Massive clouds of purple color piled up beyond the kitchen window. It shed an eerie spell toward the dining table where Maureen and I chatted over a cup of tea. Soon, the cloud would burst and drown the whole world in rain and splattering noise.
“Actually, my gift feels quite often like a heavy burden. Do you think it is easy to be clairvoyant? No, Honey, it is hard. It’s a difficult task, and it often breaks my heart.”
Maureen looked at me with a sad look on her lovely face.
“Do you remember the Hornbill helicopter crash in July 2004? Seven people died in the midst of the jungle, in a remote part of the island. It was in the news all day long. Do you remember the rescue parties, the disappointment, the sad faces, and our solidarity?”
I nodded, and listened to her story.
“I would like to tell you what really happened.”
Her voice sounded strangely melodious, compassionate and sad.
“You know, Honey, when I heard about the missing helicopter I put myself in a meditative state. Then I sent my mind up to the mountain jungles. I flew over the forest and saw the carcass of the helicopter hanging in the jungle canopy, not in a ravine as many others speculated. Only three of the seven were dead at this point in time. The other four were wounded and in great pain. I saw them crying for help, in desperate need of drinking water. I immediately drove to the airport where rescue operations were fully under way. I tried to talk to the chief rescue coordinator, a pious but stubborn man from the Kelabit tribe.”
Maureen sobbed, and then continued.
“Ask Sally. I spent almost every night at the airport, often until three in the morning, trying to make my case. But this stupid coordinator didn’t want to listen. He thought I was crazy, perhaps. His attempts to find the craft were futile. After a lot of convincing, he finally sent a reconnaissance helicopter to the area, where I had seen the crashed copter. They didn’t let me go with them. But you know what? The reconnaissance party couldn’t see anything. Every time they approached the locality of the accident, a veil of fog ascended from the canopy and camouflaged the crash site below.
“You see, Honey, that area up in the mountain is full of ogres and ghosts. They didn’t allow the helicopter to be found. How else would it be possible to search in vain for more than a week, with airplanes and search helicopters buzzing around, being equipped with modern technology? Up there in the mountains the ghosts kept the wounded men as hostage or prey, sucking life out of them, as days went by.
“At that time I talked to my spiritual brother. He has more insight and power than me. My brother talked to the Mountain King (=the underworld spiritual force) of that area. He came to the conclusion that one might persuade the ghosts to release the surviving people in exchange for sacrifices.
“My brother suggested to the families of the missing, and to the rescue coordinator, to release seven lambs as offerings to the mountain jungle. But none of them wanted to listen. My brother also averted them that the ghosts in that area wanted more blood, which meant more accidents would follow. When the missing helicopter was found, it was exactly on the spot I had indicated, but all were dead. Two weeks later, another helicopter crashed in the same area. Nobody survived.”
I felt sad having listened to Maureen’s story. It made me feel weary and thoughtful.
“You know, Darling,” I said, “perhaps ignorance creates more obstacles, than do bad intentions.”
©2004 by Franz L Kessler
