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Claus Silver Charm
'Santa Claus' (1898) - A film of great charm from George Albert Smith
Who Am I? (Ch1 part 2)
There is something in the mist. It's a shadow of your dreams. Just sit back and reminisce. Life ain't always what it seems. --SNC Into the night
The view screen switches over to Mark's eyes, thus he narrates:
A radiant woman stood over me. She reached out her hands and said, "All babies must go home. Baby go home!" The next thing I knew, it was 1977, I was ten and living with my foster family in Norwich, Connecticut. Ten years gone without a trace – Let's call that a "decade null."
This mystery is a paradox; that which seems to be yet cannot possibly be. Though I lived for seven days, I lived for seventy years. A lot can happen in seven days. It's said that all of Creation happened in seven days. I guess I'm not the first with such a paradox, and I'm certainly not the last. Oh well, life goes on.
I just thought it might help you to know my dilemma; that explains so much about the rest of my life. Not that my life is any more important than any other, but whereas most lead a life of questions, mine was a life of answers –and it's all about what you want to know. Life is not a problem, it is an adventure, but you need to see it that way. That is, after all, why you are here –for the adventure.
You might recall when you were a formless soul cruising about, and you happened upon this cute little blue planet. It was all-abuzz with activity, and you thought you might want in on that. Was it worth the stop? Your adventure happens in the blinking of an eye, but you won't realize that until you are seventy. In the meantime, your years might seem a long drawn-out process, and you wonder where the adventure is. You won't see that until you are seventy, so is it worth the stop in the long run? Let's just say I've never known an unsatisfied customer –this little blue planet is the bee's knees!
If the name of your guide is Ignorance, then you might want to hire a different guide. I speak from the past but I'm clearly in the present. That must give you a spooky feeling, but then I'm a spooky guy. Of all the mysterious things in the world, I find ghosts to be the most interesting. Ghosts are all about the past; to fear them is to fear the past. I am not afraid of either. The past teaches us who we are, and ghosts hint at the prospect of eternal life. What frightens me is the way we interpret things we know virtually nothing about. It might be best to admit ignorance, but we will supplant this with fantasy, arrogance, and systems of religion – and to that end, we will submit human sacrifices. Spookier than any ghost is the way we deal with ignorance. It's not wrong to be ignorant, but if your guide is ignorant too, you are in for a haphazard adventure.
I was ten when I left my foster family for a more permanent family. I was always a scrawny kid, sandy blond, with an impish face; other kids picked on me for those reasons. The worst case was what I call "the bully" in the first year of school (grade 5) that I can remember. The bully told me to meet him on the playground so he could beat me into the ground. I misunderstood. By "beat" I thought he wanted to be the first one into the ground, so I made the ground open up, and he went in. Since I had no desire go into the ground myself, I walked away happy that he had fulfilled his wish.
I had no idea there was a problem until the fire department and police showed up. I was brought into the school for interrogation by the principal and the police. I became so upset with them that I decided to make the whole school go into the ground. And they never bothered me about that again. Of course, the scientific explanation was that the school had been built on top of a sinkhole. That worked for me!
That kind of story is not what I go around telling people as a rule. It might help you though in deciding who and what I am. My decade null had me rather clueless so I had to scramble to catch up with everyone else my age. I never had powers of mind over matter, that incident with the bully was an unusual sense of communication. I asked the ground to open up and it did so. The ground could have just as well refused my request, but just between you and me –I don't think it liked that bully either.
Looking back at childhood, it didn't seem hard to grow. But, as children leave the nest, they have so far to go. I wasn't born like everyone else. There was some special adventure I wanted to pursue and it required special permission that went with a special set of rules. That, in no way, made me special since I had to learn and grow like everyone else. You got to start doing that when you were born; I had to start when I was ten –so my special permission was usually more like a curse. So most kids take to their wings as they leave the nest, but I had to make my own wings –which never worked very well.
I had imaginary friends until the age of thirteen. Then, my real friend was a poltergeist that haunted my family's house. After a while, that wasn't much of a friend though. I had been learning biology in school and I could tell that the assemblage of living things, such as cells, was a better avenue than the assemblage castoff spiritual parts that made up my poltergeist. Yes, I learned at an early age that these "entities" are only machines –very tedious machines!
In high school, I worked as a courier for my uncle. This gave me an excuse to get out there and be somebody –but mostly it gave me an excuse to have a car. Then I began to learn of my true talent; handling packages gave me wonderful insights about my uncle's customers. My hand being in contact with items owned by other people gave me mental images that spoke volumes about those people. Again, this is all part of my unusual sense of communication. Now, my talent amazed my uncle, so I'll never understand why he refused to put me to good use. Well, he feared my talent. If what you don't know can't hurt you, why do so many fear the unknown? The poor soul's bunker is only a place where he can hide his head in the sand.
Life is a symphony of resonant energies; the melody is what you know, the harmony is how you grow.
I have never been inclined to call myself a psychic. I was born with a defect in my adrenal cortex that caused slight symptoms of ALS – a disease that causes loss of motor control and muscle degeneration. There is a permanent sensation akin to restless leg syndrome throughout my whole body, which infernally makes me want to fidget and twitch. In order to fit into society, I had to grow into it. I had to learn how to make my body appear calm – maybe too calm at times – yet the energy within me rages on. I constantly practiced the art of controlled breathing in order to appear calm. Somehow, being aware of inhaling and exhaling made me aware of an unusual talent for "reading."
As I slowly exhale, the nervous sensation in my fingers smooths out. During that lull, my fingers are sensitive to the energy in an object they are touching. I would grow to learn how to communicate with objects – as I could read impressions from objects and then leave my own impressions behind. I was never any sort of psychic, but I would grow to know what a psychic was. My "gift" was called psychometry.
Try this exercise: Rest your hands on an object. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Say Abracadabra, and then breathe out through rounded lips in a slow controlled manner. What sensations do you feel in your hands? What images do you see? I'll bet that you're psychic just like me. I'll bet one of those images is a leafy green tee.
My brother-in-law was a police detective. He was always amazed with my talents. One day he asked me to come down to the station to pick up impressions from items of evidence. If I could pick up on just one bit of information about the owner of the object, it would help him out enormously.
Even though my impressions never failed him, he saw more value in my sense of intuition – he said that I needed to become a detective. He talked me into joining the police academy, but after six months, I realized that wasn't my calling. I was at my best with machines and computers. The Air Force recognized my talent, so I joined up for six years. They put me into Information Systems where I learned every aspect information technology. I did my six years and got out. I spent five years working odd jobs, attending school part time, and partying – yes, lots of partying! It was like being in the service without the silly rules – and those were a quick five years indeed! Perhaps I led a charmed life, yet I often wondered if life was truly but a dream.
There were times when I made good money and lived the good life, and there were times when I was nearly living in the streets. After hitting rock bottom, I realized I had to get serious about my life.
In the summer of ‘99, I was 32, and doing all right for myself. I had been working at a mid-scale restaurant for five years – in that time, I had applied myself from the point of washing dishes to the position of assistant manager. All in all though, from the age of 22 to 32 seemed like another decade null for me.
My Friend, it's On the House
As a restaurant manager, one needs an understanding spouse, because it's understood that you are married to your job. As assistant manager, I was married to a job that didn't pay worth a crap. So, there I was, in charge of the evening fare. Some nights ran like a sym-phony and others like a circus, but most nights were a healthy mixture of both.
Somewhere between the Yin and the Yang rises a sense of intuition to end all bets. Listen to your gut, do what it says, and my God – you are so on track it's scary! Give in to that fear, and you might not do so well, but when taken as a virtue, your in-tuition can do great things.
The patrons at table eight were demanding to see the manager. They were a family of four, a man, a woman, and two children. The man complained that the food was too cold. The woman was not satisfied with how the chicken was prepared – she gave me a mouthful of advice and urged me to explain that to the chef. Sure, I took their food back to the chef, but the only message conveyed was how I wasn't going to make it through the rest of the evening. He gave me the usual spat about how dumb it was to accept a dollar more an hour and all of the responsibility of a manager. I had to agree that it was dumb, dumb, and even more dumb. I didn't like being used in that way.
I could have done like anyone else, ignoring the mental picture in my head, but I didn't. When I touched that man's plate, I saw what he was all about. The image in my head pictured him in his car with his family. He turned to his children and said, "We're not proud of what we're doing, but... but… since the layoff, we have to do anything we can." He looked at his kids with deep concern and said, "I'm so sorry."
Customers become more discerning when they have less money. Of course, the dollar simply has more value to them, and all they want is their dollar's worth. But certainly, if you're laid off and without income, you would go to the cheapest restaurant – if any restaurant at all! Not wanting to be the overly suspicious type, I'd usually ignore these types of images, but I couldn't ignore the image I had just seen – there was too much feeling in it. It seemed so dire!
I approached the man and I asked if I could have a private word with him. All I said was that I understood his situation – that I had been there before and understood why he was doing this. His reaction was not a good one. In fact, he probably would have punched me. I said to him, "Every night at closing, we throw out a ton of food." Then I said, "If you really need food for your family, stop by the back door and I'll give you some." And, with that, he became irate. I knew he had too much pride to admit that I was making a good offer, so I walked away from him. I looked back at him and said, "My offer still stands."
As I walked away, the man came up behind me and grabbed my elbow. I think he had a tear in his eye as he said, "Thanks guy. I might stop by later on."
Those mental flashes of mine usually gave me the right information. It took me a long time to build the ability to sort out what part was paranoia – which is something I still have to work at – but I usually get it right. And, of course, a good manager does have to work largely on instincts, and getting his/her instincts right (which is really nothing more than separating instinct from paranoia).
The man did come to the back door at closing time, and the kitchen staff thought what I was doing was so cool – but mum was the word, because if my boss found out, I would get reamed!
My Life
With few exceptions, being an assistant manger was about the same every day. It was a lot of work, some sleep, and some play. Each night I came home to my lovely wife, Dolly, sometimes feeling like a zero and other times like a hero. She would always be proud of me in any case – bless her heart.
To decompress, I'd pop open a beer and sit down at my computer to write a short story about my day – which was much like keeping a diary. I never got into the habit of reading, but I liked writing – that was my way of getting "the stuff" out of my head.
Some nights, I didn't feel like writing, so I would watch TV. Two of my favorite shows were X Files and Psi Factor. I was drawn to these shows but I could never pay attention to them. I'd sit through the shows almost in a trance – blame that on the beer, but I had my own stories swimming around in my head. I had to get them out, so I began writing a novel by the title of T25 – which is about a research group that studies the paranormal.
knew that T25 stood for Treasury: Department 25. This group had its roots in doing research for none other than the IRS – and what could be more paranormal than that? But, they also did work for the Secret Service, ATF, and such. I had often wondered if my stories somehow developed from my experiences in the Air Force. I had worked with the CIA and Treasury Department on several occasions, but none of that seemed to have anything to do with the paranormal – it was all about technical things instead.
It was amazing how quickly I hacked out a novel about a subject I knew virtually nothing about. Simply having a gift didn't make me an expert on the subject, yet my story was pouring out of me, and it was good! Anyone who read it said I needed to get it published. But then, I had always been a good writer. Some people were afraid of my writing abilities, but my English teachers would often read my stories to the class, and they would encourage me to keep writing. I didn't want to be an assistant manager for the rest of my life; perhaps I could become a writer.
Perhaps my yearning for a change wasn't loud enough or clear enough. Obviously, I was yearning due to a lack of information. I had no idea how to become a writer. How does one exist as a restaurant manager and grow into a career in writing? If a seed grows to be an oak, then the tree probably has no hope of ever being a maple. Yet, something as steadfast as a tree would be a bad comparison for me. Indeed, I was much more like the ever-changing chameleon.
I was like a seed with no name. The best anyone could do is plant me and see what I grew up to become. It would only be to their dismay to find they still didn't know what I was. I was a master of morphology – as soon as you have me pegged, I become something else.
My sense of touch afforded me knowledge of the owner of an object, yet I could emulate the owner as well. And, that is what I always did: I am "they."
Call Me What You Will, But…
— I could pick up an attorney's pen and start writing paragraphs of by-laws and clauses. As soon as I put the pen down, I wouldn't know a by-law from a hole in the ground.
— I could pick up a surgeon's scalpel and masterfully open a patient for an appendectomy. As soon as I put the scalpel down, I'd faint at the sight of blood.
— I could hang out with my brother-in-law and think just like a police detective. Yet, when he walked away, I couldn't discern a con artist from a sketch artist. He once said to me, "Your talent comes from within, not from without – I hope you realize that someday." He could be philosophical at times, but I wondered if he really understood me.
Once, I worked in an office at a desk. On the first day, my boss was stunned, he exclaimed, "It looks like you've been doing that for 20 years." I had merely been picking up impressions from the desk– from the guy that had worked there for twenty years.
My older brother took me out to a golf course to teach me about that game. Call it beginner's luck, but I picked it up rather quickly. My brother said to me, "It looks like you've been playing for 20 years." Maybe it was beginner's luck, but I was using his clubs, and HE had been playing for 20 years.
I was good at everything, and a master at nothing. Nobody really understood me. For lack of a better description, the only thing I was truly good at was being a vampire-like thief. All I could do was use my sense of touch to steal skills from other people.
Yet, I knew that I could not place my hands on the TV screen and steal the skills of the show writers. It simply didn't work that way. So, when I set my fingers on the keys of my own computer – that nobody else ever touched before – and I started writing stories, I realized that it was ME doing that! It was coming from within, not from without.
I understand why you might not appreciate my excitement in all of that. But this was me – doing something for myself – for the first time in my life! And, I cried. Sure, I had tears of joy, but there was so much pain coming out of me as well. I felt pain from as far back as when I was a baby – and it hurt me more just to feel all of that.
For the first time in my life, I was something – I was a writer. The very instant I realized that, my mind flashed to later point in my life. I was told not to write anymore – I was censored. Then I was told that I had to write – but not for myself – rather, for other people. I was only allowed to write what others wanted me to write. I was a literary prostitute! That would leave me once more begging the question, "Who am I?"
All premonitions aside, I was unaware that destiny was already staring me in the face.
Our instincts are a great tool for survival, but as we grow, instincts can become a problem. Without question, powerful instincts will become a powerful problem. Evolution can't explain how we humans ended up with brains ten times bigger than anyone will ever need. Perhaps it was a fluke. Perhaps it was hint that we should use our brains. Oh yes, we have the power to override our instincts. Problem solved!
It's About Time
I had written a novel, and it was about time to do something with it. They say that a butterfly can flap its wings on one side of the globe and trigger a hurricane on the other side – that's called the butterfly effect. Doing something about my novel was to kick off a sequence of events that would change my life forever.
For most of my life, I believed I had a fear of people. It turns out that most people were like my uncle – they feared me. The way I was able to do things was like black magic to them. Few people were like my brother-in-law who encouraged me to grab somebody's skill (like a vampire) and run with it. I don't think I need to mention what it was that made me a good restaurant manager, but you know that wasn't really me.
People like my brother-in-law would tell me to take advantage of every advantage. I never had the heart to tell them that I didn't have to put forth the effort of taking because advantages always came to me on a silver platter. I was like Fox Mulder in that respect – he never had to go looking for trouble, and the solutions to his problems would always just fall into his lap.
I never had to work at being a human being, or at being a man. I had no need to acquire the socially accepted "male identity." This had always been a bone of contention with my teachers or classmates since fifth grade – and – so what? I was cruising through life just fine with impunity; I could be anything I wanted to be. But, that left me not only asking "who am I?" but also "what am I?" – and only lately have I realized that those are the very questions everyone has about me.
I don't know if I can tell you who I am or even what I am – The best I can say is, "Hello, my name is Mark Angelo."
If it helps, I can tell you what I aspired to be – I wanted to become a time traveler. Why? Because then it makes no difference what I was before – once a time traveler that is what you are for all of the future, and for all of history. Think about that.
You may follow this chapter with: "UinFO --How much do you know?"
Next: Chapter 2 --"Jones"
About the Author
TXU 1-644-860 (C) 2009 BB Jack Presents
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