MANAN FF - TILL THE END OF TIME

A MESSAGE FROM THE MASTER SPIRIT

Manik felt the message sear itself into his soul. The living words pressed themselves forever into his being. As he rested after leaving his splattered body, both Manik and Dr. Dhawan pondered the different levels of meaning of these outwardly simple words.

The session had begun in the usual way. Dr. Dhawan regressed Manik using a rapid induction, and he slipped quickly into a deeply tranquil state. His breathing became deep and even, and his muscles relaxed completely. His mind, focused by the hypnosis, penetrated the customary limits of space and time, and he remembered events that had happened far before his birth as Manik.

"I'm wearing brown shoes," he observed as he emerged in the physical confines of a previous incarnation. "They're old and battered. . . . I'm a man around forty years old," he added without any prodding from Dr. Dhawan. "Balding on the top with hair beginning to grey. My sideburns and beard are grey already. My beard is short, and it's shaved pretty far down my cheeks."

He was paying considerable attention to minor details. Dr. Dhawan appreciated the accuracy of his description, but he was also aware of time slipping by.

"Go ahead," Dr. Dhawan advised. "Find out what you're doing in this life. Go to the next significant event."

"My glasses are small and wire-rimmed," he noted, still occupied with physical features. "My nose is wide, and my skin is very pale."

It was not unusual for a hypnotized patient to be resistant to suggestions. Dr. Dhawan had learned that you can't always guide the patient; sometimes the patient has to guide you.

"What do you do in this life?" asked Dr. Dhawan.

"I'm a doctor," he answered quickly, "a country doctor. I work very hard. The people are mostly poor, but I get by. They are good people overall."

"Do you know the name of the place where you live?"

"I believe it is in this country, in Ohio. . . ."

"Do you know the year?"

"Late eighteen-hundreds, I think."

"And your name?" he delicately inquired.

"Thomas . . . my name is Thomas."

"Do you have a last name?"

"It starts with a D . . . Dixon or Diggins or something like that. ... I don't feel well," he added.

"What's wrong?"

"I feel very sad . . . very sad. I don't want to go on living!" He had jumped ahead to a time of crisis.

"What is making you so sad?" Dr. Dhawan inquired.

"I have been despondent before," he clarified. "It comes and goes, but this is the worst. It's never been this bad before. The both things are just overwhelming... I can't go on this way."

"What 'both things'?" echoed Dr. Dhawan.

"My patient died. The fever killed him. They trusted me to save him. They put their faith in me, and I couldn't. I've let them down. . . . Now they have no husband, no father. They will have to struggle to survive. ... I couldn't save him!"

"Sometimes patients die despite our best efforts. Especially in the eighteen-hundreds," Dr. Dhawan added, paradoxically attempting to ease his guilt and despair over an event that had occurred a century ago. Dr. Dhawan could not alter the event, only Thomas' attitude towards it. He knew that Thomas had already experienced and acted upon his feelings. What was done was done. But he could still help Manik, by helping him to understand, by helping him to see from a higher and more detached perspective.