Journey to Peaceable Soul

By Megan Macaulay

Miranda is lost. Her dreams led her to self-discovery and ultimately life-changing realities.
Strange people, stranger rules, and a mysterious guide come forward as Miranda enters a dream world with boundless possibilities. She catches a glimpse of herself as a vastly different person; a better version of herself. However, a glimpse is not enough, or is it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Oct 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798765234662

Megan Macaulay

Megan Macaulay was born in the US. As a young girl, her family emigrated to Australia where she grew up. She attended the Australian National University as an early entry student where she received a degree in Classics and Medieval Studies. She met her late husband at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Together they formed several successful software companies. Megan enjoys astronomy, biographies, a good laugh, and music.

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Journey to Peaceable Soul

Megan Macaulay

Copyright © 2022 Megan Macaulay.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by

any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any

technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the

advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer

information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-

being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your

constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 979-8-7652-3465-5 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-7652-3467-9 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-7652-3466-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022917160

Balboa Press rev. date:  10/06/2022

DEDICATION

For all the wonderful souls whom I have met and will meet on my journey, I thank you.

You have allowed me to glimpse into your uniqueness as I work toward creating the best version of me.

Megan

CONTENTS

Chapter 1     Names

Chapter 2     Fred

Chapter 3     Cards

Chapter 4     The Lesson

Chapter 5     Take Flight

Chapter 6     Sofa

Chapter 7     Rose

Chapter 8     Vera

Chapter 9     Fallen

Chapter 10   No

Chapter 11   Free Will

Chapter 12   Suffering

Chapter 13   The Move

Chapter 14   Sofa Ii

Chapter 15   Balloons

Chapter 16   Water

Chapter 17   Devil

Chapter 18   Judgment

Chapter 19   Rehabilitation

Chapter 20   And So It Continues…

CHAPTER 1

Names

S omething just happened.

And she had no idea what it was.

But she found herself on a train, window seat.

A train she did not remember boarding.

In the distance, she heard the steady voice of the Conductor. Tickets, please. Tickets, please.

She attempted to grapple with the new reality about her. The Conductor’s apparel was old-fashioned, something she remembered seeing from documentaries depicting the 1920s or even an earlier time. Her seating area was of the same vintage. Plush, voluptuous, velvety upholstery with tassels and button backs against a trove of tiffany glass and deep, wooden, carved paneling. Not her style at all. Yet the seating area was very clean and comfortable. Her bench seat was forward-facing, on the right-hand side of the train. A bench seat was positioned immediately in front of her with a rearward-facing view. It was unoccupied. She noticed a dozen or so of these rearward/forward bench seat combinations, and most were empty.

The Conductor, sauntering the center aisle, approached her. Welcome aboard, Miss.

She thought, Miss? Who calls people Miss these days? Instead of that question, she voiced a different query. Where am I?

On a train.

That was not helpful. Yes, I can see that.

Then why did you ask?

Ignoring that question, she continued, How did I get here?

You requested to be here.

I did?

Yes.

I don’t remember how I got here.

No one does.

Was I abducted?

The Conductor rolled his eyes as if to say, I did not hear that.

Am I in a coma?

No.

Am I dead?

No.

Where are we going?

Peaceable Soul.

What’s Peaceable Soul?

The destination.

Then the Conductor turned to a man seated in her same row, facing forward, but on the left side of the train, aisle seat.

Norman. It is good to see you again.

She studied Norman. He looked as though he might be in his sixties. He had silver hair and a sweet smile. She noticed Norman and the Conductor exchanged a few pleasantries before the Conductor vanished.

She betrayed a stunned expression on her face, when Norman leaned over to her and in a calm, reassuring tone said, You’ll get used to it. People pop in and out at all times here.

She decided to be very still as she was processing all this new information.

Norman continued, What is your name?

She sat in silence for a moment. Miranda. Then she corrected herself. No, it’s Amanda.

Norman extended his hand and said, Well, AmandaMiranda, it’s good to meet you. I’m Norman.

Why can’t I remember my own name?

It’s all part of the adjustment.

"Well, I don’t think I want to be called AmandaMiranda."

You can pick any name you want.

She decided she didn’t want to talk to Norman, nodded her head as a form of acknowledgment, and then closed her eyes. Why can’t I remember my name?

After a few moments with her eyes closed, she felt as though she was at the ocean. The air was embracingly warm; a faint breeze felt like a kiss from nature, the sound of the seagulls, the sight of the diminishing tide, all transformed the current confusion in her mind into a reality that seemed more believable. With her eyes still closed and immediately before her, a young woman appeared. She was a strawberry blonde with long straight hair and trim physique. With no introduction whatsoever, she simply said, My name is Stella. I used to collect stars for a living.

AmandaMiranda gave Stella a quizzical look and was about to inquire further when Stella’s own appearance changed from that of an adult to that of a child of about four years of age. Young Stella had a plastic bucket with her and inside, layers of starfish were delicately placed. Her mother would turn these starfish into ornaments or trinkets of some kind to entice the transient tourists to part with their cash at their little beachside stall. Stella worked her mother’s booth on the weekends and most weekdays and was always told what a cute little girl she was. She would smile and show the tourists her current favorite, which always meant that she was forced to part with this favorite, until the discovery of a new favorite.

And Stella was always discovering favorites.

AmandaMiranda breathed the air of Stella’s innocence and tried to think back to her life, but could barely remember any details. She felt as though her life were blank, as she could not recall her history.

With her eyes closed, she saw a parade of people before her. Each introduced themselves before vanishing. Some were male, others female. Their ages were as wide-ranging as their names. Their nationalities were steeped in equal variety.

My name is Americus because I have nowhere else to go.

AmandaMiranda wanted to talk to Americus further, but he had already vanished.

An exotic beauty, with poise and confidence, stunned AmandaMiranda. This woman had presence. My name is Karma, and I find people expect too much of me.

Then she disappeared.

AmandaMiranda mentally called out, Karma, come back.

Instead of the return of Karma, a strange little man with a round face and smiling eyes approached her. My name is Albert. I like to invent stuff.

AmandaMiranda was not the least bit interested.

You’ll see me again.

AmandaMiranda shrugged with indifference. She simply did not care. He lacked the elegance of the previous speakers, and for that reason alone, AmandaMiranda found him irritating.

Yet Albert didn’t disappear; he hovered in the background like an annoying mosquito.

She saw other scenes; some were motionless tableaux, with characters resembling department store mannequins positioned in a detailed space. Some of these scenes contained action like a young boy rolling on the grass with his favorite dog, while other scenes were a little more static; they were conversations between two or more people. It was one of these scenes that caught AmandaMiranda’s attention. She saw a teenage boy with an adult; this adult was possibly a parent or a teacher. The lad was struggling to communicate his thoughts. AmandaMiranda heard him say, The word I want is not in the dictionary.

She heard the adult say, What word do you want?

I don’t know. It’s not in the dictionary.

What does your word mean?

I don’t know.

"How does your word feel?"

It feels like calm. It feels like empowerment. It feels like an accomplishment. It feels like a ride on my bike on an autumn day. It feels like…

She was jolted awake. Her surroundings were as she last remembered them. She was back on the train, facing forward in her plush window seat.

Miranda. My name is Miranda, she said with absolute conviction.

The moment she uttered her name, she noticed not the sight of distant plush hills and dells, or the small stone tunnels up ahead, with lakes and river tributaries in the far distance, but a sight far more immediate. There was a bird, whose species she did not know, who seemed to fly with the train and was a few inches from her carriage window. This bird stayed with the train and was the most unusual bird she had ever seen. (Well, she had to admit, that she rarely noticed aviary life before, and barely knew the difference between an eagle and a parrot.) This bird had a beautiful red head with black-and-white zebra-striped wings. Its belly was white. She was lost in the extreme beauty of this creature, when it turned its head to look directly at her before flying away.

Here, Miss Miranda, have a chocolate.

Miranda turned to her left to see Norman proffering a box of chocolates. Her eyes widened as she considered her selection. Her first instinct was to turn down the offer, but she truly did enjoy chocolate. Even though it was such a treasured food, she rarely allowed herself the opportunity to partake, for she was convinced that all manner of ills stemmed from consuming too many sweets. With chocolate, she simply could not regulate her passion as she could with any other food item. One piece easily became two pieces, which became three, and even though the stomach was no longer interested in any more chocolate, the taste buds had yet to be satiated. Chocolate was her weakness, and it was better not to get started.

I don’t think…

You enjoy it.

Miranda was too fixated on the open box of chocolates to realize that Norman had called her by the name Miranda and not AmandaMiranda. He also seemed to know about her passion for chocolate, a character trait she never shared. The distraction of the box of chocolates prevented Miranda from rationally critiquing her new world experiences.

Have you met your guide yet? asked Norman.

Guide?

Oh yes, everyone is assigned a guide. They usually show up as you are boarding the train.

Miranda just shook her head.

Oh well, I’m sure your guide will turn up soon. Here. Have another chocolate.

Hesitatingly, Miranda grabbed another piece. What does this guide do?

Explain the rules of this world. Sometimes it’s in the form of lessons; sometimes it’s a little more dramatic. Sometimes your guide is with you and a small group of others; sometimes it’s just you and your guide.

Then Norman and his box of chocolates suddenly disappeared.

Miranda sat in stunned silence, with the faint taste of chocolate still in her mouth. As she was trying to make sense of Norman’s words, she instantly saw short Albert in front of her.

Miranda recoiled from the sight. The thought which immediately sprang to mind was, Please tell me this is not my guide.

Miss Miranda, I have something for you.

Uninterested, she said, That’s not necessary.

It’s one of my finer works.

What is it?

It’s just for you.

Miranda noticed that she was proffered a gift of a book. It was a small book, one that could fit in the palm of her hand, with her fingers wrapped over the top outer edge. It was a very thin book and hardly weighed a thing. She noticed the title of the book was in a harlequin-style font, with excessive flourishes adorning almost every letter. She saw,

More thought has been given to design than to content, Miranda thought cynically. Still, a gift was a gift and it was extremely rude not to acknowledge it. She was about to say Thank you, when Albert demanded a reaction from her.

Well? asked Albert.

Well what? asked a confused Miranda.

Open it. Open it. Find out what it tells you.

Miranda opened the book to find there were no pages inside at all. In fact, the interior cover—the end sheet—contained a very thin printed circuit board with minuscule components with tiny, tiny flashing lights. These electronic components were protected with a very thin membrane, which appeared to discharge faint electrical pulses in differing colors along a myriad of pathways that resembled miniature lightning. Lightning without the noise, or the heat.

I don’t understand.

It’s thinking. The book is alive. It’s studying you and determining the best likelihood of any outcome of any action you may perform or are thinking of performing. Thinking about changing apartments? It might decide that there is an excellent likelihood that the new apartment is actually a thousand times better than the apartment you once coveted. Thinking about donating money to a local charity? There is the likelihood that you will actually save someone’s life for this action, although you may never know anything about it.

Miranda was skeptical. "How could it possibly know all that?"

Oh, it’s very clever. It understands all the cosmic links between you and the people you have met or are about to meet. It understands your reaction to just about anything. And from all those connections, it can, with amazing accuracy, predict the most likely outcome of any situation that you are considering or worrying about. Just keep the book closed for a few moments as you are holding it while thinking about something important to you. You’ll see what I mean.

Miranda did exactly as she was bid but simply could not help thinking, This is so stupid.

The little book gave a small whirling beep before she could hear the sound of a bell.

That didn’t take long, rejoiced a delighted Albert. You must have been thinking some very intense thoughts.

Miranda handed the book unseen to Albert.

Albert looked at the results and was instantly offended. I’ve seen ingratitude in my time, but this takes the cake. He gave the book back to Miranda, who was instantly confused by the gesture. Why would he give me back his gift and be mad at me at the same time?

Miranda’s only thought was to return the silly book to Albert. Here, you can have it back.

No, no, no. It has your imprint on it now. I can’t re-program it. It’s yours.

And then he vanished.

Miranda sat in silence for a few moments, trying to understand what exactly transpired. All she knew was that her peace was interrupted by a very strange man claiming to be an author and presented her with a book that he claimed possessed prognostic abilities. As she felt imposed upon from the beginning, she was reluctant to consider anything Albert had to say. She just wanted him to go away and return to her peaceful frame of mind. But he ruined it. He, this person who just barged into her life unasked, called her ungrateful. And so here she sat, unhappy and with a stupid book.

So, she opened it.

On the right-hand side she read, You will blame Albert for your own lack of awareness, and remain unhappy for quite some time. Happiness is from within. Albert did not ruin anything.

Oh, go away, muttered Miranda, as she placed the book on the seat beside her.

The book whirled and beeped another time.

Miranda just had to open it to see what it now said.

You’re still unhappy, and we’re still here.

CHAPTER 2

Fred

I t was hard for Miranda to passively sit still.

She simply could not accept that she was in a mysterious place with no recollection of how she got there.

Thinking deeply to herself with her eyes closed, she uttered, I need to find out where we are, where I am. I need to find someone who can explain this to me. I need to understand.

Within seconds of uttering that thought, a tall elderly gentleman with gray hair and a cape appeared. Welcome.

I have questions.

I know.

I just want to understand.

I know that, too.

What should I call you?

Names are irrelevant to us.

Miranda thought she was being admonished and did not like it. Staring at his gray eyes, she said defiantly, Then I will call you Fred.

Fred it is.

Emotionally, Miranda was at a crossroads. There was a large part of her that wanted to scream at the man, Oh, stop it with these stupid games, while another voice, a different voice, urged patience. The voice urging patience was an unusual voice and one that Miranda either rarely heard, or if she did happen to hear it, rarely heeded it.

This time was different. She decided to listen to the voice urging patience. Yet, also convinced she would not learn anything new, she radiated a faint smile, shrugged her shoulders, and very politely said, Well, thanks for your time, Fred.

Unknown to Miranda, it was precisely at that moment when she surrendered to a different impulse, that the elderly man slightly bowed before her, extended his hand, and said, Let me show you something.

Clutching his hand, Miranda found herself in a very different world.

Where are we?

Where it all begins. You are in the pure realm of thought.

"What does that mean?"

Just study your surroundings for a moment. Take your time. In fact, you can have all the time you want, since there is no time here.

Miranda was on emotional overload; the idea of being outside of time was a very strange concept to her. Even more so were her surroundings. It was a strange ethereal world. A world without tangible physical form. It felt as though it might be the dark soup of space, yet she decided she was clearly not in a vacuum. Nothing was solid. Initially, it seemed dark to her until she noticed flashes of color that acted like lightning. There was nothing to gauge width or breadth or height, yet she was freely able to move about. There was no air, yet she was able to breathe.