It's All In the Playing Page 4

  “John, as you know, we will be shooting in Peru, where a lot of the story took place. The altitude will be difficult on everyone, and as Shirley has suggested, there will be many crew members who will be exposed to these issues for the first time, including extraterrestrial life. Are we to expect an extraordinarily difficult time, or will it go smoothly?”

  John turned his head and Kevin shuddered slightly.

  “Pause,” said John. “Entity desiring to speak.”

  A tiny susurration of surprise rippled through the room. One could feel new energy surge through Kevin’s body. Then everyone realized what had happened. Kevin’s facial expression altered completely.

  “Hello, out there,” said a new personality. “McPherson here. Tom McPherson. How are the lot of you doing?”

  “We’re doing fine, Tom,” I greeted him.

  “Now then, I believe there was a spot of an inquiry about difficulties you might encounter creatively and in high altitude. Is that correct?”

  “That’s correct,” said Stan.

  “First of all, you would do well to continue to handpick your crew. You already understand that no one is a part of your venture by accident. You might want to double-check the medical records of several of your crew in regard to heart trouble and blood pressures. Other than those minor conditions, I believe you will find it adventurous but no more strenuous than what you would find in regular location conditions.”

  I wondered which crew members would have trouble.

  “What about weather?” I asked.

  “First of all, you can regulate the weather by your own consciousness. But of course you already know that.”

  Several people self-consciously cleared their throats.

  “I would say, though,” Tom continued breezily, “that the best filming dates would fall between January eleventh and as late as February twenty-fourth.”

  I saw Stan do a swift calculation on his pocket calendar. He smiled to himself.

  “Well, Tom,” I inquired, “what about the need for security relating to that leftist guerrilla group called The Shining Path?”

  Tom paused for a moment.

  “As I scan the area you will be working in, I don’t see that harassing you would be to their advantage. It would be best to keep your publicity at a minimum. But document the making of the film for future publicities.”

  “Why? Because things might happen beyond what we anticipate?”

  “Oh,” he said, “there will be a few surprises. I won’t unravel them right now. Look for unusual phenomena in a spiritual vein while you’re working.”

  Stan sat up straight and scratched his head. I laughed.

  “Are you talking about UFOs, Tom?” asked Stan.

  Tom cocked his head. “That would be pleasing, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, it would,” Stan answered, smiling and twitching his nose as he thought of the attendant publicity.

  “I wouldn’t put it outside the realm of chance—let me put it that way,” Tom went on.

  Bob Butler chuckled to himself, as though this spiritual film-making might prove to be more intriguing than he had originally thought.

  I took a deep breath, thinking of how we’d have to rewrite the script should Tom’s suggestion materialize.

  “Tom,” I said, “you have a whole room full of witnesses here. Are you really serious with what you’re saying?”

  “Most definitely,” he answered.

  “Why?”

  “Because it would be a marvelous demonstration of the collective karma vibration that each of you have individually with this type of phenomenon. There could be cooperation with these entities who may desire to stimulate it. Also, the earth is due for another wave of information; another UFO flap, as you call it. Such sightings would be in the collective receptivity.”

  Everyone looked at one another. No one knew what to make of such an outrageous semi-prediction. Stan and Bob shrugged. Colin and I smiled. Mort blinked enigmatically. Sachi’s face was full of wonder, and the rest of the people in the room shifted their positions, indicating that this was without a doubt one of the most unlikely birthday parties they had ever attended.

  “You must remember,” Tom continued, “that the collective consciousness of the crew will be the deciding factor. Each individual is capable of experiencing an event such as UFOs. The collective is only as receptive as the sum of its parts. If the human soul is troubled or deprived, it affects the whole, not only for simple things like sighting UFOs, but for world-shaking events in your lives. If you study the dynamics of human history, this is indeed the story of the human race, isn’t it?”

  We all nodded solemnly, as though we understood what that meant. Bob Butler took a long sip of water. I could see he wanted to ground the conversation into practicalities.

  “Tom,” Bob said, “how many takes can we do with you? I mean, should we use multiple cameras during the scenes with you and Kevin’s other entities? Can you say your lines twenty or twenty-five times like most actors?”

  Tom hesitated. I jumped in to clarify.

  “I think he wonders,” I said, “how long you spiritual guides can stay in Kevin’s body without draining his energies and tiring him out. We wouldn’t like production to be held up because of it.”

  “I see,” said Tom. “The instrument, Kevin, can usually stay in trance for about two hours, three or four times a day. However, much depends on which personality is speaking through him. If it’s John exclusively, he may stay out easily for two hours because John’s vibration is higher and less taxing on the instrument than the rest of us. Allow the instrument about thirty minutes of recoupment period, and he will be able to go out again for a two-hour block. Does that sound favorable to your shooting?”

  We all looked at one another and nodded.

  “Yes. Yes, that would be fine,”

  I asked another scientific question. “If we have three or four cameras going, would that amount of electromagnetic frequency harm Kevin or anyone?”

  “No, not at all,” replied Tom. “If anything, we must keep our vibrations down so we don’t harm your equipment. However, the instrument, Kevin, may be bothered by the heat levels of your lights and is sometimes subject to heat exhaustion, but that usually occurs in sunlight rather than under electronic conditions.”

  Tom paused between answers, waiting for the next question in that peculiarly distancing way the spiritual entities have of communicating through sound and light vibrations. Stan asked if we should take any particular medical precautions in Peru. Tom advised bringing as much of our own food and water as we could. Again he cautioned against people with blood-pressure problems and cardiac difficulties. Since the location reconnaissance trip had not yet taken place, we asked if we should base out of Huancayo, where the action of my real-life adventure took place. Tom recommended a careful look because of potential accommodation problems.

  Returning to a more metaphysical note, Butler asked once again what type of spiritual phenomena we could expect during shooting. Peru and Kevin’s entities were not the only potential adventures. We were also to shoot with a Swedish medium in Stockholm who channeled an entity named Ambres, who in fact was the first trance channeler I had ever witnessed. Tom now explained that during the shooting with Ambres we could expect some interesting developments because of the mediumistic tendencies of some of the people involved (including myself) and said that the energies we would all be running would be high. I put it on the back burner of my mind. Sachi then asked some personal questions about her life and the pain she had been experiencing in her neck and back. Tom answered in his humorously profound manner, explaining the karmic blockages as he saw them. Sachi and Tom had been fast and trusting karmic friends during his incarnation as a Scotch-Irish pickpocket. They had both been involved with street theater during the Elizabethan time period, and coming from poverty-stricken backgrounds, they augmented their income by “rifling the pokes of people who were much better off.” Tom was working off some of
the karma he had incurred for himself in that incarnation by helping and counseling people now—Sachi in particular, because he had taught her to steal! She adored talking to him and usually followed his advice.

  I begged everyone’s indulgence and asked Tom what I could expect with the publication of Dancing in the Light. He said some of those “whose art was interviewing” had found metaphysical and spiritual subjects more accessible since I had first plunged in where “fools” feared to tread with Out on a Limb. He said “Light” was a more controversial book because it was so personal, thereby placing the reader in the position of having to decide whether I was indeed crazy or perhaps (because of my unwavering belief) there was actually something to this spiritual-dimension stuff that I seemed to have made a part of my life. He went on to say that I had been around publicly long enough for them to know I wasn’t crazy, so they were in the uncomfortable position of either walking away, insisting on retaining their own prejudices, or opening up to take a look at what I was saying. Either election would contribute to their discomfort until they were ready to recognize and integrate their own spiritual awareness. In other words, the condition of spiritual awareness would be a gradually escalating process which would be ultimately regarded as socially transformative.

  I looked around my living room. Those who had never heard of spiritual channeling before were beginning to look slightly glassy-eyed or defensively suspicious. There were also individuals, fresh to this experience, who were looking for answers to conflicting dilemmas in their own lives. Nearly all of them were grappling with some kind of pain, disappointment, anger, or self-esteem problem. The questions that followed centered around those personal issues. The answers seemed to alleviate some anxiety. Then someone asked about AIDS and what was really causing it. Tom was circumspect.

  “If you want the spiritual reason,” he began, “which is of course at the bottom of all there is, let me begin by saying that it is fairly black and white. This disease preys predominantly upon those individuals who are socially disinvested—those who find themselves isolated from the mainstream of society. AIDS, if you will notice, has become more prevalent and in direct ratio to the homophobia in your social order. It is a social consciousness illness.”

  “What can we do about it?” asked a young man whose friends were afraid.

  “There can be a reversal of the karma here. If all of you citizens were to embrace each other and through that spiritual alignment become more demanding of AIDS research, you would find the karma decreasing. Ask not for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for each of you. Death is not prejudiced. Your administration is involved with foot-dragging on the issue because they regard it as a gay pestilence. But when it begins to cut across all boundaries, they will intensify the research allotment.”

  “Well, are there any positive aspects to this disease?” I asked.

  “Indeed there are,” answered Tom. “You see, this disease is serving to AID the understanding that all disease is a question of human consciousness. Body follows mind. When the spirit is low or unaligned or unhappy or disinvested (as we were saying), the body manifests that spiritual state of mind. Such severe diseasements aid the society in this fundamental understanding. Your doctors and psychiatrists are already beginning to see the role consciousness plays in disease. The word dis-ease says it all, does it not?”

  “Are you saying disease, or health, is a question of attitude then?”

  “Yes. Pure energy relating to attitude stimulates the healing process. This disease has appeared, in your social order, to focus on the problems of stress upon the immune system. An immune system which is not spiritually aligned with the positive universal forces will break down. It is difficult for a socially disinvested individual to feel aligned. Eliminate your prejudice. You will decrease the disease.”

  There was silence at the implications of this sweeping statement.

  “I must be going soon,” Tom said finally. “I don’t want to tax the instrument’s energies. I can take one more question.”

  Stan leaned forward.

  “Mr. McPherson,” he began, “there will be a great deal of energy put into this production. My question is: Have any of us shared this creative energy in the past? Are we going to be re-creating an experience we may have already had together in a past life?”

  I never expected the producer of Roots and Thorn Birds to ask such a question. But then, there were producers—and producers. Tom’s answer was even more astounding.

  “Absolutely,” he said. “This entire group was together in the Amarna period of Egyptian history, when there was the first radical breakthrough in art and culture in two thousand years. It occurred under the reign of Akhenaton. You were innovative in your visual arts then, as you will be now.”

  I watched Stan as he listened. Tears sprang to his eyes. I didn’t know why.

  “I must be going now,” said Tom. “May the saints be looking after ya. God bless you.”

  A shudder went through Kevin’s body. John’s energy returned.

  “Hail,” he said. “Seek to be at peace with those things you receive in spirit, for you will find they are to further thy fathers’ works, and indeed you are that work. You will find that just as you may have many thoughts, yet you have only one mind. In turn, there are many souls, but only one God. Each of you is a thought and creation within the universal mind which you call God. Walk in this the father-mother God’s light. God bless you. Amen.”

  John left Kevin’s body. There was a moment when no one seemed to be in there, least of all Kevin. Then slowly he began to regain consciousness. He rubbed his eyes. Then he stretched.

  “Hello? Hello?”

  He held his hands outward in front of himself.

  “We’re here,” I reassured him.

  Kevin opened his eyes. “Well, how was it?” he asked.

  Stan got up. “Thank you, Kevin,” he said.

  He didn’t seem to want to say much more. I looked around the room. No one said much. Obviously some would be wondering whether this had all been some kind of magic parlor trick. Others were considering the ramifications if, indeed, Kevin’s entities were for real. The party broke up. I thanked Kevin and drifted toward the leftover birthday cake. Stan walked up to me.

  “This is astonishing to me,” he began. “I was passionately committed, and worked for two years on a miniseries based on the life of Akhenaton. I never understood the depth of my passion until today. I believe Tom when he says we’ve all been together.”

  I looked into his eyes. “Really?” I asked.

  He pushed in his solar plexus. “I just feel it here.”

  “What do you think we’re getting into, Stan?” I asked.

  “As far as I’m concerned,” he answered, “we’re already in it.”

  Stan walked over to Butler, who shrugged his shoulders at me from across the room. (His deal hadn’t been made yet. I wondered what effect this might have on it.)

  Colin sidled up to me.

  “So do you think Kevin can play himself?” he asked. “And what about the entities? Tom says he used to act, eh? Do you think he’s Abbey Players quality or just temperamental?”

  I laughed. His question was so valid I dared not think of the implications. If the audience didn’t believe the channeling sessions were real, we had no movie. And most people had enough of a problem believing the medium himself wasn’t acting. Now we were going to say, “Yes, he’s playing himself but he’s not pretending—it’s real….” I was going to be “acting” myself. And he was going to be “acting” himself. On top of that, the entities were going to be “acting” themselves. A person within a play, playing himself in a play. Yes, that was the perspective from which to view this whole multidimensional experience. Pirandello was born too soon.

  So the decision of who would play Kevin would probably be made according to who would come off as the most believable. Wasn’t that the way it was in life too? Was art imitating life, life imitating art, or was life actually the ar
t form we were each creating for ourselves?

  Mort whispered in my ear between cake bites. “I never really understood what you were into before tonight. Now that I get it, I’m not so sure I like it. I’m glad I have my orchid plants to talk to. Am I to expect they will soon talk back? Should I be their agent?”

  I laughed and pummeled him on the shoulder.

  “Listen,” he said, “never mind who plays Kevin. Who’s going to play me? Newman isn’t available. How about Clint Eastwood? The character shouldn’t have many lines.”

  Mort hugged Sachi, wished her happy birthday, and told her to stay out of miniskirts on Sunset Boulevard. Stan said he was going home to tell his wife he was really an Egyptian pharaoh, while Harold stared into his teacup, probably thinking about Ruth Gordon.

  Bob Butler walked around muttering, “I’ll sign anything.”

  I went to the window and looked out over the waves below. I took a deep breath and tried to assimilate the implications of what I was doing in making Out on a Limb for public scrutiny.

  Regardless of how artfully we crafted the story and the shooting, would basic human skeptical prejudice overwhelm the potential of moving an audience? People were touched by what they could identify with. How many could identify with disembodied spiritual entities who helped “Shirley” along her spiritual path? How many even cared about spiritual questions anyway?

  For me personally, the existence of disembodied spiritual guides proved that we never die, that we just change form and go into other dimensions; that all souls exist somewhere guiding and helping others. That made sense to me both scientifically and spiritually. I knew many others who felt the same way. But on a mass-consciousness level—to which television speaks? I wasn’t so sure.

  I opened the sliding glass door and walked out onto the balcony. And what about the critics? Most people seemed to think television critics didn’t matter much anyway. But how would those arbiters of public taste feel about exposing their own attitudes and beliefs when it came to reviewing a real person’s autobiographical spiritual experience? Sixty-seven percent of the American public—according to recent polls—have had an “otherworldly” experience themselves. If the critics hadn’t, how could they evaluate whether I had crafted it artistically or not? There would be no basis for identification, only a basis for ridicule. And if a critic had had a spiritual experience, would he be afraid of expressing it in his review?