SPIRIT BOY—An Earth Spy is a work of fiction. All of the characters, incidents, and dialogue portrayed in this book, except for incidental references to public figures or products, are imaginary. It is not the author’s intention to refer to any living persons or to disparage any company’s products or services cited in this fictional story.
The story does revolve around nonfictional material—metaphysical teaching from numerous sources and Masters. The author’s intention is to offer this information to help you on your emotional and spiritual path of well-being. The author and publisher bare no responsibility for how you use or act upon the information in this book.
Text Copyright 2007 by Tricia Kelly
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer “fair use” of quoting a brief passage in reviews or articles about such book SPIRIT BOY, or the author, TRICIA KELLY.
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Kelly, Tricia
Spirit Boy - An Earth Spy.
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MY ANGELIC FRIENDS in Heaven call me “Spirit Boy.” They say I still look like the eleven-year-old kid I was when I died on that school playground. I’m still wearing the same shirt, the same jeans, even have the same curly blonde hair, those bright blue eyes, and those cupid lips. That’s what my mom called them, she always said it when she kissed me goodnight. I can’t remember how long ago that was, or when it was that I died exactly, or how long I’ve been up here in Heaven, because time has no meaning  here. Spiritual Beings like me, we just hang out, mind our own business, and watch you guys down there, like you're starring in your own TV show—a show we call “life.” We see all the different choices you make and all the different roads you travel down, and sometimes wonder why you choose paths that lead you nowhere, why you’re on a journey with no happy ending. It’s easy for me to see that now from this prospective. I wish I knew the cosmic laws way back then when my life went astray. The day I took a bullet. The day my life ended. I can see it so clearly now, I was one of those people on a journey that had no happy ending.
So there I was, just hanging out watching you guys, when I found myself being pulled back to a school playground, it was one I knew really well. The same one that I had played on when I was alive. Then I remembered: Spiritual Beings like me don’t get drawn to places; we get drawn to energies. Today I was being drawn to two energetic Beings ready to explode—with negative energy. It reminded me of the time when I was a troubled kid, when I got mixed up in conflict, when I couldn’t see the right road ahead of me, when I couldn’t see the light. It was a feeling I knew oh so well. It was probably the reason I couldn’t stop myself from swooping down on them. I heard their souls crying out for help. These kids had no idea I was about to be stuck on them like a magnet, and that this was my soul’s journey, too. My journey was to teach these kids a few simple lessons: that all they needed to do was love themselves and live their dreams—the ones they are destined to enjoy. It’s really that easy. Everyone can create their own Heaven on Earth. It’s all about faith—and the right energetic attitude is a must too...

PART OF ME didn’t want to go back to that school playground. Back to the place that had taken my life. I knew I had to, to at least try and stop these two boys, Sam and Henry, from heading down a road they’d regret later—a road filled with all the consequences they were creating for themselves today, and everyday lately.

*** 

“Give it up, white boy...you ain’t gonna be no ballplayer...white boys ain’t no good at shootin’ hoops!” Sam hollered at Henry, as he gave him one heck of a shove, so he could show off one of his cool basketball moves. Sam was just killing time as he waited for his school bus, to take him back to his own side of town, South Central, L.A.
“Hey, watch what you’re saying, stupid head!” Henry yelled back, as he turned to his backup support with that smart-ass grin of his. The other kids cheered him on. They loved being part of this fight, too. Their bantering encouraged the two boys to hate each other even more.
“Get ’em!”
“Kick his ass!”
“Take ’em down, Henry,” they screamed, transforming into one big, dark, negative force of collective energy.
Steeled by all his support, Henry again tried to snatch the basketball out of Sam’s hands.
“What happened...did they kick you out of your own school...had to bus you here so you can learn from us smart white guys, did they?”
The two never stopped their hurtful remarks.

Whoa, I couldn’t help wondering why these two had such a bad attitude. What side of the bed did they get out on? What was going on at home?
Regardless of their problems, Henry had no right to needle Sam and interfere with his basketball game. And Sam had no right to put Henry down and taunt him with “white boys ain’t no good at shootin’ hoops.”
So here I was on this beautiful California day standing between two boys wrestling each other over a basketball. Both punching each other. An occasional direct hit. Pain. Lots of it. It was a good thing I was a Spirit, otherwise I’d have been black and blue with all the jabs and punches they were throwing at each other. Plus I had to dodge all those other kids’ negative energies flying around like poison-tipped arrows.
Then one of the kids shrieked, “Wartface!”
Their screaming stopped. The kids fled as if a dark storm cloud was about to descend on them. Like they knew a clap of thunder was about to erupt any second and scare them into silence.
They left the two boys alone to endure the most excruciating pain of all. The pain of having their ears pulled. In this schoolyard, that was way more painful than landing a fist—and way more scary. Especially when they looked up and saw Mrs. Johnson’s face staring down at them.
I couldn’t believe it either...it was her. We even called her by that same nickname, Wartface, back when I went to school here. Most of us hated her, too. And I can remember that look, that face—one you didn’t ever want glaring down at you. She had used that glare when I was a student in her class. When I allowed her to degrade me with those eyes that went right through you. But not now. She wasn’t vibrating at a high enough frequency to even sense I was there.
It seemed that, year after year after year, that same name cursed her. I know they’re just huge moles and it’s rude to call people names. But to a kid standing below this tall old woman, her large black moles stood out like volcanos ready to erupt.
And I could tell by her expression today just how much pleasure the old lady got from pulling their ears, separating them with the same negativity they’d used against each other. She had been warned about her negative ways. Most of her fellow teachers, especially the new school principal, Ms. Karen Bennett, considered her a rigid old bag. They had no respect for her old-fashioned methods of teaching.

Sam’s eyes darted sideways. From the corner of his eye, he saw his school bus pull up and stop by the school gate. “Mrs. Johnson, please let me go, so I can escape your mental semiautomatic gunfire,” he silently pleaded. He’d heard enough gunfire nearly every night of his young life in South Central.
“If I catch you fighting one more time, displaying this kind of behavior, I’ll have you expelled, Sam. And you...” She turned and glared down at Henry. His ear was on fire, the pain rushed all the way down the side of his body. His eyes filled with tears of pain and fear. “And you, Henry, you are just lucky you are a neighborhood kid!” she shouted in his face.
Then it happened. Ms. Bennett’s voice echoed across the playground. A savior.
“Mrs. Johnson, you let those boys go right now!” she yelled in a voice she didn’t often use. Ms. Bennett did not tolerate that kind of archaic punishment and had warned Mrs. Johnson repeatedly to stop using this method of discipline.
Mrs. Johnson just couldn’t stop herself. Her excuse, always the same, was that this was the way she’d been teaching kids for the past thirty years. She reminded the young principal that “Schools back in the old days didn’t have the trouble they do today, did they?” She really should have said, “It’s the way I’ve been badgering kids with negativity for the past three decades.” I knew that well. I was one of the kids she used to be mean to and hate for no reason.

Sam quickly grabbed his backpack and his old sweatshirt off the ground and headed for his school bus as fast as his legs could hightail him away from the meanest person he had ever known. Nothing was appealing about Mrs. Johnson’s demeanor. Even her old fashioned style of clothing, her hand knitted brown sweaters, and those grey box pleated skirts she wore every day were just plain ugly to a kid. Sam couldn’t find one thing in her that he liked. It wasn’t as if Sam got to wear what he wanted either. He’d spend most of his life wearing other peoples hand-me-downs. There was always something wrong with every piece. A button missing here and there. Or it was over sized, or some ugly color. He was always told to be grateful he had clothes, considering there were people all over the world who had none. His single mother would always preach. “You ain’t cold, are you boy?” How he longed to hear her voice say that again.
Sam nearly tripped on his untied tattered shoelaces as he flew up the bus stairs. His classmate Vanessa begged the bus driver to wait. He usually didn’t tolerate kids being late, but today he could see that Sam was being picked on again by Mrs. Johnson. On the long drive home to South Central, he’d often hear the kids complaining about her meanness.
Vanessa patted the seat she had saved for Sam. She had known him her whole life, even though she was banned from talking to any of the Smith boys. Her mother and father, the local minister, were snobs in their neighborhood. Nobody was ever good enough for their little girl. Their only daughter. The one dressed in pretty pink dresses like she was going to church every day of the week. They must have believed that if they dressed her up like this, their neighbors would know she was special—not like the rest of the kids in the neighborhood.
Still, Vanessa saved a seat for Sam that day. And was special for another reason—something neither her parents nor she knew about yet!

Henry took off down the sidewalk, sprinting as fast as he could away from all the commotion still being created on the playground, now by Mrs. Johnson. She was screaming all sorts of threats about how Ms. Bennett wasn’t qualified to be their school principal, and how these children needed a good old-fashioned spanking sometimes.
Ms. Bennett, who was a few generations younger, and quite a few pounds lighter than Mrs. Johnson always wore trendy clothes like some of the wealthy neighborhood kids that go to this school. She even had a cute modern haircut and sometimes wore  great junky jewelry. She looked years younger than her real age. It was mainly because she had this wonderful, positive attitude. She liked to start each day with a smile, one that could light up a room. Her smile just beamed right through you and made you want to like her and smile back. She was already popular with most of her students after only being at their school for one semester. Her job was the position Mrs. Johnson had for years dreamt of having. Mrs. Johnson had wanted to be the big chief and enforce her martial law on the playground. Then along came Ms. Bennett and stole the job away from her. She never got over it. Ms. Bennett would have loved to have had Mrs. Johnson fired, at least a dozen times in the past couple of months, because of this kind of cruel behavior and the discipline she often displayed toward certain kids on the playground and in her classroom. But Ms. Bennett knew that if she reported Mrs. Johnson to the school board, she would not only lose her job, but also her health insurance and maybe her pension too. She didn’t want to be the one responsible for this misfortune.

Sam Smith was glad when the bus finally pulled away from the curb. He couldn’t wait for fifth grade to be over at this elementary school on the other side of town, a school full of white kids who lived in their so-called upper-class neighborhood. The kids who thought money made them a better person, more valuable. The ones who wore their trendy logo clothing and believed it made them special.
I wanted to tell all of them:“You are what comes from your inside core, not what you look like on the outside.”
Most of these kids didn’t even know why they had  a negative attitude toward the African American and Latino kids bused into their neighborhood school and play on their playground. But they did.
The bused-in kids were there so they could be at a less crowded school. Most of them hated being bused there, too. They hated being reminded every day of what they didn’t have back home, and they hated having to get up hours earlier than the other kids and get home hours after the other kids had time to do their homework, have an afternoon snack, and enjoy the rest of the day outside doing fun stuff before it got dark. And Sam hated that boy, too, the one he saw again as he glanced out the school bus window before the bus left the school. He hated that Henry was wearing his favorite basketball team’s T.shirt, and he got to skateboard home from school everyday.
The two boys’ eyes met again. They still had that glare of hatred. They scrutinized each other with their silent thoughts. I knew what they were both thinking. They were repeating it over and over again in their heads. “Next time, I’ll get ya!”

ONCE HENRY WAS far enough away from his school, he slowed down to a snail’s pace. He was in no hurry to get home and have his mother see his bruised face and his torn shirt that wasn’t even two weeks old.
Finally, the two of us made our way down his driveway past his mother’s new SUV, the one that they were having trouble making the payments on these days. Henry slowly climbed the stairs of their cute two-story house and stood in front of their expensive stained-glass door, the one his mother insisted she had to have even when she knew they couldn’t afford it.
I watched him as he stood there for the longest time. Henry’s heart pounded in anticipation. His hand, drenched with sweat, held onto the front door handle he didn’t want to open. He was afraid to go inside. He didn’t want his mother to see his condition. He knew she would flip out and get mad.
His mother, Diane, was always moody these days. Her work in real estate was taking its toll. Nothing was selling in the inflated market. Henry knew her moods. When she got a commission check, she was happy for only a minute, and then went back to worrying again. He’d often heard her talking with his dad, Michael, about their money problems. “How are we going to pay our mortgage this month?” she’d say, more than ask him, blaming him for their troubles. He’d been laid off now for a few months from a great six-figure job in the computer industry, like millions of others suffering in this bad economy. Henry had no idea their safety-comfort-zone lifestyle was about to end. His mother thought it was all because his father was out of work, but it was more than that. Part of it was his mother’s need to spend what they didn’t have on stuff they didn’t need. It had finally caught up with her. They were now living in the red.

Henry’s attempt to sneak inside failed badly. The Fluff Man, his buddy, always yelped his joyous hello. It was their ritual. They were inseparable, this dog and master.
His mother heard the Fluff Man barking his hello. She yelled her hello from their kitchen, where she was preparing one of the many dishes she made every night for her fussy children.
Henry froze. He went pale, swallowed a gulp of air, and stood like a statue.
“Henry, is that you?” she called, then came around the hallway corner to find him just standing there. She gave him the look he dreaded. Her thin lips narrowed even more. “What have you gone and done now? You ripped your new shirt! I hope I don’t have to visit your teacher tomorrow. I have an open house all day!” she scolded, as she cupped her hands around his face and stared down at his blackened eye. “I don’t know what  I’m going to do with you. How many times do we have to tell you? You have to stop this kind of behavior!”
“It wasn’t my fault! He shouldn’t even be at our school! That kid always starts everything. He always has to show off. He told me that white guys never make good ballplayers.”
She cut him off before he could finish. “You can’t spend your life blaming other people. I hear the same excuse over and over again. You are definitely grounded! Now go to your room and do your homework. And then you’ll be practicing your piano lesson for an hour, too!”
“That’s cruel! The day will be over!” he bellowed back, then instantly wished he could take back his words. He saw that glare of hers again. Her lips narrowed as she clenched her teeth together and bit down hard.
She raised her voice even louder this time. “That’s right! And there will be no TV either! And wait until I tell your father. As if we don’t have enough problems!” She just went on and on, talking to herself about all their money problems, like a madwoman, as she drifted back to her kitchen in her depressed mood about life. Her face covered in worry lines. Her mind milled over the same thought, over and over again allowing her energy source to get even more drained by the second.
Henry, took it all in to. Right down to his core where he believed he was a trouble maker. He continued help going from one fight to the next. Attracting that same negative vibration into his space time and time again was what he was doing.
With his shoulders slouched even more, made his way upstairs to his bedroom. The Fluff Man followed, wagging his tail, full of love for his master and completely unaware of his doldrums and all the consequences he had created for himself today.

I STOOD BESIDE Sam, who was still harboring all the events of the day on his long bus ride back to his side of town. It was a good twenty miles away from the place he hated having to go to school every day.
“You shouldn’t let ’em get to ya,” Vanessa said, like she knew better, as she tried to comfort him with a pat on his knee.
“I coulda flattened him!” he declared loudly, full of that dark anger he needed to release. It had been eating him up for months now for a lot of reasons.
“You shouldn’t let ’em get to ya,” Vanessa said again, lovingly trying to connect with him.
“Well, I ain’t goin’ back. I don’t need no whitey telling me I’m stupid! I don’t need no school either. I’m gonna be a businessman just like my bro!” He raised his head in the air, like he was a big man, like his bro.
“My papa, he says that kind of business, drug dealing, is bad business. It’s gonna send you to hell.” She quoted her daddy, believing it was all true. There was a place called hell.
Sam stared out the school bus window. I knew what he was thinking. “Couldn’t get much worse than this kind of hell,” he mumbled, subconsciously speaking his thoughts. His neighborhood was his hell. He hated that it was covered in graffiti. That there were gang symbols everywhere claiming ownership to other people’s property. He hated that his neighborhood lacked those pretty perfumed flower gardens, and those green, green lawns, and those white picket fences that Henry’s neighborhood had. He hated that he had been born in South Central.
Vanessa knew some of what he said was right, too; their neighborhood was different from the one they visited nearly everyday. But it wasn’t the kind of hell she’d heard her Papa preach about on Sundays at church. She believed that kind of hell was a place nobody would want to visit. Only the evilest people in the world went to a place that dark and scary. A place full of monsters riddled with hatred. If only she knew the truth.
I wanted to tell her: “God forgives everyone. How could something so pure, so perfect as God, even know how to create something as dark as hell. It is impossible for God ever to be that way. The Godly state is one of pure positive loving energy.”

Finally, the bus turned the corner and headed for their bus stop. Sam got off first.
Vanessa followed, still trying to tell him to have faith. “God will protect you. You have to go back to school. You’ll only get in more trouble if you stay away.”
Then she spotted her mother, Lillian Bradley, standing on their veranda like a guard dog waiting to pounce. Her eyes widened in disbelief when she saw the two together, walking and talking. She was Vanessa’s devil in disguise. Her mother was the person in her life she feared the most.
Month after month, year after year, Vanessa was reminded of how much her mother was in charge of who she was. What she wanted or liked was not open for discussion or was ever going to be an option for her. The only thing in Vanessa’s life that was wild, free, and out of control was her curly hair. Even that had to be braided with those pretty pink beads because it was something her mom insisted on doing. Vanessa had to look presentable; she had to look perfect for all to see. The poor thing had to endure sitting still for hours while her mother painfully braided it to her own liking and not ever to her daughter’s.

They both heard Vanessa’s mother’s scream soaring down the sidewalk at them like an unstoppable bullet ready to kill. It made Vanessa run faster than her heart could beat. She ran up the steps past her mother who stood there howling so the whole neighborhood could hear that she was the one in charge.
“Girl, you wait ’til I tell your father you’ve been talking to one of those Smith boys!” Her mother had no concern or was even aware that the little girl she loved was a human being with feelings.
Vanessa knew the kind of trouble she was going to be in and quickly disappeared inside, away from the kid she was banned from knowing, the one who she was told on a daily basis was “a no-gooder, an evil child.”
Of course, all this screaming only made Sam feel worse. Now he’d been attacked three times today. He didn’t see the pattern that I saw. How this negative energy just kept showing up. I put my invisible arm around his shoulder, and we continued strolling slowly toward his place. Sam knew there was no point in going any faster. He’d probably be alone when he got there. Carlos was never home. He always had stuff to take care of. He always lost track of time. Sam knew it was the drugs that made his mind work that way.
Sam hated his life. He hated that he was born poor, and born without a dad. He sometimes wondered if he might even be an orphan, especially since his mother had disappeared six months ago. He thought his brother, Carlos, was all he had in the world. He didn’t know that I was there for him, too—not yet.
Carlos had been forced to grow up fast. He’d taken on the role of Sam’s protector after their mom vanished one night. He was way too young to bare the responsibilities of the “man of the house” and the role of a businessman. He hadn’t even turned seventeen and was already a drug-dealing businessman caught in a lifestyle he didn’t know how to escape. Lots of people in their neighborhood were always looking to employ new young blood like him.
I knew he was only selling drugs because the two feared being taken into custody by the System and placed in foster care. They lived in fear of being separated from each other. They worried all the time about being caught living in a house without an adult. They knew if they were caught, they would end up in the custody of the court and that dreaded welfare system. Their freedom would be gone forever. The System was their enemy, it was their prison, with no way out until you turned eighteen. They’d seen it happen to other kids in their neighborhood. Sometimes the kids were abused and needed rescuing; sometimes it was because their parents got into trouble or couldn’t pay their rent on time, and they all ended up homeless; and sometimes it was because their parents went to prison or ended up dead after some gang-shooting. There were gang fights night after night in their neighborhood.
The two bros lived their little white lie, their fib, and hid the truth from everyone. Carlos did his thing, dealing drugs, so they could pay their rent on time and not end up homeless. It all stemmed from fear. The fear of being separated from the bond they had with each other. The heartstrings that tied them together, that were bound with brotherly love, could also pull them apart if they were caught living their lie. These two lived in the shadows. Their negative emotions had them stuck in a state of sadness.

HENRY AND I entered his bedroom. Its walls were lined with his favorite basketball sports star posters, all those great big successful black guys, like Kobe and Shaq. The ones that he was told over and over again by that kid, Sam, that he would never be like. It just wasn’t in his genes to be six foot six.
Henry threw himself on his bed in his depressed mood. The Fluff Man jumped up beside him. I sat myself down on the foot of his bed. I could sense Henry’s mind was still in a daze. He was on automatic pilot, so he did what he always did—he switched on his “banned” TV. His favorite channel was playing its usual afternoon cartoon. It was nothing special, which was okay with him because he had other things on his mind. He was replaying all the events of the day and feeling sorry for himself, too. He was wondering if maybe what Sam had said was true. He’d never be good at shooting hoops like him. Deep down, he was jealous of Sam’s talents.
I wanted to tell Henry that being jealous stops your own magic in life from happening—nothing happens in this negative state, ever.
I watched him as he stroked his dog’s silky fur back and forth, mumbling to himself internally.“Life sucks! It wasn’t even my fault.” His dog replied with a small yelp as if he was agreeing. Henry stroked his body again. “You’re the only one that understands me...I love ya.”
He didn’t know I heard his silent mumbles of discontentment. My intention was not to communicate directly with these kids, maybe just visit them in their dreams, plant a few positive seeds, that was all but something made me do it. I couldn’t help myself. Spiritual Beings like me have the energy to do anything we want. So it wasn’t long before I found myself saying, “Henry...I understand you, and I love you too.”
Henry’s eyes searched the room. “Who said that?” he exclaimed, as he scratched his head, wondering if he was hearing things. “Am I going crazy? Did someone just say my name? A boy said he loves me. Yuck!” All those thoughts were racing through his mind.
“Over here,” I said.
“Where’s here?” Now he knew he was hearing me.
My voice is definitely a voice to be reckoned with. The Fluff Man heard it. His ears perked up. His nose sniffed the air. He was searching for me, too.
“Over here, Henry!” I said, raising my voice a notch.
Henry turned and saw me. I had manifested my energy on his TV screen and was waving my hand at him. I know I look like any other preteen kid, but he still looked startled.
“Don’t be afraid, Henry,” I said softy, to ease the freakiness of it all.
“How come you know my name?” he asked, with a nervous breath.
“I know everything.”
“Yeah, right, but people can’t talk to a TV! A computer maybe, I Chat, Yahoo Messenger...” By now, he was off his bed checking to see if there were some extra plugs attached to some new device behind his old TV set, the one he’d had been complaining about for months. He’d been begging for it to be replaced with one of those new hip flat-screen high-definition sets like the other rich kids at his school had already.
“Are you some kind of spy?” he asked, with a suspicious glare, as he stared back at me again.
I had to laugh. In some ways, he had busted me. I guess it was true. I was kind of a spy—an Earth spy of some sort.
“Henry, allow me to introduce myself. People here call me Spirit Boy.”
“People where? Yeah, right, Spirit Boy!” he joked, with an attitude like he was smarter than me, smarter than an enlightened spirit. Like he knew everything there was to know about life and about people who had moved on to the other side.
The Fluff Man knew who I was. He started howling. All his senses were working. He knew there was an entity in the room.
Henry raised his hand to quiet him with a slap.
“Don’t hurt the Fluff Man!” I screamed.
“You know his name, too?” he gasped, as he pulled a face with major frown lines going in all directions.
“Animals are in tune with their sixth sense. He’s just picking up on my vibrations. My energy.”
“Vibrations! Energy! You’re so weird! What are you talking about?” he asked, with another one of his smug expressions. He was using the smart-ass attitude he pulled with everyone these days.
“Henry, I’m a Spiritual Being, and you are, too, but with a human body. That’s basically the only difference, plus I know how to tap into wisdom that is as old as God itself. One day, you will return home, to what you call Heaven, and become a Spiritual Being again and be in this state, just like me.”
“What if I don’t want to? You can’t make me!”
“It’s all part of the journey. Nobody escapes what’s destined to happen.”
Henry sat there paralyzed, but with his expression that said, “Man, you’re weird!” Out loud, he said, “Are you saying I’m going to die now?
“Only you and God know that...”
“God, God!...You know him?”
“You know Him, too, or Her, or Mother, or Father, or Source, or whatever you want to call Him, Them, or It.”
Henry rubbed his head again, puzzled.
I continued. “Spiritual Beings like me can travel into the past, live in the present, or visit the future…” I grinned, and jokingly added, “…all in the same magical moment.”
“That’s cool! I want to do that part, for sure!” he shrieked with excitement, like he was going to be able to time-travel to some faraway galaxy—or home to Heaven.
That was the first time in hours—actually, months—that I had seen his beaming energy. From my perspective, he literally lit up the entire room. But time-travel wasn’t going to be that easy for him to manifest. He thought it was something he could master in a minute. I could tell by all his enthusiasm that he wanted to know how to do it right then and there.
“Henry, the first thing you have to learn is to live in the moment, take one day at a time. I’ll help you discover, I should say, rediscover, yourself. Or remember, or become a re-member again. You are someone who is destined to be a leader in this new golden age that some call ‘The Age of Aquarius.’”
“Me, a leader. What kind of leader?” he asked eagerly, like he was going to have some awesome power to boss people around.
I didn’t have time to answer him, to explain that it wasn’t about being a boss. My eyes moved quickly toward his door. “Your mother is about to enter.” I disappeared from view and let the TV screen go black, though I was still there. I saw his mother, with all her guilt, open the door. She had brought him a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. It was for the little boy she really did love, even though she was disrespectful sometimes, and yelled at him often about things that weren’t worth yelling about to start with.
Henry just sat there dazed. Not by his mother’s generosity, but by the conversation we had just had.
His mother’s intuition sensed her son’s strange demeanor. She reached over and touched his forehead. “What is it? Are you all right? Are you hurt?” she asked in a mother’s worried voice.
“No, I’m fine. It was just this kid...on TV...”
“You were watching TV!” She reached over and took back his snack for disobeying her.
“No! I mean, yes, but, Mom, it was different. Honest, this kid, he knew my name and everything! He said he was a spirit!”
“Henry, when I say no TV, it means no TV, and no stories either!”
“Why don’t you believe me?” he asked, in a voice she didn’t want to hear either.
He picked up his remote control and frantically started flicking through the channels. He was hoping he could find me and prove he was right. He didn’t get a chance to search for long before she snatched it out of his hand.
“He told me I’m gonna be a leader...some Age of Aquarius,” he said over and over again, trying his hardest to convince her that it was true, that we really did have a conversation.
“That’s the most ridiculous nonsense I’ve ever heard. For one thing, you can’t be an Aquarian, and I know that, because I gave birth to you. You were born a Pisces, so there!” she said, waving a finger at him like it was a pistol ready to shoot—a finger full of negative energy.
Henry should have stopped. Instead he continued arguing back with a lot more vengeance now. “It’s true! He said I’m gonna be a leader!”
Their negative energy was flying around the room like a Frisbee. It was a wonder the windows didn’t shatter with all their emotional friction.
“You kids watch way too much TV!” She went on and on about all the chores he needed to do, like picking up his clothing from the floor and taking his dog for a walk. Finally, she left the room.
I could see how empty Henry felt. He was alone with his truth. I knew I had to pay him another visit. This time I came as my transparent being—one of pure light. I moved through his energy field and I left him with his first lesson. “Believe in yourself. You are the creator of your own experience. Sooner or later people around you will catch on to the true you—the one that knows that what happened was true.”
He got the message loud and clear. But he still had to question himself. “Did that really happen?” he said out loud, wearing an expression still full of doubt—about me!

SAM AND I entered his home, a small, two-bedroom bungalow on a busy street in South Central. Inside, his home lacked the warmth it used to have, especially the smell of his mother’s famous fried chicken. Now the house was strewn with junk, beer bottles, and an ashtray filled with everything from cigarette butts to leftover sandwich crusts.
When Sam opened the door, he was surprised to see that Carlos was still home. He wished he hadn’t walked in on the heated conversation he was having on the phone.
“Don’t threaten me man! You’ll get the money...Look, I told ya, the candy will be sold in no time,” he screamed at his drug-dealing boss before slamming the receiver down on him. Their conversation was definitely over now, that was for sure.
Sam knew right away that today was not a good day to be coming home with a bruised face. His brother was in one of those moods, the ones he hated being around. He hated the person Carlos had become and the people he had gone into business with.
Carlos finally acknowledged he was home when he saw his brother’s face. “Oh, man, they ain’t picking on my Sam the Man again, are they? You just tell me whose little white ass needs a beating now!” he told Sam, like he was the one in control of Sam’s life.
“I ain’t planning on goin’ back, so you don’t need to beat nobody,” Sam replied, like he was a big man, too. Like he was in control of his own destiny. “And I hate that Wartface! She’s got it in for me real bad!”
“You gotta go back. They find out you ain’t there, they’ll be down on us in no time. They find out Mom ain’t here either, they gonna split us up for real.” He flung his arm around his little brother’s shoulder.
Sam knew he was right. His sad brown eyes welled up at the thought of them being separated. It also brought up all the memories of his mom, and how much he missed her too.
“Hey, little man, I told ya, nobody gonna take you away!” Bro gave him an even bigger hug to reassure him that he was always gonna be there for him. “You and me together, forever.” They had made a pact; they were brothers through thick and thin.
“You think Mom’s ever comin’ back?” Sam asked, knowing what the answer would be. He’d been told it a dozen times before. Still he asked the same question again and again, just in case Carlos had something different to say.
But Carlos just told him the same thing he always told him, but in a softer, more sensitive voice. It was something he thought about, too. “I don’t know, kiddo.” Before he showed Sam too much of his sensitive side, he slipped his leather jacket over his new gang tattoo. We all knew what was in the brown paper bag he shoved in his pocket. It was full of drugs. He grabbed his beeper and an automatic pistol he kept hidden under a sofa pillow. He stuffed it down the front of his pants. On the way out, he rubbed Sam’s head and promised he’d bring him back a hamburger when he’d finished his business meeting.
Sam knew he’d be waiting forever and his Bro would probably forget to bring it home, like before, so he drifted into the kitchen. It looked way worse than the living room. The counters were stacked with dirty dishes and empty fast-food take-out bags were scattered everywhere.
Sam opened an empty cupboard, shrugged, and closed it again. Then he opened another one. A huge smile came over his face. The half-eaten bag of potato chips was still there, along with a carton of macaroni. He discovered the carton was empty, but still shook it just to make sure something wasn’t hidden inside before he put it back on the shelf. Then he smiled. He found a can of chicken noodle soup. He searched around for a clean pot. After he discovered there wasn’t one, and he wasn’t about to wash one clean, the little genius ripped the paper off the can, removed the top, and placed it right on the gas burner. Soon the can was scorching hot and blackened by the flame. With the help of an old towel, he managed to pour it into a bowl, one that he had taken the time to rinse out once. He sprinkled the leftover chips on the top. His little creation was going to be dinner. He returned slowly to the living room, carefully balancing his hot soup. As soon as he sat down on the couch, he picked up the remote control and switched on his company for the night: his TV set—and me.
Sam didn’t notice me at first. He was starving and attacked his feast in a nonstop manner. It was slurping around everywhere as he quickly gobbled it down.
The last thing I wanted to do was startle him, so I kind of whispered, “Hi there, Sam the Man. That looks like quite a feast you made yourself.”
Before I had a chance to continue, his eyes were instantly drawn to the voice coming from his TV screen.
“You talkin’ to me, whitey?” His soup just about sloshed over the side of the bowl with his sudden movement and angry voice, the one he used for no reason sometimes.
“Be careful. I’d hate for you to burn yourself and make a mess.”
Now he was really annoyed. Who was this kid on TV telling him about his mess? “Hey, don’t need no lip from you about my eatin’,” he argued back before he realized he was talking to me, on TV. “Who are you? And how’d you know I’m Sam the...the Man? ’cause I ain’t taking no application for no white guys talkin’ to me! So there!”
He picked up the remote control and switched channels. He thought he could dismiss me. I let a cartoon play long enough for him to smile and think he’d won. He felt like a big man. It was his moment of being in control. I let him spoon away at his soup a little before I spoke again.
I lit up the screen again with my presence. “You’re not going to get rid of me that easily,” I said, in a more harmonious tone.
But Sam’s reaction was full of anger. He snarled at me and flicked his TV off for good. “I can get rid of you as easy as this! Take that, white boy, I got the power now!” He laughed out loud.
I let the screen stay black for a few seconds, just so he could feel good about himself again, and then I lit the room up like a fireworks show. “How’s that for power!” I joked back.
Sam looked at the TV screen. Frozen. Speechless for the first time ever. He was in total rapture seeing me like this. “How did you do that?” he asked, sounding curious and defensive in the same breath. “And how come you know my name? And I don’t need nobody tellin’ me stuff.”
“First of all, Sam, I never tell anyone ‘stuff.’ I might make a few suggestions or give people a few explanations, but as far as the rest of that ‘stuff,’ I have no control over that. That’s up to them.”
“This is crazy!” he replied, as he scratched his head. “Y’know, I’m talkin’ to you on an old TV set. It only gets two channels! It ain’t even possible!”
“Isn’t it wonderful when things you didn’t think were possible, are? Just think of me as another channel...something you haven’t tried, or watched before.”
“Hey, I’za tried everythin’ else!”
Sam was proud of his accomplishments in life. He was nearly twelve, going on twenty, living in a neighborhood that never slept. He was forced to grow up fast just to survive living there, in this gang-ridden suburb of his.
“For a young boy, you sure have had your share of experiences. But, Sam, life is a never-ending spiral of challenges. Lessons. I’m here to help you understand the lessons you need to master here, on your school of Earth.”
“No way! I hate lessons! I don’t need no school, of no Earth! I just ain’t goin’. You got the wrong student!”
I laughed before I said, “The lessons I’ll help you understand are like magic. Miracles. You’ll end up teaching yourself and others in the end.”
I could tell Sam was still a bit apprehensive about me.
“I think you got the wrong boy. You need to go teach that Henry, that white kid. He’s the one that’s got all the problems. Ain’t me!”
“Sam, here’s your first lesson. Allow yourself to see the energy of a person and not the color of their skin. Squint your eyes and tell me what you see.”
Sam reluctantly went along with my request after giving me a few major huffs and puffs, like I had ordered him to do something he didn’t want to. Finally, he squinted his eyes, and sighed loudly again. Then he flew to his feet. He was completely overwhelmed. “Man, you got fireworks shooting out of you!” he yelled, in his state of total bewilderment.
I had shooting lights, every color of the rainbow, swirling around my head and around the TV screen. They were brighter than any Fourth of July celebration he’d ever seen. He didn’t know he had seen his first miracle.
He scratched his head, wondering what was going on. He knew that was definitely something he hadn’t seen before. “How’d you do that?” he asked impatiently.
“That’s my aura. Everyone’s got one. You’d be surprised at how many people have their lights turned down. Some have nearly turned them off. They are as good as dead.”
“Dead! What about me? I got some lights, don’t I? I ain’t gonna die, am I?” he asked eagerly.
“Sam, I’ve seen the spark hiding inside of you that longs to be turned on. You have the potential to be one of the great leaders of Aquarius. But only you have the control of who you are. You have to change your attitude. You have to change the way you think, the words you choose to speak, the pride you have in your home, and the pride you have in your love of learning and all the wonderful experiences life has to offer you. Only you have the power to create your own miracles. To use the Law of Attraction and manifest your dreams. Sam, in life, what you give out is going to come straight back at you. If your thoughts and words are dark and hurtful, you just attracted more words of darkness from like-minded-being who speak the same hurtful words. Change your frequency and you’ll attract those who are of a similar vibration of kindness. Think of everything as a wonderful gift from Source Energy, from God. It’s an endless supply too.”
“Man, you talk weird. I don’t like no laws. People boss me around too much now! And nobody gave me no gifts, or nothin’ for free. Why should he? What channel are you on, anyway? You look like a kid, but you talk like a old, old dude. What’s your name, anyway?” he asked, firing one question after another at me.
I just smiled back. How could I explain why I am like this? How could he understand that I have access to all of the records of time? To the Greater Halls of Learning. To the Akashic Records. How could I explain that his new friend can live in all these dimensions at once? That one day, I, too, might reincarnate and travel through the Valley of Forgetfulness? Information like this would just go way over his head, so instead I said, “Sam, I have given you enough information for one day. Go in love, go in harmony, my new special friend.”
I let the screen turn black, even though I hadn’t really disappeared. It was just that Sam couldn’t see me anymore. I watched as he sat there in a hypnotic state for the longest time. He was trying to process all this information. Finally, he picked up the remote control and started clicking. He searched through every channel, even the fuzzy white ones, saying over and over again to himself and me, “I ain’t finished with you yet. You didn’t tell me what channel you’re on or your name.” He said it like he was the one in control of me—a free spirit.
After a few minutes, Sam came back to his own reality. It was the helicopter’s piercing strobe light that lit up the room. It was obvious that there was another gang shooting in his neighborhood. His neighborhood made the evening news, every single night.
The helicopter’s light showed Sam how messy his home was. He saw what little pride he had had in the place he called home since his mother had disappeared. A feeling overcame him and he felt compelled to carry his dirty dishes to the kitchen. The feeling even compelled him to prepare a sink full of soapsuds. Then he heard my voice again.
This time I used my transparent energy. I moved through his body like the wind and left him another kind thought. He was living in the moment and mastering his first lesson. “Enjoy your dishes and know that with every one that you wash clean, you can wash away your negative thoughts, too. These thoughts are the only thing that stops you from manifesting your dreams.”
He stood there for the longest time, first with an expression on his face as if to say, “What was that!” Then he smiled. It was something he hadn’t done for a long time. He felt the spark in his own eyes, too, like he was giving himself a wink and saying, “You’re okay, kid!”
I told him, too. I became that little voice inside his head, the voice that is in everyone’s head that they hear sometimes but don’t take any notice of. I reassured him that it was true. “It sure is getting brighter and brighter by the minute in here, Sam. You’re on the right road now. You’re a student of your higher mind and you don’t even know how powerful that is.”

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