Alana fights with guilt and regret throughout this episode. Have you ever done something you regretted, wanted to confess, but couldn’t? Where did it lodge in your body? Stomach? Solar plexus? Throat? Shoulders?

What do you think will happen moving forward with Messenger? With Messenger and Alana? Alana and Ed?

What do you make of the entry in Messenger’s composition book? It could be condensed into the saying, “Giving is Receiving.” Have you experienced this exchange in your own life?

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Episode 13 Complete Text 📖
(Click here to access the PDF)

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MESSENGER RETURNS

On Day 17, Alana strode into Ed’s with two aims. She wanted to make up with him after their fight and she wanted to tell him what she’d done. Alana waited at the end of the bar until Ed finished with the coffee line. She stared at the counter, unsure how to begin. “Look, Ed. I’m really sorry about . . .”

“Me, too,” Ed interrupted. “I shouldn’t have laid all that on you—all my personal stuff. Uh!” He hung his head.

“No. I’m glad you did,” she said. “And we can talk about it more, if you want to. But, for now, I have to tell you something. I hope you’re going to understand.”

He nodded, focused on her.

“Well, I was really upset yesterday,” she began. “As you know!”

They laughed.

“After I left here, believe it or not, I spotted Jackie on the street!”

“What?”

“Yeah. I should have texted you. Sorry, but I was still mad. All Jackie would tell me was: Messenger’s safe and Jackie knows where she is. But hearing that Messenger abandoned me like that made me madder and more frustrated and feeling so helpless and betrayed. So last night, I did it. I launched the website I’ve been building all this time, The Messenger Files. It’s live.”

At first, Ed just stared at her. Finally, he asked, “Why?”

Alana weighed her words. “It doesn’t seem like Messenger’s coming back. Or wants to help me anymore. I thought it was the only way to salvage something from all my work.”

“But I thought she told you to wait.”

Alana felt the blood rush to her face, but she met his eyes. “Yes, she did.”

“What if she does come back?” Ed gently asked each question.

“Well, that doesn’t seem likely. But if by some chance she does, then I guess I’ll have to tell her the truth.”

“Good.” Ed poured and handed her a coffee. He’d automatically comped her ever since her card was rejected. “That’s good.”

“Why do you think she wouldn’t let me post?” Alana asked. “I could never get a straight answer.”

Ed shrugged. “I don’t know. But I guess it must have been, you know, important.”

“That’s what worries me,” Alana confessed.

On Day 18, Alana went into Ed’s as usual. The line was long, but she was fine with waiting—she didn’t have anywhere to go.

Ed soon caught her eye. “Look who’s here!” He cried and pointed towards the back. Alana turned. There was Messenger, sitting on her stool, just like she’d never left!

Alana held onto the drink bar for dear life. Her body shivered from head to toe. I’m dreaming, she thought. But no. Messenger was here. Now. Tears filled Alana’s throat and she lurched towards her.

“Messenger! Where have you been? We’ve been so worried something happened to you!”

“Oh, I’m just fine! Nothing’s wrong with me. Just needed to lay low for a while. Nothing to worry about.” Messenger stood and gave Alana a long, tight hug.

Alana collapsed onto the stool beside her. All she could do was stare.

Messenger patted her on the shoulder. “Everything’s okay. Come with me, Honey. Let’s go for a walk together. I’ve got some folks I need to see today.”

“Messenger!” Alana fought to keep her voice calm and steady. It was shaking, too. “Don’t you understand? You were gone for over two weeks and we didn’t know where you were. We were frantic and . . .” Alana pushed the words out. “We didn’t know if you were alive.”

“Well, I am sorry about all that. But, believe me, it was out of my control.” She looked Alana up and down. “You seem okay to me. Let’s go on that walk. Looks like you could use it, too.”

“Okay,” Alana weakly agreed. She would agree to anything not to lose Messenger again. “I’d better stop in the rest room before we leave.”

“I’ll hold your backpack for you,” Messenger said.

In the bathroom, Alana leaned on the sink to steady herself. Messenger’s back, she’s all right! Alana realized now she hadn’t completely trusted everything Jackie said. But how could Messenger just disappear like that for so long, then reappear like it’s no big deal? Messenger obviously didn’t get what she’d put them through! Even for Messenger, that was a lot to just blow off. A cold, clamminess snuck up Alana’s spine. She stared at her face in the mirror. Do I look guilty? she wondered. Does Messenger already know I posted the website? Is that why she came back? Alana washed her hands and smoothed her hair. Her head cleared enough for her to think, I’ve got to get to Ed.

She hurried over to the bar. “Ed,” she said, her voice low. “Please don’t say anything to Messenger about what I told you—about posting the website.”

Ed stared.

“I know I have to tell her. Just let me do it in my own way, okay?”

His face relaxed. “Sure. Okay.” He smiled. “It’s good to have her back.”

“I know! I can’t believe it!”

When Alana returned, Messenger cut her eyes playfully. “You and Ed seem to be getting along just fine since I was gone.”

Alana chuckled. “We did have a fight, but I guess everything’s okay now.”

Messenger nodded. “Ed’s come a long way,” she said. “So have you, Honey! So have you.”

Alana didn’t know how to reply, except with a lame, “Thanks.” She fought to get her bearings, to believe her own eyes. Messenger was really back!

On their way out, Ed was busy with the coffee line, but called, “Have a nice walk, Ladies.”

The day was sunny and clear but cold, one of those winter days in the city when the air seems cleaner and warmer than it really is. They started on their usual route through the neighborhood, arm in arm, like always, dodged crowds of people pouring down the street on either side of them. Messenger’s solid body right there beside her and her slow, steady gait soothed Alana’s jagged nerves and helped her sort her mixed-up feelings. This would be so sweet, Alana thought, if only I hadn’t posted.

They walked quietly together down First Avenue. “Messenger, I have to say, you really scared me. Even Ed was worried in the end. It seemed like you’d just disappeared into thin air. But I guess even you can’t do that.”

“Well, yes, I can. In my own way, that is. But moving between worlds can get to be hard on a body. Specially one old as mine.” She unlinked her arm and pulled her red cap down to cover her ears.

Alana stared at her. “What are you talking about? Moving between what worlds? How?”

“I’ll tell you more. But, look. There’s the Professor. He’s one of the folks I want to see.” They walked along the street by the fence to the playground and came to the Professor’s office, set up today in the pocket park. Surrounded by his walls of crates stacked two-tall. The Professor stared intently at his blank screen. Stacks of papers covered each crate. And on his desk, he’d arranged his stapler, scotch tape dispenser and three-hole-punch.

They walked towards him and he looked up. “I see you’ve returned,” he said to Messenger.

“Yes, I have. Where’s your coat, Professor? It’s mighty cold today,” Messenger called.

“I’m swamped, Madame. Believe me, I am swamped.” He typed furiously, did not look up again. Alana loved to hear the old-fashioned clicks his keyboard made.

“May I come in?”

“Certainly, but I only have a moment.”

When Alana chuckled, Messenger locked eyes. “Never underestimate him,” she whispered.

Messenger pulled an apple out of a pocket and left it on the closest stack. “Bundle up, now. It’s cold.”

He glanced at the apple but kept typing.

Meanwhile, Alana snuck a look at her phone to check her site. Three-thousand views. When she’d logged 1,000 views earlier that morning, she’d been excited. Now it all made her sick to her stomach. She stuffed her phone back in her pocket. They headed away from the Professor down the street. “You said you know how to move between the worlds—are you talking about different dimensions?”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Call it whatever you want. These other imaginal worlds lie in the space all around us. No boundaries. We’re part of them and they’re part of us. That’s not new news but our smarty scientists are just beginning to figure it out. Moving in and out of the worlds is nothing special. You could do it if you wanted to, Honey.” She patted Alana’s arm, holding her gaze.

“No way. How? I don’t have any gifts like that.”

“You have everything you need.” She paused, then added. “I remember that’s what my teachers always told me.”

Alana’s eyes lit up. “Who were your teachers?” she asked.

At the same time Messenger turned from her and called, “Jackie! Is that you?”

Alana sighed. Jackie shuffled down the sidewalk in her high-heeled, cheetah-print booties. Today she wore a bright red coat that engulfed her tall, rail-thin body. The single dreadlock on the crown of her head hung all the way down her back. She refused to wear a hat.

“Messenger, Alana. Good morning, good morning!” Jackie cried.

“You’re looking good, today, Jackie! You’re always styling.”

“Oh, go on! Trying to sweet-talk me! Well, I’ll see you later.” Jackie waved her hand back and forth as they passed, as if she was on a float in a parade. “Told you she was all right!” she snapped over her shoulder on her way down the street.

“What did she mean by that?” Messenger asked.

“Oh, I saw her yesterday when you were still missing and she told me you were okay.” Alana looked away. “But I didn’t believe her.”

Messenger linked arms with Alana again. “I’m sorry you were worried. That was a real shame. But not of my making.” Messenger stopped and reached up to rub the space between Alana’s eyebrows. “Relax, Honey. There. Feel better?”

“Yes.” Alana registered how very much she’d missed Messenger. She pushed away her own uneasiness about how to confess. “Can you say more about the different worlds?”

“Okay. Well, these worlds I’m talking about were all known by the Wise Ones. You know,” she counted on her fingers, “Mayan, Toltec, Aztec, Native Americans, First Nations, Aborigines, many tribes of African, Alaskan, Arctic, Celtic peoples. Every culture, faith or religion since the beginning of time had Wise Ones. The Wise Ones are in the imaginal world now, working hard on our behalf. They will help you, if you ask.”

Alana’s head hurt trying to keep up. “What do you mean? How can people from the past help me in the present?”

“Time is no problem!” Messenger continued. “This lifetime—other times, from the past and the future. You want to know how many different times can dance on the head of a pin? One. All time is happening at the same time! Nobody gets this. Well, Einstein did. The mystery and beauty of the worlds—the web—the threads—the patterns—the unity. The interconnection. All this is lost on most people. Or,” her voice grew stronger, “those folks who want to keep the true nature of reality from everybody else have hidden it.”

Alana frowned. “Why would they do that?”

“Fear. Greed. Spite. You name it.”

Alana slowed her own pace to match Messenger’s, struggled to make sense of all Messenger had said. She’s always slowing me down, Alana thought. She’s taught me to weigh my words, to figure out how to get answers. I made a pledge to myself to go at Messenger’s pace. But what did I do? I have to tell her. When they turned the corner onto Second Avenue, Alana suggested,“Why don’t we head back to Ed’s soon? It’s so cold.” I’d rather tell her with Ed there. He’ll give me courage.

But it was too late. Messenger had spotted the Flower Lady. “How you doing?” Messenger called to her and waved.

The Flower Lady was all set up on her corner one block down, white plastic buckets filled with carnations surrounded her wheelchair. “Doing good! Cold today,” she called back.

“Tell me about it!”

“Good to see you back! We,” she glanced over at Alana, then back to Messenger, “all missed you. A lot.” Three customers picked flowers out of her buckets. “Listen, come back to see me later. Okay?” the Flower Lady said.

“I’ll try.” Messenger told her.

They watched her gather a bouquet in her hands, then stuff the stems in the gap under the arm of her wheelchair as she cut the raffia. “You all have a real nice walk!” She turned back to her flowers and whipped raffia around the bouquet the first customer had handed her.

They left the Flower Lady, arm in arm again. “You were telling me about your teachers,” Alana prompted.

“My teachers taught me, in order for people to wake up and notice the patterns, they need space and time. Space in-between life as they experience it and time to grasp the scale of reality. Well, that’s what my messages do. They create a pause in time. A breath of fresh air. Maybe a Clinamen. A swerve! A change! Change IS a liminal space. The chance to step out of your life, just for a minute and take a look from another place. To see the patterns of your life and the lives of those around you, how they weave in and out with your own. How we’re all part of it and we’re all connected. How this incredible flow of connection is much bigger than it might seem and works on our behalf at all times. It works not just for those of us here, now, but for all future generations, too. Connection. That’s an example of a dimension for you. That’s the dimension I’m working in.”

“But what difference does it make if a few people get their messages or not? To the bigger picture, I mean? It all seems so random.”

Messenger held Alana with her milky amber eyes. “But there is no such thing as random. Not in this dimension or any other. When anything appears random—that’s its genius. You have to wake up and look with new eyes. Then the pattern will reveal itself.” Messenger pulled a brown paper napkin from one of her pockets and, during the process, an old ballpoint pen with a hairline crack down the side of its white barrel fell onto the concrete from her pocket. Alana picked it up and handed it back to her.

“You keep it,” she said.

“Oh, that’s okay.”

She shook her head. “Keep it. Might come in handy.”

“Thanks.” Alana stuck it in her backpack.

Messenger linked arms with Alana again.

“Where were we?” Alana asked.

“Oh, my, Honey. How can I tell you? Okay, think about it this way. Gaze at all the problems we face in our own lives or worry about in the lives of those we love. All over Planet Earth. We have to work together to mend the fabric. Straighten out any tangles. Fix the tears. Connect the patterns. We do it one stitch at a time. At first one stitch, one message seems like nothing. But sooner than you think the work is done and a huge hole is repaired. That’s all it takes. Paying attention.” She looked around her as she walked—even slower than usual. “Wait a minute,” she said. “I have one more thing I need to do.”

Alana wondered if she was about to receive a message, but no. It was just the lady with the Chihuahuas, all three of them resting on the bench by the school parking lot. They walked down the street to meet them. Messenger reached into another pocket and dug out a lint-covered dog bone, then tried to break it in half.

“Here, let me.” Alana broke it and handed the two halves back to her. Messenger slowly bent over, laid the treat out flat on her gloved hand, first for the tan dog, then the white-and-tan one. The lady didn’t say a word, but a slight smile played across her face, which was like a miracle. Messenger smiled back, then straightened. They walked up to the next bench and sat down.

Messenger nodded back at the lady with her dogs. “People don’t understand how fragile human beings are. I’m not talking about the big stuff. No. One sharp word creates hurt feelings, the strings of nerves plucked can make a tear. But a tear is still just a tear; it can be mended.” Messenger’s eyes filled with tears—the first time that had ever happened.

Does she know? “Messenger, I thought you said you were fine. Is something upsetting you?” Alana asked, struggled to keep her voice light.

Messenger shook her head and looked away. “Oh, no, Honey. No. Just got something in my eyes. Soot. That’s all. Dirt from the street.”

Alana fished a tissue out of her backpack. “Here. Let me help you.” She wiped tears from her cheeks and from under each eye.

“Thank you,” Messenger said. She leaned back against the bench and sighed, her eyes closed.

Alana sat close to her, closer than ever before. She lowered her head onto Messenger’s. They fit together like two puzzle pieces. A loneliness filled Alana she’d had no idea was there. Had she just made the worst mistake of her life? They sat there together for a long time while Alana struggled for the courage to speak, to tell Messenger what she’d done. Do it now, she coaxed herself.

Suddenly, Messenger straightened up, her body rigid. “Alana’s not ready yet. She still needs to build her confidence and learn to trust more.” Although these words flew out of Messenger’s mouth, it wasn’t her usual voice that Alana heard. It sounded low and creepy, like she was very far away or talking in her sleep, or even weirder, like it was recorded.

Alana froze. All the hairs on her arms stood up. She shook Messenger. “Messenger? Messenger!”

“Huh?” Her body jerked. She blinked her eyes a few times. “Oh, my. Sorry, Honey. I’m sorry.”

“What just happened?”

Messenger gulped long draughts of air. “Nothing for you to worry yourself about.” Her face paled and a veil of perspiration spread across her forehead and upper lip. She shook herself several times, then turned to Alana. “You’re right, Honey. We need to get inside. Let’s stop back in at Ed’s. He’ll treat us to a cup. I need one right about now.” She linked arms with Alana, leaned on her, and slowly they walked back to Ed’s.

Alana practically held Messenger up the whole way back. “Messenger, what happened to your voice? Tell me what you meant! What aren’t I ready for? Who should I trust?”

But Messenger wouldn’t answer her.

When they burst into the shop, Ed looked up, frowned. “What’s wrong? You both look like you just saw a ghost.”

Messenger hooted. “Oh, my. I just gave her a scare, that’s all.”

Alana’s worried eyes met Ed’s.

“Go sit,” he told them. “I’ll bring you some coffee.”

Alana settled Messenger on her usual stool. What did I just witness? she wondered. The whole episode was so bizarre, yet it dawned on Alana how strangely like her own experience—the flood of words that had filled her—it was. Is there a connection between the two? A sip of the strong coffee Ed placed in front of her helped. “Thanks so much,” she told him.

Ed got his mop and pail and set to work in their vicinity, to keep an eye on Messenger, Alana figured.

Alana pondered both experiences and had to wonder if spending so much time with Messenger was rubbing off on her. She patted Messenger’s hand. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

Messenger closed her eyes for a few seconds. Then opened them again. “Fine. Just fine.” Messenger’s voice sounded perfectly normal.

Alana met Ed’s eyes and lingered.

“Don’t worry about me,” Messenger told them.

MESSENGER’S GRIP ON TIME

Messenger sat completely still on her stool at Ed’s. She knew what had happened, the mistake she’d made. She mentally repeated her training as she breathed. Stay awake. Keep your eyes open at all times. Travel light. Speak only when necessary. Stay in the present moment. That’s how you keep time flowing correctly. Without that, if you get impatient or boastful or angry or proud or even nervous, worrying if you’ll be able to bear it—you’re sunk. Time gets wadded up and pulls you down like quicksand. It had just happened. Past, present, future akimbo—the vertigo was murder.

She’d come back to finish what she’d started. To save Alana, to keep her safe.

She had to settle down.

Gather her strength.

Prepare for what was coming.

ALANA AND A STRANGE WOMAN

Alana left Messenger with Ed and headed back to the subway, since she had to be at Tale of the Whale by four o’clock. On her way, a strange woman with bright red hair, wearing about ten huge chunky necklaces around her neck, grabbed Alana’s arm.

“Get her out of here,” she whispered into Alana’s ear. Her breath smelled of coffee and dirt.

She looked so crazed Alana pulled away, afraid she might hit her. “Who?”

The woman frowned, her eyes darting. “You know who! Just get her out of this neighborhood. Now! She should never have come back. Look, they’re coming for her and they mean business. She’s going to be arrested, if she’s not careful.”

“Messenger? Why?” Alana stepped back even farther, desperate to create space between them. The smell was overpowering.

“The police will try and get her on insanity—danger to herself and others—that shit. Then they’ll throw her in the psych ward. Believe me,” she whispered, her eyes filled with tears. “She does not want to go there. No! I’m telling you—get her off the street.”

Alana watched the strange woman weave in and out of the crowd. Could she be right? Her stomach clinched in a vise. That sense that something bad was about to happen grew and mixed with her guilt. Why hadn’t she told Messenger what she’d done?

MESSENGER’S COMPOSITION BOOK:

You know the Our Father? Well, now, we don’t say, My Father, do we? Our—all of us together. We need each other to make it happen. That’s how it’s done. How we play best. Life is about choices. We all have free will to choose. Some more than others. When your children are all fed and you’ve got clothes on your back and nobody’s trying to kill you or run you out of your home, then you have more choices. But, you see, it’s all choice and it’s all gift. One action creates a reaction. And on it goes.

You don’t get it? Oh, no—hee, hee. Your nose is out of joint because you want your own little personal message. You think it’s all about you. Hah! Oh, yes. You’re an individual, all right. The bad news is: so are the other billions of souls on this planet.

See—it’s not a contest. No winners, no losers. Only all winners. You’re a winner, but you’re not any more special or precious than the guy on the corner, or the lady at the bus stop, or the child halfway around the world. So, don’t begin that game at all. Lift everybody up. Rejoice in who you are, sure. But guess what? It’s too small a planet for prima donnas. We’re all part of this game—one huge organic whole. Here, what we prize most in life—individuality, independence, freedom from the man. Makes us proud. We grab our lapels and puff out our chests. Problem is—instead of our greatest strength, it’s really our greatest danger because it cuts us off from each other. Anything that happens anywhere on the planet affects each and every one of us. Sometimes in subtle ways, others dramatic. Call it the ripple effect in quantum motion.

You’ve got to ask for help in this world. Get over this feeling you’re here on your own. We’ve got to get beyond the I’s—I-phones, I-pads, individualism, isolationism. Anything that separates you from others, from the whole, is definitely the wrong track, which will lead us to a head-on collision or derailment of our best interests. No! We need to go beyond right-doing and wrong-doing to that field my brother, Rumi, wrote about so long ago. We all need to meet there immediately. Who ever said creation, evolution was over? Who said we’re done? Nope. Rumi’s field is the next step and just happens to be our only hope for survival.

Come on. Meet me there. You can feel it. Close your eyes. Reach out and touch it. Go and live in that space and you’ll be so much more than a winner. You’ll fly—like in your dreams as a kid, when you could reach your arms up high and just take off. Easy as pie. The future of Earth and all Earthlings depends on it. Won’t you come? It’s time to leave home. Embark on the adventure of a lifetime.

Oh, Honey. You’re going to get your message, all right. That will come in good time. For now, you’ve got a job to do. Sometimes you like to drive me crazy, but I reckon you’re just about ready. Yes, sir. You need just a little more time that I hope I can give you. You’re going to have a big surprise—a shock, even. But it’ll all work out. All will be well. Now it’s about time for me to go.

Everything’s going to get a little rough around here. Oh, I’ve seen it before, believe me! Listen, whatever happens, let them know I loved them. I did it all for love. My teacher told me—make your life a story of love. I did have a little bit of school learning, but mostly I learned from the school of hard-knocks. I wanted to give my all. To say, “Yes!” to everything. To pour it all out and not count the cost. So, in my own way, I did. Did I do right? Did I change things? Did I tip the scales for good, even a little? I hope so. I’ll never know. But that was my intention. To leave this planet with empty hands and a full heart. That was my choice. My free will.

Get up! Go to it! I’m telling you, our poor old planet needs you up and moving. My advice is—keep moving. Keep the ball rolling. Okay, music, chanting, twirling, rocking, shaking, swaying, dancing. You feel your groove scurry up your spine from your root all through your body, energy flows to your toes, fingertips, the top of your head and beyond. That’s power. That’s what you need to make things happen. Believe it.

You can read about it all you want, but you’ve got to feel it yourself. Oh, yeah. Flow. Layers and layers. You’ve got to get into the flow of life before it’s too late. For you or for us. Connect. We’re working to make things better and you need to, too. You can do it. Accept the gifts you’re given with love and gratitude, then give them back. That’s the dance. Don’t break the flow. Play your part and be grateful.

There is a point of no return.

Most of all—consider it an adventure, Baby. Consider it an adventure.

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