The Tenth Insight: Holding the Vision (6 page)

As we watched, Williams’ recollection shifted to a gorge in the deep woods, site of the coming battle. Cavalry poured over
a ridge in a surprise offensive. The Native Americans rose to the defense, attacking the cavalry from the bluffs on either
side. A short distance away, a large man and a woman huddled among the rocks. The man was a young academic, a congressional
aide, there only to observe, terrified he was this close to the battle. It was wrong, all wrong. His interest was economics;
he knew nothing of violence. He had come there convinced that the white man and the Indian need not be in conflict, that the
growing economic surge through the region might be adapted, evolved, integrated to include both cultures.

Beside him in the rocks was the young woman seen at the military tent earlier. At this moment she felt abandoned, betrayed.
Her effort could have worked, she knew, if those with the power had listened to what was possible. But she would not give
up, she had told herself, not until the violence stopped. She kept saying, “It can be healed! It can be healed.”

Suddenly on the downslope behind them, two cavalrymen rode hard toward a single Native. I strained to see who it was, finally
recognizing the man as the angry chief I had seen in my mind when talking to David, the chief who had been so vocal against
the white woman’s ideas. As I watched, he turned quickly and shot an arrow into the chest of one of his pursuers. The other
soldier leaped from his horse and fell upon the Native American. Both struggled furiously, the soldier’s knife finally plunging
deep
into the throat of the darker man. Blood gushed across the torn ground.

Watching the events, the panicked economist pleaded with the woman to flee with him, but she motioned for him to stay, to
be calm. For the first time Williams could see an old medicine man beside a tree next to them, his form flickering in and
out of focus. At that instant another troop of cavalry crested the rise and was on top of them, firing indiscriminately. Bullets
tore through both the man and the woman. With a smile the Indian defiantly stood and was likewise destroyed.

At this point Williams’ focus drifted to a hill that overlooked the entire scene. Another individual was looking down on the
battle. He was dressed in buckskins and led a pack mule, a mountain man. He turned from the battle and walked down the hill
in the opposite direction, past the pool and falls, and then out of sight. I was astounded: the battle had taken place right
here in the valley, just south of the falls.

When my attention returned to Williams, he was reliving the horror of the bloodshed and the hatred. He knew his failure to
act during the Native American wars had set up the conditions and hopes of his most recent life, but just as before, he had
failed to awaken. He had been together again with the congressional aide who had been killed with the woman, and still he
had failed to remember their mission. Williams intended to meet the younger man on a hilltop, among a circle of large trees,
and there his friend was supposed to awaken and go on to find six others in the valley, forming a group of seven. Together
the group was to help resolve the Fear.

The idea seemed to thrust him into a deeper recollection. Fear had been the great enemy throughout humanity’s long and tortuous
history, and he seemed to know that present human
culture was polarizing, giving the controllers in this historical time one last opportunity to seize power, to exploit the
new technologies for their own purpose.

He seemed to cringe in agony. He knew that it was tremendously important for the group of seven to come together. History
was poised for such groups, and only if enough of them formed, and only if enough of them
understood
the Fear, could the polarization be dispelled and the experiments in the valley ended.

V
ery slowly I became aware that I was again in the place of soft, white light. Williams’ visions had ended, and both he and
the other entities had quickly vanished. Afterward I had experienced a quick movement backward that had left me dizzy and
distracted.

I noticed Wil beside me to the right.

“What happened?” I asked. “Where did he go?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied.

“What was happening to him?”

“He was experiencing a
Life
Review.”

I nodded.

“Are you aware of what that is?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I know that people who have had near-death experiences often report that their whole lives flash before them.
Is that what you mean?”

Wil looked thoughtful. “Yes, but the increased awareness of this review process is having great impact on human culture. It’s
another part of the higher perspective provided by a knowledge of the Afterlife. Thousands of people have had near-death experiences,
and as their stories are shared and talked about, the reality
of the Life Review is becoming part of our everyday understanding. We know that after death, we have to look at our lives
again; and we’re going to agonize over every missed opportunity, over every case in which we failed to act. This knowledge
is contributing to our determination to pursue every intuitive image that comes to mind, and keep it firmly in awareness.
We’re living life in a more deliberate way. We don’t want to miss a single important event. We don’t want the pain of looking
back later and realizing that we blew it, that we failed to make the right decisions.”

Suddenly Wil paused, cocking his head as though hearing something. Immediately I felt another jolt in my solar plexus and
heard the dissonant hum again. Moments later the sound faded.

Wil was looking around. The solid white environment was shimmering with intermittent streaks of dull gray.

“Whatever is going on is affecting this dimension too!” he said. “I don’t know if we can maintain our vibration.”

As we waited, the dull streaks gradually diminished and the solid white background returned.

“Remember the warning about new technology in the Ninth Insight,” Wil added, “and Williams’ comment about those in Fear trying
to control this technology.”

“What about this
group of seven
coming back?” I asked. “And those visions that Williams was having of this valley in the nineteenth century? Wil, I’ve seen
them too. What do you think the visions mean?”

Wil’s expression grew more serious. “I think all this is what we’re supposed to be seeing. And I think
you
are part of this group.”

Suddenly the hum began to increase again.

“Williams said we first had to understand this Fear,” Wil
stressed, “in order to help resolve it. That’s what we have to do next; we have to find a way to understand this Fear.”

Wil had barely finished his thought when an ear-shattering sound tore through my body, pushing me backward. Wil reached out
for me, his face distorted and out of focus. I tried to grab his arm, but he was suddenly gone, and I was falling downward,
out of control, amid a panorama of colors.

S
haking off the vertigo, I became aware that I was back at the falls. Across from me, under a rocky overhang, was my pack,
lying exactly where I had placed it earlier. I looked around: no sign of Wil. What had happened? Where did he go?

According to my watch, less than an hour had passed since Wil and I had entered the other dimension, and as I thought about
the experience, I was struck with how much love and calm I had felt, and how little anxiety—until now. Now everything around
me seemed dull and muted.

Wearily I walked over and picked up my pack, fear welling up in my stomach. Sensing too much exposure in the openness of the
rocks, I decided to walk back into the hills to the south until I could decide what to do. When I had crested the first hill
and started down the slope, I spotted a small man, perhaps fifty years old, walking up to my left. He had red hair and a thin
goatee and wore hiking clothes. Before I could hide, he spotted me and headed straight my way.

When he reached me, he smiled cautiously and said, “I’m afraid I’m turned around a bit. Could you direct me back to town?”

I gave him directions south to the spring and then on to the main stream, which he could follow west to the rangers’ station.

He appeared relieved. “I ran into someone east of here, earlier, who told me how to get back, but I must have made a wrong
turn. Are you also heading toward town?”

Looking closely at the expression on his face, I seemed to pick up a sadness and anger in his personality.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m looking for a friend who is out here somewhere. What did the person you met look like?”

“It was a woman with blond hair and bright eyes,” he replied. “She talked rapidly. I didn’t catch her name. Who are you looking
for?”

“Charlene Billings. Is there anything else about the woman you saw that you can remember?”

“She said something about the National Forest that made me think she might be one of those
searcher
types that hang out around here. But I couldn’t tell. She warned me to leave the valley. She told me she had to get her gear
and then she was leaving also. She seemed to think something was wrong out here, that everyone was in danger. She was actually
very secretive. Frankly. I didn’t know what she was talking about.” His tone suggested he was accustomed to speaking with
directness.

As friendly as possible I said, “It sounds as if the person you met could have been my friend. Where did you see her exactly?”

He pointed toward the south, and told me he had run into her about half a mile back. She had been walking alone and had headed
southeast from there.

“I’ll walk with you as far as the spring,” I said.

I picked up my pack, and as we walked down the hill, he asked, “If that was your friend, where do you think she was going?”

“I don’t know.”

“Into some mystical space, perhaps? Looking for utopia.” He was smiling cynically.

I realized he was baiting me. “Maybe,” I said. “Don’t you believe in the possibility of utopia?”

“No, of course not. It’s neolithic thinking. Naive.”

I glanced at him, fatigue beginning to overwhelm me, trying to end the conversation. “Just a difference of opinion, I guess.”

He laughed. “No, it’s fact. There’s no utopia coming. Everything is getting worse out there, not better. Economically things
are swinging out of control, and eventually it will explode.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s simple demographics. For most of this century there has been a large middle class in the Western countries, a class
who have promoted order and reason and carried a general faith that the economic system could work for everyone.

“But this faith is beginning to collapse now. You can see it everywhere. Fewer people every day now believe in the system,
or play by the rules. And it’s all because the middle class is shrinking. Technological development is making labor valueless
and splitting human culture into two groups: the haves and the have-nots, those who have investments and ownership in the
world economy and those who are restricted to menial, service jobs. Couple this with the failure of education and you can
see the scope of the problem.”

“That sounds awfully cynical,” I said.

“It’s realistic. It’s the truth. For most people it takes more and more effort just to survive out there. Have you seen the
surveys
on stress? Tension is off the scale. Nobody feels secure, and the worst hasn’t even begun yet. Population is exploding, and
as technology expands even more, the distance will grow between the educated and the uneducated, and the haves will control
more and more of the global economy, while drugs and crime will continue to soar with the have-nots.

“And what do you think,” he continued, “will happen in the underdeveloped countries? Already much of the Middle East and Africa
is in the hands of religious fundamentalists whose aim is to destroy organized civilization, which they think is a satanic
empire, and replace it with some kind of perverted theocracy, where religious leaders are in charge of everything and they
have the sanctioned power to condemn to death those they consider heretics, anywhere in the world.

“What kind of people would agree with this kind of butchery in the name of spirituality? Yet they are increasing every day.
China still practices female infanticide, for example. Do you believe that?

“I’m telling you: law and order and respect for human life are on their way out. The world is degenerating into a mob mentality,
ruled by envy and revenge and led by shrewd charlatans, and it’s probably too late to stop it. But do you know what? Nobody
really cares. Nobody! The politicians won’t do anything. All they care about is their personal fiefdoms, and how to retain
them. The world is changing too fast. No one can catch up, and that makes us just look out for number one and get whatever
we can as fast as we can, before it’s too late. This sentiment permeates the whole of civilization and every occupational
group.”

He took a breath and looked at me. I had stopped on the crest of one of the hills to view the impending sunset, and our eyes
met. He seemed to realize he had gotten carried away with
his tirade, and in that moment he began to look deeply familiar to me. I told him my name and he responded with his, Joel
Lipscomb. We looked at each other for another long moment, but he offered no indication that he knew me. Why had we met in
this valley?

As soon as I had formulated that last question in my mind, I knew the answer. He was voicing the vision of Fear that Williams
had mentioned. A chill ran through me. This was supposed to happen.

I looked at him with a new seriousness. “Do you really think things are that bad?”

“Yes, absolutely,” he replied. “I’m a journalist, and you can see this attitude playing out in our profession. In the past
we at least attempted to do our job with certain standards of integrity. But no longer. It’s all hype and sensationalism.
No one’s looking for the truth anymore or trying to present it in the most accurate way. Journalists are looking for the scoop,
the most outrageous perspective—every bit of dirt they can dig up.