Adamson's Village - A Re-write

From the Desk of George Barnard – December 18, 2009.

Almost 40 years ago, I was confronted with 'something' that would probably frighten the living daylights out of most folk. Likely, I had long been subliminally indoctrinated about an encounter eventually to come about, and therefore only my curiosity was aroused when the momentous day arrived.

Before me stood a mighty, near-naked warrior, well armed and with a reddish glow about his tanned, scintillating skin. Although he was obviously not in my dimension of space/time, he spoke to me, clearly, and in both French and English.

He called himself Ah-bé-cé-22 (ABC-22), said he was a warrior, chief, shaman and teacher. Moreover, when questioned about his moral principles of the past, he replied that he was (in) all ways vouched for by his Seraphic Superiors.

Whilst he seemed to be friendly enough, it occurred to me he had long ago expired, was utterly confused about his real name, and totally lost on the Australian continent. Surely, this 'Red Indian' fellow belonged in the Americas. Perhaps he had once owned a vintage motor vehicle with the number plates ABC-22. Perhaps the marker on his grave bore that unusual ABC-22 inscription, if he had been put six foot under without anyone knowing his name. He seemed to be somewhat unhappy about my thinking he was quite dead.

Better Go Home.

Perhaps he could tell me his real name was Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, or Bald Eagle. I could then do some research for him, find out where his teepee once stood, send him on his merry way halfway across the globe, and he could then forever rest in peace.

Poor Ah-bé-cé-22 claimed to have had only one name, ever, and he was darned insistent about it as well. "I think you had better go home, mate,' I told him. "North America is where you once lived. Go find your buffalo hide tent, or your tribe. You're in the Southern Hemisphere now. This is the flippin' Land of Oz!"

'Stone dead' Ah-bé-cé-22 stayed put, failed to enjoy my humor, and took no orders from a live mortal. He was evidently deluded, but darned stubborn about his intentions to stick around.

You Show Me.

"You'll be able to show me where you were born, or where you died," I told him. "Back in the homestead there are plenty of maps of every country in the world." The warrior would be coming home with me, I knew it, and he could place his ghostly index finger right on the very spot where his hometown was located. I would then instruct him to return to his old haunts, and find peace at last.

I felt ever so sorry for the 'poor lost guy,' and in my mind I prepared myself for having to allow for lengthy discussions with him. It would probably take a lot of convincing to make him go home. As well, I was counting on having to be brutally honest with him, until he might finally realize that he had long been 'deader than dead.'

An Instant Answer.

Quite suddenly, a map of the Mediterranean Sea showed up on the screen of my mind, and a point of light directed my gaze to the east-north-east of its eastern-most shore. It would have to be in Turkey, I thought, where this Red Warrior claimed to have been born, or to have died. He would most likely turn out to be a time-robbing liability. I felt responsible for the welfare of his 'ghostly presence,' pity, concern, and I was overwhelmed by the thought there might be even more 'long-suffering ghosts' out there, just like him.

There were three more!

© 11:11 Progress Group.
"Encourage your Children to Learn about God,
Your Scientist to Discover His Laws,
Your Travelers to Admire His Creation.
Now teach your Gifted Ones to hear His Words-
I am Athena, who loves you."

Adamson's Village - A Re-write - Part One.