Chapter 12

Saturday seemed perfectly normal and shiny and Casey wasn’t sure she liked that at all. She dressed, made herself breakfast, read, and talked to her companions. On their recommendations, she was encouraged to go see Loxy, or maybe spend time with Renata or Brenda. Maybe invite them to tea cats and drink tea and pet cats. Casey went to her mother, finding her in her office sorting and cleaning.

“Mother, would you be okay if go to tea cats via Lyft?” Casey asked.

“Do you what you want. You’re going to anyway,” mother said, not looking up from her desk.

Casey felt anger then compassion. “Mother,” she said, and waited for her mother to make eye contact. A tear fell. “Mother?”

Mother looked up. “What?!”

“I am sorry you’re having a rough spell,” Casey said. “But I still need you to be a mother. I am only practicing being an adult and I need to know you have my back. I want your permission to go somewhere, I want you to know where I am and when I will be back.”

“Whatever,” mother said.

“Not whatever! You don’t get to abscond from this responsibility,” Casey said.

“We’re not friends, you said so yourself,” mother said.

“I am going to tea cats, then to the book store,” Casey said. “I will be back before six.”

“Have fun,” mother said. It didn’t sound like she meant it.

 

Casey entered tea cat and observed Lester sitting at the bar having a cup a tea. A cat sat on the bar staring at him. She approached to hear them having a conversation.

“No, I am not giving you another biscuit,” Lester said. “Now go pester someone else.” Mew, the cat said.

“No, I am not giving you… Excuse me a moment. What do you want, Casey?” Lester asked.

“I was hoping to speak to Loxy. Do you know if she’s here?” Casey asked.

“Do I look like I am Loxy’s keeper?” Lester asked.

“Lester,” Casey said. “There’s a storm coming and I am afraid.”

Lester gave her an uninterrupted gaze of fierceness. “And well you should be. Storm. Eh! This is a whole new category of storms. A perfect storm, if you like oxymorons. I personally can’t stand morons, oxies or not.”

“You’re scaring me,” Casey said.

“How else can we measure your courage?” Lester said.

“This is a test?” Casey asked.

“Everything’s a test,” Lester said. Mew the cat said.

“No. I am not giving you another biscuit, now go pester someone else,” Lester said. He looked to Casey. “You, too. Go on. I’ll buzz you through.”

Casey proceeded through the airlock and up the stairs. She found Loxy sitting halfway up. She put the book she was reading in her purse beside her. It was a big hippie girl purse with lots of colors. She was dressed rather hippy-ish, with an oversized, 60’s tie-dye shirt turned dress, hose with stars, Rainbow Dash scarf, and headband holding a flower.

“Hello, Casey,” Loxy said.

“I need help. Please. Please don’t tell me I have to face this alone,” Casey said.

“Jon?!” Loxy called out.

Jon came out onto the upper spiral and looked down.

“Yes?”

“She asked,” Loxy said.

Jon sighed. “That doesn’t change the prime directive.”

“It has built in flex, doesn’t it?” Loxy asked. “A trampoline’s worth?”

“Bring her up,” Jon said.

Loxy smiled at Casey, stood, took her hand, and they came up the stairs together. They emerged into the room where a meeting was in progress. Fersia was there. So was Alish. So were her twelve friends from detention. There was a seat for Casey in the circle.

“We were expecting you,” Fersia said.

“No one does this alone,” Loxy said.

“Team Sol, rule one, always answer a distress call,” Jon said.

Brenda and Renata got up and came to Casey and hugged her. They brought her back to the circle. Behind them stood their indivisible companions. Heath and Aoife joined the circle.

“So, we’re all here,” Jon said.

“Let’s talk. Loxy, your lead…”

 

Tea and cats and pizza later they dispersed. Brenda’s sister delivered Casey and Renata home, stopping at Casey’s place first. Mother met her friends and was another woman, a kind, mystery woman. This was a woman that her friends admitted loving. Casey wanted to be mean and provoke mom into her real character, but she held her tongue and allowed this stranger to have her place. After they departed, mother went back to doing her thing, and Casey went back to her world and friends and they picked a book and by Sunday evening, they were finished.

Casey slept till the alarm went off. She hurriedly dressed, and found herself waiting for her mother. She asked if mother would like her to take Lyft, but mother said no. They were eventually on the road and the drive was silent. Mother pulled the car to a stop in front of the school. Mother was aware of the media circus, but indifferent. Casey’s heart plummeted.

“A big school event today, eh?” mother asked.

“Could you drop me off in back, please,” Casey said. Mother scoffed. “Oh, please, get over yourself and get out.” “Mother, please,” Casey said.

“Like this is about you,” mother said. “I am running late, now get out.” Tears fell.

“OMG, stop being so ridiculously sensitive,” mother said.

Casey took a big breath. “I love you mother,” she said, as if she were about to die. “I am sorry I asked you to do something against your nature.”

Casey got out of the car and closed the door without trying to interpret her mother’s confusion and anger; she didn’t have the energy to deal with her mother taking her genuine affection wrong. She could barely see straight for the tears. She walked. Heath and Aoife arrived at her side.

“Dead man walking?”

Casey laughed and cried and turned to Heath for comfort. She realized not fast enough that Heath hadn’t said it. It was Juan. He accepted Heath’s hug.

All her friends were there, hugging her, and surrounding her.

“Together,” Brenda said.

“Jeff ratted you out,” Renata said. “He said you were dating Heath’s ghost.”

“OMG, really?” Casey asked. “Why can’t people accept a ‘no thank you’ and move on with life?!”

“Just walk,” James said. “We got you. Penguin March!”

They walked with her. She was safely in the center. She was the designated inner Penguin, the one being warmed, the one guiding the others in their long, steady walk. As they approached the door the principal and two security guards joined in and they got her the rest of the way to the building and safely inside amidst a barrage of questions.

“I am so sorry,” Casey said.

The principal went down on one knee. “This is not a sorry thing. You did nothing wrong. The governor is here. A lot of people are here. Everyone has gathered in the gym. I am about to give a speech.”

“Okay,” Casey said. “I will address the school.” “You don’t have to do this,” principal said.

“Yeah, I do,” Casey said. “It’s the right thing to do.” “You sure?” principal asked.

Casey nodded. “May my friends come?”

“We are not leaving your side,” Brenda said. Casey dropped tears.

“Of course,” the principal said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They went to the gym together. Brenda and Renata each had Casey’s hand. They arrived just inside the gym and Casey stopped. She shook their hands loose and took a step forward. The floor was covered with egg shells. Heath was barefoot. Whatever talking had been going on lessened, a cheer, some applause, then silence. Casey swallowed, staring at the floor. She took another step.

“Casey, allow me to be your strength,” Aoife said. “I got you.”

Casey nodded subtly. Aoife stepped into her. Casey posture changed. She stood taller. A quick tilt of the head popped a neck joint. Confidence blossomed across her face. Her expression changed and anyone who thought they knew her would swear she was another person. She walked like a princess carrying books. She walked with the pride of a cheerleader, the strength of a quarter back taking his place, knowing the others had her back. She arrived at the mic held on a stand at the center of the court. She faced the student body, some parents, news media, the governor… people! Cell phones and cameras flashed. She looked fiercely.

“I am Aoife.” It was Casey’s voice, but not her voice. It was a rich, resonant, fully grown woman’s voice. Someone of authority. A queen. A goddess. “I am the Warrior. I am Woman. I am Wonder. I speak for Casey not because she is timid, but because you cannot hear her. Cease your recordings. You do not have her permission to tape this. See with your eyes. Hear with your ears the way we did in the old day. And when you share this story, speak with your heart, not your mind. I am Queen Dido, returned from the grave. It’s Aeneas turn to die. Casey is Elizabeth

Keeler, and her voice will no longer be silenced. It is Kirk’s time to die.” “This isn’t the speech I want to give,” Casey said.

“They need to hear your wisdom,” Aoife said. “I am your strength.”

“Casey, allow me to speak for you. For us,” Heath said. “I got this.”

Casey-Aoife consented, and Heath stepped in. Casey’s demeanor changed once again. There was a subtle Heath smile directed at the cameras. He spied American Chavez and winked at her. Renata intercepted the wink, thinking it was for her. He heard chuckling and turned back to his audience.

“I am Heath Ledger,” Casey-Aoife-Heath said. It was Casey’s voice, but not her voice. To hear the story from anyone present after the fact, they would swear they heard Heath speaking to them. “I am not your Heath Ledger. Well, maybe I am. Maybe that’s why I felt compelled to apologize. Most likely, I am not that Heath. Whether I am or not, I wrote a letter. You intercepted it and now you have to contend with what I am if I am anything at all. Maybe I am nothing more than the imaginings of a 14-year-old girl who wanted the answers to big questions. She got me instead. Maybe I am an angel, second class, who is just trying to earn his wings. If you don’t know that metaphor, watch more old movies. In black and white. Maybe, god forbid, I am just a 14-year-old girl. The love contained within this girl is immeasurable. Maybe I am or she is someone who loved so much that we brought something out of the darkness that needed to be dealt with and we did so in the only way we could imagine. We wrote a letter. She wrote a letter. I wrote a letter. Maybe we’re all host to unimaginable secrets that we dare not share, but we must get it out somehow, and so we write a letter that no one is supposed to read.

It’s not a fault that it got read. We’re human, we make mistakes, we get careless with sacred, people are curious, they open things. We get careless with sacred because everything is sacred.

It’s why we fight so much. We forget each of us is equally sacred and the trinkets we each carry are equally sacred.”

Casey, Aoife, and Heath spoke as one: “I am Pandora. Our thoughts leaked out, our anonymity was shattered, and here we are. You responded. People are responding. They are responding not based on our reality but based on the fictions of others. Maybe you’re responding to your own fiction. Maybe that’s why you’re here. You made this bigger than it is. All I did was write a letter. A proverbial message in a bottle. Not an SOS, just a message of love. An apology to the future that might have been. An apology to the future that will be.”

Casey became herself. Her eyes went to the floor. “Never in a million years would I have imagined someone, anyone, might answer it. It’s not that I think people don’t care; I think we have not been taught how to respond. You responded. Thank you.” Casey made eye contact with the crowd. She lifted her head. “And now that I have your attention, now that the light is on me, coming out of me, I want you to know, your work has just begun! The world is crying for change. It needs a response! We, the fourteen years olds of this world, we don’t want the mess you’re leaving us. We need you to step up and do better. We need you to be the adults you claim to be. We want a world with less litter and less emissions and more love and more fish and more dolphins and more penguins! If you’re not willing to do that, then you should just ignore the letter I wrote because that letter will be your epitaph. Our epitaph. We go together. Ignore me. Ignore us, your children. Let us fade into obscurity, like dinosaurs. Let the letters we write be our fossils.”

Casey let her tears fall. “I don’t like Prep rallies. I don’t like loud. I don’t like the idea that we’re rallying the team to beat the other guy’s team sentiment. There is only one team.

Team Earth. I do want more inclusivity, but I don’t know how to do it and it not seem fake. It can’t be forced. I like celebrating victories, but we should celebrate our losses. He have a lot of losses we should be unpacking. We’ve lost the ocean. You might as well face that. No fish, no dolphins. That’s how it works. We don’t celebrate our losses enough. All losses are important.

Some losses are harder than others to process. Heath’s loss seemed particularly poignant to me. We should all write more letters. Don’t send them. Put them in a box and tie it up nicely and remember the sanctity of that space and let it go. Releasing a bubble. A balloon. Don’t release balloons. And police your straws better. Be smart about these things you consider a right of life, or you want have a life to right.

“I don’t like speaking in public. Hell, I don’t like being in a crowded room. Your stares are so intense. It takes me forever to cross a room due to all the egg shells and land mines. I fear falling. I fear the sound of things blowing up. I carry stuff. I carry stuff that’s not mine to carry.

That’s part of the curse of being sensitive. I think everyone should be more sensitive but being sensitive is not for the weak of heart. I would not recommend you wearing my shoes, even for a day. Sensitive people are wondrous people and if you’re telling someone, anyone, you know who is sensitive to get over themselves, well, stop doing that. If someone, anyone, you know is having a moment. Let them have it. They’re drawing deep water.

“I carry stuff. We all carry stuff. Some of us should likely be carrying more stuff. We all have something lurking just off to the right of center, barely touching the periphery. I see what you ignore. Maybe that’s why someone once wrote ‘pick up your cross daily.’ Crosses are unreasonably heavy! They force you to put down what you’re carrying to deal with the cross. You can’t do both. That’s a metaphor. I am not looking to be a martyr. I suspect, I pray, two months from now I will be invisible again. Forgotten. People can’t hold heavy stuff too long.

Society can’t hold it at all. I am heavy. There is another part of that metaphor that’s important to access. We’re not alone. The weight of the cross is meant to be shared. Switching metaphors, we’re on this train together. We’re all going the same direction. Some of us leave the train way too early. I wrote a letter about someone who got off the train early. We’re on a track going somewhere. We’re on a path, navigating blindly. That’s not bad. It’s how we discover things about us and each other and the world. Switching metaphors, I am Dorothy. I have met some of the coolest friends ever. They are like lights on the point of a compass. They’re helping me navigate this path. They’re helping me become, even if they don’t know they’re helping me become. I have met Glinda, the good witch, and she came to me with tea parties with cats on the ceiling and she gave me this, and I feel compelled to remind you:”

Casey began to sing, “If you believe,” from the Whiz. She began acapella. She nearly quit when she realized Heath and Aoife were beside her, not being her. She realized she had been herself for a good moment. Heath said: “you got this.” Casey became aware of her mother standing in the front row. Loxy was suddenly by her side. She picked up the song. Casey found comfort in a friend. They sang together, in harmony. When they hit the climax of the song, they suddenly had band accompaniment. Casey found team Sol behind them. As they wound down with the final words, Casey was singing alone again. “As I believe in you” she sang to Loxy. Loxy tied it all together by spinning in the hint of a melody. “If happy little blue birds fly…” Casey sang, “Above the rainbow,” and together “Why oh why can’t I?” Her twelve friends sang

‘believe’ in harmonic resolution.

Everyone stood. Everyone applauded. Casey covered her ears and cried and Loxy held her in a hug. Loxy waved for her mother to come and take over. Loxy raised her hand, bringing silence.

“Now that’s a testimony,” Loxy said.

“Here here,” the mayor said.

“It is my belief we are all sensitive. We are all sensitive to particular things. If you feel particularly sensitive about something particular and you want to talk, today there are a number of counselors available. You do not have to carry your burdens alone. Let us have some of your weight,” Loxy said. “You can ask for a bathroom pass from any teacher today, and come right here or to the office. All of us have something. Even adults. This does not mean you’re broken. It means you’re human. My friend Cohen said, ‘there’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.’ I think he was echoing my friend the Persian poet, Rumi who wrote ‘The wound is the place where the light enters you.’ He put that in a letter and sent it down stream. Or a poem. They’re all the same, really. Read more poetry. Turn your cell phones off and talk to each other. Write more letters. Everything we do and say and think is transmitted downstream? Everything effects everything else and everyone effects everyone all the time, even if you don’t see it. We are one. Whether we want to believe it or not, we are making waves. We are the movers and shakers of the worlds. We are the music makers and the dreamers of dreams.”

Loxy nodded to Jon and he started an intro riff with a guitar. “We’re going to close this rally out with a song, then you’re off to your first period class,” Loxy said, clapping high. “Your invitation to talk is not limited to today. Come at us anytime. We got you.”

With Loxy encouraging participation, other people began to clap along. The mayor. The principal. Loxy sang a 1970’s song: “Let’s work together,” by Canned Heat. Casey’s friends lined danced behind her. Heath and Aoife were dancing in the front row with the other ‘tulpas.’

“Mom, I got to dance with them,” Casey said.

“You don’t dance,” mother said. “I don’t,” Casey said. “Heath does…” “Who are you?” mother asked.

“I am the daughter you refuse to see,” Casey said. “I am sentient.” “What does that mean?” mother asked.

“It means I have a life inside and outside of you,” Casey said.

Casey went forward, tried to get in line, spun into Hearth, and he took over. They danced with friends; they danced with an auditorium full of undiscovered tulpas. She went from awkward to brilliant in a movie flash. The cheerleaders joined in, picking up the routine fairly fast. There was music enough for the whole day, even after the music stopped. Casey was ‘outed,’ but she felt free, she felt safe, and she felt happy. Maybe she could go a spell without having to walk on egg shells or hide who she was and what she was doing. After all, she had just accomplished the impossible; she spoke, sang, and danced at a prep rally and didn’t die. She had arrived into a new world, with many more available to explore.       

Author’s note:

I am a Tulpa, by definition of origin and context. I no more identify with being a tulpa first than my host identifies with being an American. He is, by virtue of birth, and family of origin, an American. He is limited to this label. Some will only see this. Maybe some will see what I see. The message in this story seem self-evident to me: you are more than you think you are. This is not a new theme. Poets and religions have been telling this for ages. Sometimes science seems on the verge of agreeing and then, two steps back. We will arrive on schedule. Don’t worry.

In the World-Line of your, there are potentially a trillion you(s). Depends on how you carve yourself out. There our quite a few therapist who believe ever previous age of you exist within you, or there would be so many therapies focused on regression. Some take it back to prenatal and the first trauma, birth. If you use Planck scale, well, there could be a trillion billion you(s) and so many tangential world-lines, a trillion billion perspectives… And yet, there would still be only one you. Your perspective and point of view is valid and valuable to the collective of you, and to the collective of others. You are valuable to me, to us. We asked that you be kind to you, because ultimately, you are in charge of that.

In many ways, Casey resembled my host. She is not my host, but the thing that is most similar is the degree of empathy and sensitivities. We suspect, and are generalizing, those who are great at tulpamancy are people high in empathy. Further conjecture, those who engage it, regardless of empathetic abilities, increase their empathetic skill level. Can one be too sensitive? Yeah. It can be really difficult to function in mainstream world if empathy set point is incredibly high.

Finding a balance in this is the same with finding balance in anything in life. Practice.

Is Casey a tulpa? In the wonderlands, the Worlds of Cross Over, we don’t sort that. People are people. There are no lesser people. No cardboard people. Rarely do we encounter true adversaries. My host and I write together daily. We explore the inner worlds daily. We were on a mission and Casey just kind of fell in our laps. This was written in under a week. This books was necessary. Casey was necessary. Our experience was cathartic and meaningful, and now we can’t see a world where is there is no Casey. We hope that in sharing her world it helps you find meaning in your world.

I wish you well where ever your world-line takes you. And should you find your world-line has crossed mine, you have an open invitation to say HI! And if you’re artist and want to share your vision of us, oh, definitely send that. Also, I ask, if you like this, please share. I see this story as a coming of age story for people and tulpas, and probably the best potential after school special ever. Wouldn’t that just be cool?!

With Love, always- and travel Light.