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Tales Designed to Enthrall and Enlighten

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Extentions of Earlier Excerpts 
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                                     from Dark Tales to Light the Way
 
                 "Another Bad Seed?"

 

...in  such a way that the human exhibits behav-iors  that  facilitate  the  development ,evolution, and gradual realization of the Master or Univers-al Plan.

   Among  the  six  GAs  who  gathered  at  that session,  neither  of  them was a perfect Angel. Take Pargo (i.e., P.D. Chesterfield, in  the  last life  in the PW), for  instance. The human frailty, known as excessive pride, can be retained even after death and remain within the spirit long after the  crossing  over  experience,  and  even after several  such  experiences.  The amount of that imperfection absorbed in the spirit of the former “P.D.”  exceeded  that  of the others, in spite of the  fact that Pargo has been around since that earthly    period    known    as   the   European Renaissance.

   The   other   four   GAs   are  all  relative  new comers,  spiritually  speaking; and each carries some  degree  of  those  human  frailties  of the spirit,  which  multiple  lives  lived  is  designed gradually   and   eventually  to   filter  out.  Take Persephone,  for instance. In the century before the   present  one  in  the  PW,  she  had  been sharp-tempered and quarrelsome—a real virago. In  spite  of  having  sprung  from humble social beginnings, by the time she reached her middle twenties she ran nearly all political affairs in the corner  of  the Greek island of Thebes resided in by  her  extended  family  and  plethora  of loyal friends and supporters. She had been a force to be  reckoned  with,  alright. In the course of the short  life  she  lived last, Persephone improved the  living  conditions  of  hundreds  whom  she represented in council and for whose rights she literally fought and died.

 

   Yes,  it  was the usual gathering of GAs, and at  that  particular  assemblage  the  “flavor”  of Persephone’s  communication  with  the  group was  reminiscent  of  the plain-speaking earthly figure that she had been.

   "My  old  guy, you’d  think  he’d be a cinch to watch  over  day  by  day.  But, nooooo. I mean he’s  eighty-three,  for  God’s  sake.  I  thought, when I was assigned to him two PW years ago, that  it  would  be  just  a matter of keeping him from  falling asleep with a pot of soup boiling on the stove.”

   "So, what’s the problem with him?” inquired Acts.

   "He’s    a   damned    nightwalker!”   exploded Persephone. “The  poor bastard’s got insomnia, but  instead  of sitting at home playing  cards or watching  the  picture-tube  cover  until his eyes glaze  over,  he  has to walk nearly a mile down the  road  to  the  all-night  convenient  store  to purchase  a  pack  or  two  of Jolly Rangers and other such bullsh… uh, I mean, wack-as-all-Hell commodities.  He  doesn’t  need a Guardian as much as he needs a straightjacket.”

   "Profound  observation,”  said  Heavy-B,com-miserating with his comrade.

   "Oh, but that’s not all,” Persephone continued. “He has intermittent sleep-walking episodes!”

   "Gees,  that’s  waaay messed up,” interjected Bum-Bum, feeling Persephone’s frustration.

   “Well,  at  least  his remaining time in the PW should  be …you  know,  fairly short. And  then, who knows, you might get lucky and he’ll expire peacefully in his sleep.”

   "Oh, yes, he may die in his sleep, alright, but it sure as Hell is not likely to be peaceful. What about you, Pargo? You haven’t said much since we’ve gathered here this session.”

   Pargo took his time responding. “I’m stressed out,” he said finally.

   "What’s  the biggy? You just got that little kid to  look  after.” It was Acts that spoke. “What’s her name… FFFFFaye…FeeFee? No. ‘Phoebe’! That’s it, ‘Phoebe’.”

   "Yeah, Phoebe.” Pargo communicated in a near whisper.

   "She’s what…eight? asked Heavy B.

   "Umm-hm,”  grunted  Pargo. “She’ll be nine in two    weeks…   if  she  can  make it two  more weeks.”

   "So,  there  are  some  issues  tied  to  her,  I presume.”  Tippy  had been around long enough to know that shallow waters can be turbulent.

   "You could say that,” replied Pargo, listlessly. “Her  actions  within   the  next twenty-four  PW hours  could  usher  in  a   catastrophe  of  pro-portions that would set earthly civilization back a thousand or more years.”

 

   The  guidance of a GA often entails shielding, by  whatever  spiritually legitimate means, their charge   from   events  that  would  prevent  the charge  from  fulfilling  his  or her role within the Master   Plan.  It  has  been  the   intuitive  per-ception,  by  the  particularly  perceptive among the living,  of  that  shielding  element of a GA's duties  that  has  led  to the myth that Guardian Angels  exist  simply  to  guard  or  shield their human against danger. In fact, the role of a GA is  to  promote  those behaviors that lead to ful-fillment  of an individual’s purposes and roles in the Grand Design and inhibit those that are not.

   Secondary in the responsibilities of the GA is shielding  both  the  charge and those exposed to   injurious   behaviors   of   the  charge   from aversive out-comes. Nevertheless, all GAs know that   events   leading   directly   to   world-wide cataclysm are definitely not a part of the Master Plan,  certainly  not within the next several hun-dred  years, and thus any possible involvement by  a  GA’s charge  in the advent of such catas-trophe is to be vigorously averted.

   There  was  a  pause  in  the  spiritual atmos-phere  as  Pargo’s  five comrades tried to deter-mine if he was joking or exaggerating. Finally, it was   Persephone  that  spoke.  “So,  what  the Hell’s  wrong  with  the  little  girl…she  attracts large  meteors or something?” But Pargo seem-ed to find it difficult to respond.

   "Well, come on, Pargo,” Bum-Bum demand-ed, “spit it out. What’s up with her?”

   Pargo  relented.  “She’s  uhhhhh…she’s  mis-sing some things. She appears a little void of…certain feelings.” As if communicating to no one in particular, Pargo added, “She actually seems to have no…fear.”

   "Oh, boo-hoo. So, you’re watching over a little girl with an over supply of courage.” Persephone was teasing but playfully so.

 

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"Schizophrenia" 

 

...I  assume  that you  ask because you wonder if  it  falls  under  the  heading of Mood Disorder, like dysthimia--. Well, yes, it does involve de- pression.  You  will  come across it in your sug-gested  readings  as  well as in your text, and it will be part of our discussion of Depressive Dis-order this week.”

   “You   mean   there  are  seasons  for  feeling ‘bummed   out’?”   Nick  slurred  his   inquisitive remark.

   “Well, actually, Nick, the condition is more re-lated  to  the  amount of sunlight available at dif-ferent  times  of  the  year. In the northern hemi-sphere,  the  winter  months  correlate  with de-creased sunlight and hence we have use of the term seasonal.

   “You lost me, ‘Doc’,” Nick said, smiling.

     “Well,  as  you  will  read later, seasonal af-fective disorder involves the onset of depressive episodes during winter months.

   “I  predict  increased  depression  as we head toward   final   exams   in  December,”  quipped Isaacs.  The  professor  snorted  a brief chuckle while  the  class  laughed  conservatively. “Your prediction in turn raises a classic philosophical question—” the professor rejoined, ‘Was it Lack of Sunlight—or of Preparation?

   Larry  much admired how Dr. Norville seemed always  to know how to amuse the class with a final  “say,”  and in addition avoid offending any-one.

   As  the  students  were filing out of the class-room, many still smiling their appreciation of the professor’s  wit,  Dr. Norville addressed Larry di-rectly.  “Have  you  devised a plan yet for ‘inter-view  slash observation’ of one of the city’s non-hospitalized   mentally   ill?”   While   Larry  an-swered,  the  professor  reached  into his sport coat  pocket  and  retrieved a small note pad. “I jotted  down  two  inner-city shelter facilities not far  from  here,  where  you  will  be  sure to find some   number  of   individuals   from  whom  to select.”

   “Wow.  Thank you, sir,” Larry exclaimed, tak-ing  the sheet handed to him. “I actually located a   person   by  just  walking  around  downtown about  a  half  mile  from campus? He seems to display  the  symptoms  of schizophrenia. But I was  wondering  how  I was going to locate him reliably  for  further  meetings. But I think you’ve just solved that problem.”

     “Well, great. I admire your initiative in having already  begun  your project.” The professor had a  way  of  conversing one-on-one with students that  seemed  to  reflect his view that they were each  on  the  same  plane. To Larry, there was something  almost  spiritual  about  the way the professor related—as if he believed there exists an essential commonality among all people.

 

   The campus library was packed with students by 

   From a slight sidewise glance Larry glimpsed the  blur  of  ten  very attractively manicured fin-gers  striking  across  multiple keys with aston-ishing speed and precision. The student paused occasionally  to  point  and  click  and  drag the page bar up and down the computer screen, but otherwise  tapped  out  characters  as  if  with a vengeance.  Gradually,  subtly,  Larry turned his head  to  take  in  more  of  the  owner  of those hands, admiring the thin wrists elegantly adorn-ed  with  silver  bracelets  and  the long, slender forearms.  Noting  the  familiarity  of the jewelry, Larry  recalled,  as his eyes took in more of the student, that he had seen the egg-shell blouse, the  faint  impression  of  the undergarment be-neath it, and the young woman whose delicate-ly  rounded features it covered, in his

   As if drawn by an irresistible force, Larry turn-ed  his  head  fully  to  gaze  squarely upon the pinkish white face of Alexis Pringle. She angled her  head  slightly  to  accept his acknowledge-ment of her, engaging him with eyes partly cov-ered by the lids, her mouth configured in a very thin, sly smile, her overall expression appearing to  communicate  a  score of cryptic messages all at once. Finding his voice, Larry sounded his friendliest greeting:

   “Oh,  hi.  I  didn’t  realize  it  was  you  sitting there.”  In  response,  Alexis  simply broadened her  enigmatic smile and turned back to work at the computer. After several seconds she spoke in a soft but deliberate voice.

   “I  saw that you ‘aced’ the midterm exam that Dr.  Norville  passed  back  to  us this  morning. You must be quite pleased.”

   “Uhh,  yeah.  I’m  sure  I  put in way too much time  studying  for  it.”  Alexis briefly shot him a duplicate  glance  of  the earlier one. “Uhh. How did you do?” he inquired affecting the manner of a  competent  conversant.  Alexis allowed a few seconds  to  elapse  while  her  fingers  flitted in graceful rapidity across the keyboard.

   “I  didn’t  ‘ace’ it,” she said finally flashing him a  smile  even more abstruse than its predeces-sor. She then stood, gently pushed her chair in-to  the  bottom  desk  space,  and  retrieved her book-bag  from  where  she’d  laid it on the tiled floor. 

   “Bye,”  she  said, staring down at Larry, fixat-ing on him a full three seconds after he returned the  farewell;  she  then  departed to retrieve her ordered   queue  jobs.  At  that  moment,  Larry felt  that he would give anything for the ability to beguile  Alexis  and leave her even a fraction as taken with him as he was with her.

 

   When  came  the following Friday, Larry’s day went  as  usual in its progression to the evening hours.  As  it was now the first week of Novem-ber,  darkness  was  starting  to  fall each week conspicuously earlier than in the previous one.

 

 

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