Loyalty

“That’s just like what’s happening with us…. The movie never changes. It can’t change. But every time you see it, it seems different because you’re different. You see different things.”—James Cole to Kathryn, while hiding out in a movie theater, watching Hitchcock’s Vertigo
                                                                                                               

Prison Guard: “Volunteer duty!”
Cole: “I didn’t volunteer.”

But, of course, I did. It’s just that with these insertions, it’s hard to remember that I did. But it’s true. A long time ago (in the time dimension), I volunteered to assist the beings in that dimension.

Of course when I’m outside of that dimension, these concepts seem absurd. There is no sense of volunteering, traveling through time, remembering people you haven’t yet met. There is no point in time to meet, travel, volunteer—Consciousness just is.

But then I’m re-inserted into the time dimension and I forget all this. The sensations are so loud and the feelings of the body so present, it’s easy to see how the subtle understandings of the non-physical dimensions get overwhelmed and overridden.

The scientists, as always, are in charge of the mission I “volunteered” for. I suspect they are also volunteers, but on such a different level as to be beyond my comprehension. The recurring objective is to put the world back in balance, and in this iteration, it is to stop the release of a deadly virus that kills five billion people. To that end, they’ve been inserting me at different points in time to find out how the virus was released, so they can stop it from ever happening.

They said they selected me because they needed someone strong and tough-minded, and I am—mostly. But with each insertion, it gets harder and harder to keep track of what is real. At times I believe the scientists are making mistakes, other times I think they just want me to follow orders for the sake of obeying, and then sometimes I start to think they’re not even real and I’m going crazy. You know, when everyone in the insertion tells you you’re delusional, it’s hard to not start believing them.

When I start to think of the mission as a delusion, my mind turns its focus onto life in the insertion. The mind starts to think about what it wants and what will make it happy. This time around, my idea of happiness is to run away with Kathryn. I’ve carried her in my mind for so long that she feels like an old but undiscovered love.

When I told the scientists I was staying with her and to leave me alone, they sent someone in to remind me of my task. I know an outsider might think it’s a tragedy that I didn’t get to stay with this woman I love, but that’s just a projection of their own idea of love. My love and loyalty are to the Dharma, so the real tragedy would be not completing the mission. Yes, I do get distracted during the insertions, but that is the nature and danger of the time dimension. It’s a bit like that story of Indra when he incarnated as a pig. In that form, he was totally content with his sow and piglets, so the gods came down and slayed his pig family. When Indra began to weep and mourn, the gods ripped his pig-body open. As Indra emerged, he began to laugh that he, king of the gods, had thought pig life was the only life. I’m not comparing myself to Indra, but when it comes to getting sidetracked in the insertion, at least I’m in good company! So I’m grateful the scientists sent someone in to course-correct me.

Kathryn was a beautiful helpmate—one of my favorites. Together we did finally ID the man who released the virus. I died trying to kill him, but in doing so I showed the scientists who he was, and they were able to come back and stop him—so it all worked out. And of course, I didn’t really die. I’m not saying that because I was there as a kid at the airport, watching the whole thing, being prepared for a mission that was yet to come. Rather it’s that only bodies die in the time dimension. And of course, I don’t just exist within time.