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Chapter 1

The city of Weatherview is located between what is and what could be, the possible and the impossibly magnificent, where people live and the heights to which their hearts dream they might someday ascend.  Some two million and four-hundred thousand residents call it home, a term that is both accurate and also ironic, since all of its people have been displaced.  To see the city as life flows through it, the rolling and rushing cars gleaming with sunlight, the myriad faces of those quietly content, or perhaps bold and determined individuals striding to and from buildings, to consider the fruit of their labors, reports and emails, production and management, the interwoven interconnected interdependent machine of goods and services to which everyone contributes and from which everyone benefits, you would think Weatherview a picturesque, shining example of what a city should be—but that is not the case.  Something far greater is happening here.  This story begins, as many stories do, with a man.

He walked up and down the aisle of Carrigan’s Hardware with the cautious steps of one who’d just taken a ride on a roller coaster.  Hundreds of illuminated lightbulbs in all shapes and sizes dazzled him with their splendor.  Upon entering the store he had gravitated toward the brightest aisle of all, ignoring the large sign overhead reading, “Electrical, Plumbing, Seasonal, Power tools,” and so on.  Suddenly lightning struck outside.  The man flinched with his whole body, dropping his head forward and momentarily covering it with his arms.  He timidly looked toward the front windows.  The wall of dark clouds pressing down on the horizon had expanded into an increasingly furious storm, surging forth like a vast wave in zero gravity, as the man had been searching for the missing piece to his now frustrating puzzle.

“Can you help me?” he asked an orange-vested team member.

“Yes, what can I help you with?”

“Drill bits?” he demanded anxiously.

“Those are in aisle E.”

His eyes scanned the different pieces without finding an answer, faint hope quickly followed by disappointment.  “Flatheads,” he shouted unintentionally after reaching the end of the rows.  No one replied.  The man headed to the front of the store to get some answers.  Another customer pushing a lumber cart cut him off.  Microscopic particles of sawdust pulled in by his breathing lightly covered his mouth, throat, and trachea.  Coughing loudly he approached the first employee he saw, the same one as before.

“Tell me you have eight-millimeter-wide flathead drill bits.”

“Um, we should…  Let’s go take a look.”

They proceeded in a single file line of two back to aisle E.

“I’ve been over these rows already.  The closest thing I could find was this,” he removed a plastic case of drill bits from the shelf, “and the flathead is too narrow.  I need at least an eight-millimeter-wide flathead drill bit.”  He was trying not to sound overly annoyed.

“Well,” the employee said slowly, “you may be out of luck.”

Later in the day he arrived home with a large flathead screwdriver.  Retrieving a socket wrench and hammer from his toolbox, he proceeded to hammer the screwdriver into the steering column of an electric toy car in the storage room of his basement.  After successfully removing the screw he’d stripped while assembling the miniature vehicle, he finished the assembly and test-drove it by placing one hand on the gas pedal and the other on the wheel and steering it in a circle around the concrete floor.  The car seemed to function well, but soon he heard the light thumping of tiny feet approaching the basement stairs, so he quickly returned the car to its hiding spot and drew the tarp back over it.

He awoke the following day to the smell of scrambled eggs and bacon.  He’d had a series of bewildering and disorienting dreams so it took him a moment to realize that this was his reality––his house, his wife, his little boy.  He was a distributor liaison for a sign company.  Many signs in the greater Weatherview area, for subdivisions, restaurants, corporate headquarters and offices, had been manufactured thanks to his liaising.  He was a productive member of society, he thought for a moment, then quickly course-corrected.  Don’t think like that anymore.  Humility.  Humble.

“Mmmm, a classic American breakfast,” he said upon sitting down at their kitchen table.

“It’s a big day,” his wife answered, filling his glass with orange juice.  “You got the car working at last.”

“Don’t let the secret get out.  I can’t wait to see the look on his face.  Are you going to wake him up?”

“Let him sleep until seven-thirty.  He’s been dozing on our ride to school.”

“The present will wake him up.  And make him never want to go to school again,” he laughed.  “He’ll probably try to convince us to let him sleep in that thing.”

The man’s wife sat down across from him with her own plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.  She watched him eat for a moment before asking, “Why’d you buy him the car?”

He didn’t look up, instead took his time dipping a triangle of toast in his cup of coffee.

“It just seemed a little out of the blue, and your walks at night—”

“I can’t buy my son a great toy or take a stroll once in a while?”

“Ethan, you know that’s not what I mean.  Why get so defensive?  I love you.  And I’m no fool.  I want to know what’s going on.”

As if on cue their son shuffled into the kitchen.

“Hey, munchkin,” Ethan called out.  “We’ve got a great breakfast for you up here.  Mama outdid herself.  Come here,” he tickled the boy and hoisted him up onto a chair.  “Did you say the prayer when you woke up?”

The boy nodded.

“Praying before breakfast isn’t enough?” his wife asked.

“No such thing as too much praying,” he said.  “Here, let’s pray again, ready?  Our Father…”

“Who art in heaven,” his son joined in, “hallowed be thy name…”

His wife started, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.  Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.  For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever.  Amen”

“Yeyyy,” the parents cheered.

“We’ve got a surprise for you today, son,” said Ethan, “as soon as you get back from school.”

Cantico Park was a little crowded even for a fair weather Spring day.  The bike path may not be the ideal place for young Casey to test-drive his new wheels, but that was the plan.  Ethan wanted to bless his son with a joyful experience and all the joggers and bicyclists weren’t about to get in his way.  Still, he needed to be considerate.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and speed racers named Casey, start your engines.  Three… two… one…  Go!”

“Casey floored it and the car launched forward with surprising speed, a Ferrari-red rocket approaching twelve miles per hour which, for a seven year-old, was like a shooting star.

Casey’s mom shrieked and ran after him, making Ethan laugh loudly then stifle it.

“Don’t worry, Lin,” he called

Linda, seeing that it was hopeless to continue the pursuit, slowed to a fast walk.  Casey was gone.

The road ahead welcomed him, never mind the giants marching past daring to challenge his wondrous new gift.  With a little luck he would outmaneuver them and break free to where the car was meant to take him.  While slaloming through feet and legs he felt the change before it happened, a lightness giving way to weightlessness, as well as a newfound sense of power.  The wheels retracted sliding up into the body of the vehicle as it inclined toward a blue sky full of white cotton clouds.

Chapter 2

Wind rushing past him ceased its resistance, instead yielding to Casey’s presence. The air in his lungs became one with the sky and clouds, united even with the endless space beyond the atmosphere as if the blue dome above opened to an infinity of air and life. Climbing higher and higher, pressure started to build around the most distant limits of his new freedom until giving way entirely to the pure force of the child’s joy, and all of a sudden he could feel everything. Casey tried the wheel and turning slightly left what was now his rocket ship swooped cleanly up and left at exhilarating speed. The ship leveled out and he turned right, then left, then right again. He could feel the ship’s movement in his heart. He is speed. He is power.

In no time he reached the altitude of the shining clouds. At first he wanted to avoid them, so still and mountainous, but then he remembered what he’d learned in school, that clouds are just tiny specs of water like mist. The ship sped toward the soft whiteness and disappeared leaving swirling vapor in its wake. The cloud seemed to pass through him as he raced onward with water saturating his being as if he were drinking from the spring of life itself.

A mighty streak of red blasted out of the top of the cloud. The white blanket vanished and in an instant Casey could see the stars. They weren’t far away in endless blackness but near to him, some of them closer than the sun, golden-white fiery orbs that burned brightly with a quality that could only be called kindness, even love. He began to cry from the feeling of absolute joy overwhelming him. Wiping the tears away, he directed the ship back down through the clouds and toward the area where he had taken off.

When Ethan and Linda finally caught up with him the boy was standing beside the path next to a couple in their thirties with the car parked beside them. They were talking and smiling when they spotted the worried parents running and waving.

“Here comes mom and dad,” said the man.

“Casey, what in the world were you thinking? Don’t you know how to brake?” shouted Linda. “Weren’t you… you could have veered into the parking lot and gotten squashed.”

“He was navigating pretty well.”

“Thank you so much,” said Ethan.

“We were able to stop him before he crashed into one of the joggers or bicycles around here,” said the woman.

“I told you,” said Linda, finally calming down. “Come here. You are not going to drive this car until your father or I take you to a safer place, okay?

“I’m Ethan.”

“I’m Stephen, this is Olivia.” They shook hands.

“My name’s Linda. We can’t thank you enough. Now wait here with me while your father gets his car. You won’t be driving anymore today, you maniac.”

The couple continued walking and picked up where their conversation had left off.

“The way the corporations see it AI is the gateway to chaos. The Anarchic Party unravelling the structured order of these United States, but more importantly it’s also a great opportunity,” said Stephen.

“What about the next step in evolution?” asked Olivia. “You said that back when AI started flooding the internet. We were at Tempo’s eating dinner with Mark and Lily. You said those exact words, you were all amped about the new technology.”

“Opinions change. And I’m not totally against it. I just don’t want convenience to bring on changes that eclipse our humanity.”

“If humanity has the capacity to change the world for the good of all people—all people—don’t you think we have the responsibility to do so?”

“Of course, but we’re talking about potentially sharing the whole world with the machines.”

Olivia Laughed.

“I’m serious. Sure we can have our labor done for us now, we can even get money for free to help compensate for the loss of jobs, but we basically have to become roommates with robots in order for that to happen. There will be a brand-new lifeless race among us, serving us like slaves.”

“Aww, you’re concerned about your mechanical friends. Don’t call them lifeless, robots can feel.”

“Not like it matters anyway, business will do whatever they can in the name of civilizational advancement. There will be a backlash no doubt, possibly led by you, but the companies will just push back and force the technology through.”

“The people would help,” said Olivia, “we’re starving for newer better things, state of the art cutting edge world of tomorrow ‘stuff’ to pry open the door to the future.”

“Now who’s being pessimistic? My point—”

“I’m for it. The Founding Fathers of this great nation would be too.”

“My point is there may be a million rational, altruistic reasons to give technology free reign, but nothing is more important than protecting our souls.

They continued strolling in a wide circle around the park, arguing and laughing and almost perfectly content. They could banter with one another all day, which was something they realized in college soon after they met. They disagreed with each other just so they could fight.

“I’ll convince you not to resist the revolution,” said Olivia. “Where are we right now?”

“Cantico Park.”

“Yes. And what does cantico mean?”

“Something in Spanish… Dancer?”

“Close. It’s an Algonquian word for a sacred ceremonial dance, or one of the lively gatherings where the Native Americans and colonial settlers would celebrate.”

“Were robots allowed to attend?”

Olivia took her phone out of her pocket. “A robot told me about it.”

They agreed to walk one more lap around the park before going home and eating dinner. Stephen was a musical therapist and part time musician who worked at Saint Perpetua’s Hospital, often in the Psychiatric Department. Olivia was an assistant manager at a local restaurant, the go-to spot in the area for a burger, fries, and a beer.

The two of them approached a small bridge spanning a shallow stream running through the center of the park.

“I’m tired, let’s cut across and head home,” she said.

“We shall do no such thing.”

Stephen leapt off the top of the bridge to the other side, turning one-hundred and eighty degrees and extending his hand palm side up. “May I have this dance, m’ lady?”

Olivia laughed mock-bashfully and hurried over the bridge and into his arms. He drew her to himself and began waltzing around the path and nearby grass, humming a symphonic tune and carefully guiding his wife in the formal dance.

“Is this a cantico?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

Soon there was music rising up to meet them as they stepped and whirled around and around. The nearby trees glimmered with gold and silver light, the bushes and flowers luminesced with metallic colors of the rainbow. None could compare to the light in Olivia’s eyes, beaming back at her husband. She moved quietly, radiantly, as the music rose higher and carried them further into the mystery that once upon a time had brought them together. They were in love.

Chapter 3

Later in the week Stephen and Olivia heard the mayor of Weatherview was going to give an impromptu speech on the coming Tuesday.  There was nothing in the press disclosing what he would be speaking about.  The couple followed the news more closely than most, however like many of the residents of the city, their interest in politics had waned over the last few years.  Their care for Weatherview and its people had not, which is why they decided to attend.

Mayor Hugh Harker would speak from the steps of City Hall at six o’clock in the evening.  Over four thousand people showed up, crowding the streets in front of the imposing Romanesque structure.  The spires, columns, and archways gave the impression of being ruled over from a castle, an incongruous style considering the government was made up of many kind and generous people who had fought and won battles for the freedom of the citizens.

Having made the same observation, Stephen commented to Olivia.  Before she could respond the mayor emerged from the building and descended to the podium.

“Hello, people of Weatherview.  Thank you for taking the time to attend this speech, and for those of you at home, thank you for watching.  I’m sure you are all wondering what I intend to talk about.  My decision not to share any information with the press was due to the nature of the subject matter.  I fear some of you may not appreciate, may possibly react strongly against, what I have to say.  All I can do is apologize and ask you to please bear with me.

“This city is a special place which I have come to know and love.  It has a rich history dating back as far as the Native Americans who lived here prior to the Thirteen Colonies.  But that is not the topic I’ll be discussing tonight.  I intend to address certain changes which have happened to our unique city in recent years.  Supernatural, wonderful, and heavenly occurrences have been taking place here.  It seems the families and friends all over the greater Weatherview area are being whisked away into blissful fantasies without their intention.  It’s almost as if the kingdom of heaven is trying to swing down and lift us into God’s sweet embrace.

“The implications of these changes are not all sunshine and roses.  The Lord Jesus Christ has yet to return in power and glory.  This means everyone the world over is still subject to God’s fearful judgment and, according to the scriptures, must be judged.  We can not allow ourselves to be persuaded to settle in and get comfortable here.  I repeat, no matter how breathtakingly miraculous these incidents become, we must stay the course of humble service—nay, we must fall down before our Creator and beg for him to help us become true Christians.  As difficult as this may be to hear, none of us are even close to ready to go to heaven, not one.

“Now I’m going to switch gears for a moment and focus on myself and my adjustment to these mystical events.  Again, please bear with me.  I am not a good man.  I work hard and try to be kind, but unfortunately the struggle to be worthy of my position as mayor, the fight to hate what is wrong and abide in what is right and true, has been a losing one.  Upon waking up every morning I am forced to acknowledge that I’m a failure, having been at times overcome by the forces of greed, the hungry void of selfishness.  Everyday I recognize this and everyday I carry on hoping that the good in me wins out.  I keep trying, knowing that the victory is not mine, but the Lord’s.  Weatherview, we cannot become who we are meant to be unless we surrender ourselves and everything we care about to Jesus.  Only then can these joyous phenomena really mean something.  Honestly, I don’t think anybody should be able to enjoy these dreams-come-true until we can be good people through and through.  The experiences may be divine, but I am not.  Far from it.

“I’m aware that no one likes to be lectured and criticized, especially after living difficult lives and having to overcome many staggering challenges.  Given the choice between ecstasy and lowly repentance most would choose the former.  But one thing these phenomena have made clear to me is that we have the power not only to endure but also to overcome once and for all the adversity of a fallen world.  Not on our own but with God’s help and Lordship.  The goal isn’t to rise up to heaven, it is to be called there.

“Some of you may be asking, ‘Well, Mayor Harken, what are we supposed to do, not be uncontrollably captivated by these supreme visions?’  My answer is this: do not let them dominate your lives.  Indeed, resist the exultations and stay grounded in your faith.  There will be time enough to rejoice if and when we are chosen for God’s kingdom.  I would not speak thus to you unless I were prioritizing righteousness myself, and I suspect I have a long way to go.

“In closing I beg you all to not let this amazing city persuade you to become overconfident.  The Bible commands us to work out our salvation with fear and trembling.  Yes, what is happening here is very special.  Yes, the glorious ecstasies we are experiencing have been positive so far.  And no, we have not found any cause to renounce them yet.  We are, however, commanded to remain sober, vigilant, and wide awake with regard to this momentous time.  Thank you.”

Chapter 4

Mayor Harken had a point about staying grounded in faith.  More than a few residents had begun to lose their minds as a result of the wonderful phenomena consistently delighting the town.  Everything kept running smoothly, surprisingly enough, and as the mayor implied there hadn’t been any negative consequences of the waking dreams, but when it comes to matters of the soul it’s usually best to err on the side of caution.  Heaven did in fact want to swing down and carry them away.  How the people were reacting to this incomprehensible blessing was of the utmost importance.  One man climbed to the roof of his office building and jumped off.  Luckily the police had already received a tip from one of his coworkers to whom he’d been bragging about his power of flight, and they set up a rescue air cushion in the nick of time.  Other incidents were far less dire.  Crowds spontaneously dancing in the streets and other public places, strangers exchanging hugs for no reason, the wealthier people throwing ten thousand-dollar bundles of cash to whomever wanted the money—Weatherview seemed like the best place in the world.  When things start feeling too good to be true, it’s probably time to take the mayor’s advice and make yourself as low as possible.

One of the beneficiaries of the upper class’s recent generosity, Leonard Harris, had collected close to six hundred thousand dollars.  He’d gone to the the bank to find out what he should do with the money.  After a half hour of listening to a wealth management advisor talk about mutual funds, high-interest debt, retirement accounts, and diversified portfolios, he decided to go to a coin and bullion dealer and buy gold bars.  When he came home his wife and children were at the dinner table trying to wait for him before eating their food.  Leonard set the heavy bag on the table beside his plate and started removing the treasure and setting it in front of them.

“Woahhh, ahhh,” they said after each bar was set down.

“You bought gold?” his wife asked.

“I don’t like all that mess.  Like they’re from another planet talking a different language.”

“They are from another planet, the one we’ve been trying to get to.”

“All they want to do is complicate it.  Gold is simple, and its value keeps rising, same as interest at the bank.  Long as we hold onto these, we’ll be fine.  We can sell them back if we need something.”

“If you say so.”

“Can we see them, Daddy?” asked his daughter.

The Harris’s lived downtown.  Like so many other cities Weatherview had fallen victim to urban sprawl in the fifties.  Those who could afford it moved out to the suburbs in search of their American dream, nice house, green grass, white picket fences.  Those who couldn’t afford it stayed behind in an increasingly vacated city full of empty buildings and worsening conditions.  Needless to say what’d been happening lately was a welcome change for the city’s working class.

Leonard didn’t want to pick up and move to the suburbs.  No, his American dream was rooted in where he grew up.  He walked the same sidewalks he learned to ride a bike on when he was a kid.  Of course it wasn’t the shiny new bike he wanted, the kind most of the white kids had.  His was rusty and squeaky with a chain that slipped off when he rode over bumps.  He had observed over the years that money isn’t very important to those who have it.  To the rich it just comes and goes, leaving more than what was there before, flowing in and out like the tide as the surface level rises ever-higher.  To those in poverty money holds the key to an enormous gate standing between them and a free life, their happiness so often stifled by a barrier overshadowing their entire future.  Now Leonard finally held the key in his own hands, a key made of solid gold, and with it he intended to open the gate for his children.

After dinner Leonard forbade them to play with the gold bars should they find where he hides them, and directed them outside to have some fun.  A few toys were strewn about the yard and as soon as the children stepped out through the front door the toys began to levitate.  A large inflatable ball, a wiffle ball bat, and a frisbee hung motionless in the air before them.  Emitting squeals of laughter they ran toward the toys which started bobbing and weaving, evading their pursuers.  They finally caught each of them and beaming with joy proceeded to play a game of their own invention.

Leonard watched them for a while out the window.  Children knew what was truly important.  A small fortune was sitting right there on the table and his three kids had already forgotten all about it.  Instead they were literally floating above the ground trying to drag their toys back down to earth.  Life was a strange journey.  So full of problems and hardship, yet underneath it all, or perhaps all around us, love kept on winning—keeps on winning—no matter what.  The mystical events in Weatherview had allowed him to solve one of his problems, hopefully forever, and he was very grateful.

Chapter 5

Ever since Leonard had started collecting money from the aristocrats he’d been taking his wife, son, and two daughters out to nice restaurants.  Sunday night dinner was now a tradition for the family, and everyone took turns choosing where to eat.  Nia, his wife, had chosen last week’s restaurant, so it was now his son Darius’s turn.  He picked an Asian-Indian fusion restaurant that had opened not long ago.  He liked the name, “Rice and Spice.”

It was located within a town square type of area that wasn’t a square but instead a semi-elliptical shape where hundreds, sometimes thousands of people would gather to eat, drink, and listen to live music.  There was no band playing on this particular night, only one musician, a guitarist who couldn’t be more than seventeen years-old.  He played a lively song as the Harris family arrived, a loose funky cover of a classic that made Darius start to bounce and nod to the music.

“Go, Dare, go,” sang Nia.

The guitarist’s name was Elliot.  He was struggling, but not financially as many artists do.  Elliot was wrestling with his craft, attempting to boost his skill level above where it was at present.  He played very well and could learn and imitate songs perfectly, he knew chords and scales, but when it came to improvising, playing jazz or even imagining a unique solo, he couldn’t even scratch the surface.  Something in his mind would block the flow of signals to his hands and just shut him down.  The harder he tried to play original music, the more the obstructive force would confuse his attempts to do so.  He’d almost given up on guitar a few times, but not for very long.  Something else, something contrary to the obstructive force made him keep advancing his skill in other ways.  People love cover songs, as evidenced by his guitar case strewn with one’s, five’s, ten’s, and the occasional twenty.

“Thank you, sir,” he said to a man dropping a one and some change into his case.

The next song he chose to play was especially important to him.  It had been a favorite of his back when he had started taking an interest in music, a bluesy folk-rock song.

I ran away, across the sea

There was no more help for me

Wandered streets both old and new

Waiting for the dream of you

I don’t know what I’ll become

When my heart shines like the sun

Chorus:

All I have to give

Is all I’ll ever be

The truth hidden so deep inside

Only you can rescue me

As Elliot sang the atmosphere in the semi-elliptical town square began to glow.  All the people radiated a love that manifested visibly, as if the molecules comprising their bodies contained the essence of love itself.  They all smiled, some began to cry.

When my travels left me cold

I kept on searching, true and bold

The world spun around again

Shook me loose, I’ll never win

Only eyes like yours can give

The only reason I have to live

Repeat Chorus

Finally I washed ashore

An island from the days of yore

This place was where I first began

To conquer enemies of man

If destiny eludes me still

Again and Again I’ll test my will

Repeat Chorus 3x

The whole place was surrounded by and shining with love.  The people didn’t notice the music had stopped, some of them kept right on dancing.  Others lay on the ground and laughed in disbelief, so moved were they by this new rendition.  Elliot cried a little as well while he packed up his things.  He couldn’t play any more songs after this, it had been too glorious.

After school the next day he kept thinking about the night before and smiling.  No doubt about it, God had blessed them with a powerful move of His Holy Spirit.  Encouraged as he was regarding his musical challenges, his time in school was decidedly discouraging.  Maplefield High School wasn’t so bad, Elliot just disagreed with their policy of requiring him to do homework every night.  He already knew what he wanted to do when he grew up, he should be allowed to spend time on guitar and musically adjacent subjects.

Coincidentally a majority of students at Maplefield felt the same way about homework.  The miraculous events of late had helped offset a lot of the angst teenagers feel, and apart from Simon Miller—the man who leapt off the building—not one person had been endangered since the magical time began.

In his Biology class they were learning about botany.  Elliot couldn’t help but draw the comparison between the life of plants and his own life.  Plants have to fight to grow from the very beginning of their lives inside the seed.  They have to split the seed open, then send their roots down into the soil.  They get nutrients from the soil but ultimately they’re trying to grow up and out into the fresh air and sunlight.  Plants don’t want to stay underground.  Their roots are purely functional.

“Mr. Holloway…” said the teacher.

He turned his gaze from the window to his teacher.

“Am I boring you?”

“I’m done here,” said Elliot.  “It’s time for me to break free of the soil and reach for the sky.”  With that he walked out of the classroom and started towards home.