• 1MYST.doc: This was an attempt the Brussels Nexus to make the ideas of the Other World more accessable to people. Eventually, it was published as part of the 3rd edition of the "Encyclopedia of World Problems and Human Potential"

• MAPMYST.MAP: This is the Land of Mystery chart we used.

Early morning death By Jon Jenkins

I awoke before the alarm went off at 6:30. A sense of apprehension followed me down the hall, through the bathroom and into the kitchen. I put coffee on and started back to the bedroom. A blue light circled the living room, flashing at me. I walked to the window and looked out.

Three ambulances and two police vans were parked in front. Eight or ten people were gathered around two boys in their late teens. Both were pasty white and laying face up, their hands at their sides. Their faces held no expression. One man held a container of plasma over the nearer boy.

I saw no blood, no vehicle, nothing to explain why the two youngsters were there or what was happening. I thought of drug overdoses.

The sky was clear. The grass was green. A few cars passed slowly.

The group caring for the boy further away stood up. One walked to an ambulance and brought a blanket. Maybe the boy was cold or in shock. The blanket slowly covered him; covered his face. The oxygen mask was picked up, along with wrappers and other equipment. The boy was dead.

The nearer group seemed to work harder. One man was using CPR on the boy. Thump, he jammed his hands, stiff-armed into the chest. Wait. Thump. A second container of plasma was brought. Thump, hands jammed into the chest. My vision tunneled. Thump, wait, thump. Thump, wait, thump.

My attention wandered and I saw the motorcycle on its side at the end of the block. I saw the scrap marks on the road and bike. I noticed the tree the near boy was laying next to. I looked at the shape under the blanket and the light pole it was next to.

Thump, wait, thump, the man pushed at the boy. For a minute the rhythm went faster, then it stopped. A second blanket was brought.

I had a long drive before me. I packed the car and drove off. Two or three kilometers away I realized I had forgotten the files I needed for the workshop I had to lead. I drove back. The bodies were still there. Two policemen, not much older than the boys were measuring distances. Their smiles were belied by the white of their sweaty skin and the dread in their eyes.

I got the papers I needed and restarted the drive. I drove with great care, whether out of fear for myself or in reverence for the boys, I couldn't tell. I found myself choosing the longer rather than the shorter routes. When I arrived at the office near Arnhem, I had driven much further and for much longer than necessary for the trip but not far enough to leave the accident.

At I walked in the office, a Dutch woman I work with suggested we take a walk. Behind the office kilometers of forest with meadows of heather wander. Judith took me to the center of the heather and pointed in the distance to a low hill. She said it was a prehistoric burial mound. The boys, of whom I had been vaguely aware, suddenly became very present. We walked a little further. Judith said this was the field where, in World War II, the Germans had shot paratroopers as they descended. They were landing to re-enforce the original landing at the bridge in Arnhem.

The day and place became holy. That night I couldn't go to sleep until 4. I woke at 6. I wept. I raged. I feared. I walked in the early sun light. I wished that this encounter with the sacred had not been so brutal. I wept; I raged; I feared. I suspected that had the encounter been gentler, I would have missed it.

-- JonJenkins - 29 Apr 2007