A Stranger From the Past

For old souls, it doesn't take much to remember. In less than a year after being introduced to metaphysics, I was writing about it. I'm not a great writer. I'm a spiritual philosopher. If I wrote a novel without spiritual ideas I couldn't get published. But I can write spiritual philosophy. Once I was introduced to metaphysics, I knew I had to write. I knew I had to contribute to the preparation for the coming changes.

My books are not about entertainment and developing characters. What I'm trying to convey are ideas. The story is the background. It's the ideas that are important. If you want to learn more about who we are and why we're here, then you have found the right book.

The technician approached the entrance to the high security lab and waited for the retinal scan. Two armed guards scrutinized him as he waited for the door to open. As he walked through the door he glanced down at his clipboard for the location of the patient. The door opened and he walked towards row twenty-three.

This lab was actually the location for thousands of cryogenically frozen human beings. It was more a warehouse than a lab. As the technician walked down row twenty-three, he glanced at the computer screens for each body. The screens stated the person's name, freeze date, and thaw date. Near the end of the row he saw a dim flashing light symbolizing a thaw date was reached.

He stopped at the body and pressed a few buttons, bringing up the patient's history. Strange, he thought, reading that the patient was frozen at age thirty-three while completely healthy in the twentieth century. He had never unthawed anyone frozen so long ago.

He pressed a few buttons and the unthawing process began. Later in the day he would retrieve the body so the doctors could restart the patient's heart.

I woke up in a hospital room. I knew immediately something was wrong. I felt fine but had a strange feeling I was in the future. I didn't recognize the hospital equipment. Even the hospital bed was strange.

I wasn't awake long when they came for me. There were two soldiers and a doctor. The doctor was a woman. She looked American but spoke Chinese with a perfect oriental dialect. The soldiers also were oriental. She pleaded with the soldiers, especially the one who appeared to be in charge. I couldn't understand what she was saying.

Finally, she gave up pleading, bowed slightly at the waist and abruptly left the room. Seconds later, a nurse, who also looked American, came with a wheelchair for me. The soldiers all stood at the base of my bed, and the nurse asked me to get into the wheelchair.

I never said a word to the soldiers. I wasn't afraid. In fact, I was detached. I calmly asked the nurse if I could ask a question. She shook her head. "They are taking you now. There is no time. You were frozen in 1994. Yesterday they unthawed you and started your heart. That is all I know." Those were the only English words I heard there.

As the nurse wheeled me down the corridor, I wondered where I was. I wondered who they were and why I was unthawed. Strangely, I had no memory of going to the hospital to be frozen. My last memories had nothing to do with being frozen. I remembered being healthy, and thought only sick and dead people were frozen in the 1990s.

The more I saw of the building, the more I was convinced I was in the future. It was subtle differences, such as the wheelchair itself, which was made of light plastic tubing and the wheels were like Rollerblades. If the nurse would have pushed and let go, I would have zoomed down the hall and crashed into something.

As we approached the exit, I didn't see many faces. Those I did see appeared to be American. They stared at me with an intense curiosity. What did they know about me? I wanted to talk. I wanted to ask someone where I was, but the soldiers were in charge. All I could do was remain silent.

Then we were outside. The buildings I could see didn't look futuristic. In fact, they looked old, extremely old. My first reaction was recognition. This had to be future America. It was too similar not to be. It reminded me of a small town that had aged noticeably.

The bus waiting in front wasn't an ordinary bus. But then what was happening wasn't ordinary. The bus was shaped somewhat like a missile. I had never seen anything like it. One of its distinct features was a lack of windows. The windows that circled the bus were like small portholes on an airplane.

The door to the bus opened. Waiting for me, were two more Asian soldiers. As they escorted me down the aisle, I discovered this was a prison transfer bus. About twenty other people on the bus were tethered to their seats. It was eerie.

At an empty seat, the two soldiers strapped me down. My hands were free, but the strap prevented me from moving

The other prisoners appeared to be Americans like myself. They were dressed in prison-issue blue jumpsuits, like the one I was wearing (that was why people had been staring at me in the hospital).

I was told not to talk or else I would be shot. Nobody in the bus was talking. I looked at the people around me. Few would meet my eyes. I sensed a pervasive fear.

I wondered where they were taking us. The Asian bus driver kept a busy eye on us through his rearview mirror. His two cohorts sat comfortably behind him--armed and ready.

The bus engine roared to life. The driver shifted into gear and we began our journey.

As the bus drove through the small town, I tried to see as much as I could, but the small windows restricted my view. I didn't see any people or any vehicles. The buildings were old and uninhabited. Before long, we were at the edge of town and into a desert.

We drove for hours. I had the impression the bus was traveling much faster than seventy miles per hour. The nondescript terrain of the desert swept past us in a blur. The bus never stopped.

The guards fed us. The food we were given was a bag of green chips and a cup of water. When we needed to use the restroom, we pushed a button on our seat, then were escorted to the restroom in the rear of the bus. On these occasions, I tried to look into the other prisoners' eyes. Few looked back. It was depressing.

On the second day, someone spoke to me as we drove through a decayed uninhabited large city. An ugly sight. Nothing of value. As if looters had come, then went on their way.

Continuing through the city was more of the same. We drove slowly in order to avoid the potholes that dominated the road. There was no other traffic, no other vehicles, no sign of life. It was like a ghost town in old westerns, except this town once had been a modern metropolis.

Suddenly we were speeding away from the city. I turned my head to the porthole window. The sprawling large city was uninhabited. The huge skyline was like a tombstone.

I turned back and gave an inquiring look to the person next to me. In a low somber voice he said, "Houston." He immediately looked away.

I tried to get him to talk again. With the risk of being shot, I asked several questions, but received no response. All I could do was look at the surroundings and wait. I knew I was in the future.

A few hours later there was a gasp in the back of the bus, a gasp I will never forget, a gasp no human being should have to make, a gasp of horror. The man next to me was also afraid. He literally shook with fear. At first I didn't understand. I looked out the window and noticed some odd-looking towers. One tower every quarter mile stretched out in a circular configuration indefinitely. The towers circled something. I couldn't tell what it was. As we came closer, I understood. It was another city.

At the outskirts, we encountered a huge wall, thirty feet high and solid concrete. On top of the enormous wall, at regular intervals, were cameras. We were approaching a huge prison.

The bus stopped. A large steel door slowly rose in front of us, the entrance to what I presumed was hell. We drove through. The door closed behind us. Four walls and numerous security guards surrounded us in a small courtyard.

The Asian guards wore military uniforms and were heavily armed. Several guards entered the bus and removed our straps. They marched us to a one-way revolving door, and ushered us into the prison, but they didn't accompany us.

Once through the steel door, off in the distance I saw a decayed city, a city that should have had no inhabitants yet was teeming with life. The skyline was ten miles away. The huge wall surrounding the city was twenty miles in diameter. I couldn't see a wall on the other side of the city, but I knew it was there.

I followed the others. They walked toward the skyline. Everyone was silent, as if no words needed to be spoken. I kept my mouth shut.

The stench was dreadful. The people we saw didn't speak. Blank expressions masked their faces. The rags they wore were inordinately dirty. They looked near death.

After a few hours, we started getting closer to the middle of the city. Many of the people we now encountered were talking to each other and their hygiene was not in such dire straits.

One of the members of our group was leading the way. We deferred to him. I got the impression he knew where he was going. After hours of walking, we found ourselves in the streets of the old inner city. We passed under an arch leading to the downtown district--San Antonio.

The city was desolate. No electricity. No lights. All of the buildings were decayed, with broken windows, dirt, and grime. The downtown streets were devoid of people, but I had the feeling of being watched.

Finally we reached our destination. The man leading us approached a building and entered. Everyone followed. Suddenly we were in a room full of people. I was up against a wall, listening in sheer astonishment.

The group we found was unsightly. They wore rags and most hadn't washed their face in weeks. The smell in the room was dreadful. At least they were human beings, and articulate and intelligent.

A man seated at a table spoke to the man who had led us. He was evidently a leader among the prisoners. "The death rate has been terrible. The Soylent Green they feed us has little nutrition. If you can't purchase anything on the black market, death is a few years away. They don't care. The Chinese want a high death rate so they can bring in more like us."

"I know how bad it is," replied the man who had led us. "We are ready to join the Underground and prepare for the day when we will be released. Yes, we might die here, but this prison can't last forever."

The local leader nodded. "Do you know all of the men who are with you?"

"All except one. We're ready to join. I'll take personal responsibility for these men." He paused and looked at me against the wall. "Except him," he said, and pointed at me.

The local leader looked at me for the first time since we had entered the room. Once his eyes met mine, his demeanor changed. "Who are you?" he asked in a raised voice. I was different from the others.

"I'm not sure," I said.

Suddenly tension filled the room.

He laughed. "Are you for real?" He looked over at the man who had led us. "Where did he come from?"

"We picked him up in the desert. At a hospital in a small town outside Las Vegas. Hell, the rest of us came from detention centers, but not this guy. They wheeled him out in a wheelchair and escorted him onto the bus."

The local leader looked at me intently. "My name is Jackson. I'm one of the leaders of the Underground. The Underground controls the prison. We make the rules and we enforce the rules. If you value your life, you'll be straight with me. Do I make myself clear?"

I nodded.

He continued, "Now, what were you doing at that hospital and who are you?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Do you want to talk in front of all these people?"

"Come," he said, rising to his feet. Several of his companions accompanied us up some stairs. We entered a sparse room at the top where we found a dirty bed and several tattered old chairs. We sat, and he nodded at me to begin after the door was closed.

"What year is this?" I asked.

"What year?" he asked. "Are you kidding me?"

I shook my head. "One day I was in the twentieth century. The next I was in some futuristic hospital, lying in a bed, wondering where I was."

The men looked at each other. Finally the leader continued. "Tell us more."

"There isn't much to tell. Two days ago I woke up in a hospital. There wasn't anyone in the room when I woke. I looked around and saw all of this bizarre equipment. I was definitely not in the twentieth century. Anyway, I was lying in a hospital bed. Then two Asian military officers came into my room with a doctor, a woman. She argued with them in Chinese. She was upset, but apparently didn't have much say in the matter. The next thing I knew I was in a wheelchair heading for the exit. It happened fast."

Jackson scratched his thick beard and shook his head. "Hard to believe, my friend. Hard to believe, but it is possible."

He paused when he saw my interest. I stared at him inquiringly.

"Yes, it is possible," he continued. "Around the year 2000, the old U.S. government started putting people into hibernation. Still, your story is difficult for me to accept. There's a man here who would be interested in hearing about the period when you lived. I will take you to him."

Jackson paused. From the look on his face, he wasn't sure if this was a good idea and he was having second thoughts. "What was the date you last remember?"

"1994. January 11. I remember it clearly. President Clinton was on a trip to Europe. The economy was doing well, and most people were happy."

Jackson looked at me. "Wow, that was a long time ago. Thinking back, maybe you didn't want to live through the next forty years. That was the end times for the previous civilization. It was perhaps worse than what we are now experiencing. We only know it from history, but it was a difficult time for people. More than two-thirds of the population perished."

Jackson rose from his seat. "Come, let's go see Anderson. He lives in the inner city. It will take us about an hour to get there."

I followed Jackson and his friends out of the building. We walked through the decrepit wasteland that was once San Antonio. An old 7-11 convenience store was barely recognizable by its battered sign.

"Jackson, see that building there with the 7-ll sign?"

"Where?" he asked.

I pointed it out.

"Yeah, I see it. Why?"

"Do you know what it is?"

"I have no idea."

"It's a convenience store from the twentieth century. Everyone wanted to save time. Convenience stores were like mini-grocery stores that didn't provide produce or meat. They provided speed. At a token increase in price, you could go into a convenience store and purchase an item in about one minute. The 7-11 stores were the king of convenience stores. There were thousands of them across the country."

Jackson laughed. "One minute? Today we have distribution centers and we wait in line, and the centers carry only a few types of foods. Here in the prison, we are given Soylent Green and water. On the outside, it's not much better."

He continued. "I've heard about the twentieth century. A paradise compared to today. You lived during a period of affluence. Anderson will tell you what happened. He likes to talk."

The streets were empty. There were neither automobiles nor any other means of transportation, not even bicycles. Nothing but waste and valueless garbage. We were imprisoned in a city desolate of any resources.

Most of the buildings were empty as well. I could see signs of life inside some of the buildings. People lived here. The people we saw had hollow eyes and avoided our inquiring looks. They seemed to fear Jackson and his group. Jackson stopped and looked at me. "Anderson lives in a bad neighborhood. People have attempted to get him to move, but he has lived here for thirty years and he hates change ... The next couple of miles can be dangerous."

I interrupted. "I thought you were a leader of the Underground? Who is a threat to you?"

One of Jackson's friends laughed.

"We're the so-called good guys," Jackson said, "but there are other groups who have disassociated from our leadership. There are several Underground groups in the prison."

"Then each group has a different agenda?" I asked.

"It's more complicated than that. In general terms, that's true. Each group has a different mind-set. Ask Anderson, he's much better at this than I am. Anyway, it can be dangerous here."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"Stay with Olson." Jackson pointed to one of his friends. "He'll direct you, okay?"

I nodded.

"Olson and you will follow us at a short distance. We'll spot any trouble. If something happens, Olson will know what to do, okay?"

"Sure, let's go."

"You have a lot of nerve," Jackson said. "What's your name?"

"John."

"Johnson," he replied.

"Why, Johnson?" I asked.

"The Chinese changed everyone's name. Today, everyone's name ends in son."

Jackson headed off down the desolate empty street with his group. Olson and I watched them go.

I asked Olson, "Do the Chinese make you keep your names?"

He gave me a squeamish look and turned away.

"What's wrong? What did I say?"

"I don't like to talk, that's all."

I nodded.

Olson started walking and I followed. We remained a half block behind the others as we wound our way through the dilapidated streets. The road, at one time smooth asphalt, today had potholes and large cracks every few feet. They hadn't had any maintenance for decades, maybe centuries.

We were in an old downtown business district. Uninhabited single-story buildings lined the streets. Olson walked close to the buildings along the sidewalk. I followed by a few feet. The buildings were empty except for dirt and grime and old worthless furniture and junk.

Olson appeared to be relaxed. I didn't discern any fear in his demeanor. We followed the group slowly up the deserted streets, turning corners and heading up other streets. Each street was similar to the previous one. Nothing was here.

After several blocks, Jackson and his group stopped. Olson and I made our way to them.

Jackson said, "There isn't anyone in this sector today. We're safe." He pointed to a building on the corner. "That's where Anderson lives. Come, I'll take you to him."

Across the street, we approached an old American Savings & Loan. The door was steel. There were no windows.

"It's impossible to break in," Jackson said. "That's why Anderson lives here."

Jackson pushed an intercom. "Anderson, it's Jackson."

He turned to me. "He knows someone is at his door, because he has an infrared security system. If anybody walks on this street, he knows about it."

After about ten seconds, a voice came over the intercom. "Hello, Jackson, how are you today?"

"I'm fine. Listen, the sector is empty. Everything is quiet today. I have a guy here I think you will be interested in meeting. Open up and I'll bring him in."

After a slight delay, the voice replied. "Jackson, are you sure it's safe?"

"Andy, I'm sure. This guy's on the level. No problem."

After a short pause, a buzzer went off and Jackson pushed open the door. "Let's go," he said, nodding for me to follow. The two of us went inside. The rest of the group remained outside.

"Andy is paranoid," Jackson explained to me. "I'm his main contact in the local Underground, so he trusts me. I'm probably the only guy who could have gotten you through that door."

The lobby was empty except for beautiful white marble floors and walls. They were clean. Even the teller counter was dust free. The cleanliness caught my attention. Who lived here?

Jackson went directly to an elevator, which surprised me because the building had only one floor. He pressed B for basement.

In the basement, a man was waiting for us. He was tall, thin, and clean-shaven, though his hair was long. He wore clean Levi's and an ironed short-sleeved printed shirt. His distinct features would be easily remembered: a chin square and larger than normal, penetrating light blue eyes that exuded intelligence.

Jackson approached Anderson with a smile and shook his hand. "Andy, it's always a pleasure. Is everything fine? Do you need anything?"

Andy remained silent, staring at me. I followed Jackson a few feet behind him.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"Andy, meet John. You are not going to believe where he's from." Jackson laughed.

"Jackson, please do not be so impetuous. I'm a busy man."

"Sorry, Andy," Jackson said in a serious tone. "He came on the transport bus from Los Angeles today. I noticed something different about him. I asked a few questions and he told me he's from the twentieth century ..."

"What?" Anderson interrupted. "What are you talking about?" Anderson glanced at me with a glare.

I put my hand up to stop Jackson from answering. I took a step toward Anderson and extended my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He shook my hand.

"Could we go sit down?" I asked. "And do you have something to drink? I've been walking for hours."

"Of course," Anderson replied. He turned and walked away. We followed.

The basement was beautifully furnished: thick carpeting on a polished hardwood floor, dark mahogany furniture, shiny brass lamps, beautifully framed prints on the walls. Impressive, even if there were no windows.

We went into his office. It was equally impressive. The work desk was huge, though bare. The only substantial thing on it was a computer. On one wall, a series of bookshelves held at least a thousand volumes. The most striking thing about this room was the skylight. I stared transfixed at the skylight.

"I used mirrors," Anderson said.

"It's nice."

"Please sit down," he invited.

He sat behind his desk. Jackson and I sat in the two large comfortable leather chairs in front of it.

Anderson pressed a button and a servant appeared, who looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

"Water," I said. "Water will be fine, thank you." I thought of asking for food, but I didn't know what to ask for. What was Soylent Green anyway?

Anderson turned to the servant. "Bring us some sandwiches as well."

After the servant left, Anderson turned to me. "Now, who are you?"

"Hmm. That isn't easy." I paused. "I was born in California in 1960. I had a wonderful childhood. Until I turned eighteen and graduated from high school, life was fairly easy. I had no problems and few responsibilities.

"Then life started. Until that time, I didn't think about the future. High school graduation was a big shock to me, and I didn't know what to do. Society gave me basically two options: go to college or get a job. I chose a job, but it wasn't what I wanted. Life began to feel like a prison. I wasn't satisfied. My mind was restless. "I began changing. Previously, I had never looked at life in a philosophical way. Throughout childhood, I was never a good student. I never tried very hard. My sisters were A students and headed for college; I was a C student who didn't do his homework. I rarely read anything besides a newspaper or a sports magazine. Then, after high school, my brain started kicking in. Since I had used it rarely before, it was ready for some stimulation.

"Growing up I had always looked forward to the chase--the next party, the next pretty girl. Life was a game with few rules.

"After high school, I realized I couldn't play that game anymore. It was no longer fun. I had to find a new game, but what? I didn't have a clue. I knew society didn't have the answer. Society said I should play their game. I knew that would never satisfy me. Society wanted me to get married, go to church, pay my taxes, be a good citizen, keep my mouth shut. I couldn't do that. I began looking for another game, something as exciting as in my youth yet more satisfying.

"From high school until now I have searched. Seven years in college, two degrees. Society said I could go to school, so I did. I was scheming. I was trying to understand society so I could change it. Not subtly, but radically.

"College was rewarding for me. It provided the opportunity to mature as a person and become educated. I left college a much better person. College sparked my interest in learning, then I found something worth learning.

"My new game was spirituality. I read a book titled Conversations With Nostradamus. In the book, Nostradamus talked about how the New Age movement would become the foundation for the Age of Aquarius. He said Christianity would wither away and be replaced by the principles of the New Age movement. At the time I was a Christian, but Nostradamus' book rang true to me. I headed to the bookstore and found the New Age section. From then on, all I practically read was New Age material."

I paused for Anderson's response.

Anderson stared at me without a word. He stared at the floor in deep thought. After what seemed an eternity, he glanced back at me. "How did you get here?"

"Three days ago I woke up in a hospital. Instead of being told where I was, they put me on a bus that brought me here. I was only told that I had been unthawed. I have no memory of going to a hospital in 1994 to be frozen. The last day I remember is January 11, 1994. As far as I remember, nothing eventful happened that day. My memory still thinks I'm in 1994."

"Your story is possible," Anderson said. "I will try to find out what happened to you."

"How?" I asked. "I thought this prison was isolated from the outside world?"

Anderson smiled. He turned and looked at the array of monitors on the wall, then glanced back and raised his eyebrows. "I can find out." He paused. "I want you to stay with me." He turned to Jackson. "Jackson, there is a shipment coming next week. The date and time are on my desk."

Jackson rose, went to the desk and found the directions. "Andy, is there anything else?"

"No, I will see you next week."

Jackson walked out.

Anderson smiled at me. "So your new game was enlightenment? How did you play that game?"

I paused. "Can I ask some questions first? How did you come to live here? And I would like to know about the current state of the world and this prison."

"In time, John, in time. Please, I am interested in the game you found. Spirituality is my favorite subject. That and history are all I really care for. Don't worry. We'll talk about the world as it is now. First, I want to hear what you discovered."

I smiled at Anderson's enthusiasm. He was truly interested in what I had to say. He was kind and I trusted his sincerity. I felt comfortable in his presence and believed he had the answers to my questions.

"When I began looking for my new game, I never thought it would be a spiritual quest, but that's what it became. Once I began, I was consumed by it. I cannot overstate my focus: everything I did was connected to my spiritual quest.

"I use the analogy of playing a game because that's how I perceived life while growing up. I was looking for a new way to live, a new philosophy, and that was exactly what I found in spirituality. Indeed, my whole life became encompassed by my spirituality. Nothing was separate from my spiritual quest."

"What was this quest?" Anderson asked.

"To learn about God, the creator. What questions haunt us from birth? Who am I? Where did I come from? Where do I go when I die? What is the meaning of life? These questions became the focal point of my quest. At first I was amazed at the quantity of knowledge available. After a while I learned that spirituality isn't for everyone, at least not the answers to these questions. The 1980s were a good time to look for spiritual answers. I found source after source.

"I am an old soul. It was my destiny to seek the answers to these questions. More importantly, being an old soul, I had the ability to grasp the answers. Younger souls aren't ready for these answers. I was ready, and I absorbed it.

"Steadily I was exposed to deeper and deeper layers of knowledge, and answers were revealed to me. In fact, the answers were available to anyone who looked hard enough, but you had to look hard."

I paused, grabbed a sandwich off the table, and leaned back in my chair. I was actually happy. I didn't know what was happening, but I trusted the universe and I knew I wasn't alone. I knew Joe, my spirit guide, was with me. I glanced around Anderson's office and wondered where he'd found his furniture. As I ate my sandwich, I stared at a beautiful painting.

"What is this?" I asked, pointing to the painting.

"That's from the future. A print from the Wingmakers. The painter is unknown."

"What do you mean it's from the future?"

"I'll tell you about it later. The Wingmakers are time travelers. They brought us some of their artwork, as well as other materials from their civilization."

"Tell me more."

"Later, first tell me the meaning of life?"

"You don't know?"

"I would like to hear your opinion."

"What year is this?"

"2272."

"My God! You mean this planet is still spiritually in the dark? What happened to spiritual evolution? How many know that God is All That Is?" I was concerned.

Anderson took a breath and blew out a long sigh. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mislead you. Many are aware that God is All That Is, at least fifteen percent. Many more are coming to accept it every day. Spirituality is flourishing around the world. I just want to hear it from you. I want to hear your views." Anderson's sincerity was so heartfelt that I didn't ask any of the questions on my mind. "Okay, I'll tell you. The meaning of life is simple: To be. We are here to learn, to expand our spirit, but, more importantly, to be representatives of God. Our bodies are nothing more than suits. After this life, we leave the suit behind. The experience … that we take with us.

"It is much more complicated than that, of course. I could speak for hours. In a nutshell, life is simply to be. We don't have to learn. We don't need to achieve. We only need to be. The reason is we are perfect manifestations of God already."

Anderson was visibly stunned. He rose from his chair and marched around the room as if distraught. "You say this with such nonchalance. How well do you understand it? Do you realize only a few people understood this in the twentieth century?"

"No, no. There were many who knew."

"How much do you know?"

"I learned a lot. As I told you, it was my game."

"Please, tell me more."

I grabbed another sandwich and leaned back in the chair in front of his desk. "Okay, I'll talk, but after I'm finished, you have to answer my questions. You have to tell me about history and the current civilization. I presume this should be easy since you're an historian?"

Anderson smiled. "We have plenty of time. I have more information than you can imagine. Don't worry, John, I have everything you need."

I smiled. "Where to begin? I'll just start talking. I've made two points so far: God is All That Is, and that the meaning of life is to be. Let me talk about those two concepts.

"Everything is God, everything. This chair, the air we breath, the cells in our body, our soul, everything. This is why God is referred to as All That Is. What does this imply? First, that we are God and there is no separation between God and us. In fact, there is no separation between us and anything or anyone else. Everything is connected. Everything is one.

"Everything is interrelated, because everything is God. God is the whole, and everything else makes up the whole. Thus, our souls are pieces of God. An important point to understand is that each piece of the whole is as important as the next. To God, it's the whole that is important. To God, all pieces make a circle. If one piece is taken out, the circle is broken and it is no longer a circle. To God, the circle is what's important. Thus, each link is as important as the next."

Anderson rose from his chair and walked around the room in contemplation. "Why is the meaning of life to be?"

"Because the whole is just as alive as we are. The whole is alive! The whole is one big consciousness, of which we are a part. The whole is not a being separate from us. We are part of it! We are being God."

Anderson stopped and leaned against the bookcase. He nodded. "Yeah, we are being …. Keep explaining. I'm enjoying this."

"Think in terms of connections. We are connected to the whole, and we are connected to everything we perceive. Enlightenment is knowing we are part of the whole. This is called I AM awareness. It's a realization we are one with God, and so is everything. 'I am God.' When we come to this realization, our perceptions change dramatically. We view the world from a new perspective: spiritual awareness.

"The whole is a consciousness in which everything interrelates. In effect, everything is alive and interrelating with everything else. For instance, our thoughts impinge on everything around us …"

Anderson interjected. "God is all-aware, and our thoughts permeate among consciousness. Our thoughts affect plants, animals, and especially people."

I nodded. "Exactly. The planet is a mass consciousness in which all thoughts impinge on each other. This mass consciousness, as we interact with it, provides us with experience. We provide the input (belief) and the mass consciousness provides the output (experience). Thus, we can experience only what the mass consciousness allows. We can't escape its influence.

"Mass consciousness doesn't care how we live. Our beliefs can be whatever we want. Mass consciousness is like a giant computer taking our input (thought) and producing output (experience). Mass consciousness provides our possible experiences: our choices. There are no right or wrong choices. What we select is perfect. So we can be whatever we want."

Anderson grinned. "There are still a few unanswered questions. For instance, what are the universal laws of God?"

"I'll give you one: unconditional love. God, or the whole, uses unconditional love as the guideline to create our experience. All experiences are created with the intent of learning about unconditional love. Each experience we have is co-created with God, and thus perfect."

Anderson squinted. "That's quite a statement. If it's true then there can be no such thing as free will."

"The concept of free will is misleading. God is always with us, constantly co-creating our experience with us. There is never a moment when God is not aware of our thoughts. We do not have a separate identity apart from God. Likewise, we are connected to the mass consciousness. We cannot have an experience that the mass consciousness does not agree upon." Anderson looked puzzled. "Earlier I thought you said the whole allows us to choose our experiences. If we're allowed to choose, isn't that free will?"

"On the surface it may appear to be free will, but when you look below you can see that everything is orchestrated. Choices are limited because of the integration of consciousness."

Anderson nodded. "I get it. God controls the integration."

I smiled. "Very good."

Anderson asked. "Since we are all at a different level of spiritual awareness, does that mean we each have different degrees of freedom?"

"To a certain degree that's true, but that's not the right question. We limit ourselves before we incarnate. We curtail our own freedom. What must be understood is that God is intricately involved in selecting our experiences. God realizes that growth is the objective. God is relentless in steering us home."

Anderson had an epiphany. "Exactly. Freedom is not worth pondering! It's the relationship with God that matters, which we experience with our relationships with fellow souls."

I smiled and clapped. "You earned your star today."

Anderson continued. "God created us to experience and learn about God, which is unconditional love. Our lives are a process of remembering who we are. We live one life after another until we remember. As the saying goes, we live and learn."

"Anderson, that's music to my ears. It's a pleasure to be in your company. I see you're a student of metaphysics."

"For many years. And if you'll indulge me, I would like to hear more about free will."

"You seem to have a pretty good grasp of the subject." "I can always learn more. Just a few more minutes."

He pleaded with me with his eyes.

I took another bite of my sandwich. "Okay, a few more minutes. God doesn't care what kind of experiences we have, but God makes sure each experience provides spiritual growth. The mass consciousness is always evolving, with love and harmony as the objectives. So when we are co-creating with God, God knows love and harmony are destined. Even when we choose negative energy, the result is growth.

"Just look at our lives. We have ups and downs, but we learn. Earth is an incredible school. The mass consciousness loves experience on Earth. Why? Because to know joy, we must know sorrow. To know love, we must know hate. As much hate as there is on this planet, the whole is always working toward harmony. In the end, harmony always wins."

Anderson interrupted. "Let me see if I understand this. Mass consciousness lets us experience anger, hatred, and the gamut of negative emotions. But in the end, the mass consciousness brings us together."

I nodded. "It's inevitable. Every life provides spiritual growth. Rarely do we regress, and even then we learned lessons. The Mass consciousness makes sure we are always learning something. In essence, God watches our back. That's what co-creation is all about. Free will is an illusion. We are part of the whole, and we can't really be free if we aren't separate from the whole.

"No one incarnates without planning how we will live our life, and this planning process is done with the whole. Thus, God is aware of our plan. God doesn't ignore us, nor anyone for a single moment. God is right there with each and every one of us, involved in the planning process of our lives.

"God follows our every thought to help us on our path. If we fall off the path, God teaches us something else. The further from the path we get, the more God becomes involved in our life. We actually lose our free will when we leave our chosen path. When we are in harmony with God, our free will is at its height. Then we can consciously co-create with God.

"Mass consciousness knows what we have planned and also knows our previous and future lives. Mass consciousness is intricately involved in our experiences.

"So, tell me, Anderson after hearing me explain free will, do you feel free? Do you think you can do something without God being aware of it?"

Anderson raised his eyebrows. "I don't know. I suppose God is aware of my thoughts and actions. What you say definitely implies that our free will is illusionary. It's disconcerting in a way. It also implies we have nothing to fear."

"Indeed," I said. "If the whole is watching out for our welfare--because it is the whole's welfare as well--we have nothing to fear." I paused. "I think that's enough for now. It's your turn."

"Were you a writer?" he asked. "Did you ever write any of this down?"

"Yes and no. I'm not a professional writer. I have tried to get published, but I've been unsuccessful. I write stories about the future in a spiritual context. I write about my beliefs."

Anderson looked away and reflected, then turned back. "You may have been published. What's your last name?"

"Randall."

Anderson rose from his chair and walked across the room to the shelves of books. He returned with one and handed it to me. "Surprise!"

I looked at the cover. My name was under the title. I opened it to see what year it was published: 2003.

Anderson smiled. "At the beginning of the twenty-first century, many people began reading metaphysics. A new spirituality was inspired by the New Age movement that began in the late twentieth century. I suppose the popularity of metaphysics caused your book to make it into the hands of a publisher." I stared at Anderson. "I need answers," I said impatiently, and with a tone of frustration. "I need to know where I am, who you are, and what happened to the world."

He put up his right hand. "Okay, okay, sorry. I wanted to make sure you are who I think you are."

"What does that mean?" I asked, squinting.

"There's a prophecy you fulfill. A stranger from the past is supposed to come and lead us to our freedom. The stranger is supposed to be enlightened."

I stared at Anderson. "Who is the source of this prophecy?"

"It was channeled through a man named Bradley Adams. He published a book titled The Future of America. It's a classic and widely known by the Underground. Many people believe in the prophecy."

"Do you take it seriously?" I asked.

"Now that I've met you I do."

"Is the book here?"

"Yes." "Can I read it later? Then we can discuss it."

"Yes, but first let me answer your questions." He paused. "A lot has happened since 1994. Let's take it from the beginning.

"Shortly before you went into hibernation, Iraq invaded Kuwait. America decided they couldn't allow this naked aggression and went to war against Iraq. Iraq was overmatched and America annihilated their army in short order. Nearly 100,000 Iraqis died and Iraq was bombed badly. America suffered fewer than 100 casualties.

"That war destroyed the fragile stability of the Middle East. At the time, no one had any inclination of this fact, but it was only a matter of time before the Arabs sought their revenge against the 'infidel'. After the war, they continued buying weapons with their oil money. They started getting ready.

"In 2006, the Arabs made their bid for revenge. It was a nuclear war. Israel was destroyed. Iraq and Iran were badly damaged. The Middle East was a battlefield for a couple of years. After the war, the world economy collapsed. This provided a means for China to become a world power.

"In 2017, China invaded the United States. They quickly won the war and took over the world. It's more complicated than that, much more complicated. I have a lot of literature on the past three hundred years. You can read as much as you want."

"The Chinese have been in control since 2017?" I asked.

Anderson nodded. "Since then, the Chinese have systematically destroyed our culture and suppressed our freedom. They built huge prisons out of cities and encased us. All of our precious freedoms and individual rights were taken away. Today the Chinese use America as an economic fiefdom. They grow food and export it at incredible profits. Food is their major economic resource. They also have manufacturing plants throughout the country.

"The Chinese don't like Americans, and they decided to get rid of most of us. It was easy after the war. Famine and disease killed people like flies. There's no proof, but many scientists today believe the diseases were released on the population.

"By the year 2050, there were only sixty million Americans left. The majority congregated in major cities where there was food. The Chinese isolated everyone. Traveling was nearly impossible, and still is. The country is a wasteland."

"Is there freedom anywhere on the planet?" I asked.

"Sure. Many countries are still democratic and free. That's where the Chinese sell their food. South America is generally democratic, with dynamic economies. Our neighbor to the north, Canada, is a virtual paradise. The rest of the world is generally under dictatorship, with backward economies. Another exception is Australia. Australia is the new America.

"Every country has had food shortages. As it turned out, the nuclear weapons adversely impacted weather systems. Most countries have had difficulty with agriculture. Europe was hit with nuclear fallout, and its soil is ruined in many places. Australia is an exception. Australia is steadily becoming a major power ..."

I interrupted Anderson. "How long have you been here?"

He smiled. "That's the first time you have shown any fear. Are you asking if you can expect to ever leave?"

I didn't answer.

He rose from his chair. "Come, I want to show you something." He started walking out of the room and I followed. In the elevator, he pressed a button and the elevator went down.

I was surprised. I hadn't expected another level below the basement.

The elevator door opened and we stepped out. I was again surprised by what I saw. The floor above was his living quarters; this floor was where he worked. What I saw implied he was working on something important. Maps covered the walls. The maps were marked with colored pens and numerous pushpins at various locations. Several large monitors inset into the wall, and several computers on the floor, indicated a large operation.

Anderson crossed the room to a wall covered by bookshelves filled with numerous magazines, newspapers, and books. I followed. He found what he was looking for and handed it to me. A small trade journal. I looked at the date. It was printed in 2272, this year.

"That's the publication by the Underground," Anderson said. "Turn to page 44."

I turned to the page, an article about New York City. I looked at the name of the author. J. L. Anderson. "Is that you?"

"Yes, I am J. L. Anderson."

"You wrote this article from here?"

"Yes."

"Then you have current information about New York?"

He nodded.

"So you have contacts with the Underground on the outside?"

He nodded again.

"What is the Underground?"

"It's a group of people like me who refuse to give up. The Underground is the only organized opposition to Chinese rule. We will continue to do whatever it takes to regain our country. We've been active since 2017, when America was invaded. The Underground has an extensive history, mostly failure, but today we are stronger than ever. That's mainly due to help from outside countries. For example, all of my electronics came from our foreign supporters, and our publication is printed outside this country. The Underground is getting stronger and stronger. It's because of our outside support."

"Jackson told me you were part of the Underground in the prison."

"No, not the Underground here. We're different groups. The Underground in the prison is organized to govern the prison. I'm affiliated with the outside."

"What about all this equipment?" I pointed to the computers. "I heard you tell Jackson you're expecting a shipment. Do most of your possessions come from the outside? If they can smuggle items to you, they must be able to help prisoners in some way?"

"Sit down," Anderson said. We sat at a table. I looked at the maps on the wall. They appeared to be cities and areas throughout what was once the United States.

"Earlier you asked who I was," Anderson said. "I'm one of the leaders of the Underground--the real Underground. I chose to come here nearly thirty years ago. I came here by choice, because it's the safest place for me. I've lived here for the sole purpose of supporting the Underground. I can leave anytime. The same way my shipments arrive, I can leave. But I choose to stay. I can accomplish as much here as on the outside, and I feel safer here.

"As far as helping the prisoners, it would be self-defeating. The current sanctuary the prisons provide would be jeopardized. For this reason, the shipments are brought only here and are not dispersed.

"The Chinese built this prison over one hundred years ago, and they have built several others like it throughout America. They've never yet gone inside any of them, and they've never used spies to check up on the prisoners. Instead, they create such deplorable living conditions that they expect everyone on the inside to die within five years. That's the average life span on the inside. As long as the death rate is high, the Chinese don't care what goes on inside.

"We of the Underground want to make sure the hands-off policy is maintained. Several other Underground leaders like myself are inside the prisons. We've used the prisons effectively as a cover. It's as safe here, if not safer, than anywhere on the outside. Unlike here, the outside is filled with spies and government informants. Most of my communications are with Underground leaders in other prisons. It's very dangerous to have electronics on the outside. Most of the communications on the outside are person to person.

"The prison system is the heart of the Underground. We coordinate activities and maintain control of our members from here. If it weren't for the prisons, we wouldn't have the cohesiveness that exists.

"Let me give you an idea of how the Underground communicates. First, several of us communicate electronically and initiate a message. Next, people start contacting each other person to person. We can spread a message across the country in a matter of days. The prison system provides the backbone for our organization.

"San Antone is a tight prison because of its geographic location. It's in the middle of nowhere. It's difficult to move people or shipments in and out. I've had only three visitors from the outside in the thirty years I've been here. Other prisons are not as geographically isolated and people move freely in and out.

Anderson paused. "It's time to eat and get some rest. Tomorrow we'll talk more. I want you to begin reading. I have a good library. I have enough material for you to understand what happened in the last three hundred years. I even have material about the period you came from."

As we walked back to the elevator all I could think of was Soylent Green.