Gods and Meditation
written by: Rand Hill
An older friend named Midnight Charlie Lewis was on his death-bed at home; dying at ease without the usual caustic medications. No doctors or nurses hovering close in aid. Midnight, his chosen pen-name, approached eighty-two years.
The man wished me nearby because I’m a proclaimed psychic with a touch of extra sensory perception. Also, I’m a preacher with a decent standing in therapy involving human states of an eternal intellect, one in constant fluctuation. Some say this power is called Soothsaying.
“Doc Ranger?” Lewis called, “Could you explain my soon-to-come future. Where shall I be tomorrow or perhaps later tonight, upon death? Will I become a ghost?”
I should explain further. Others refer to me as doctor. Not a medical professional you see, but sometimes a man of the cloth. I wear a silken top hat and dark lenses, sunglasses for my days and early nights. My hat is black, the vested suit is charcoal with bright red pinstripes. I tend to stand out, even on a stage.
It seems I have a talent for telling futures. My last name is Ranger, ‘Doc’ Ranger to many common folk. I foretold of global warming and warn locals of coming storms and inclement bad weather. Once told of a disease that could involve our entire world. Foretold of wars that destroy humanity and unexpected clashes with mother nature.
I warn others of assumed religions and evils destroying happy families. At times I just flip a penny and offer good luck.
With Midnight Charlie Lewis, I was asked to help a friend forgive his sins and make peace—to ease a way into a place most others call Paradise. Even though Midnight chose to die in a Montana Hogan.
“How old are you Doc? I’ve known you half my life and never asked your age.”
“Age is no simple matter, Charlie. I was born in the last century, same as you. We drove to the same crossroads, our paths crisscrossed a dozen times or more. We suffered heartaches and survived to tell and write fictional stories and poems. Once you preferred riches over good friendships. Now you stand alone and wish an end to an inconsistent tribal life.”
Lewis groaned and stuttered a painful reply. “You alone pastor, you know I loved my wife and dear family. I set her free Doc, free from a truck-load of living in misery. I took her life, one of sheer despair last year. She begged me in desperation, she became damned depressed.
“My fully grown child still hates me, wants me dead as well. My wife, the mother, informed the daughter of the deed in a private letter. I’m guessing no names. I was never investigated.
“However, I have no friends but you today, Doc. Where will I go when life ends, when I’m truly gone, passed off to another world?”
Psychic or not, I believed in telling hard truth compared with feeble lies. “Do you believe in Ghosts, Charlie? I have a pet theory on life’s little known secrets. A short tale told … before your ghosts come to nibble. Afore you wheeze, turn over and die in peace, let’s jump up and sing or dance.”
I hummed a tune from the opera Carmen, Toreador, a favorite aria of us both, sung by Domingo. Of course, I never expected Midnight Charlie to either jump high, clap hands, or sing.
Charlie took in a giant breath. Then I watched him grin as he rasped a near-silent chuckle, he tried a few bars and then he hummed …
I took off my boxy silk hat and murmured a short prayer of forgiveness, my fingers making a sign of the cross upon a scrawny chest.
“Gods came to us, Charlie: First there was Chaos. Nothing existed. Not evil, not goodness. A void in space. An eternal equinox of flashy rays, red Northern Lights, green electric beams with intermittent gloom and sudden darkness.”
I grabbed a quick breath and offered this friend a theoretical glimpse of our world. “Not that Christians are wrong, Charlie, just writers of the Bible left out a few things and formulated others to suit royal favor of the day. This world has many religions and a million telling versions. We also learned to hate a white man’s trail of a billion tears.
“Then came our Creation. The Cosmos: stars, planets, moons, and a centillion galaxies. New worlds forever, pulsing. An unfolding universe.
A second Creator, called Nature, came: She gave our world gardens, plants, grasses, fire, water for life, air to breathe. Planet Earth, with sun, moon, and a sky so precise and high above.
“A third Creator brought more living creatures: Birds, fish, reptiles, insects, and ordinary mammals—from roaring Elephants to mice as meek as yellow snow.”
My friend gasped and closed his weary eyes. Imagining, I supposed.
“A fourth Creator designed human beings: Humans becoming the most intelligent of all earthly creatures; beings were created to rule a future world. A single planet with multiple forms of gods.
“Creator five—named Soul—was deemed our most personal god. Soul, being pure energy, perceived flaws in our first humans. Although quick and intellectual, they lacked ethics; no conscience or inner spirit. They were fierce ones though, built to survive a buffalo stampede.
“This Creator, Soul, formed a Garden named Eden. This most human God induced a third brain into our later beings. One I shall call an X-factor.”
I paused the story and checked my man’s pulse as he lay silent, perhaps holding a breath as he listened or disregarded these odd reasonings. Old and bold theories on how our planet developed during a million seasons of striking sorrows.
I glanced at a wall photo in a stark white bedroom. His lovely wife picture perfect to a -T. Perhaps a daily reminder of a single love now lost, maybe a woman he hoped to join in Neverland.
Neverland: the name of a former place we dared worship.
Pulse steady, Charlie breathed in deep, then he exhaled. I continued a story of creation and many troubled spirits.
“This X-factor allowed both guilt and goodness to survive as energies. Emotions all but a few human creatures might sense. A human Soul being the purest of all energies. Its power never fades. Vitality will continue forever in later humans. Meaning one could never die, though bare white bones lay buried on this planet, one named Earth.”
I grabbed another deep inhalation and smiled up to a pink-hued ceiling.
“A million-trillion Souls would inter-mingle as elegance: engage with a spirit. When a Soulmate is found, something magical transpires and sparkles. A beginning essence is formed: Two energies merge as one. A new human life begins with a conscious Soul and Native Spirit.”
Charlie’s eyes opened, he blinked once. Lazy lids flickered and closed as I continued words of hope. Salvation for a friends troubled friend.
“Newest humans were also formed imperfect, Charlie Midnight. Good and bad exist within all created beings. This allowed world environments a special role.
“Particular beings not engaging with any form of creation became known as Lost Souls, condemned to human forms known by numerous human beings as Hell, ruled by a fiend we call Lucifer, a Devil, and a lost group of angels often called Demons. This future world and civilization was created on ancient Earth.”
The ceiling grew darker. Clouds appeared. Pink to burnt tan.
“God rests within you, Charlie Lewis. And in us all. This God wants to bless us and intends to forgive and offer an endless love affair.”
As I placed the silken hat onto my head, I thought I saw his pretty wife’s framed photo. She winked, nodded, and smiled. Beautiful. Imagine.
“Now for the Ghosts, Midnight. Death comes with three choices.”
He nodded—as if possible to comprehend any of his God’s intentions.
“Ghost one. As a self expires, death comes on sudden. You will experience either pain or glory. You’ll see who attends your funeral service, witness friends or foes, feel joy or weep tears ever-after. As this ghost, you will regenerate quick. You will be reborn into the same gender and within your lost family. A few memories may remain in shadows. These will be inherited.
“Ghost number two. This apparition lasts much longer. A lifetime in constant peril. You’ll see friends and enemies and witness an array of dangers until God forgives. You may not speak nor communicate in any fashion. All will be seen as black and white. At will, you can pass through several generations, see choices once made. Good ones or bad.
“Regeneration will take a much longer time. Only God knows when you will be reborn. But the same family will eventually call your name. Not many choose this type future.”
Charlie smiled at this. The stark walls seemed inching closer.
“Ghost three offers a major difference. As a single spirit, you will be allowed to wander free. As times pass, a few others—either dead or living visions—they may witness shadows, see glimpses of times long passed. Perhaps you’ll wander into future generations. No fears, no danger. No communication.”
Charlie grabbed a deep breath, he struggled to raise up, then reclined. He shrugged, exhausted by any such movement.
“At times one may cast a chill, tap on a woman’s shoulder. You’ll feel alive, but totally unloved. If this spirit is chosen, Charlie, there will ultimately be a redemption. However, no choice in family or any gender. As a newborn babe, all sin shall be forgiven. A new life awaits this regeneration.
“That’s your choices my old, but diminishing friend. These notions are known only to those believing in me, trusting me. Doc’s irrational ways. New wonders will come; those to welcome death and my personal words of counsel.”
His bleak white walls took on a dash of color, a warmer desert rose hue.
“Choose wisely, Charles. Ask forgiveness before the darkest shadows glow colder and come to deliver you an entry past any form of Wonderland. God’s work is impossible to understand. Remember to say thank you, good friend.”
I heard a final gruff sigh as I snuffed a single candle light. Midnight Charlie Lewis passed, the man gone to whatever new world awaited a decent-enough soul.
I imagined his mounted wall photograph, a wife of forty some years, now passed. The woman’s image smiled at me in the darkness of a once shared home. Perhaps in hope?
I prayed for him and his daughter, hoping eventually she would come to understand his troubles and reasoning. Charlie was no murderer. For now, he would reside in a darkness he so desired, as Charlie Midnight. Perhaps forever and ever, free to choose. I tipped the hat to a bravado slant, shut the door, and headed home. Ghosts set free to roam.
- Gods and Meditation - December 27, 2024
- Angel or Saint - November 8, 2023
- Jojo, Spirits of Cariboo Country - November 28, 2022
