World Walker 1: The World Walker (34 page)

He had agreed to daily practice, thirty minutes, for one month. In five days time, the month would be up, but Seb knew he would be continuing his practice. The Christian word for what he was doing was Contemplation. Other wisdom traditions called it meditation. Father O called it Paying Attention. Paying Attention was the best description.

"That's all it is," said Father O'Hanoran had said, nudging Seb awake after the first 6:15 session. "But mysticism, the pursuit of reality filtered - for the most part - through different religious traditions, is notorious for its problems with communication. The word 'mysticism' itself is proof enough of that. It's suppose to signify an encounter with the mystery at the center of existence, but the root of the word is more commonly associated with the idea of something strange, unexplained. These days, if we say something is a mystery, we usually mean it's a puzzle. When the mystics talk about mystery, they mean something beyond our grasp, yet also the very essence of what we are. Language falls short when it tries to describe this. But here's the important bit. Language doesn't fall short because what it's describing is so complex, but because what it is attempting to speak of comes
before
language. A truly authentic encounter with reality cannot be spoken about, it can only be
experienced.
"

The first time Seb heard Father O talk like this, he was bewildered. But he had nowhere else to turn. He had expected the priest to respond to his crisis by recommending confession, penance and absolution. He had even tentatively asked if he was going to have to take more of an active role in church. Father O had left it entirely up to him. He said that Franciscans such as himself were encouraged to "preach the gospel, using words only if absolutely necessary." Sometimes the things Father O said just gave Seb a headache. But he kept coming back.

And now, sitting on a tiny wooden stool, his buttocks numb and his body cold, he unexpectedly found the constant background noise of his mind to be fading. It was as if an early morning mist was clearing as the sunlight burned it away. The gaps between his thoughts slowed. Millisecond gaps lengthened, became half a second. Then, for the first time, on a frosty morning one Fall in the half-light of dawn, half a second opened out into what might have been five, twelve, 20 seconds of pure awareness. Seb was just
sitting.
Afterwards, when he tried to recapture what had made this the single most authentic moment of his life, all he could manage was the fact that this was the only time he could remember simply being - not doing, not thinking, not planning, not judging. Just being. And it was perfect. He looked forward to many more such moments. If he had known they would only occur once or twice a year if he was really lucky, and never with the intensity of this first time, maybe he would have given up. Maybe. But probably not. Because, while it didn't help him forgive himself for what he'd done, it seemed to open out his perspective to a point where he knew that he was ready to carry on living, accepting his actions, accepting the guilt, just not obsessively judging himself or trying to rewrite history. He would take on the probably impossible challenge of accepting each moment as it came and dealing with it. Not in some New Age bullshit way, but in a grounded, pragmatic,
real
way.
 

Father O sighed, crossed himself and stood up, using the corner of the desk to help lever him into an upright position. He crossed to the corner of the room and flicked the switch on the kettle, fumbling in the jar for teabags. He had developed a slightly pretentious liking for Earl Grey tea at Seminary in Wisconsin and, when he left, discovered to his surprise that his palate craved the delicately floral taste. He poured two cups, knowing Seb would only drink his through politeness. He watched Seb open his eyes, noted the stillness. He waited a few minutes in silence as the tea brewed.

"Don't talk about it," he said, handing Seb his cup.

"About what?" said Seb.

"About what just happened. Words can often cheapen the experience."

"But how did you-?"

"Brother Lawrence would have called it the presence of God. Buddhists would say you had an enlightenment experience. Whatever you call it, it's as if you're wearing a badge announcing it. Just drink your tea and I'll see you in class later."

Seb drank his tea.

Chapter 34

Las Vegas

Present day

When Seb woke up the next morning, everything had changed. He felt it as soon as he opened his eyes. Even as he emerged from the last, confused dream of the night, he knew something was different. Since adulthood he had always needed 10-15 minutes to transition from sleep to wakefulness. Coffee was usually necessary. He had always assumed he was exceptionally slow at waking until he met Mee, who seemed to pride herself on the 45 minutes it took her to manage any communication more coherent than a grunt.
 

But 6:30am rolled around and Seb opened his eyes, sat up, swung his legs off the bed and stood up. Wide awake, despite interrupting his sleep with a visit from a Manna-created ex-girlfriend. After padding to the bathroom, he sat upright on the end of the bed and closed his eyes, sounding his word.
Silence.

"No real need to do this any more," said Seb2.

"I know," said Seb. "I feel that. But I want to do it. Some habits are worth keeping."

"Fair enough," said Seb2.
 

"It feels different. Having you here to talk to whenever I like."

"Good different or bad different?"

"You already know the answer to that."

"True. You can't judge it good or bad, it just is. Now, can you stop telling me I already know the answer to everything you're thinking? I may
be
you, but it doesn't make it any less irritating."

"Ok, ok," said Seb. "But it's not just having you here that's different. I feel like I've made a decision. It's time to go. I need to be on my own. Well, we do."

"Agreed," said Seb2. "Something I want to show you."

"What is it?"

"Open your eyes."

Seb did as he was told and found himself back in London's Richmond Park, where Mee had taken him all those years ago. Again, the sun was low in the sky and icicles hung precariously from the branches of ancient oaks.
 

"This really will take some getting used to," he said.

The huge park was deserted as before, the silence unnatural and unnerving. Seb suddenly had a thought. If this place existed only in his imagination, then...

A herd of red deer burst through from a copse to the west, led by about a dozen big stags, their antlers silhouetted against the swollen sun as they ran within a few feet of where Seb stood, the thunder of their hooves and the mist from their breath in the cold air bringing the whole scene to life. Seb smiled. Seeing a slight movement to his left, he turned. Seb2 was smiling as well, nodding his approval as the animals headed into the trees. He started walking toward Pen Ponds and Seb walked alongside him. As they got to the edge of the water, Seb2 ignored the bench where they'd sat on their previous meeting. Instead, he carried on walking straight onto the surface of the water and - this time - Seb accompanied him without breaking stride.
 

"Almost a shame no one's here to see it," said Seb as they made their way across the pond. The water felt exactly as he thought it would. It was like walking across a trampoline, each step sinking slightly before the elasticity pushed back against his weight.

"Of course it's like you imagined it," said Seb2. "You're making it happen. We just need to get you to the stage where you can reproduce this in reality. It's no different, it's just your perception that holds you back. You still think much of this is impossible. And while you think that, it will be."

"I'm much closer to believing it all than last time we were here," said Seb. They had reached the far side of the pond. The two men stepped onto the path and carried on walking.
 

"What do you want to show me?" said Seb. Seb2 pointed ahead, to a dense clump of trees Seb didn't remember from his day there with Mee.

"This bit is new," said Seb2. "Shouldn't be here. It isn't here in the real Richmond Park." An opening led into the wood. It was like something out of a dark fairytale, a twisted dirt path that disappeared into the gloom created by the gnarled, distorted trees, their huge branches reaching out to each other, creating a canopy through which very little of the weak sunlight could penetrate. A faint sound came from within. Seb stepped closer, surprised as he did so to feel a real reluctance to go any closer. At first it was just a vague feeling of disquiet, but as he got within a few feet of where the path entered the wood, it was close to genuine fear. He stopped.

"I know," said Seb2, "but you need to see this." He walked ahead, only slightly hesitating as he crossed the invisible border between the park and the wood. Seb hung back, reminding himself briefly that this was all happening in his subconscious, then followed.
 

The sound he had heard grew more distinct as he moved between the trees. It sounded like a wounded animal. More like a dying animal. A dying animal that was being tortured in its final minutes of life. The light grew weaker and he realized he could no longer see the sky through the dense canopy of knotted branches. Seb2's back was a faint shadow ahead. He hurried to catch up, tripped on a root and almost ran into Seb2, who had stopped just ahead. He was looking at something, and his face was grim.

"It's a bit of a shock the first time," said Seb2. Seb looked in the same direction. At first it was hard to see anything, but the source of the appalling noise was obviously in the middle of the small clearing ahead. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, Seb could make out some sort of mass stretched out across a large stone about eight feet long, three feet wide and standing about waist high. The mass was moving, writhing, glistening. It had a shape that looked familiar somehow. The sound, a keening moan of absolute agony, was coming from one end, where a small dark hole opened and closed among the slithering mess. With a gasp of horror, Seb knew what he was looking at. It was the flayed body of a human, the limbs stretched, the muscles tearing in front of him, exposed where the skin had been removed. The hole was a mouth, and now that he had put the puzzle together, he saw two holes where nostrils should be and a pair of ghastly puckered raw craters instead of eyes.
 

Seb turned his back, dropped to his knees and vomited onto the hard, gray earth. His body shuddered as it ejected a stream of thin acidic material, the spasms burning his throat and chest. Seb2 just watched him, waiting. Finally, Seb stood, his legs shaking.

"It doesn't get any easier," said Seb2, "but being prepared means I don't lose the contents of my stomach now."

Seb took a few long breaths, then looked at Seb2, aware of the movement just behind him where the horror continued to unfold.

"Who is it?" he said.

"You know who it is," said Seb2. "It's us. You. Me. Seb3"

"But how? Why?"

"Because we weren't supposed to receive Manna in the way that we did
when
we did. We should have died - no normal human can act as a vessel for what we were given. Apparently, there's a good chance we would have been ready in another three decades or so."

"So why am I still alive?" said Seb, walking shakily away from the horror in the clearing, trying not to see the image now imprinted on his brain.

"Think of us as partitions in a hard drive," said Seb2. Partitioned so we can run the software without conflicts."

"I am not a fucking hard drive!" said Seb. "What the hell is going on?" He fell to his knees, shaking. Seb2 squatted next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Seb3 is what would have happened to you if the partitions hadn't been created. But the pain would have only lasted seconds before you died. This is a compromise, I don't know how Billy Joe did it." Seb looked at him blankly. "The alien?" said Seb2.

"Oh. Yeah. How could I forget? So are you saying I'm not a whole person any more?" Seb2 helped him up and they walked out of the wood, back toward the edge of the pond.

"No. Well, yes. Kinda. You're as whole as you've ever been. Gross oversimplification coming up, but here's how it works. You're the surface-level, everyday personality. 99.9% of humanity lives and dies knowing no more than the surface personality. Underneath, we have the subconscious. We're all slightly aware of that - dreams, intuition, but mostly it does some heavy lifting behind the scenes. In your case, that's me. Having a subconscious available to the conscious mind could raise you to genius-level intellectually. Or drive you insane."

"Hmm," said Seb. "To be fair, there's no clear evidence which way I've gone."

"And deeper than the subconscious,"said Seb2, ignoring the interruption, "is the Person. The real you. No smoke and mirrors, no facade, no defenses, just a pure, unique expression of the dance of energy we call life."

"You could get your own science special on PBS," said Seb.

"Sarcasm noted," said Seb2.
 

"So the most real me, the most authentic...the genuine human person..."

"...Is Seb3. Yep," said Seb2. "Sorry."
 

They walked the perimeter of the pond rather than across the surface this time, obeying the unspoken feeling that it would be inappropriate. Seb couldn't stop thinking about the torture his innermost self was constantly experiencing. And yet he seemed to be able to carry on as normal. He realized he had absolutely no understanding of the human condition. And yet, some aspects of his life seemed to be coming into focus just as others seemed to be teetering on the edge of an abyss.

"So what do we do?" said Seb, after a few minutes silence. "Actually, let me answer my own question. I'm going to call Mee."

"You love her," said Seb2. No response was necessary.
 

"We've got to get away from Walt," said Seb2. "He has some kind of agenda and we need to find our own way."

"Agreed," said Seb. "I'll tell him we're leaving."