined him, poking and prodding him, checking his vitals, noting their findings on clipboards. He gawked at the alien world he found himself in. Medical instruments lay scattered on the counter. He picked up a piece of
rubber tube, amazed by its stretchiness. He had held rubber from the Indian rubber trees, but this was different, softer, more stretchy, more sophisticated. He picked up a plastic bag, rubbed the material between his index finger and thumb, and asked what it was called. His inquisitiveness grew along with his strength. Possibilities of what this unknown future might contain stirred his thoughts, lifting his spirit.

He wondered if people had successfully developed flying machines. If they could bring him back from the dead, what else was possible? There was a whole world to discover. The thought of exploring this new world ignited a curious excitement in him. This was a second chance, a miracle. He eyed the door, the gateway to this unknown future. What wonders could the other side hold? Curiosity blazed in his mind. An entirely new realm lay beyond that door. He could hold back no longer. He opened the door and stepped into the hall.

The flashes from the cameras caught him off guard and he jumped back, hitting his back on the wall. The crowd, a verbal firing squad, shot questions.

“What is death like?”

“Did you see God?”

“Were you in heaven?”

“Did Jesus send you back?”

The camera flashes hit him with blinding intensity, the pandemonium wrapping him in hot, nauseating delirium. He swayed on his feet, overwhelmed by the bombardment. Casey’s stomach wrenched. A thick stream of yellowish vomit, speckled with partially-digested husky-jerky, projected from his mouth, hitting three camera men in the front row, and splashing others. Casey froze in shocked embarrassment. One of the camera men threw up on the floor. The crowd spread apart.

In the midst of the uproar, Casey stumbled through, escaping into the lobby of the hospital. The doctors followed him, wanting to bring him back to the safety of the operating room. A deep urge to be alone welled up inside Casey. His head ached from all the recent events. He needed to clear it. He could see outside, feeling the open space beckon him. He ran for the outdoors, bouncing off the glass wall like a startled toddler. Rattled, he stood up and shook his head, realizing that the walls were made of glass. Running his fingers along the glass, he walked down the hall, flabbergasted. He’d never seen so much glass in his life. It must have cost a fortune. As he walked, a set of automatic doors opened as if by magic, and he ran through.

Outside, the reporters and doctors tailed him as he walked down the sidewalk. They were curious to see his reaction, but kept a close watch to ensure he stayed out of harm’s way. He was worth too much to risk losing. Doctor Wahaki, flanked by two hospital security guards, walked at arm’s length behind Casey.

Casey’s gaze traced the outlines of the buildings into the sky, his fear giving way to a feeling of wonder. He had never imagined a city of this magnitude, with buildings this sophisticated. The thought of having this new world to discover brought with it a nervous anticipation. His muscles twitched, readying themselves for action as the desire to investigate boiled in his explorer’s soul. He walked to a large glass window and pressed his hands to it. Wanting to get a better feel, he pushed his face against it, scrunching his beard. Inside the building, a restaurant full of people turned to stare at the window.

Doctor Wahaki took him by the arm and led him towards the hospital. “You cannot be outside yet. It’s not safe. We have tests to run and a procedure to follow. You are the first person who’s ever been dead for an extended period of time that we’ve been able to bring back to life. This is groundbreaking.”

The outside air brought strength back into Casey’s body, each breath both invigorating and grounding. Casey looked through the double doors into the hospital. Florescent lights shone onto the bleak hallway. Remembrance of the unnatural feeling he’d experienced from the tubes and needles crept up his skin. He couldn’t go back into the hospital. The place seemed horrifyingly perverted, haunting him with fears of being the object of immoral experiments, poked and prodded, held against his will. He craved—needed—open spaces and fresh air. He couldn’t let himself become a medical slave. Fear surged through him, screaming for him to run. He had no idea who these future people were, what their morals were, or what they were capable of doing to him.

The doctors and reporters stared at him with beady eyes full of cold-blooded greed. He was the object of an experiment to them, not a fellow human to be respected. He twisted out of Dr Wahaki’s grip, shoving the older man to the ground and running. His bare feet gripped the sidewalk as he bolted from the hospital grounds. Doctor Wahaki called out as the guards chased after Casey, who disappeared into the river of bodies flowing along the sidewalk, the two security guards close behind.

Fearing for his life in this alien world, Casey ran. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, giving him strength. His legs ached, but the pain didn’t slow him; the specter of danger overshadowed any physical sensation. A life dedicated to exploring the harshest places on earth had given him an unwavering resolve, teaching him how to reach into the depths of his being for the strength to rise above physical pain.

He pushed through the crowded street, his terror increasing as the doctors yelled behind him. Halfway down the block, he turned into an alley between two buildings. A tall iron gate blocked the alley’s middle section. He leapt halfway up the height of the gate. As he pulled himself over the top, a hand grabbed Casey’s ankle, yanking him towards the ground. His body stretched, his fingers clinging to the top of the gate as the guard pulled him. The gate rattled under the strain.

Glancing down at the guard, Casey knew that this man stood in the way of his freedom. The guard was not only pulling Casey towards the ground, he was pulling him towards enslavement. The cold iron dug into Casey’s fingers. His shoulders ached under the strain. He felt his fingers opening, losing the battle to hold on. He didn’t want to hurt the man, but knew he had no other choice. He kicked his captured leg, catching the security guard in the jaw. The large man fell back, landing hard, yelling for the others to hurry. Two others sprinted down the alley, one in uniform, one in civilian clothes.

Throwing himself over the gate, Casey landed on his side with a thud, then scrambled to his feet. His hip throbbed as he ran, but he ignored it, fear overriding the sting. Looking over his shoulder as he turned onto the street, he saw that the civilian had already clambered over the gate and was sprinting in pursuit. Behind the civilian, the two guards from the hospital were helping each other over the gate.

Panicked, Casey crossed the street blindly, causing cars to swerve and honk. He followed a group of teenagers through a rotating door, and disappeared into a building, hoping his pursuers hadn’t seen him. An indoor market filled the building. Casey fled down a wide, well-lit hallway. People sauntered about, seeming to drift between the stores in a daze. Large pictures of people covered the windows of many of the stores.

Casey sprinted down a flight of moving stairs, pushing past people as he ran. At the bottom, he came to a tunnel. People stood on a platform next to a set of train tracks. The tracks curved into the tunnel, vanishing in the darkness.

Casey waited for a few seconds, trying to blend into the crowd as he caught his breath. He thought about waiting for the underground train, but the longer he stayed still, the more his fear increased. Anxiety flooded his mind, tormenting him. Images of the hospital flashed into his consciousness. He envisioned the men running down the alley, chasing him. They could be anywhere—just around the corner, sneaking up on him. Fear sank deep into his mind, controlling his thoughts, spurring him into total panic, making it impossible to stand still any longer.

He fled into the tunnel.

He raced through the darkness, tripping once in the blackest part, frantic that a train would run him down. A light in the distance urged him on, giving him hope. Breathless and sweaty, he arrived at the lit area, realizing it was another platform. He climbed onto it and ascended a set of stairs to another busy street.

Near collapse, Casey stopped, bent at the waist with his hands on his knees. He glanced over his shoulder for anyone in a doctor’s or guard’s uniform. He saw none.

The civilian pursuing Casey, a young reporter, crept up the stairs behind him. Blending in with the other civilians, the reporter continued his pursuit, eager for the story that would jumpstart his career.

Casey stood, watching the machines travel down the street, wondering what powered them. He had heard about the invention of the automobile before he left on his voyage for the North Pole, but he had never seen one. He hadn’t imagined that the invention would spread so pervasively in the future. He observed the people driving, and how the traffic-lights seemed to control the automobiles’ starting and stopping. Astonished by the technology, he pondered the highly organized life of these strange people. Crowds filed about like worker ants on a mission. People existed in such proximity to one another, hurrying about, speaking into hand held devices, playing their part in this highly developed civilization.

Curious, Casey tried to open a parked car. Its lights flashed on and a high-pitched, pulsating siren scared him so severely that he bolted into the street and was almost run over. The angry driver rolled down his window, “Get tha fuck outta tha street, ya asshole.” He pressed hard on the horn, which made Casey dive back onto the sidewalk, scraping his elbow.

Confused and feeling alone, the car still shrieking behind him, Casey hurried away. The reporter followed close behind. Eventually, Casey came to a small city park and sat in the grass to rest for a minute. He looked at the few trees and felt a kinship—like he and the trees were aliens of an old world trapped in the future. Confusion and loneliness gripped him, weighing him down, heavy in his chest. He cradled his head in his hands. Why was this happening? He wished for his crewmates. He didn’t want to be on this adventure alone.

The reporter approached him. “Casey, we must get out of here. Men from the hospital will be here any minute and they’ll want to take you back for tests. I can protect you.” The reporter glanced furtively over his shoulder.

Casey jumped back. “Who are you? Where will you take me?” He doubted this stranger, eying him suspiciously. The young man couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. His cleanly shaven face was smooth and calm. His eyes were full of compassion, not greed. His body was thin yet healthy, full of vitality.

“I’ll take you to a place where you can rest. A hotel with a comfortable bed.” The reporter waved down a cab. “Hurry.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“I’m a journalist. I want exclusive rights to your first interview. This story is huge.”

“I don’t know.”

The young man looked around uneasily. “If you don’t come now, those people will take you back to the hospital. You’ll be the subject of many experiments. You deserve better. You deserve to choose for yourself.”

A taxi pulled up in front of the two men. Casey looked it over, wondering what it might be like to ride inside of it. He couldn’t think of any other options than to go with the reporter. “OK. If you really are a journalist, then I have a lot to share.” Casey got into the front seat of the cab. The reporter got into the back. He gave the driver the address of a hotel across town, and then pulled out a notepad, ready to start interviewing Casey.

“You can interview me at the hotel.” Casey said, face pressed against the window, taking in the outside world. “I need to rest.”

Casey gawked at the skyscrapers reaching higher than any tree he had ever seen. The angst of being chased began to dissipate. Curiosity flowed back in as he observed the world around him through the safety of the car. A large, well-lit billboard hung in a busy intersection, advertising tight patchwork jeans. In the picture, three beautiful women grabbed at a man, lustfully pulling his shirt tight. Reading the name, Calvin Klein, Casey looked at the giant face of the man in the picture and wondered who he was—if he was the king.

As the car entered an impoverished area of town, Casey noticed more and more people wandering the streets in ragged clothes. Some of them pushed metal carts full of items. A man sat on some stairs, eyes darting side to side as he smoked a pipe. Another man lay in an alley wrapped in a blanket, presumably sleeping. Papers littered the streets, blown about by the wind. Amazed at the size of the city and the paucity of nature, Casey wondered how these people grew their food. There were so many mouths to feed, yet no agricultural land in sight. It would take hundreds of miles of agricultural land to feed a city this size. He thought about it, and then vowed to himself that he must visit one of these farms to learn how they can produce so much food.

Once inside the hotel, the reporter led him to a room. Casey felt as if he was inside a giant beehive, each door leading to a little individual chamber. The reporter used a card to beep them into the room. Upon seeing the bed, exhaustion overtook Casey—a lead blanket pressing him towards sleep. He collapsed onto the mattress, muscles aching. He closed his eyes and felt himself slipping into the dream dimension. Then, with an audible exhale, Casey fell into a deep slumber.

Anxious to interview Casey, the reporter sat at the desk. Pulling out his notepad, he began to formulate a list of questions. Then he turned on the TV, flipping to the news to determine the extent of the search going on, thinking that the scientists must be exasperated, having just lost their extraordinarily rare find. The reporter smiled, thrilled by the fame this story was going to bring him.

                                                                                                               ~

Casey’s soul travelled through the dream dimension until it reached Timballa. Ghianna awoke with a start, still perched in the tree. Confused, she looked around to get her bearings. Her experience of being Casey Caldwell had been too real to dismiss as a dream. The terror of fleeing the hospital clung to her, crawling up her skin. She shook her limbs, trying to rid herself of the feeling, thinking she needed the Priestess’ advice. She spread her wings, the sunlight illuminating the translucent turquoise skin as they began to beat the air. Then, she dove out of the tree. The air caught her wings and lifted her high into the sky, taking her in the direction of the nearest priestess. Flying to a cloud temple was no easy feat, and Ghianna knew that she must not let her determination waver. If the will was not strong enough, the wings could become too tired and the flier would fall from the sky. By the time she was halfway to her destination, her wings burned with exhaustion. She glanced down at Timballa below. A few large trees twisted upward, towering above the top of the forest. At the top of the tallest tree was a Baznile’s nest—large flying reptiles that dive-bomb fish from above.

Jagged mountains cut across the skyline in the distance. She saw lights from a village nestled between two peaks. It looked to be a peaceful place to recover some energy for the rest of the flight, but there was no time. She had to get to the Priestess as quickly as possible. The ocean lay just beyond the far side of the mountains. Breathing its salty scent deep into her lungs, she allowed it to fill her with tenacity. She could not stop flying. She looked towards the clouds and inhaled.

Reaching the cloud temple, she collapsed. Lean muscles, swollen with blood, twisted up her back like knotted rope. Ghianna rested on her knees, catching her breath before looking up. From underneath, the temple looked like any ordinary cumulous cloud, but from above, it was miraculous. The crystal temple twisted upwards into the sky in an extraordinary display of architectural genius, every inch of it carved with meticulous care. Sunlight refracted through the crystal, lighting the top of the cloud with colors so brilliant they filled Ghianna with awe. The sight calmed her, encouraging her strength to return. A stairway wrapped around the outside of the temple. Each floor had a hand-carved, diamond-shaped door.

As she caught her breath, Ghianna noticed a hand-woven banner painted with the Priestess’ writing that hung over the entrance to the stairs. She read it aloud: “Swan dive into the part of the self where the living spirit dwells. Like the molten rock churning at the center of Timballa, let your living spirit burn. Fuel it with adventure. Fuel it with love. Let it erupt in volcanic passion, coming alive as it burns within, giving life to the body. We are here to live, here to experience, here to be the eyes and hands of the Creative Force that flows through the Universe, giving it form. Let your experience guide you to the light, where once immersed, we awaken to the joy of fully living in this world. As we break through the ancient crust of ego, we realize that we are all part of the same force, experiencing our creation subjectively. And on a level beyond the reach of our senses, beyond the grasp of our minds, we are all connected, we are all one.”

Ghianna took the stairs up to the top of the temple. The crystal was warm to the touch, giving off a comforting vibration which seemed to sing. Each of the seven levels was carved to vibrate at a particular frequency, each tuned into one of the seven energy centers of the body. Running up the stairs, Ghianna stopped just long enough on each level to touch her forehead to the floor and send a prayer to the universe. Each stair was etched with a different ancient symbol, each meant to open the heart to an aspect of the true nature of life. The very top of the temple was shaped like a satellite dish, catching the light from the sun and Timballa’s three moons, and reflecting it into a condensed point. The Priestess hovered in a meditative position in the center of the light. A prayer for the well-being of all was etched into the top of the temple, circling around the inside of
the bowl, starting in the middle and spiraling out. Ghianna felt her energy grow stronger as she approached the Priestess, who radiated love with such force it was almost visible.

The Priestess’ long, jet-black hair was tied up in a large bun. A few wispy strands dangled delicately along the sides of her serene face. Her breath moved deeply, slowly, and purposefully. Her face was radiant yet calm. It carried a wisdom connected with age, even though the skin was flawlessly smooth. 

Ghianna sat in front of the Priestess, adopting a meditative position, and the two began to communicate telepathically.

Great Priestess of the crystal palace, something is happening to me. I’m very confused.

Yes, my friend, I know. The body of your past life has been brought back to life and now your soul is torn between two worlds.

I don’t know what to do.

Neither body will be able to survive long without your soul being fully present. You must choose one life and let the other body die. Lives must
be lived one at a time.

But how can I make such a choice?

You must let your hearts guide you and act out of love. Your destiny is up to you to create. I cannot tell you which world to choose. But I can only tell you about the other world.

Go on.

I’ve been watching the earthlings evolve over the millennia. They are a beautiful race and create many great works of art. They are capable of immense love; however, many are self-serving. Hunger and war plague their planet needlessly because the earthlings compete with each other
over wealth and resources. They have set up a system with something they call money, and they work to accumulate wealth for themselves,
rather than to spread love and joy.

But why don’t they live to spread love?

It is a planet full of young souls. They still have much to learn. You learned to love unconditionally and sacrificed yourself for others. That is why your soul was born on a more highly evolved planet.

But what if someone went back to teach the earthlings? Could the earth evolve into a place of love?

Yes this is possible. Others have tried. Many years ago the great Priestess from the star temple took a life in the form of a man and attempted to lead the earthlings towards love. Unfortunately the earthlings were not ready and killed him.

Could they be ready now?

It’s possible. I cannot know. The future is unwritten.

Maybe I could help to lead them.

This is your choice.

Ghianna slouched, overwhelmed by the gravity of her situation. She let her head fall into her hands. The choices bounced around her brain, as she struggled to come to a decision.

My friend, the Priestess said, sometimes the brain can be misleading. It is best to make the choice from the hearts. You must turn off your mind in order to fully feel your hearts.

My mind feels like a tornado. I don’t know if I can calm it.

I will sing for you. Dancing will help you release pent up energy and separate the head from the hearts. By completely giving in to your physical body, you may become fully present, enter a trance, and drop the mind.

Thank you.

The Priestess opened her eyes and floated down to the top of the temple. She descended the stairs, then returned a moment later with a drum. Straddling the drum, the Priestess beat a rhythm with her hands. Ghianna began to move her body. Her wings and arms stretched outwards as she breathed in, preparing to give way to the powerful rhythms. The Priestess began to sing, her voice resonating with purity, layering notes into an enchanting melody as she sang her love to the creator. The Priestess’ hands beat the skin of the drum, fingers slapping rhythms that rolled forward, building, pulsating with emotion. Energy flared within Ghianna, and her body swayed. The temple’s vibrations increased—different floors vibrating at different frequencies, turning the entire temple into an instrument that sang a harmony so powerful it ignited within Ghianna, like a supernova
of the soul.

The music swelled—divine in its purity, primal in its raw expression. Ghianna danced under the three moons with wild abandon. Her arms stretched toward the sky, swaying back and forth. Her feet carried her body to each edge of the temple top, which sang now with heartrending richness, sending vibrations up Ghianna’s body through her feet. Her hearts beat to the rhythm of the drum as she turned in circles, smiling with the unrestricted bliss of being fully present. Her breath heaved as her eyes rolled back in her head, passion consuming her. She danced, twirling in bolder and bolder circles, her arms flung freely about as the skin of her feet slapped and stomped the crystal floor in time with the music.

Vibrations pulsed throughout Ghianna’s body. She felt as if light poured out of her, coming up through the temple and shooting toward the heavens above. The priestess’ voice bellowed out, pure and rich in soulful melody. The drums thundered, each beat inspiring Ghianna to throw herself
about—swept around in the fierce waters of an ocean of elation. She was no longer in her body. She was flying across mountains. She was inside the sun, burning with love. She was across the universe. Then she was no longer of physical form at all, no longer connected to this dimension, no longer Ghianna. She was simply vibration—one with the universal consciousness.

Then finally, after the Priestess’ song came to a fierce climax, holding a note that was equally as haunting as it was passionate, and Ghianna felt as though she might explode, she collapsed, exhausted.

Ghianna rolled onto her back. “The Earth needs me more than Timballa does. I will let this body die.”

                                                                                                              ~

Casey awoke on the hotel bed. He felt better, more himself. The reporter sat in a chair reading the newspaper. On the cover was a picture of
Casey—the headline read, Does this man know the secrets of life and death? Upon seeing Casey, the reporter sprung from his seat and came over to interview him.

“Mr. Caldwell, can you tell me about death.”

“I will, but not now. I have seen beyond the scope of the human experience, I have known God, and I have the answers to your questions. All I will tell you now is that death is not what you think. Heaven exists, but the afterlife is infinitely more complex than humans think it is. We are eternal beings, constantly learning and growing over the course of countless lifetimes. We are all fingers of God, experiencing our creation subjectively, and we are on a journey to become one with our divine selves.”

“Go on.”

“Now is not the time. I will give the first of many public speeches tomorrow morning in the park down the street. Could you please write about it in your paper so people know to come?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good, because from what I saw yesterday, we have a lot of work to do if we’re going to bring Heaven to Earth. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to go for a walk.”

“Casey, I’m afraid you don’t understand the seriousness of the situation you are in. Authorities all over the city are looking for you. If they catch you, they’ll take you in for tests.”

“But I need to go outside. I need the fresh air.”

“I’ll help you, but first let me interview you. You need to intrigue people with your story so they’ll come to hear you speak.”

“Ok”

Over the next few hours, Casey told the reporter about how he’d died and been frozen. He explained his life on Timballa, including his adventures, his village, and the Priestess. Then, longing to be outdoors, he rose, ready to explore the new world he found himself in.

“You cannot go outside looking like that.” The reporter warned. “You are too noticeable. Shave and put some modern clothes on. You must blend in.”

Casey obeyed, shaving and putting on the clothes the reporter gave him before venturing outside. The reporter followed at a short distance, keeping a protective eye on Casey, careful not to lose him.

On the sidewalk, Casey took a deep breath of air. He smelled the city smog and wondered what it was. He looked around for a patch of green space to sit in, but except for a few lone trees and small patches of manicured grass, saw none. He walked down the street, observing the people—amazed at how many there were.

Eventually he came upon a boy with a sideways hat and a shirt two sizes too large. The boy stood in an alley, using a spray-can to make art on the side of a building. Casey loved art. He loved all expressions of the heart, so he approached the boy. “Hello, I see you’re an artist.”

“Yeah, so. You gonna call the cops?”

“No. They would just take me away.”

The boy eyed Casey.

Casey continued. “I really like the boat and all the people you’re painting, but why is it sinking?”

“It’s a metaphor.”

“For what?”

“The ship is Earth. There’s over ten billion people here. Our planet’s dying. Get ready for anarchy.”

“So, you think the Earth is doomed?” Casey asked.

“We got too many problems. We’re destroying the forests, there’s a plastic island half the size of America in the Pacific Ocean, there’s almost no glaciers left, lakes are evaporating, and we’re running out of clean water to drink. Ya, I’d say shit’s fucked.”

“Oh. I see. Then we have some work to do. But the Earth is stronger than you think. We will not destroy it. Maybe ourselves, but not Earth.”

“You’re an idealist, buddy,” the boy scoffed, as he sprayed a torn sail on the boat.

“Humans have a lot to learn. We have strayed too far from nature, and forgot one of the most fundamental principles of life.”

“And what’s that?”

“You see, humans believe that we are the pinnacle of creation. Whether one believes in evolution or creation, we all believe that humans are the grandest creation on Earth, possibly in the universe.”

The boy turned from his painting to look at Casey. “Aren’t we?”

“No. This belief is the reason why the world is off balance. We believe that the world is here for us, so we take from it and use whatever we choose. We are selfish and greedy, seeing ourselves as separate from the world. We look at the world as though it belongs to us, and look for what we can gain rather than give. But the Earth does not belong to us, we belong to it. We are of it. And it has a finite amount of resources. We cannot take forever without using them up.”

“Whoa, dude, get a box and stand on the corner. Preach that shit to somebody who cares.”

“I am talking to somebody who cares. Why else would you take the time to create an artistic metaphor?”

The boy looked Casey in the eye, caught off guard by this talkative newcomer. “OK. Go on.”

“We are not separate from the world. We are all connected to it, part of it,” Casey said. He smiled at the boy. “It has taken billions of years of evolution for humans to emerge on this planet. We now have an advanced intelligence with the ability to make conscious choice. It is our responsibility to our world to allow our evolutionary line to continue. You see, we are not the pinnacle of creation or the end of an evolutionary line as our egos like to believe. Humanity is a stage along the way. There is more to the human story. If we learn to live in harmony with our earth, we will evolve into something even more grand than homo-sapiens. That is our destiny—not to sink like the boat in your painting. But it will take great awareness on the part of our species.”

“Yeah? And what will we evolve into?” the boy asked.

“The future is unwritten,” Casey smiled. “It is up to us to write it. We create ourselves with our thoughts and actions. Whether consciously or unconsciously, we choose our own evolution, both on the individual level and as a species as a whole.”

The boy nodded. “So I am who I am because of my thoughts and actions in the past?”

“Yes. There’s a great deal of genetic disposition and cultural influence, but in the end, you are responsible for the creation of you, and we are responsible for the creation of we.”

“So I have the power to create my future self?”

Casey smiled. “Yes, but not only your future self. We create ourselves in each moment, so you are creating your present self as we speak.”

The boy nodded.

Casey was tired. “I have made a very long journey to get here,” he said. “I must rest. If you want to hear more of what I have to say, please come to the park down the road tomorrow morning. I will be giving a public lecture.”

“I’ll be there, brother.” The boy nodded enthusiastically.

Casey smiled and waved over his shoulder as he walked away. He stopped just long enough to call out, “remember, my friend, of all the wonders in the universe, seek foremost to know thy self.”

Once Casey had rounded the corner, the boy turned back to his painting. He drew an island in front of the boat. Then he drew a boy on the island. A rope stretched from the painted boy’s hand to the boat. The artist stepped back, pleased with the addition to his painting. The boy on the island was pulling the boat to safety.

                                                                                                                  ~

That night, the online newspaper headlines read, Arctic explorer has been brought back to life after 131 years. He will speak about the afterlife in Thoreau Park at noon tomorrow. The news spread around the world.

                                                                                                                 ~

The next morning at 11:45, Casey looked out his hotel window. He was three blocks from the park. The crowd was so thick that he knew he’d have trouble manoeuvring through it. People had flown in from all over the world to hear what he had to say, intrigued to hear the perspective of a man who had returned from the dead. Casey sat on the edge of the bed, going over what he wanted to say in the first speech. He adjusted the tie of the suit that the reporter had given him, and tried to use the smart phone, but grew confused and put it back in his pocket. Running his palm over his freshly shaven chin, he stepped into the hallway. It was empty.

As he walked to the elevator, a man in a brown suit stepped out and looked Casey in the eye. The man was Reverend Earl Smith, from the Mississippi Evangelical Church. Casey smiled at him.

“I can’t be lett’n ya give that speech.” The Reverend was holding a hand gun.

“I’m sorry. The world needs to hear what I have to say.”

“Like hell, the world needs to hear ya. We have a Messiah.”

“I’m not trying to be a Messiah, but I have a message and I’m going to be late. I’d love to talk to you after my speech.”

“The Devil sent you to lead God’s children away from Jesus. Well, guess what. I’m God’s warrior and I’m not gonna let that happen.”

“My friend, your mind is full and therefore not hungry for more knowledge, but there is much more to know. A religion that divides you from others is no expression of God. God is far bigger and grander than you imagine, and can only work to connect you with others, not separate you.”

The Reverend crossed his chest with the gun, and then shot Casey twice in the chest.

Casey landed on his back, blood pouring out of the bullet-holes. A crimson stain spread across his new suit. His body began to convulse. He grew cold. As he laid there, he thought about his family on Timballa, he thought about the Captain, he thought about the Priestess, and he thought about love. Maybe hatred remains on Earth because this is the place where souls come to learn to overcome it, he thought. Then he thought about the Reverend and whispered, “I forgive you my friend. Do not carry your hatred with you.”

And with that, his heart stopped, and Casey journeyed into the light, again.

                                                                                                                   ~

50,983,678 light-years from Earth, a Light-Surfer was born out of a exploding star. The subatomic creature surfed the wavelength of light, riding the front of the beam, using the light as its surfboard. It sang as it surfed, carving up and down the wavelength in big, graceful swoops—a dance of pure joy. It surfed at light speed, moving into a dimension beyond time, living all of eternity at once. Worlds bloomed and died as it surfed, entire galaxies coercing and dispersing around it. It rode, vibrating in a rich hum, melting, fusing with the light—becoming the light as it blazed across the darkness of the universe.


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~ Story by Ryan Power