The Cold Soul

journal fragment 26 July 1997

It was a deep, catacombed cave. We had reached this cave through a heavy, thick, door-like entrance that was somehow so cold.

There was a man there, who was a white man and a black man both. The dark one was in charge, and he/they were also female. {This is me and the Four. -P}

He showed me this old skull he had, it had a very long head. I said, yes, I was wondering about those just recently -- L knew of those! I saw one in a pic! We discussed it and understood it was a race of people who had come to this planet and when they left, they had taken their dead with them, except a few they missed because they didn't know where they were.

There was an axe that had been used to kill people, an ancient axe, possibly asian I felt, and it seemed like it was almost sentient in some way. We/I put my hand over it, and I could feel the "coldness" of it, not just temperature cold, some other element involved with that.

It had a pressure against my hand, like a force field, and I fought it, and then suddenly my fingers and hand at the edges burned sharply a little as the energy sheath or whatever dissolved.

I thought I had won that little battle. But then psychically, we saw a corpse rise up out of a grave and come to chase me/us! One of us was freaking out. Another said Stop, get it together, you need to keep your personal life separate. Another said We are not separate, everything we experience touches all of us.

(Then I had a flash of what the narrator had once told me about how my various needs, neurosis, beliefs, etc. had combined to arrange for me the man I'd married. That somehow this had affected them too, not just me.)

Now we were worried, because we understood now: by destroying the force-field stasis on the axe, we had released the soul of the man who had wielded it! (I think the sentience of the axe was actually a part of him.) -- and as a result, he was going to be reincarnated. And we were responsible for that. He'd been sort of... suppressed... on purpose, obviously.

It turns out he was not a murderer in the next life that we watched him live (whew). He did use the axe, he brought that into his life again, but it was for good work. Eventually he had a son he loved very much.

Later, when the son was around 17, the man killed another young man around the same age with his car by accident. He was grieving, crying in the street over the bloody broken body, and wondering why this horror had happened to him.

We saw that he had needed at least one death to serve the bloodthirsty part of him. He did not know it was there, but it was part of him... he couldn't keep it separate.


PJ