Last Vampire 6(16)

"There is no need for imagination," she says qui­etly. "Those worlds belong to you as much as to me."



I draw in a tight breath. "You are telepathic then?"



"Yes. As are you."



"No. I cannot read your mind."



"You can. You're just afraid, Sita."



"How do you know my name?"



"Because I know you."



"From when? From where?"



"From before. From the stars."



A smile cracks my face, involuntarily. Turning, almost mocking her, I say," Where's your spaceship?"



"It's coming."



That remark makes me take a step back.



"Are you here to take me away?" I ask, and I hear the hope in my own voice. For five thousand years, I have lived a glorious life, yet there has been too much pain. Alanda's love seems to flow to me in waves. The desert is dry, her eyes are moist. I cannot help but be mesmerized by them, by all of her. She is shimmering now with a faint blue light.



This blue glow, it reminds me of Krishna.



The stars. How bright they shine above us.



Almost as if they have moved closer to Earth.



But Alanda's face is both blissful and concerned.



"No," she says. "You cannot leave this world now, not until what has been ruined has been set right."



"Suzama said as much. Do you know her?"



"Yes. She is a sister, like you."



"Suzama is much more than I am."



"You are fond of denouncing yourself."



"I haven't been a saint exactly. You must know that."



"Yes. But that is past. You are here with me now, and I am with you."



My throat is constricted. "I feel you with me, yes."



"Why are you afraid of love, Sita? Because it has hurt you?"



I nod weakly. "It hurts all of us. Sometimes it seems that is all love is good for."



Alanda shakes her head. "Love is good for many things. You have just forgotten. The veil has to be lifted."



I am curious. "What is this veil?"



Alanda turns away and walks on the sand, between the weeds. She is barefoot—Ionly realize that now. The way her soles touch the ground, it is almost as if they caress the Earth. Gesturing at the desert,the stars, and playing with her long blond hair, she enchants me as she speaks. The communication may even be telepathic, her voice is so soft. But it is easy to understand her.



"This galaxy is ancient, as you know," she says. "Your sun is old, but the stars at the center of the galaxy were there first. The planets circling them gave rise to civilizations. So life evolved. First plants, then animals and finally, what you would call people arrived. Some of these people looked like us, but not all. They became conscious. They knew all that the people of this world know, and more. For there was at that time no veil between the conscious and the unconscious, no loss of the awareness that we are all a part of the creation. The gods of those suns did not desire this veil to confuse their children, and therefore everyone on those ancient planets lived in light and peace. Do you understand?"



"I'm not sure," I say. "Continue."



"Suzama has told you about the coming harvest, on this world. These ancient people also arrived at a point when it was important for them to move on, to move into another realm, a fourth dimension if you like. But then there was a problem. All these beings from the central suns of this galaxy were positive—what you would call good-hearted. But because they had always lived in bliss, they had no incentive to grow. Therefore, for many billions of years, from the third dimension to the fourth, there were few harvests. Such people were a rarity." Alanda pauses. "Do you understand?"



"Yes. The source of pain for us—here on this world—is the veil between the conscious and the unconscious. Yet this pain acts as a catalyst for us to grow."



"Precisely. People of your world often speak of good and evil. But what you call evil goads you onto the greatest good. This is necessary for you, and all people of your world. That is why it is there. That is why the great being within your sun allows the veil to exist. The story from the Garden of Eden—the knowledge of good and evil that your ancient ances­tors received—that was not a curse but a blessing. It only seems a curse to you at times like this, when you are in doubt."



"But to some extent we live our whole lives in doubt." I pause. "So you're saying the devil wasn't such a bad guy after all?"



"No. I am saying there is a place for negativity—as much as there is a place for goodness—in the great scheme of things. There is no hero without a villain, no peak without a valley. But our path, the path of love, demands that we overcome negativity. But we do not overcome it by resisting it. That is an illusion. What you resist will persist."