Seymore's Interlude

By Franci Neale

Sarah is comatose in the hospital after a serious car wreck. She leaves her body and finds a way to streak to Seymore Place...a place that is out of this world...literally, out of this world. Seymore is building the facility for helping people like Sarah, but it isn't ready yet.

Seymore Place, where Sarah lands, is Seymore's creation and he and his assistant, Mesa, and young helper, Geralty, are embarked upon a huge adventure. It is Seymore's job to build a platform that will accommodate the troubled earthlings and send then home again. They have been ending up at other locations and the numbers seems to be increasing. So, Seymore has been charged with building a station that will attract, engage, and redirect the earth dwellers to return home.

Since this is a new facility, nothing is actually known about what kind of facility it will be. Seymore must decide and create the atmosphere and method for dealing with the wayward travelers from earth.

Geralty, his charming young helper, is delighted and is totally taken with the facilty at Seymore Place. He grows and learns through helping Seymore and Mesa create the facility. He also has enormouse affection for Sarah.

Mesa, Seymore's assistant, is a transplant from Mercury's station and is smart, outspoken and kind. She does her best to not influence Seymore...but can't seems to avoid making an impression.

The creation of Seymore's Place is a treat for your imagination. It is funny, serious, and
I hope you enjoy reading it.

Here's a small excerpt from the book:

If I had stopped at box one I could still have burned everything, but having read the note I was on the hook and the details and information inside the cardboard boxes took over my life.
The take over resulted in Aunt Sarah’s story being written, but not without lots of fits and starts, and hours upon hours of reading her scratchy handwriting in diaries, on note pads and in her professional files; not to mention sorting, filing and preserving mementos, personal drawings and even a small piece of music.
The professional files had proved the most helpful in reconstructing the adventure that initiated Sarah’s research into out of body events and other unfamiliar states of reality. The records she had kept of the experiences of patients who had been comatose were fascinating and provided the support I needed to personally get past the you’ve-got-to-be-kidding part of her work. If I had relied only on the other materials, you’d be reading some other author’s book right now.
She was a fine psychologist and had done years and years of research into the in-coma experiences of individuals as well as consultation and support for their families. She was quite well known and her work was much admired. Her husband, a medical doctor who specialized in head injuries, had been her main source of clients in the beginning of her work, but later she traveled extensively to both train and consult with other psychologists and doctors about the impact of deep coma.
What I discovered from organizing and reading the material in the two boxes was that what I thought I knew about my Aunt Sarah was just a smidgen of the incredible depths of her knowledge and experience. As I gradually began to understand the contents of her collection of “bits and pieces” I knew I wanted to make the contents public. So I began to write.

This is the first book of the Seymore series, and the second one is on its way. It was a treat to write and I hope you enjoy reading it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Franci Neale
• Release date: May 19, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458114440

Franci Neale

The author is from Washington State and lives in a small cottage on Puget Sound. She sends her days writing over the last several years.

Book preview

Introduction

Flying just isn’t what it used to be. In days past I actually got dressed up to go on a plane trip. Now, it’s like riding a local transit bus with all its smells and advertising, delays, stops and jostling. I’ll forego a complaint about today’s security checks and legalized insults.

Nevertheless I am sitting on a jumbo flying south to Los Angeles on a mission I only vaguely imagined. There is a film maker in LA who thinks my book would make a good movie and wants to buy it. I’m not sure that’s a good idea or even if the interest is genuine, but as my Aunt Sarah used to say, In for a penny, in for a pound (she loved anything that was English, mostly the silly stuff).

A limo has been arranged to take me to an office in Beverly Hills to talk to a man I don’t know about a book I love, how much money he wants to give me and how much control of my work I am willing to give him. Since the book has done very well, his position is weak because I don’t need the money. It is further eroded because I love control and will fight for it; it’s the reason I still own the movie rights. A meeting of the minds seems unlikely.

Since most of this book is really my Aunt Sarah’s doing, I intend to stand up for her interest first. Having gone to the mat with several publishers before the book was printed I have every intention to see the pending negotiation through to the best possible ending for me and Aunt Sarah (and Seymore too); which will probably mean no sale. I almost feel sorry for the movie man and I haven’t even met him. This may be a waste of his time.

I’ve seen some movies based on books and the track record is not so good in my opinion. The author’s intention and the character’s roles (in this case real not fictional characters, or at least some of them are real) are not very well adapted to the moving pictures especially in books like mine where most of the events take place in a previously unrevealed reality. The Experimental Station at the center of the story just wasn’t there before Seymore made it and Sarah found it. All I could do was describe it. Not sure that a film maker can actually make it into pictures that seem right, are honest and conveys the true meaning of the astonishing events that characterized Sarah’s life and the creation of the station and Seymore Place.

The material for the book came to me by way of inheritance. It was specifically left for me by my Aunt Sarah. The will made it clear that no one was to see her collection of notes and memorabilia except me. After the estate was distributed the two big, sealed boxes were delivered along with a couple of pieces of costume jewelry, a Gucci bag, and several pieces of old china (the pattern is Elizabeth, which is my name). I carefully washed and put the lovely china into my collection, put the jewelry in my jewelry box and joyfully carry the handsome vintage Gucci bag on special occasions like today.

The two big boxes were put in the store room in the garage. They stayed there for nearly 15 years. Occasionally they would slip my mind, but most often they were a nuisance memory, a gentle haunting, that only an unfinished obligation can produce. Finally one day, in a fit of clearing out and cleaning up I concluded that I had to either do something about the boxes and their contents or get rid of them. A large fire was my first choice.

But as with everything in this tale, fate (or kismet or whatever) was more powerful than any other force, and, recklessly, I opened the smaller of the two boxes. It was packed with my Aunt Sarah’s life history made up of notes, diaries, photographs, musings, music, art, drawings, all held together by what I came to learn was an amazing series of events in two separate but related places. The contents of the two boxes covered four decades. Inside on the top of the larger box was a note from Aunt Sarah that said:

Dearest Elizabeth,

I am leaving all the materials about the extraordinary lives that Seymore and I have shared to you. I’m not at all sure you are pleased. But I do know you are talented and reliable and that you are the only one who can make something of all these cherished bits and pieces. Seymore and I (mostly me) are relying on you to bring order to this collection and do something good with it. No rush. I am confident that whatever you do and whenever you do it will be just right.

Love to you always from your Aunt Sarah.

If I had stopped at box one I could still have burned everything, but having read the note I was on the hook and the details and information inside the cardboard boxes took over my life.

The take over resulted in Aunt Sarah’s story being written, but not without lots of fits and starts, and hours upon hours of reading her scratchy handwriting in diaries, on note pads and in her professional files; not to mention sorting, filing and preserving mementos, personal drawings and even a small piece of music.

The professional files had proved the most helpful in reconstructing the adventure that initiated Sarah’s research into out of body events and other unfamiliar states of reality. The records she had kept of the experiences of patients who had been comatose were fascinating and provided the support I needed to personally get past the you’ve-got-to-be-kidding part of her work. If I had relied only on the other materials, you’d be reading some other author’s book right now.

She was a fine psychologist and had done years and years of research into the in-coma experiences of individuals as well as consultation and support for their families. She was quite well known and her work was much admired. Her husband, a medical doctor who specialized in head injuries, had been her main source of clients in the beginning of her work, but later she traveled extensively to both train and consult with other psychologists and doctors about the impact of deep coma.

What I discovered from organizing and reading the material in the two boxes was that what I thought I knew about my Aunt Sarah was just a smidgen of the incredible depths of her knowledge and experience. As I gradually began to understand the contents of her collection of bits and pieces I knew I wanted to make the contents public. So I began to write.

What I learned right away was that writing Aunt Sarah’s story meant writing the story of characters and events that I could never have imagined. And yet in their own way they were and still are real and my bet is that Aunt Sarah is still enjoying their company.

So, I am honored to offer you the story I gleaned from the two boxes, my memories and from other sources that are quite extraordinary.

Chapter 1 –

Setting the Stage

Sarah was a darling girl with sweet dimples and a quick and endearing smile that revealed an inner innocents and good intentions. She was both engaging and mildly dangerous. In high school (where she did well enough) she met and fell in love with David in her junior year. He was a lady’s man and everybody knew it, even Sarah. After school he went away to do his two years in the military. When he returned he picked up with Sarah again and they appeared to be firmly on the path to living the good life as it was defined in 1959.They both had jobs, cars and starry-eyed hopes and dreams though not necessarily the same hopes and dreams as it turned out.

Sarah wanted to marry. She wanted to marry David. She wanted to marry David soon. David said he wanted to marry. He also said he wanted to marry Sarah. To David two years in the future was soon enough.

In August of 1959 Sarah decided to take a few steps on her own down the road to marriage and rented a small two-bedroom tract house in one of the new neighborhoods on the edge of town. It was clean and new with a small yard in front and a fenced one in back, a detached garage and was only $100.00 a month. David liked the house and especially liked the garage where he could keep his red Ford truck which he tricked out and work on it in his spare time .Sarah loved having the truck in her garage and David often stayed late, sometimes overnight (though they were careful about that).But not careful enough.

Sarah knew for sure by November that she was going to have David’s baby. She didn’t tell him, but stepped up the pressure to get married. David, on the other hand, wasn’t progressing toward marriage at all. His heels were firmly dug in and he still wanted to wait for at least two years. After all, they were just barely old enough to drink and David was really enjoying his life with Sarah as a single man.

Sarah was starting to feel panicky and she was very worried that she might be driving David away. But, she decided she had to tell him that she was nearly three months pregnant and convince him that getting married was the best answer for all three of them. She was scared and anxious, but it was the best thing to do and it needed to be done right away.

On December 20 it snowed and the roads turned to packed, crusty ice. David said he’d take Sarah to work so she didn’t have to drive on the bad roads. His truck had fat tires with good treads and he knew how to drive in snow and ice from being stationed in Germany. They set out in plenty of time. Sarah decided that this was the perfect time to tell David about their baby.

Knowing Sarah, I am sure she was sweet, kind and gentle in her delivery, but David’s response was deadly. He ran off the road at a wide curve, through the guard rail and over a steep bank; the truck turned over twice and ended up 25 feet down the edge of a ravine upside down in a fast running creek.

David was dead. Sarah was not. No one knows for sure how they were found so quickly, but probably someone saw the wreck happen and stopped at the gas station about half a mile further down the road and called the police. The police report shows that it took the rescuers 45 minutes to get Sarah up the embankment and into the ambulance. She was a mess. Their report says that they expected her to die on the way to the hospital. She didn’t.

It took several days to get enough equipment to the site to move the truck and retrieve David’s body. He had died instantly.

When Sarah arrived at the hospital she was quickly given every possible kind of care with incredible speed and after many hours in the emergency room she was sent to the ICU for 24 hour monitoring by the special section’s nurses and staff. She was in a coma and remained on the brink of death as they wheeled her into the special room.

Sarah was essentially an orphan. Her mother had died suddenly the previous year and her father had long ago wandered out of her life to pursue a variety of addictions and no one knew where he was or even if he was alive.

David’s parents came to the hospital to see her several times, but they were overtaken by their own loss and grief of their only son. They cared for her, but were no help to her. What could they do for a young woman who appeared to be on the edge of dying? Pray. Which they did.

Sarah’s only real help was her doctor. He did everything he could think of to help her; made her as comfortable as he could, checked her regularly and thoroughly. Her head was badly cut and concussed, her brain had been jolted and bruised, her right arm was broken and her right leg was bruised, cut, battered and swollen. She had several serious muscle strains, hairline fracture to four ribs and one ankle was broken. They checked her for internal bleeding, and tried everything to get a cognitive response. She was patched, sewn, taped, supported, medicated and tenderly looked after. She was in a deep coma and she was alive, but not very as reflected on the myriad of monitors which carefully measured every shallow breath and other functions.

Unknown to her diligent doctor and the attentive staff, Sarah was very much alive and watching from a corner in her room. When they had done everything medically possible to help her and brought her to an ICU, as they raised the high bed’s side rail she smoothly slide out of her body and became her own observer

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It took me several days of sorting, rearranging and long hours of reading the contents of the two big cardboard boxes to bring some order to the cherished bits and pieces. It took me two weeks to figure out that the story actually began with the wreck’s awful results and the first of Sarah’s experiences sans body. That discovery was very off-putting for me and I nearly gave up on the project yet again. I am orderly, practical, and down to earth. I understand that there are things all over the place that we don’t understand fully, or even partially. But to know that a member of my family was a participant in a woo-woo out-of-the-body experience was troubling. I shared DNA with this gossamer whiff of intelligence that drifted away from Aunt Sarah’s physical construction. For a brief moment I entertained the idea that I might be able do the same thing. It was a frightening thought. I dispelled it immediately.

If I hadn’t had the evidence of the next four decades of her life spread out on tables and shelves before me I would have been sure that she had not left her body but had actually died. She not only was not dead she was magical.

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As Sarah hung out, easily and comfortably, in the corner of the room she watched nurses, her doctor, housekeeping and other help as they came and went. Some paused to look her over, one nurse always reached over and squeezed her hand and when she had a free moment or two she came in a rubbed Sarah’s feet with loving tenderness. The doctor sometimes sat for a while and talked to her about his medical opinion and her condition. He frequently hoped out loud for her return to consciousness. He worried with kindness. One of the housekeepers always sang while he worked and blessed Sarah when he was finished tidying her room. Through the day her vitals were taken and retaken and she was checked and rechecked for progress, healing and every big and little sign that she was still present.

She liked being away from her body as she no longer experienced any pain or discomfort. But she was not sure what to do next. Did people in a coma just hang out in two places until something or someone came along to meld them back into life’s realness?

She was aware of everything going on around her and since everyone else thought she wasn’t aware of anything they thought nothing of talking, singing, and fussing over her all the time, day and night. A few days into her hospital stay Christmas came and went and the hospital was noisy and lots extras in the form of carolers, preachers and gift bearers increased the traffic. It was, apparently, a few days before Christmas when she slipped her skin, as the hospital was quieter. But still she had slept only in grabs and snatches. She apparently dozed off for nearly two days and awoke to some people from her work visiting for New Year’s Day. They didn’t stay long and in some ways were more uncomfortable than she was. There is no training for visiting the comatose.

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One person who came every day, at first, was her brother, my father, who faithfully brought her favorite flowers, peppermint candy (the nurses liked it) and me. I was tiny and have no actual memory of the visits, but now and then as I worked to recreate her story I seemed to have memory nudges and vague visions of her motionless body in the high white hospital bed.

My dad told me years later that he had a very hard time with this turn of events. Sarah was his only sister and they had both pulled each other through their mother’s recent death besides having shared a plethora of sibling squabbles and celebrations. They loved each other very much. It became more and more difficult for him to make his visits and finally he was reduced to seeing her every Sunday. He did that for the whole time she was in a coma – 12 weeks. On his second Sunday visit he took a book of baby names to read to Sarah in hopes that it would inspire her to return to consciousness. If he had known that Sarah was absent from his reality and actually watching him, he would have been speechless. Maybe even ticked off.

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In January of 1960 Sarah remained on her perch in the corner of her room and her body’s life, such as it was, took on a regularity that was boring and totally routine. She decided to see if leaving the room was possible. Amazingly, the thought instantly propelled her to the wide pale green hallway. Her new found ability was to prove useful and entertaining. She carefully thought herself up and down the walls and across the ceiling and then mentally mapped out an adventure. She went to the cafeteria, the lounge, admissions and found her way to the nursery for new babies. Then it hit her with a jolt that sent her instantly back to her room. She didn’t have her baby with her. The baby was still in her hurt and damaged body.

The thoughts of her baby immediately sent her traveling self back into her comatose shell. The pain was awful; worse now that she knew what being without it was like. She knew, though, that she couldn’t leave the baby behind again. The baby (she was pretty sure it was a boy) seemed fine. She knew that it was her thoughts and intentions that moved her out of her damaged body but could her thoughts also move her baby’s self away from the pain and discomfort or did the baby even realize that she was hurt?

She was not alone in her concern for her unborn child. Her doctor was worried too and always checked the baby’s condition first when he checked for Sarah’s vitals and looked for any improvement. The second day after the crash he had told Jake (my dad, her brother) about the baby and my dad was stunned and said nothing to anyone. The Doctor and my father agreed that it was best not to tell anyone that Sarah was unmarried. It wasn’t the baby that was the secret it was why there was a baby that had to be hidden. It was to be a short lived agreement.

What captured Sarah’s attention, besides the pain, was that while she was away her body had operated just fine without her. She realized that she was really, really hurt and that her body had plenty to do, but she was amazed and delighted with the ability of her physical being to manage her situation. Except for the pain. After many hours of mulling over her injuries, she realized that the pain was the problem for both her traveling self and her coma self. She decided it might be that her whole self was better off in two parts.

Even when her traveling self returned to her coma self she knew that they were not fully connected like they used to be and that the lack of complete integration was what the coma was about. It was a way to manage the pain. Her traveling self could hardly stand the pain and her coma self didn’t know the pain, only the lack of full connection. And coma self was very busy trying to make all the repairs that were required so that the full reintegration could happen. Coma self had lots of help, traveling self was unknown and unassisted. Sarah decided to take her traveling self and her baby away from coma self. The thought did it.

Instantly, there she was where she left off about two weeks earlier, in the nursery at the hospital. She was not sure if she was alone or had the baby with her. She lingered on a gurney in the long hall for a while to think about her situation. No amount of concentration seemed enough to tell her if the baby traveled or not. She decided that since the baby was a part of her, that he had and she just couldn’t tell. She was pretty sure, though, that moving the baby back and forth from her coma body was not a good idea. Ultimately, she concluded she and the baby were together. At least the traveling parts were all traveling, she reasoned. In an odd way she felt very whole, a delightful lighter-than-air wholeness that was euphoric. She was pretty sure the baby was also feeling good.

Though she felt more confident about where they were she was not sure what to do next. A part of her vaguely missed her physical self, the way it used to be before the wreck. A kind of heart-felt yearning came to her for the way she used to walk, sit, and seamlessly flow through space. She knew that she wanted that back, but she didn’t know when or how that was going to happen. In the meanwhile, she had a delicious opportunity to explore the world from a secret and very special place. But she soon realized that she wasn’t alone.

She was moving along the corridors of the big hospital and now and then would encounter odd energy; little eddies of moving air and temperature changes. Suddenly, she saw a perfectly round tube moving with precision down the center of the hallway. It reached from floor to ceiling and was about five feet across. She followed. She thought there might be something inside the tube, but it was impossible to tell for sure. Then suddenly it disappeared. Her thoughts propelled her traveling self to search for it and zipped up and down the wide hall past the nurses station and up the stair well.

No sign of the mysterious big tube. She stayed in the stair well to ponder recent events when suddenly the tube returned to exactly her position and whooshed her traveling self on the greatest trip imaginable.

Chapter 2

It All Started at Middle Mind

After I first read Sarah’s notes about the translucent white cylinder I quickly rummaged through the piles of stuff to find out what it was. It took hours to piece the information together, but it was worth it. Unfortunately, as many times as I’ve tried, I can’t find a good way to make the explanation anything but wordy and circuitous. The good part is that you’ll meet Seymore and Valentino before Sarah does.

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Seymore and his brother, Valentino, had been overseeing Middle Mind for so long it was hard for them to remember having done anything else. It was such important work assisting those in transition from The Rim of Creations. They both vicariously enjoyed the fabulous tales and adventures of those returning after a tour of free will and creation at the edge of All of Everything.

The Great Psyche created the concept of Transitioning. However, the means for each transitioner to completely review and understand their achievements and purposes had been created by the brothers. They had enhanced and honed the tools and methods that were used by the transitioners to return to their entity, go on to a support station, train to assist at Middle Mind or prepare to return for another tour at The Rim. Every other part of the Support System in which they all served depended on the elegant and successful management skills of Seymore and Valentino at Middle Mind.

They had been together, sometimes as brothers and sometimes as old friends, through many tours and transitions of their own. Many times they had chosen to expand their purposes at the Rim of Creations and on those tours they were always brothers. The last time was as William and Henry James and at Middle Mind they had retained most of the image, demeanor and temperament of the great philosopher/academic and the prolific writer of complex literature. They had no recollection of exactly what they had accomplished at the Rim during their last tour as it was the purpose of Transition to provide each returning individual the means to wipe their personal slate clean and start afresh to further pursue their purpose or adopt a completely new one. The brothers had chosen the later and become the Prime Administrators of Middle Mind.

The respite from creating at The Rim had been wonderful for both of them. By staying at Middle Mind they could continue being brothers and the depth and affection of that relationship supported them and their work with the transitioners. They were both loved and admired throughout every part of Middle Mind.

Seymore took most of the transitions that were especially difficult; some were quite mysterious. It’s impossible to know how those circumstances are created, but they had to be sorted out and managed at Middle Mind before a clean transition toward a new choice could begin

Valentino’s expertise was his extraordinary ability to bring order to complexity. He easily understood the stories of the transitioners and could keep track of who belonged to what thread of experience and why. He kept meticulous records and they were used by many others who aided in the myriad of transitions that were the responsibility of Middle Mind. It was a huge and vital operation and Valentino’s skills were the main stay that made it run easily and faithfully to the benefit of all.

Valentino was especially adept at ferreting out just the right niche for fulfilling a transitioner’s hopes and desires and providing a wide and diversified catalog of choices. He also was expert at implementing innovations and concepts originating with transitioners. Seymore excelled at elaborate constructs and creations; he was also a master terraformer. They managed and enhanced a rich framework and resource for transitioners to manipulate so they could more easily and fully understand their purposes, either new or on-going ones.

Seymore and Valentino had a handsome area where they could work, live and serve the needs of Middle Mind. It was not all their construct, but was composed of the best of the buildings and grounds from fragments of memories carried back from The Rim of Creations by various transitioners’ experience on the great campuses at The Rim. Because the facility where Administration was housed was loved and used it was very stable and reassuring. Occasionally an unattached memory trace emerged from the transition process would be added to the compound. The most recent addition was a large black and white cat that Seymore particularly liked. He was a very small fragment that had no need to return to its source so Seymore commandeered him for company in his spacious offices.

Fred, the cat, had an unusual intelligence and frequently would inspire Seymore to more contemplation than was his custom. Seymore found pleasure in the low hum of Fred’s purring as he sat on the wide wood window sill. Seymore sometimes wondered if Fred had commandeered him instead of the other way around. He seemed to have a specific intent to comfort and soothe Seymore and a purpose beyond regular catness. Seymore like him very much.

It was in this handsome, intelligent and useful environment that Seymore was both comfortable and effective. It was the same environment where the unexpected occurred. Something that had never been a part of Seymore’s experience; it would have been delightful if it hadn’t been unsettling.

At a moment when the light on the grounds was at its most appealing, a soft zephyr blew through a half open window. On the breeze a brilliant light rode in to sit opposite Seymore and announce that he would soon be blessed with a visit from the Great Psyche Essence.

In all of his memory Seymore did not have a recollection as momentous or meaningful as that simple message. It was hugely outrageous and portended a wide range of possibilities and suggested that potent shifts were in the offing. Psyche, who spent all her time at Psyche Essence as far as Seymore knew, had never come to Middle Mind since he and Valentino had assumed its management. Since there were no issues or conditions at Middle Mind that were in any way unmanageable, a visit from the elegant, though distant and reportedly chilly, Psyche seemed at least curious.

The bright light that carried the news was a Mercury Messenger, though Seymore was too dumbstruck to initially make that connection, and the message was delivered without fanfare or explanation; typical of the tidy communicator. Seymore leaned forward and quietly asked the obvious question, Why?

The little messenger, suspended in mid-air with the tiny wings on his heels flapping rapidly, responded with obvious impatience, I have no idea, I am only the messenger, but Psyche knows and I’m sure she’ll tell you. He then vanished as quickly as he’d arrived. Seymore was left to think over the possibilities and stared with thrilled uncertainty at his office door. He spontaneously got up and opened it to the out of doors. There, filling the doorway, was Psyche. Glorious Psyche, regaled in a dramatic regal costume wearing and equally royal expression of cool aloofness.

Psyche, creator of Middle Mind and the great mental essence was here, on his doorstep, to see him. Seymore was paralyzed with wonder. Psyche greeted him with far more warmth than he expected, and said, Nothing is wrong, Seymore. Your services are needed in a new enterprise.

Seymore sat down, a necessity in the moment, and Psyche joined him at the table near the window. The cat immediately jumped on the table and sat conveniently so that Psyche could stroke his head and back; suddenly Seymore knew more than he knew before, but was not sure what he now knew about his cat.

Carefully and patiently, Psyche set out what brought her to Seymore.

Psyche, being a Primary Essence, was all things of the mind and considered by some to be the giver of life, and Seymore knew that most new undertakings originated with her. She looked directly and intently at Seymore and said, Valentino’s work is the most essential to Middle Mind, and so we have decided that our new creation will go to you, Seymore. It is to be a new platform for returning to The Rim of Creations without transitioning at all. It is a completely new and much needed innovation.

She waited a moment in her delivery without shifting her glittering green eyes and then continued, The situation that requires this new platform came about because those creating at The Rim are crafting a solution to a problem in a way that needs to be supported outside The Rim. More and more frequently hurt or damaged or deeply unhappy creators decide on their own to leave The Rim early. Because their principal focus is creating, the most earnest and sincere have inadvertently conjured clever means of reshaping Units of Creation into large, high-velocity tunnels of light and water. The formations provided an avenue out of The Rim and into the paths that lead to other zones, platforms, planes and dimensions.

So far, Seymore understood very little of what the Primary Essence was talking about. He didn’t say so but she immediately elaborated, The problem with these new constructs is that they are unstable and potentially dangerous. Since there are not established trails or patterns dedicated to their use their velocity and lack of guidance leaves them unfocused after leaving The Rim. They have already wandered to penetrate more protected and usually inaccessible areas in a variety of dimensions. A few times the inter-dimensional projections had made it all the way to their original entity, or, embarrassingly, to an unrelated entity. She paused to let that information be absorbed and Seymore tried his best to look like it had been.

Her presentation went on, There are all kinds of stop-gap means now being used whenever one of the intrusions occurs, which is becoming more frequent. The interceptions are being done in an ad hoc manner without any coordination. So far nothing really unmanageable had happened, but it appears fairly certain that something will. She stopped and breathed a deep sign representing her frustration with the wayward light tunnels.

"The complaints about these intrusions have all been directed to Psyche Essence, of course. There is only a hodge-podge of information and nothing to rely on about the nature of the lights or their passengers. It has become obvious that it is up to us to fix it. The creators appeared to be using their minds to bend and reform creative units into light structures.