by
Myles Murchison
ONE
DEEVORRAH DIDN'T LOOK EXTRATERRESTRIAL. Her frizzy golden blonde hair and her widely set brown eyes gave her a look of constant surprise as if she'd stuck her finger in an electrical socket, but otherwise she appeared conventionally human, albeit a rather sweet and lovely example of the species.
She was saying, "You can't just tell people you're an E.T. They won't believe you."
She wore a loose fitting bus driver's uniform, starched white shirt, and blue jacket and pants belted around her high, thin waist, and sat with her hat and her hands in her lap in a high-backed wicker chair surrounded by cacti. The narrow saguaros beside her reached almost to the glass roof of the sunroom. In front of the sunroom's floor to ceiling windows was a world-class collection of needled, fuzzy, bristly, spiny and woolly cactus plants − some tall, some tubular − rising or nestled in glazed pots stacked on lacy wrought-iron railings. Beyond the windows was a vista filled with jack pine and chimney-topped red rock mountains, a scene not unlike Mars with trees.
"Dee, this is Sedona," said the other woman in the room, a willowy brunette smoking a Salem Menthol. "We have UFO night tours and bigfoot sightings. People will believe anything."
The brunette inhaling the Salem was Jadarva Kdan, the leader of the Third Planet Mission, a legally registered religious charity that Jadarva ran as president and CEO. The townhome was owned by TPM and leased to her at one dollar a year. She was attractive in a corporate kind of way, thin and prickly as one of her saguaros. She wore a white blouse open at the neck and a dark pencil skirt, slit at the back that let her walk unimpeded. She had kicked off her high heels and tossed the matching suit jacket over the back of a padded leather chair. She stood at the archway of the sunroom and blew smoke though her patrician nose.
After a pause, she said, "I don't want to retire the bus, Dee. It still brings in new people but we have to do something." She liked to walk about while she talked and she moved now to her kitchen island where there was an ashtray. "Our last quarter stunk, and that's the second bad quarter in a row."
Jadarva chose not to disclose that blip in the otherwise upward financial trend of the Third Planet Mission was principally because of its investment in a new website the Vatican would have been proud to own, plus the attendant server, electronic newsletter, and muscled-up I.T. security platforms, but Jadarva had a point: it was unusual for the not-for-profit organization to actually be profitless.
"I thought our mission was to bring fifth-dimensional light to the planet, not to worry about last quarter's revenues," Dee said in a little display of temper which she immediately regretted. She owed so much to Jadarva and the others, but this new idea frightened her.
"A walk-in is (an extra-terrestrial) who has "walked" into a body that was previously occupied by another tenant. (Walk-ins) retain much of their inter-dimensional consciousness and can move through dysfunctional patterns at an accelerated rate, making them invaluable to the numbed-out and befuddled (humans) who have been here their entire lives."
The Cosmic Instruction Manual for Planetary Evolution
"I came in here with full memory. A lot of walk-ins don't. They just feel weird. They don't know anybody. It's like landing in the middle of nowhere. It's like going to a foreign country and not knowing the language or customs other than what you've read. You feel like a fish out of water. There's really no other experience that matches this one, other than when you ascend."
Kelemeria Myarea Elohim
from an interview with
Andrew Luts,
Salem New Age Center
