***

There were 33 of us in the first group.  We had been summoned.  It was with excitement and a measure of trepidation that I and my companions entered the Great Hall.  What did God want to tell us?  What task were we to be assigned?  What quest was there to engage?

We gathered in the Hall and waited.  I recognized all of my companions.  We shared knowing and reassuring smiles.  And then His presence filled the Hall.  Love and warmth magnified to infinity bathed us all.

“It is time to return,” God said.

There was a murmur in the group.  I sensed many were reticent to return.  I know I was.  I could also sense excitement and hope from others.  Someone spoke.

“Why now?”

God said, “Because they’ve forgotten Love.”

“How are we supposed to remind them?  Their hearts are closed.”

God replied, “What is closed may be open.  You know the way.”

“We are guiding from here, isn’t that a better place for us to help them remember?” someone responded.

“You must show them the frequency so they can hear it again,” God said. “They’ve forgotten Love.  They are listening to fear.”

I said, “When we incarnate we too forget Love.  It is too hard to bear.  This causes great anxiety and despair to be disconnected so.”

God said, “That is the way of the Lightworker.  You will remember in time, and then you will remind others of what they’ve forgotten.   I would not ask this of you if it was not of great importance.  Others will follow to help you, and still others are already there to remind you of what you already know.  You will be cared for.”

“Is there really a way for us to bring the people and the planet back to love?”

God said, “Yes.  Remind them of what they’ve forgotten.  Resonate at the frequency of unconditional love.  There is nothing more you need to say or do.  It will be enough.  Wake them to the frequency.  Show them the way back to Love.”

And then God said, “I have great faith in all of you.  You have my Love.  Please take it with you and show anyone who has forgotten.  There is too much fear in the world.  Be the light that cuts through the darkness and fear, and show them the way Home.  Remember, I am with you, always.”

God stepped out of the Great Hall.  I and my companions formed a circle and held hands.  We held tight to each other and someone said, “We will go forth with courage and compassion.”

Another said, “We will not forget our Way.”

“We will remind people of the Love they’ve forgotten.”

“We will overcome our own fear of disconnection.”

“We will support each other and work together.”

“We will carry only the frequency of love in our hearts.”

“We will love unconditionally.”

“We will remember when the time is right.”

“We will stand against fear wherever it is prevalent.”

“We will not judge those who have forgotten the light.”

“We will bring comfort to those who suffer.”

“We will have faith.”

We went around the entire circle this way.  I gazed into the eyes of my fellow lightworkers and vowed to remember as soon as I could so that I could help guide the planet back to Love.  I knew there would be challenges to my faith.  I knew there would be times I felt alone, and times I would feel so overwhelmed that I would cease to care what happened to others, but I resolved to get past those feelings and remember why I was there.   I would seek out the support of other Lightworkers who could empathize with my plight.  I took great solace in knowing that no matter what happened, I was loved, and would someday return Home.  I knew that my journey would be safe, even if it was uncomfortable.  And I vowed that my time there would make a measureable difference.

We headed out of the Great Hall to make our preparations.  There were Guides to recruit, parents to pick, plans to be made.  I carried in my heart all of God’s Love.  Yes, with this Love I could help them remember what they’d forgotten.  I was ready.

© 2009 by Erin Pavlina.

The battle was over.  Mangled bodies littered the field, piled on top of each other. I walked among the carcasses, the acrid stench of death filling my nostrils, looking for other survivors.  Around me, other soldiers did the same.  No one spoke.  I looked for signs of life among the dead, and found none.  I wandered for a while, unwilling to give up.  I refused to leave a single man behind.   Some of the other soldiers just stood rooted to the ground.  Some wept quietly.  Others, like me, were prodding the bodies, willing them to rise from their slumber.

After a while I realized no one else had survived.  I looked around at the two dozen men around me.  As one, we moved together, drawing in our ranks.  Still no one uttered a word.  The eyes said it all: regret, sadness, misery.  War is hell.

By some unspoken agreement, we just started walking until we were clear of the field.  I couldn’t bear to look back.  Suddenly a train pulled up out of nowhere.  The doors opened in front of us.  Was this our ticket out of Hell?  Rescued!  I walked inside the train car, and the other soldiers followed.  I finally found my voice, then I found the conductor.  “Hey, excuse me, sir.  Where does this train go?”

The conductor had a kind face.  He replied, “Son, this train will take you home.”

I felt relief.  Sure, I felt bad for all the guys who didn’t make it, but I was glad to be going home.  I couldn’t wait to see my wife and kids again.  The other guys seemed relieved too.  Everyone put down their rifles.  The doors closed, and the train started moving.  It felt good to be getting away from the battlefield.

I said to the conductor, “How did you know where to find us?”

He said, “It’s my job.”

“I hate to say this, but as bad as I feel for those other soldiers lying dead on the field, I’m so grateful to have made it out of there alive,” I said.

The conductor looked at me quizzically but with compassion in his eyes and said, “Son, what makes you think you made it out of there alive?”

I looked out the window and all I saw was gray mist.  In a moment the memories came back.  The first shot had clipped my elbow.  The second shot hit me in the thigh sending white hot pain coursing through my entire body.  The third was the killer.  It nicked the artery in my neck.   My life spilled onto the field in seconds. I never even saw my killer’s face.   

I looked around at the other guys.  They had heard my conversation with the conductor.  Realization dawned on all of us.

I quietly asked the conductor, “Where did you say this train was taking us again?”

He answered slowly, “Home, Son.  You’re going Home.”  He patted my shoulder comfortingly.

I sat down heavily on a bench.  I buried my head in my hands and cried.  Home…

© 2009 by Erin Pavlina.

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© 2009 by Erin Pavlina.

I hope you enjoy it.  Please feel free to send me feedback or leave a comment about the story on this blog entry.

© 2009 by Erin Pavlina.