PARK LADY - Free Chapters Series - Preface & Chapter One
- John McIntosh
- 4m
- 8 min read
Below is the ‘next’ chapter of - PARK LADY – “A fiction about reality”, which explains in fictional story form ‘exactly what is REALLY going on in the world today. Check this BLOG daily for further chapters.
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PREFACE
This is a fiction, a story that speaks about reality. You may recognize some of the characters hidden behind different names, combined with places and dates that are real, others that are made up and yet also real.
The story may be familiar to you, it ‘is’ what’s happening in the world right now as these words are written but blurred by the fiction. The perpetrators of the fiction, who are also real, created that blur to confuse you and so many who read these fictional truths will find what they say incredible, even crazy and yet they are hidden in plain sight.
I invite you to be ‘open’ and consider the possibility that what follows is true. ‘If’ you are open enough, this truth will begin to reveal itself to you everywhere.
CHAPTER ONE
For almost a decade the Park Lady showed up in my dreams as a silent comfort, standing at a distance under a huge oak tree. In all that time she never uttered a word and yet when I woke up the next morning, I always felt uplifted.
This dream was different. This time, I was standing right beside her. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties with long white hair that hung down her back, tied by a rose-colored ribbon near her neck. Her dress was pure white, as I had always seen her and came down to her ankles. It was loosely tied at the waist, and she wore no jewelry that I could see.
Then in a vision I saw a huge tidal wave that washed over the entire planet. It was dark and foreboding and I felt myself gasping for air as if I was being swallowed by it. But she took my hand and pulled me up above the waves. I knew despite the danger that I was safe.
“The moment has arrived Jonathan.”
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As a boy I felt unseen and as a result very much alone. My parents were both successful lawyers who had taken their significant abilities and together parlayed them into a fortune in property development around the world. As a result, our family could be said to be part of the global shakers and movers and were, as a result, constantly active. It was a luxurious life that included endless cocktail parties, private luncheons and cloistered encounters where deals were created and empires built. This left little time for their only child whose interests leaned more toward the arts. Although I had no special talent in that regard, I felt very much ‘at home’ there.
The hustle of the business world left me cold, which did not miss the attention of my parents. Their disappointment in trying to nudge me into their wheeling and dealing world was not disguised and I found them almost completely unavailable for any of my creative pursuits. Nevertheless, in June of 1999, in the last month of my senior high school year something happened. I was about to take a summer philosophy class and part of it touched on the creative process. The course’s suggested reading list included one book in particular that caught my father’s attention. Somehow, he had come across the list and taking me aside with unaccustomed enthusiasm, said,
“Be sure to read this one, you’ll learn a lot”.
That kind of interest displayed toward me was very unusual and caught me off guard. I found it strangely inspiring, perhaps because he had given me a moment of real attention but also because coincidentally it was a book I had already decided to add to my study on the subject. It was a kind of unspoken bonding, and I admit to feeling exhilarated by it. So much so that when I finished devouring the book in question, I excitedly shared my joy with him. He listened silently to my naked enthusiasm, and a slight but definite smile broke across his face as if for him some kind of breakthrough was occurring in his efforts to influence his son.
We were in his study at the time, and he slowly rose from his favorite reading chair, walked to a portion of his well-stocked library and carefully scanned the shelves. A few moments later he handed me three books that he said were on the same subject.
“Since you found that book of interest you will likely find these interesting as well. They are from different disciplines than the one you read but it’s always wise to get several perspectives on a subject of interest in order to formulate your own unique opinion.”
I thanked him and he returned to his chair. When he sat down, he said,
“Come speak to me when you are finished and we’ll discuss the subject.”
My face must have brightened because the look he gave me was the first one of genuine approval I could remember. To say it was life changing would be a huge understatement. As I departed his library my heart skipped a beat, maybe several and I became lightheaded. By the time I got to my room I literally felt faint and had to lay down for several minutes. The full weight of this brief but unique exchange with my dad was monumental as I would come to realize in the coming weeks and months.
It only took me two weeks to absorb the three books my father gave me and I informed him that I was ready for the sit down to discuss the subject as he had suggested. His look was very serious as if he was about to sign a big business deal and he nodded.
“I will let you know when, after I speak with your mother so we can see when we are both available.” He told me.
‘Available,’ I thought. ‘My mother will be there too?’
Obviously, this was to be a very significant sit down, the first of many similar ones as I would discover. I imagined myself sitting in a boardroom with me at one end and the two of them at the other end of a very long table like the one they had in their Manhattan offices. But when the time came it was in a casual setting while we were having a Bar-B-Q beside the backyard pool of our family estate. It was one of my favorites places since I loved swimming. No doubt they chose it for that reason so that I would be as comfortable as possible and hopefully receptive to what was about to unfold.
We finished eating and gathered at a table out of the bright midday sun. They had arranged the four books I had studied side by side on the table and paused for a moment before speaking. It was my mother who spoke first.
“Your father tells me this subject appeals to you? She began in a questioning manner.
It was obvious she wanted to see for herself how sincere I was about my interest in the subject. I straightened up in my chair and took a deep breath before answering.
“It’s fantastic if true,” I began. “They all said basically the same thing, life is not accidental but intentional and the way we think determines what happens … even beyond education, connections, or life circumstances. It’s not that those things don’t matter, but regardless of where one finds themselves, they can create their own reality, literally anything they want.”
They looked at each other and smiled the biggest smile I could remember them smiling in my presence and connected to me. Maybe they smiled similarly when I was a toddler managing some kind of childhood accomplishment like my first words or first steps, but I don’t remember those moments. This was definitely new for me, and I reveled in it for several seconds then asked,
“So where do I go from here?”
There was silence for a while and then my father said,
“That depends on what you want. Anything literally is possible, but first we should be certain you really ‘get’ this.”
“What do you mean,” I asked.
“Whatever it is you want must be more than simply a whim or a casual wish. These kinds of thoughts have a very short lifespan and do not come to successful fruition, that is, the person does not experience the thought manifesting in their day-to-day life.”
“As you have discovered through Quantum Mechanics figures like Schrödinger, Heisenberg, Planck and Bohr and through philosophers like Emerson, Nightingale and Hill, thought is the motivating factor in the creative process. When projected into the fundamental universal wave that underlies everything and every circumstance, an outcome that matches the thought, at least to some degree, ‘will’ eventually emerge.”
He paused for a moment and took a sip of his beer glancing sideways at my mother with a satisfying look. He was about to continue when she interjected,
“But passion is the key, always passion.”
“That’s exactly right,” he said, “It’s been estimated that the average number of thoughts a person has per day is 60,000, many of them thoughts caught in a loop and repeated over and over again. This process is like an etching machine in the quantum soup that creates grooves or habits in thoughts, words and deeds.”
“We see this everywhere,” my mother added. “Through lives caught up in behaviors that are usually destructive like unhealthy eating habits, excessive drinking and drug use whether prescribed or otherwise.”
“And,” my father continued, “most of these thoughts are negative in some way. Most are focused on things people do not want or want to get rid of. And, as your mother said, they are usually very emotional thoughts laced with anger and frustration and that combination actually accentuates and expands the very things not wanted”.
“Because,” my mother said completing the thread, “the focused thought when combined with passion ensures that the condition or situation will continue and grow.”
I saw this in a new light and could see this in my own experience. I loved the world of art, music, poetry and literature but I was frustrated that I just didn’t seem to have what it takes to be great in any creative area. I did, however, communicate well with those who seemed to display real ability or at least showed serious promise as I so far understood it. You might say I was becoming a kind of inspirer. I didn’t see this as a feigned attempt at making friends or gaining approval. I felt it was real; I actually enjoyed the dialogues I was having with up-and-coming artists. Even then, at only the high school teenage level, I noticed a lot of frustration blended with often brilliant creative promise. I identified easily with those with what I saw as real potential. In any case, I seemed to have a good ear for listening. But, as my parents had just explained, this propensity was expanding out of the frustration I felt at my own inadequacy. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it did seem to prove the point they were making.
As I would learn through the Park Lady, the frustration artistic people felt, at least with those I knew, came about as a result of the inability to render fully in paint or music or words what the heart was feeling.
“It’s the finite attempting to describe what is infinite”. She later told me in a matter-of-fact way as if it should be common knowledge. But for most in that world … it wasn’t.
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