The Mirror

By Steve Taylor and Csaba Lázár

I read a quotation somewhere, saying: "We live in this world to feel at home”. I would say: "We live in these worlds to feel home in all of them”. Friends are always close to your home. Friends are essential. They stand up for you when they got to know you better. Usually, people with CLEAN mind have a lot of friends. It takes time until a new community gets to know and accepts you. First, personal prejudices and discrimination have to pass away. Thus, you can have many friends at different places.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483548562

Steve Taylor

Steve Taylor is the founding pastor of Graceway Baptist Church (www.graceway.org.nz), in Ellerslie, New Zealand. He is completing a PhD on the emerging church and has a Masters in Theology in communicating the cross in a postmodern world. Steve receives requests to supply spirituality resources and to speak in UK and US.

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CHAPTER ONE

WHO IS IN JAIL?

Do you feel all right?

Yes, I do.

And you?

Me too.

How was the flight Stephan?

Six and a half hours pass quickly, I preferred to sleep. The stewardesses were kind. I flew with Polish Airlines.

How are you now?

"It's not really good to arrive at a ten by ten concrete cell, in an unknown country where people talk the most about human freedom. The light is always on, I don't know what the time is. I don’t know when it’s morning or evening. I don't know who is beside me because when I look out of the small narrow window of the cell door, I see only the walls of the corridor. I was in jail, a long time ago. I'm looking for the differences. I've found a lot. You know, I have come here to work. I received the invitation by mail with the address where I should have come to. A fellow countryman of mine sent it to my home address. When I got off the plane at the airport and went to the exit, the immigration officers stopped me. They asked for the letter and checked the address in the registration system. They called the resident who didn't know me nor the man who had sent me the letter of invitation. I spent several hours in a separate room. Then, they wanted me to unpack my bag or else they cut the zipper with a knife. I told them that it was their job. Mine was different. But the key of my grip's lock is in my other bag, behind the counter.

They’ve already asked for it.

Give me the key. said the negress officer. She looked at me blankly. She started pulling on the rubber gloves, picked up a knife and wanted to start cutting my canvas bag. The other officer told her to stop and started looking for my bag. I got it. I found the key. I opened the lock. They rummaged my clothes, swearing:

What the fuck’s this pile of rags?

They’re interesting chaps.

I know. But you know, I learned a lot again. Because it’s not me who is in prison, but the ones who feel like being there. The body is not a prison; you see and know that very well. I’ve a beautiful red prison uniform. My Chinese Velcro gym shoes are three sizes bigger. I thought, at least, I'm getting some Nike stuff here, but no. The Chinese have gained access with their products to jails too. I can't believe it! Their stuffs are also fine for jailbirds. It’s interesting that when I'm trying to find an actual relation between differences, I often compare things, maybe just to calm myself down. Or I don’t know. I have a forty-five-year-old well-dressed guy here, wearing a suit. He says he’s from Poland. His family lives in Warsaw. He built prisons in America, but now they found something wrong with his passport, so he can’t enter the USA for five years either. He hasn't been eating properly for two days. If the fuzz on duty doesn't eat his portion, he usually gives it to me. I asked him if he was starting to sink in himself. He said he didn't know, but he’d fly back home two days later anyway. He’ll be expelled just like me. It’s not easy to go somewhere, where you’ve been building jails for ten years ‘cause you work as an architect, and then, suddenly you’re told that this is no longer okay, go home, but before you do so, stay in jail for five days. And you can stare at the bone-white walls, your two-inch thick mattress, and the stainless toilet bowl with a tap above. You can think of your family, you can phone them and cry into the receiver to your four-year-old daughter. So it was. I heard that.

Okay, it happened to someone else. How are YOU?

Half okay, half not. I don't care who’s out and who’s in. Though, I think that a jailer, who spends half of his life within these walls, courting his colleague through a CB radio, may feel rather locked in. They're not really allowed to talk to the prisoners, but I manage to get short answers from some of them. For now, I'm fine, I guess. It's good to have an old friend in here. We met a long time ago; jet lag is often bothering.

We exist to help each other. You know, I must say, you've got nothing to do here. We changed our mind, you gotta go home. There are no coincidences. You’ll have two more days here, and then you’ll go back by plane. You need to do something else. There are more important things waiting for you in a more important world. You have to be there. You’re ordered to be there. Your energies need to be there. Do you see me?

Yes, I do. I did many times what I had to. Will we meet later?

Of course, many times. I think that's all for now. Let's watch the landscape a bit. The lights of New York and the illumination of the skyscrapers are wonderful. These millions of irregular lighting dots look nice.

We sat next to each other for half an hour, watching the stars and the lights. Many old things came to my mind; my thoughts were in a whirl: How does it feel when you don't need to say a word to one of your best friends because you can talk to him without words? And how is it when telepathy is enough instead of words? Babel is the world of languages, but telepathy is clear even without words if you’re on the same wavelength.

Our silver cords were shining behind us, showing the place of our bodies. Mine pointed towards a first-floor jail cell, my friend's one ended in an apartment in New York.

You know, I have wondered what a real prison is and what it is like when your soul is immortal and constantly reborn to the Earth. Are the two prisons the same? Is it the same tie? Does this soul have to be born here, to the Earth, through many lifetimes to live the horrors of existence without any joy? Why and how many times does it have to do this? Does it know, is it aware of the events of its previous life? How much did it suffer from personal attacks, what was it like? Can we believe this soul and the ideology it conveys? Why are we not able to clearly recall our previous lives? Does our subconscious, as our best psychologist, let only good thoughts pass to our everyday thinking? Do such humans exist? If they do, are they trustworthy? Do their words matter in our world? Are we able to accept the existence of such individuals? How many of these people may exist in this world? Do these people feel like spending their lives in jail or living free? Many people escape to suicide from their problems. Why do reincarnated individuals, who remember their previous lives, not commit suicide!? Only mere accidents may happen to them? Why? What are the additional experiences they live with in this world? Clairvoyance, aura seeing, astral traveling, telepathy? And a lot of other things? You know, I don't understand them, but I’ll tell you how to use these forces to live your last life on Earth worriless. You won’t see your body as a prison and live your life as something that is necessary evil. Everyone has its own life. Maybe it is determined; perhaps it is the result of the previous one, or maybe a wish, the last one?

What do you think? It's time to think about this! Let me ask you something. What do you want? For yourself. asked my subconscious while I was dreaming.

"What do I want? Not being here, in the jail of the U.S. Border Patrol, but at home. Some days are more than enough. I haven’t had a coffee since I’m here. That’s a big issue. I’m alone in a cell, waiting to be expelled. It's not pleasant. Lucky me, I can emerge from my body. I went to New York and Newark. I don't want to stay here. Maybe, I had to come here for something else, just to meet my old friends on the astral plane. While my soul was on the wings, my body was taken care of in the jail. My spirit was flying, looking for old friends. In this respect, this jail was a perfect place for me. Tomorrow or the day after, my flight takes me back to Europe. The government of my country will pay it. I'm grateful that I was born there. I learned one of the world's most difficult languages as my mother tongue, and I discovered only later, while being in other countries, that the logic of that language had taught me the way to think and to make other people think, too.

What do I want? I’ve two children. I want to give them everything I can, despite the fact that their mother found a new partner. I took it seriously when nursing me in my former life she promised to be faithful if we would meet again in our next life. I feel bad for the broken promise. I'm not sure that she remembers the promise she made. It was wartime, shocking for her. And a nurse promises many things to a dying person to improve his condition a bit. I wish them all the best."

That's not what I asked. Listen to me. What do you want for yourself?

Oh, I see. Just for myself... I'm not selfish. Listen: I’m not afraid of death, because it doesn't exist; it never existed and never will. Only spiritual transformations to other levels are real. That's it. I wish health to my present body and to you as well. You're my best friend and we can always talk clearly. Anyway, are you testing me now? Do you want to know if I have any selfish goals before any charge is laid on me? Listen! I think that, personally, I've had and still have a place to sleep, food to eat and drinks to drink. I can do astral and physical travel, too. I can receive external information mentally and through words. I saw the astral highway where souls are walking on the road in one direction on both sides while they’re waiting for something to stop by them and pick them up to move on faster towards a new rebirth. It's like watching an old black-and-white movie. Along the road, on both sides, souls with the same outlook are walking in a slow, monotonous movement, without expressions, without feelings, in one direction, in long, crowded queues. They cannot step in the middle of the road. It's not allowed. There’s a fence along the footpath they’re walking. They can't err from the road to any direction. They can't slow down because if they fall, the next soul, who is coming behind, may step on them and they get stuck in the ground. They have to go without food, drink or thoughts in one direction. But at least, they go the right one. They’re waiting for their rebirth. They’re on the way. The time depends on the individual. A CAR may also come and pick them up. Maybe. Those who are given tasks to do can be faster than others. Once I waited about seven hundred years, and then the last time fifty. That’s all that you let me remember. I remember my last three lives. I know what I did, I know where I lived, I know what I learnt. After that you're asking me here, in the jail, what I want for myself. I can get out of my body, but I'm locked in jail because of a misunderstanding. Which one is worse regarding the time? Being here for a few days, or waiting for a new rebirth like a living dead for a few centuries? You said this was my last life here, on Earth. I don't know the one who is through this spiritual way of life. Who has developed those abilities that I also have. I can't choose a paragon for me in this field. I think that I’m physically and mentally fine. But the difficulties, if I consider my ideas as possible failures, rather confirm my intentions. I've just understood what the point of the couple of days I spent here is. You don't show me completely the results of conversations and meetings I had on astral plane with other people, as you've never done it before either. Got it. So I had to spend four days here in America, to talk to local people about things in our astral dreams that will affect our common future later. May I go back to Europe?

Go! You see things now clearly. You know, the past is like a shadow: It follows you everywhere. That's why you must act consciously in the future. I’ll help you in everything. Do you remember when the border guards turned on your laptop and the English shortcut of your book was on the desktop?

Yes, I do.

In a few years, send them a copy of your book with a thank-you letter saying how much inspiration you got during the four days here, and that only your body was in jail not your soul. Even they can't lock it in. Otherwise, you did a lot of work here during these four days. Tomorrow, you’ll fly back by Polish Airlines. Sleep well.

Someone knocks on my door calling my name. I need to stand up. I turn back to the cell door and put my hand to the door's slot. The small door opens under the food slot. I put my hands back. I hear the handcuffs clicking behind me. That grinning big black guard is standing there who is always talking to his girlfriend through the service radio here, within the walls. There’s another guard on the corridor, six feet away from him.

Well, the mistakes are over, you can go home. You don't feel good here anyway, do you? he asks.

No, I don't feel good here. Home, sweet home. So, is there any free plane ticket for today? I ask.

Yes. We're going to the store to pick up your clothes and your documents, then you will be taken to the airport and you’ll be home soon.

I had very nice, white, thick, cotton socks, and red overalls. My Velcro shoes were two sizes bigger than the size of my feet. Made in China. They’ve gained access with their products