Journey to the Healer: Volume 1: The Awakening

By Zion Thurston

In the black, primordial, cosmic sea of everything and nothing, the waves of chaos crash into each other, expanding, contracting, bursting into light, creating life, shrinking into darkness and then vanishes into death. In this enigmatic place where time is nonexistent and light is lost to the eternal abyss of space, Omari journeys to discover the genesis of himself.

As he journeys into a realm beyond the unimaginable and the fantastic, he contends with the essence of his triune existence. He struggles with experiences unlocked by an unknown consciousness hidden in an ethereal place deep within his soul--experiences hidden from the beginning of time immemorial, even before the genesis of the formed universe. Everything Omari was taught from birth to this moment is challenged, as the boundaries of Omari's cemented world is shattered, separating the trinity of his being into singular entities: his mind, body, and spirit unraveling like a three-cord rope, warping his reality of space time continuum, destroying the consciousness of his earthly identity, and exposing the dysfunctionality of his triune being. His twenty-eight years of knowledge dissipate like a vapor as his encounter with the unknown forces him to reconsider the reality he has come to accept as truth.

Confronted by this new reality, a consciousness beyond man's imagination, Omari becomes aware of the dysfunctionality and the divisions within his soul, an ongoing war that rages on between his body, mind and spirit. Awakened to this turmoil of his soul, Omari also learns of a path that leads to the Healer. A path he must now travel for the reunification and reconciliation of the trinity of his being and be healed of the afflictions that he has learned is the root cause of all mankind sorrow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781684980857

Book preview

Part 1

A Strange Encounter

The large full moon lit up the night sky brighter than Omari had ever seen. The stars glared down from their mysterious beyond as they, too, were astonished by the extraordinary happenings of the night—a phenomenon of such magnitude that the boundaries of Omari’s cemented world were shattered, separating the trinity of his being into singular entities: his mind, body, and spirit unraveled like a three-cord rope, warping his reality of time and space and destroying the consciousness of his earthly identity. This event, mixed with celestial luminosity and terrestrial darkness, transcended the faculties of human reasoning and understanding.

Chapter 1

The swirling power of the whirlwind sucked him deeper and deeper toward her violent bottom, where a dark cloud boomed with thunder and violently sparked with flashes of lightning. The aperture of the whirlwind, flaring with a bright blinding light, became smaller and smaller as Omari descended into the belly of a cyclonic beast that howled and churned, devouring objects that had vanished into its tumultuous depths. The inevitability of his doom humbled him to a quiet acceptance, and like a lamb led to its slaughter, he sheepishly acquiesced to his condition—no struggle and no resistance. As he sunk into a thick cloud of darkness, he sighed deeply, closed his eyes, and, with impotent resignation, prepared for his end.

As he spun to the lower depths, losing consciousness, he heard the faint whispering of his name blowing in the wind.

Omer, Omer, the wind ominously whispered as if to call him from the grave in which he had sunk.

Then suddenly he was impatiently discharged from the bowels of this monstrous beast into a turbulent body of water.

The waters crashed violently against angry sharp-edged stones as it wrestled with a powerful whirlpool in its midst. Like a sacrifice cast into an impatient volcano, Omari was flung by the raging waters into the vortex of the whirlpool. The voracious whirlpool gladly accepted him along with the other offerings of tree branches, wood, and even a small fishing boat onto which he desperately clung. The whirlpool, with its rapacious appetite, sucked him in; but seemingly satisfied with its diet of boat, wood, and tree, it spewed him out onto the bank of a broad river.

On one side of the river—the side he was on—he could see the mighty whirlwind raging in the sky, its dark cloud boiling with thunder and electrified with sparks of lightning that spread across its dark surface like fiery veins. On the other side of the river, the wind was still, and the sky was bright and sunny. The waters were divided. On his side, it raged furiously; and on the other side, it was peaceful.

Suddenly a scream rang out.

Chapter 2

O mer, Omer, a voice softly whispered his name.

Startled out of a deep sleep, Omari awoke, feeling disoriented and confused. Attempting to orient himself, he began searching his memory for answers to his whereabouts; but only the images of dark clouds hovering in the sky, violent whirlwinds, and turbulent waters came to his mind. He then realized he had been dreaming.

I must have been sleeping for a long time, he muttered as he ran his hand along the base of his head where it was tender and painful to touch. He lightly massaged and stretched his stiff neck, moving it in a circular motion while trying to remember the day of the week and the time of day.

Still in a daze, he lethargically surveyed his surroundings in an attempt to establish his bearings. The surroundings were dark, except for a soft, dull light filtering through holes in what he thought could be a door. Whatever he was lying on had a dry, earthy smell that made a crispy, crackling sound as he sat up. The surface was hard and inflexible. He collected himself while searching his memory for answers.

Suddenly a shrieking scream rang out again. It wasn’t his imagination after all. The scream echoed in the distance, creating an unnerving feeling. He tried to grasp the essence of the scream; but the hollow, light-headed feeling from which he was trying to recover, as if in a hangover, made it difficult for him to discern the scream’s quintessential nature. Was it a scream for help, someone in pain, or someone having fun? He was sure that it was the voice of a woman, and for a brief moment, he believed it sounded like his mother’s voice. The thought made him even more anxious.

His heart began pounding, and an empty feeling arose in the pit of his stomach. He quietly eased himself from the surface, trying to prevent the dry breaking, snapping sounds; but his effort was fruitless as his slow, careful movement only accentuated and prolonged the sound effects of the beddings, which were like the rustling of dry leaves underfoot. He swiftly got up and, with hands outstretched, began feeling his way through the darkness. He slowly approached the place where the soft light bored through, timidly and cautiously placing his feet on a cold, rough wooden floor beneath his feet. He blindly ran his hand over the place through which the light came and realized that it was indeed a door. He carefully surveyed its rough surface and looked for the handle. Eventually he found a knob, which he turned gently, and slowly pushed the door open. The door squeaked as if attempting to alert someone of his presence.

Omari exited onto a small wooden platform about three feet wide and four feet long. The platform was connected to a three-step wooden stair that led directly onto a dirt path. Nervously he descended the stairs, quietly taking each step while assessing his surroundings for familiar objects that would help him determine where he was. He did not recognize the place, and for a moment, he had forgotten the harrowing scream that had aroused his anxiety as he became focused on trying to establish his whereabouts. As he quickly scanned the environment, his attention was suddenly drawn to the unusually large bright moon overhead.

Transfixed by the soft, alluring light of the surreal-looking moon, Omari, mesmerized by its magnetic glow, stared intently with his gaze fixed on a rather mysterious sky that appeared so close to the earth it seemed possible he could throw a stone and hit the moon.

Chapter 3

Omari was an eccentric person—a dreamer of a sort—with a vivid imagination. As a child, he had this unusual ability of anthropomorphizing life around him by animating and personifying everything he came in contact with. For example, the way he spoke about Jerry, his cat, would lead those who did not know Jerry to believe he was a real person. Given Omari’s rough upbringing and his harsh surroundings as he grew up in Mobile, Alabama, he often found refuge in his imaginative world where everything came alive. In his world, the trees were his guardians, the clouds watched over him, and the sun gave him power. All these made him feel safe from the tumult of an environment ravished by poverty.

Omari was a loner, if you asked most people, but he did not see it that way. For one, Jerry was always with him and even followed him to school. In addition, he felt he was always in the company of nature. The birds greeted him every morning, and the squirrels that lived in the almond tree in his backyard eagerly waited to play with him in the daytime, which annoyed Jerry. He had conversations with the sun, the clouds, and even with the wind.

Omari spent most of his time daydreaming and writing about his fantastic adventures, which he kept in a red binder that his mother gave him on his seventh birthday. On two separate occasions, one in elementary school and the other in middle school, Omari was recommended for psychological evaluation by his teachers. Although he was an A student who was never in trouble, the complaint by his teachers was that he spent most of his time daydreaming in class. Both times, the reports came back with negative findings: he was a normal kid, it said, with an extremely odd way of seeing the world. The reports on both occasions noted Omari’s exceptionalism and recommended him for gifted testing, which never happened.

Omari’s childhood dream was to become an animator. He was quite fascinated by the power of cartoons for their seemingly innocuous effects of using caricature and satire to sometimes portray and tell the harsh stories of life. But while Omari had a vivid imagination and was good at telling stories, he was a terrible artist, thus making his dream of becoming an animator seemingly unrealistic to him. Actually he started losing confidence of becoming an animator when his classmates would tease him, saying, You’re a terrible drawer. You can’t become an animator. Omari hated this world of can’t, and it was during this stage of his life he slowly withdrew himself from people. Nature, he thought, was full of endless possibilities. It never told him no. But people were always so restricted and limited in their views. Regardless of his poor artistic skill, Omari nevertheless continued his love for animation.

In fact, it was this love for animations that compelled him to name the cat Jerry after the popular cartoon series Tom and Jerry. His mother had one day brought home the cat to help control the rat infestation in the neighborhood, big rats that had begun to invade the neighborhood homes. The cat was useless as it was afraid of the rats and would often run away and hide or jump on the furniture at their sight. Omari was quite intrigued at this cat that was afraid of rats and thus named the cat Jerry after the mice in the cartoon that was always being chased by Tom, the cat.

As Omari grew older, he veered toward becoming a writer. However, later in his life when he enrolled in university, he decided to study psychology, specifically the metaphysics of ontological realism. He also completed a minor in philosophy. Omari was intrigued by the human perception of reality and wanted to explore the means by which social awareness and consciousness were formed. He believed that, by consensus, in any given culture or group, reality could be decided on the basis of collective need or, more precisely, collective fear.

Culture, to him, was a narrow prism through which people observed the world. He believed that, through culture, people forsook universal truths and limited knowledge to the narrow scope of human perceptions, which became their reality—a reality he believed changed frequently according to the needs of the population.

Omari also believed that all of life interacted in a very closely knit way, much like threads that made up a fabric. Each object, be it material or immaterial, was a tiny fiber or part of a fiber that bound itself into one large fabric, which made up our universe. The change of any of its parts affected the whole: life was in a constant state of balancing itself to every change that occurred within the fabric of life. The human mind was part of this fabric from which man received consciousness that allowed him intellect or, as Omari saw it, self-awareness. Intellect, he believed, was the narrow prism through which cultural perspective shined; but self-awareness was a broader expansion of the mind to integrate life beyond the narcissism of man. This self-awareness, he believed, was the ultimate measure of man’s mental development—coming into a universal oneness with life.

Given the nature of Omari’s eccentricity and vivid imagination, the affairs of the night, though mysterious, were not unusual for him. Quite often, he would lose track of time when caught up in one of his daydreaming escapades. Therefore, his attempts at trying to figure out his whereabouts, at first, did not trouble him because it was not unusual for him to have these weird encounters. He thought perhaps he had just gotten a bit deeper into daydreaming.

Enthralled by the moon’s magnetic beauty, Omari got caught up into what he called a natureal experience. Natureal was a word with which he often responded when his mother would ask him why he seemed so aloof. He would often reply, Ma, I am having a natureal moment, which meant he would focus on the object, consider its nature, and bring it to life in the vast interactive world of his imagination.

Chapter 4

Drawn to the moon’s full bloom pregnant with the glory of the sun’s light, Omari’s imagination became stirred, and the night came alive, the queen of the night casting her spell on earthly creatures as she glided through her heavenly paradise. Under her mystic light, the trees became animated. Their shadowy, spiritlike images crawled around on the ground as their leaves, rustled by the wind, became excited and erupted in a frenzy of gossiping chatter about the events of the day—the doings of man and beast, hidden love affairs, plots and schemes, newly composed songs by birds, the secret place that squirrels hid their stash for a wintery season, and everything done under their still, unobtrusive presence.

And while the trees, animated with enthusiasm, exchanged stories of the day, creatures cloaked by the night broke out in a cacophony as they exalted the moon with the dissonance of their nightly praise songs. Each creature, ready to show off their musical abilities, was enthralled by the coming of her majesty and blurted out in symphonic discordance while filling up the night with stridulous sounds.

As the deepening night brought the moon into full view, accentuating her curves and round edges, each night creature vied for the attention of their beloved queen with a barrage of hoots, squeaks, squeals, chirps, creaks, croaks, coos, caws, and whines that filled the night air. The crickets leading this pandemonic orchestra chirped in a sharp pitch as humans and their machines became quieted by the night. All through the night, these riotous creatures tormented insomniacs, who—with tired, zombielike eyes—twisted and turned to the dissonant sounds of their discordant band. Under the night light of the mystic moon and the cacophony of night creatures, the earth breathed softly in peaceful rest, inhaling and exhaling with rhythmic frequency and creating the cool, crisp breeze of fall that perfused all creatures with the breath of life.

Captivated by the illuminated heaven, Omari stared into the clear night sky and saw that even Polaris glowed unusually bright, lighting up yonder trails and exposing celestial bridges made of stars that stretched deep into the recess of space. As Omari became transfixed by this heavenly paradise and his curious mind was set to explore the wonders of this celestial star bridge, the dreadful scream rang out again and broke the moon’s hypnotic hold on his being. It dragged his mind back down to its earthly realm to face a disconcertingly harsh reality.

This time, the scream was so unnervingly horrific that Omari knew for sure that it was someone in distress. Immediately he came back to his senses and anxiously headed in the direction of the scream. He couldn’t help to think that the voice sounded much like his mother’s voice, and the empty, hollow feeling arose again in the pit of his stomach.

Chapter 5

The moon’s position in the sky suggested that the night was young. Omari determined the time between seven or eight o’clock. As he anxiously made his way up the path, he noted two rows of cabins lining either side of the dirt path. He had emerged from the first cabin on the right. Each row consisted of eight or possibly ten cabins. The spots of shadows created by trees on the pathway made it difficult to know the exact number of cabins lining the path. The cabins, a carbon copy of each other, were assembled as if they were made by machines. They were approximately twenty feet apart, and they were elevated on stacked bricks.

Each cabin had a single door that opened onto a tiny wooden platform connected to a three-step stair that led directly onto the dirt path. To the right of each door, the left if you were on the opposite side of the path, a small, two-by-two space served as a window. All the windows were covered by a wooden window shutter. Attached to the north side of each cabin was a chimney that towered over the cabin’s peaked roof. The cabins were unusually small, and except for their bricked chimneys, they could have easily been mistaken for storage sheds.

As Omari continued along the path, a group of people congregating ahead in the middle of the path where it seemed the road ended suddenly came into Omari’s view. A large willow tree cast its shadow on the path, which initially hid the crowd from his view. Omari cautiously approached the crowd. As he drew nearer, the gathered people didn’t seem to be mindful of his presence. They chattered among themselves in very low voices, even to a whisper.

Omari asked a woman, Ma’am, what’s going on here?

The woman stared at him and looked away without answering. Beneath her glazed look, Omari saw a deep sadness in her eyes—the kind that said, "I am lost to everything, and everything is lost to me." Omari pushed his way through the crowd and continued heading in the direction of the scream, which became more frequent.

He asked another person, a man, Sir, where is the screaming coming from, and what’s going on?

The man’s response was the same as the woman’s—one of apathy. The entire crowd carried on with a lazy drag of disinterest as if nothing were happening.

Nervously continuing through the crowd, Omari infrequently stepped on feet and stumbled into drab bodies. He occasionally made quick, uneasy eye contact with the person he stumbled into; and under his breath, he gave a barely audible I’m sorry, mumbling as if apologizing to himself. No one seemed to care that he was stepping on their feet or bumping into them. They continued talking quietly while seemingly ignoring his presence.

There was sadness on all their faces, a chronic sadness, evident by the dulled look of hopelessness in their lifeless eyes. No one smiled; they all had this burdensome, depressing look. As Omari bumbled his way through the crowd, he occasionally caught the eyes of someone who inauspiciously stared at him, which made him uncomfortable. For in those distant eyes, Omari sensed that whatever was going on had something to do with him. But their flat, emotionless expression was hard to read and made it difficult to tell whether they were staring as a matter of compassion or disdain. Frustrated by the situation, Omari wanted to shout What is this place, and what the hell is going on! But he didn’t as he did not want to bring further attention to himself.

As he surveyed the crowd, looking for a familiar face, the heart-wrenching scream ran out again. This time, however, the scream was proceeded by a sound as equally dreadful as a cracking bullwhip that seemed to have been the catalyst for this unnerving scream. At the revelation of this new sound, a cracking whip, Omari hastened his pace and continued with heightened nervousness to push his way through the crowd. But as he slowly progressed through the thicket of the crowd, his movement felt retarded by a weightiness that suddenly fell upon his being. The drab, depressive presence of the crowd seemed to have spread to his being like an infection. As it seemed, he had now begun to unknowingly share in the burden of their souls. His legs became heavy, and it felt as if he were walking in water. As he dragged himself along, clumsily maneuvering through the thick crowd, he again thought about where he was and how he got there. The thought that it was possible he was dreaming ran through his mind.

A surreal dream perhaps, Omari thought.

As he cleared the crowd, he saw a man standing by himself about six paces in front of the crowd. The man was between the tenth sets of cabins and stood close to the cabin on the right. His back was turned, his fist clenched, and there was a kind of deliberateness in the way he stood. He was still, almost statuesque, facing the direction from whence the scream came. The last cabin on the right, the one he was closest to, blocked Omari’s vision, making it impossible for him to see beyond the point where the man was standing.

The man was muscular and tall; he stood well over six feet—at least six feet, six inches, or possibly taller. The shadows of the night made him appear much larger. He had large squared shoulders and big arms. There were no sleeves on his shirt, and even though it was night, his muscular arms were visible. The legs of his pants fit way above his ankles, almost to his calves. It was hard to tell if they were too short or were purposefully cut. The moon seemed to focus its light on him as if he were on some sort of stage. His proximity to the house and his disposition suggested that he was protecting something or someone in the house. At times, he appeared to make small forward motions while, at the same time, restraining himself. Both the man’s fists were clenched as he vacillated with indecision. Omari noted that the door of the cabin by which the man stood was ajar.

As Omari approached, he could hear the intensity of the man’s deep, puffed breathing. The force at which he inhaled and exhaled made him sound like an angry bull. The closer Omari got to the man, the more aware he became of his own heart pounding away in his chest. The pounding lub dub of his heart was drumming loudly into his ears. Omari made every effort to control his breathing and to slow his heart rate that was now racing out of control. His anxiety rose, and his breathing became shallow and rapid. He began feeling stifled and was intermittently forced to gasp for air. Fearing what he might discover, Omari became more anxious. He nervously approached the man while wiping the sweat from the palm of his hands onto his trousers.

As Omari got closer to the man, passing the cabin on the right, he saw a girl standing in the open doorway. She wore a white dress, which seemed to glow under the effect of the soft moonlight hitting her body. Behind her, inside the cabin was pitch-black; and except for the white dress, she blended in perfectly with the darkness in the background. The darkness seemed to merge with her complexion, which created the illusion of an undefined image and made it difficult to distinguish her from the black backdrop. The effect of the light on her dress, combined with her amorphous presence, gave her a ghostlike appearance. The way she held the door—deliberately, her body inside the house—seemed as if she were using the door as a shield to protect herself. Her stare was fixed on the man so much that she paid no attention to Omari as he walked by.

Chapter 6

As Omari got up close behind the man, he became privy to what the man was staring at. The dirt path at the end of the rows of the cabins had opened up into a courtyard. In the courtyard, there was another group of people gathered, most of whom were seated in theaterlike formation. This group was significantly different from the first group Omari met on the path. The first thing Omari noted was the difference in their attire. The crowd in the courtyard, unlike the one on the path, was dressed extravagantly. In addition to being well-dressed, the crowd was also cheerful and jubilant—a stark contrast from the first group along the path. The dissimilarity between the two groups added more confusion to an already-mysterious night, making the situation more perplexing.

The women in the courtyard were dressed in mid-nineteenth-century dresses with flamboyant hats, and the men were dressed in suits. The crowd was in a celebratory mood, chattering loudly, giggling, snickering, and laughing haughtily—a very different mood from the crowd on the dirt path who were dressed in old rags and dragged themselves about depressingly.

The exultant crowd, quite cheerful, was assembled as if watching a performance. They were cheering, jeering, and hurling insults. Those with the more lavish attire were seated to the front, and those with simpler clothing were standing or seated to the back. Lanterns were hanging from posts planted all around the courtyard. In addition to the bright full moon, the lights from the lanterns allowed for clear visibility in the night.

There was a man standing in the midst of the crowd who were gathered in the courtyard. He had a whip in his hand. The crowd cheered him on as he displayed his artistry with the whip—wielding it, snapping it, and twirling it on the ground as if it were a serpent.

To get a closer view of what was happening in the courtyard, Omari edged closer to the large man who had his fist clenched and continued his heavy angry breathing. Curious to see the person who had been screaming, he peeked from behind the tall gigantic man and thought he saw a woman who appeared to be tied to a tree. But the crowd and the man with the whip blocked his vision, and so he was not at all sure what he saw. As he drew closer to the large man, he expected the man to turn, but Omari got no indication that this large man was even vaguely aware of his presence.

Hey there, mister, Omari whispered, moving closer and peering from behind the man. He pushed his head up over the man’s shoulder like a prairie dog as he tried to get a clear view of the person tied to the tree. Mister, what’s going on here?

The man did not respond, but his breathing became heavier after he heard Omari’s voice. The man then let out a deep sigh, dropped his shoulders, and made sniffling sounds.

Hello, mister. Are you okay? asked Omari.

There was no response. Omari remained behind the man and kept himself out of sight as he struggled to figure out where he was and what was going on.

As Omari peered from behind the man, looking past the dense crowd to the middle of the courtyard, he was able to make out that there was indeed a woman tied to a tree. Her hands were bound by rope, and he could also see that her feet were shackled in chains. Her hair was braided. But beyond those details, Omari could not see the rest of the woman, nor could he see her face because the man with the whip was standing directly in front of her, blocking his vision.

Suddenly a well-dressed man in the audience stood up and beckoned to the man with the whip. The well-dressed man wore a lavish knee-length coat with large lapels made of fur. The coat was casually thrown over his shoulder and half covered a velvet frock coat lined with gold-colored trims. Inside the frock coat, he wore a double-breasted, shawl-collar waistcoat with a white stand-up-collar undershirt covered at the neck with a ballroom cravat. He appeared to be a person of great importance. He sat on a large chair, almost thronelike compared to the small chairs on which the others in the audience sat.

There were several other well-dressed men who carried an air of importance, but they were modestly dressed. They wore waistcoats under their knee-high jackets and regular black coats covering their jackets. The men of importance all wore tall top hats and sported mustaches with facial chops. The women of importance dressed lavishly in Victorian-era dresses. Their dresses were trimmed with laces, ribbons, frills, flounces, ruche, and fringes. They sported ostentatious large hats covered with feathers, which made them look like decorated peacocks. The other members of the audience were modestly dressed: the men wore simple white shirts with regular coats and pants, and the women wore modest-looking church dresses.

The man in the velvet frock coat beckoned to the man with the whip. He went over to the flamboyantly dressed man, who whispered in his ear. At that moment, Omari clearly saw a woman stripped down to her torn, ragged underwear. Her back was covered in blood. Without warning, his anxiety returned with a paroxysmal dread, causing his chest to tighten and his breathing to become rapid and shallow. Omari began sweating profusely as if he were having a heart attack.

What’s going on? he desperately asked the man while gasping for air.

The large man remained silent.

The man with the whip returned to his position and stood before the naked woman.

As he flailed the whip high above his head, he turned and deliberately looked in the direction of the large man. At that moment, it appeared to Omari that the man was staring at him. The man then dressed his face with a smirk right before he brought down the whip mercilessly on the woman’s bloodstained, naked back. The woman shrieked a shrilling scream, which Omari felt reverberating through his being. Omari became flushed and light-headed and felt as if he were going to pass out. But the fainting sensation quickly faded and gave way to anger. Infuriated, Omari motioned to pass the large man with the intent of charging the man with the whip. But as if the large man had anticipated Omari’s move, he turned and grabbed him.

Omari struggled to free himself from the man’s grip, but the man pulled him close to his body and locked his massive arms across Omari’s chest. Omari began struggling even harder as he became discomfited by the claustrophobic feeling cast upon him by the man’s lumberlike arms that had him pinned down. The man’s heavy arm around Omari’s chest, along with the hot air that gusted down from