Thorn: the Prophet

By Peter Garth Hardy

The story of the sentient oak tree continues as Thorn, Paxton and Tucker go back into The Chords to unravel more of their past, and future lives. Having recently discovered that he was the founder of the Bahai religion in his last incarnation, Thorn pushes farther into his past to reveal many other extraordinary lives. Meanwhile Paxton tries to find a way to retrieve the knowledge contained in his past life as Albert Einstein so that he can continue his work on Unified Field Theory while Tucker struggles to save Thorn from the impending clear-cut on Blueberry Hill.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781503526082

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Copyright © 2014 by Peter Garth Hardy.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014922142

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5035-2609-9

                Softcover       978-1-5035-2610-5

                eBook            978-1-5035-2608-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 12/16/2014

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Prologue

ONE: Piercing The Illusion

TWO: Baggage

THREE: We’re All Gonna Die

FOUR: Connections

FIVE: The Trestle

SIX: Mzungu

SEVEN: The Vine

EIGHT: Thirty-Two Years

NINE: The Sun Is Shining

TEN: Come, Be In My Movie!

ELEVEN: Every Man Needs A Dream

TWELVE: Hell Is Infinity

THIRTEEN: Heaven Is Infinity

FOURTEEN: Perpetual Motion

FIFTEEN: Breathe

SIXTEEN: My Muse

SEVENTEEN: Today

Epilogue

CoverArt-page-001.jpgCoverArt-page-001.jpg

Acknowledgements

Cover art by Zoe Rose Hardy

www.etsy.com/shop/zrhardy

Author photo by Jaime Orrok Ranger

www.jaimelynnphoto.com

The original music which accompanies this novel was produced by Nuclear Salad:

Peter Hardy – lyrics, vocals, rhythm guitar

Meng Hardy - vocals

Ryan Jones – lead guitar

Brian McGowan – bass

Dan Perkins - drums

Doug Reusch – violin

For more information visit www.thornsprophets.com

I am grateful to Peter Occhiogrosso

and his book The Joy of Sects

for helping me to establish the timeline

for Thorn’s past incarnations.

Dedication

This book is dedicated

to my wife

and the beautiful life

we share.

Religion without science is superstition. Science without religion is materialism.

- Baha’u’llah

"Science without religion is lame.

Religion without science is blind."

- Albert Einstein

Prologue

A hard frost crept steadily down the hill that night. It crawled from beneath the tree’s gnarled roots, crackling the dry earth in its wake. Thorn barely noticed. He was deep within himself, lost somewhere between The Chords and his dreams. He had been there since Paxton and the others had left his hilltop, more than a day ago. The day he found out he was to be cut down.

Thorn heard truth in the words the humans spoke. Mr. Grenaud had made up his mind to convert him into lumber. He gathered Mr. Grenaud was the decision-maker of the two, based upon the confidence with which he carried himself and the other man’s deferential treatment toward him. Thorn had tried to delve deeper into his mind, but found he could not get past the picture of the huge oak cabinet which would be formed from his trunk and branches.

After the humans had departed, Thorn’s thoughts had turned toward The Chords. He was desperate for knowledge of his immediate future. Thorn had been traveling freely between the two worlds for a long time now. He was as much a denizen of The Tapestry of Life as he was of the planet Earth and it no longer took a supreme effort of concentration or lengthy meditation to will himself into the tangled jungle of past lives and possible futures. After taking one last look through the eyes of an eagle circling overhead to verify that the two men were not coming back, he thrust himself into The Chords.

Thorn rarely looked into his personal future. He believed that it wasn’t spiritually beneficial to have that knowledge, as he had so recently told Paxton, but there was more to it. He was afraid of what he might find there. Humans had the benefit of many lifetimes, but what of him? What if this was his only one?

He had only recently discovered, with Paxton’s help, that he had indeed been human in the past, but that didn’t guarantee a future. He had never really explored past this tree’s demise. However, having just received his death sentence, he felt as though he was justified in making the attempt once more.

His path was still incandescent, though it was considerably dimmer in Paxton’s absence. He searched frantically forward, anxious for a glimpse of his immediate future. The soft green light coming from his chord ended abruptly as he saw himself being run through by several large chain saws. After he had recovered from his initial shock, Thorn reminded himself that this was but one possible future. He retraced his movement back to the present so that he could try another path.

He examined many possibilities in this fashion, long into the cold night. He traveled down each path quickly until his death, before returning to the present to choose another direction. Each path led ultimately to his demise, but some added more years, and still others many more years to his present life. In one he was much larger, and struck down by lightning. In another he was overtaken by tent caterpillars. Acid rain, dry rot and erosion each took their turns at ending his reign atop Blueberry Hill. But the scene which played itself out more powerfully and more often than all the others was the one in which he was felled by chainsaws in the very near future.

After he had verified the likelihood of being rendered furniture, he became curious as to what would happen to him beyond his present existence. He began to venture farther down each chord as it darkened, anxious for a glimpse of a future incarnation. Here the intersecting trails revealed possibilities which were more numerous and varied still, but the green light which had illumined his way did not return once it had been snuffed out. Although he was bombarded with images of people and places, he couldn’t be sure that he was still traveling upon his own chord.

Slightly disheartened, he turned about and moved slowly back down the particular path he had happened upon. He was at the top of a mountain, gazing at the other mountains which surrounded him. These were real mountains, not hills like the one he had been rooted upon for the past one-hundred years. Soon he was retreating backward down its steep slopes. His visual perspective was merely a few feet from the ground and he guessed that he had happened upon the chord of a child, though it seemed odd to him that a child would be alone in such a rugged setting.

Eventually he was joined by two adults, one on either side. They took hold of his small hands, and the three of them continued to descend backward down the mountain. Looking up at each one in turn he was startled to realize that it was Claire and Tucker’s hands he was holding. He reasoned that he must have happened upon a possible future chord for Elizabeth, Claire’s adopted daughter.

Thorn was not overly surprised to discover that Claire and Beth were somehow involved in the impending events which would shape his future. Their chords were thoroughly enmeshed in the stronger braid formed by the union of his own chord and others. Paxton and Tucker’s chords were also interwoven into the rope now being pulled tighter and moving toward the nexus of the present. Thorn’s thoughts turned toward his impending doom as the movie before him continued to play backwards, unnoticed and out of focus.

ONE

Piercing the Illusion

       I have come to accept

           that this is not real,

       The sights I am seeing,

           these feelings I feel.

       The thoughts in my head

           only serve to conceal

               my true self.

       A lovely delusion,

           sometimes sad and unjust.

       At other times sweet

           but which thought do I trust?

       So caught up in the tempest,

           that I can hardly think,

               think I must, must I think?

       Having pierced the illusion,

           how do I proceed?

       Shook off the confusion

           but I still have this need,

       To live out my life

           in complete consciousness

               to be free.

       I have come to accept

           that this is a dream,

       A construction of thoughts

           for as real as it seems.

       An endless succession

           of consciousness streams

               on and on.

       The promised land waits,

           in the next reality,

If you choose to believe

   the collective insanity.

A bedtime story told

   to all of humanity,

       good night.        

Is it all meant to frighten me,

   condemn or enlighten me?

Are you really right there beside of me,

   with your footprints in the sand?

I have come to accept

   that it’s not about me.

In a world full of souls

   tell me, how could it be?

Just one tiny voice

   in the thought factory

       of The All.

So I smile like the Buddha

   at the absurdity,

Trying not to appear

   lackadaisically.

Nor succumb to the pull

   of Sir Newton’s theory

       of gravity.

Having pierced the illusion,

   of space and of time,

How much of this world

   is just a construct of mind?

I continue to search

   for an authentic sign

       of the truth.

Paxton slowed as he approached the old logging road which snaked its way up the slopes of Blueberry Hill, but he did not pull into it. A beige truck bearing the logo for B & G Lumber was parked sideways just inside the entrance, effectively blocking the road. Paxton continued to drive slowly past, scouring the woods on either side of Route 15 for an alternate place to park.

He discovered another little used logging road about a quarter mile away on the opposite side of Route 15. Parking his small car as far off the road as possible, Paxton shut off the engine and sat a few moments to consider his options. Sharing the logging road he would normally hike with B & G employees would be risky, but it was the most direct path to the top of Blueberry Hill. He had been warned just the other day, and in no uncertain terms, that his presence upon the company’s proposed clear-cut site would no longer be tolerated. After a moment’s hesitation he decided to forsake the dirt road altogether and bushwhack through the forest to Thorn’s perch.

A light but cold rain was falling as he shut his door and checked to make sure it was locked. Pulling his heavy flannel shirt closer around his neck, he shouldered the light backpack containing his lunch and walked across the blacktop and into the woods. Claustrophobic in a raincoat, Paxton preferred either to endure the rain indoors, or to get wet. Today, he realized, he would get wet.

The sparse undergrowth at this time of year required little bushwhacking as Paxton blazed a trail roughly parallel to the logging road. The sodden leaves beneath his feet made for a quiet approach, although stealth was probably unnecessary as the hill itself was now between Paxton and whoever might be surveying in the woods.

His body continued its mechanical walking motion on autopilot as Paxton’s mind drifted to the reason he was trudging through the woods in the rain. He and his best friend, Tucker, had discovered an oak tree with a consciousness at the top of Blueberry Hill. They found that they could communicate with Thorn, as the tree wished to be called, through mental telepathy. As if this wasn’t miraculous enough, Thorn had also proven to be capable of some pretty amazing sleights of hand, or branch, as it were. He had induced the blueberry bushes surrounding him to fruit in October and created a perpetually half-full bottle of wine. Thorn seemed to be almost omniscient as well, explaining that he had gotten his education from radio and television waves over the course of the past hundred years.

Through deep meditation, Thorn had taken Paxton and Tucker to a place he called The Chords and the three of them had begun to unravel the mysteries of their past incarnations. It seemed that Thorn was Baha’u’llah, the founder of the Bahai religion in his previous life, while Paxton was none other than Albert Einstein!

Paxton had no doubt that the scenes he had witnessed in The Chords were connected to Einstein’s life. He had studied Einstein’s Theory of Relativity extensively in his doctoral research at the University of Maine. But the question remained as to where the scenes had come from in the first place. If Thorn were to be believed, The Chords was a destination attainable through meditation and one really could connect with one’s past incarnations. However, a being capable of the miracles Paxton had witnessed, let alone that they continued to converse completely inside his mind, would also be able to plant thoughts and ideas into Paxton’s head. How could he be sure Thorn wasn’t just showing him a movie of Einstein’s life and if so, to what purpose?

Even without the sudden inclusion of Thorn upon the scene, Paxton’s usually quiet existence would be in turmoil. In the past week he had been reunited with his estranged friend, Tucker, and discovered that their mutual lover, Annie, had been killed in an airplane crash along with Tucker’s son. Meanwhile, his own girlfriend, Claire, had recently returned from Chicago with an adopted daughter in tow. Elizabeth seemed to be a well-adjusted three-year-old, both intelligent and intuitive, but she and Claire now came as a package deal and Paxton wasn’t sure he was ready for instant fatherhood.

Paxton shook his head forcefully to bring himself back into the present moment as he found himself suddenly confronted with an almost vertical wall of rock stretching upward as far as the eye could see. He would need all of his concentration to climb the cliffs confronting him, and he immediately set about the task of finding the best possible path to start his ascent.

The only way to avoid the logging road completely was to scale the steep granite face on the eastern edge of the mountain. Here the rocky spire that had risen out of the earth eons ago had splintered and cracked over the centuries, littering the ground at its base with boulders. The jagged scars that remained were too shallow and steep for all but the most adventurous trees to take root. Those that had tried were stunted and misshapen, clinging to crevices barely large enough to sustain and anchor them against the elements.

The angle of the rocky cliff was sharp, but not so sharp that it couldn’t be ascended free form. The holds provided by the fissures and pockets in the granite, and the few trees that had managed to carve themselves niches, were numerous enough to preclude the use of climbing gear. Paxton and Tucker had climbed it many times in years past, but today it looked somewhat higher and steeper than he had remembered it. Taking a deep breath Paxton raised his right foot to the top of a small boulder and pushed himself up, searching above his head for a handhold.

By the time Paxton reached the crest of the hill, the perspiration from his climb had met the rain halfway through his shirt and he was soaked both inside and out. Here the storm spat the full force of its wind and rain in his face and he began to shiver uncontrollably as he walked the last hundred feet toward Thorn, his eyes scanning the meadow to make sure he was unaccompanied.

The tree had lost some of its sheen in the gray light of the rainstorm and its leaves hung down listlessly under the weight of the water. Even the tree’s limbs seemed flaccid to Paxton, as though they had lost their desire to reach toward the sky and were having trouble supporting their own weight. Still, the ground beneath the oak was a lot drier than the surrounding meadow, and Paxton dropped his pack upon a carpet of multi-colored leaves before flinging himself at the base of the tree to catch his breath.

That’s a good way to catch a cold, said Thorn, by way of greeting.

I’m sure you’re right, answered Paxton. I didn’t anticipate a hard rain today.

He propped himself up against the trunk of the tree. Looking up into its leaves, he thought he saw the branches move slightly toward him, as if to form a more protective canopy over his head. He gave voice to this suspicion, asking, Did you just do what I thought you did?

Of course, Thorn replied. Haven’t you ever seen trees move before?

I’ve seen them blowing in the wind, but I’ve never seen one move of its own accord. At least, not that I’m aware of.

That’s just it, Paxton. Your awareness hasn’t allowed for the possibility that trees can move of their own volition. We all can, though I have more mobility than most. Just as a yogi has more flexibility than most other human beings.

The air around Paxton had grown much warmer during their brief exchange and he took off his outer shirt and tossed it over one of the tree’s thick lower limbs to dry. Turning back to Thorn’s trunk he asked, Why is it suddenly so warm here?

I don’t want you to get sick now that my time is short. If you’d rather I didn’t…

No, no, Paxton assured him, it feels great. How are you doing that?

I’m adding energy to the air molecules surrounding us both… Thorn began before Paxton cut him off.

What do you mean your time is short? he projected forcefully from within his mind as loud as any verbal shout.

Mr. Grenaud plans to have me timbered, stated Thorn without emotion. He was the younger of the two men you met up here the other day, and the boss.

I gathered as much, allowed Paxton. What else did they have to say?

That was about it. He wants it done next week. He plans to build something from my lumber himself, a cabinet of some sort, if I read his mind correctly. Whatever it is, it seems very important that he get the wood right away.

How can they cut you down? Paxton asked incredulously.

I assume they’ll use chain saws.

You know what I mean. Tucker said it wasn’t economically feasible. What are we going to do?

What can we do? It seemed to me that Mr. Grenaud had already made up his mind. I’m not very hopeful at this point. I’ve seen my future, and I don’t have very much time left. At least, not as this tree.

What do you mean you’ve seen your future? You told me that it was dangerous to try to examine our own personal futures!

That I did, but under the circumstances I didn’t feel like I had much to lose. I’ve been more than a day in The Chords, following possible future paths. Not all of the paths had me making acquaintance with a chainsaw next week, but that was the consensus choice.

We can’t let that happen! Paxton spoke out loud. He had used more volume than he had intended and his voice bounced off the short pine trees at the edge of the meadow and echoed back to him. He rose quickly to his feet and walked in a circle around Thorn’s trunk, searching for any indication that his outburst had fallen upon human ears.

Don’t worry, Thorn responded, understanding his fear. They’re on the next hill over.

Paxton sat back down on the grass a few yards from Thorn, facing his trunk.

How do you propose we stop it from happening? asked Thorn. Do you have a plan?

Not yet, Paxton admitted, but I’ll think of something! Maybe Claire will win her court case tomorrow.

Even if she succeeds in preventing the clear-cut, Thorn responded evenly, there’s nothing she can do about Mr. Grenaud taking a single tree from land that he owns.

How can you be so calm about all of this?

I’ve lived a long life, Paxton. If it’s time for me to move on then I’d rather accept my fate gracefully than rail against it. And don’t forget what we learned the last time we visited The Chords together! I was Baha’u’llah in my previous life! I may not be sure about what I saw in the future, but now that I know I have been human in the past, I have every reason to believe that my physical death will not be the end of my existence.

But if we could prevent it… began Paxton before Thorn cut into his thoughts.

So you would impose yourself upon my fate? Thorn challenged. What if my life’s purpose is to educate you and Tucker? Having accomplished that task it would be time for me to move on. What if by keeping me locked up in this prison you are preventing me from assuming my next incarnation?

"How could you possibly educate me in a week’s time?"

You don’t give yourself enough credit, admonished Thorn. You’re a quick study.

But there are so many questions I still want to ask you!

Ask away! invited Thorn.

Paxton looked at his crossed feet in deep concentration. Now that he was put on the spot he didn’t quite know where to begin. For a few moments, he seemed quite content to just sit quietly and enjoy the warm, dry air surrounding him, until he glimpse the rain falling on the outskirts of Thorn’s canopy and he recalled his earlier question.

How are you doing this?

Doing what? returned Thorn coyly.

Why is it so warm right here next to your trunk while a cold, hard rain is falling everywhere else? Paxton added specificity to his inquiry.

I was getting ready to give you an answer earlier before you so rudely interrupted me, chided Thorn with good humor. I’m adding energy to the air molecules surrounding us both. It’s really no different than the way in which the sun warms the atmosphere of this planet.

But where is the energy coming from? asked Paxton.

It’s coming from my thoughts, of course.

What do you mean it’s coming from your thoughts? Paxton pressed his investigation.

I think about what I want to have happen, explained Thorn, and it happens.

Just like that! Paxton emphasized his statement with the snap of his fingers. What are you, some kind of genie?

Hardly, Thorn laughed. You do it all of the time yourself!

What do you mean?

Why just this morning you had the thought to come up here and see me and violà, here you are! stated Thorn.

But that’s different, countered Paxton. I didn’t just teleport up here with the snap of my fingers. It took me an hour to drive here in my car and almost as long to climb to the top.

So you chose the scenic route, offered Thorn, dismissively. It all began with the thought in your head. Had you not entertained that thought you wouldn’t be here now. You could learn how to take the fast track, if you’re interested.

Of course I’m interested! exclaimed Paxton enthusiastically. Can you teach me?

I can tell you what I know, Thorn agreed, but you’ll really need to experiment on your own. Teleportation, telekinesis, and telepathy are all within the realm of human existence, you need only a little faith and a lot of practice. Transmuting thought energy into matter is not only possible but lies at the very creation of your reality, but to do so instantaneously requires intense concentration and single-minded purpose.

"You brought up the notion of thought energy the other day, said Paxton, remembering a conversation that Tucker, Thorn and he had undertaken after their first foray together into The Chords. Just how does a thought become energy?"

"You told me, Thorn reminded him, that the universe was composed of both matter and energy."

That’s right.

That’s all? asked Thorn. Nothing else?

There is talk of dark matter and dark energy, admitted Paxton, but it’s all hypothetical at the present time.

Then I’ll ask you again, what is a thought? Thorn continued. Is it energy or matter?

It’s definitely not matter, Paxton confirmed. It must be energy.

Exactly, agreed Thorn. Just as your fossil fuels are converted into electricity, which in turn drives all of your gadgets and gizmos, the caloric energy in your food is converted into electric impulses in the brain which in turn become thoughts. These thoughts are then transformed into kinetic energy as the body moves and does work, but the enormous number of thoughts that never get acted upon become a huge storehouse of potential energy in the brain. Any action performed by a human being is preceded by a thought. All of your wondrous modern-day inventions had to be thought up before they were ever manifested into reality.

Yes, but subsequent to the thought, it took natural resources and human labor to actually create any of those inventions.

That’s going about things the hard way! Open your right hand!

Paxton did not even realize that he was clenching his fists, but when he opened his right hand he was amazed to discover a crumpled rose upon his palm.

How did that get there? he wondered silently.

I thought it there, answered Thorn.

That’s great, Thorn, admitted Paxton, trying to suppress his incredulity, but a rose is not one of humanity’s greatest inventions. You’ve got to do better than that.

It’s merely a matter of degree. Open your other hand.

Paxton did as he was told. At first he neither saw nor felt anything out of the ordinary, but as soon as his palm was extended and flat, a Texas Instruments TI-83 graphing calculator appeared upon it out of thin air. He gasped and stood bolt upright, clutching the calculator so as not to drop it in the grass.

Is that complex enough for you? asked Thorn, a hint of triumph in his tone.

This is amazing! exclaimed Paxton. We could be rich!

What need have I for money? Thorn questioned.

Then I could be rich! Paxton corrected himself. He had dropped the rose upon the grass