… look to the east! look to the west! the feet tug downward, but the spirit soars!
The east: the source of light, of course. The west … West Condon? And the tugging downward, was that the miners? These messages troubled her, yet consoled her as well; nevertheless, it was altogether clear that more remained to be revealed.
On Saturday night, learning that there was no longer any hope left for the men still in the mine and that the toll was fixed at ninety-eight, she opened her mind to the Teacher and received the following message:
As the body suffers, so is the mind cleansed. The seven starred image of life’s oscillation from abysses to cusps shadows forth in morning’s east, but a firmness is forthcoming. Is nine a number? Is eight a number? Lead men to numberlessness! In the earth a harsh tremor, above … an infinite repose. Avoid the illusory, the present accident of conjoined particles, and seek wisdom with love! For a time is to come, and the soul will swim in the vast and empty sea of enlightenment! Does the body tremble? Chastise it, mind, with mocking laughter! Domiron bids you!
She was disturbed to discover that this new message was largely composed of parts of old ones, but the new ordering of these parts not only provided her startling insights into the events of the moment, but also revealed to her how blind and complacent she had become. It was there all the time, and she had not seen it — had virtually refused to see it! And it was she who had accused Domiron of betrayal! And now other wonders came to mind: the frequent minor accidents she had suffered recently around the house, the disappearance of objects, the unseasonal autumn blizzards and the strange damp January, not to mention the increasing turbulence of the messages, the ruptured syntax and enigmatic juxtapositions, all a kind of static, as it were, electromagnetic countersignals from malfeasant forces. Customarily, Domiron instructed her through her right hand, though occasionally through her left, and, in certain urgent situations, directly through her voice.
By my light, thou shalt flee the darkness!
he had cried in her throat more than once.
She had attempted, over the years, to assist Wylie in attaining a communication with the higher forces in the universe, but, though he honestly tried, he had almost no success. Domiron explained privately to her that
… if even the faithful are few, how rare then the master!
and that passive natures, themselves noble and receptive, if not supremely spiritual,
may find subtler paths to wisdom.
In any event, it was common knowledge who Womwom (Domiron’s name for Wylie’s soul at the seventh aspect) once was — when the time was ripe, he would play his significant role.
Have faith! All that is, I am, I am all that never was. All that shall be, I have been.
Sunday, the eleventh, a thick fog pressed at her morning windows. Fog pleased her usually, misted the hard forms that so often deluded and misled her, provided fleeting images of the essential emptiness, but today it betokened her own uncertainties, her difficulties in finding the true way. It curled and wisped through the black branches of their tall elms, like her thoughts floating elusively through the stretched fingers of her mind. Now an object took shape, became an inference, a cipher for action, but then it faded behind the fog’s nervous curtain.
She sought a clarification to last night’s message, but none came. She considered it. Last night she had understood it, but now she wondered if it were really anything more than the customary exhortation to maintain spiritual discipline. She understood, of course, the next ascendant sign — now befogged! — but what of the forthcoming firmness? For herself alone or for others? Lead men, the message said. Was she to lead them to the “firmness” in the time that “is to come”? Or is the firmness merely the vernal closing of the cycle? Doesn’t the message in fact dismiss the mine disaster as irrelevant? The “harsh tremor” in the earth does not disturb the “infinite repose” above, in the higher aspects. And “the time to come” is nothing more than the soul’s return to its source, is it not? Was Domiron trying to tell her that her own death was near? But then why would he ask her to “lead men”? Or might it have to do somehow with the “One” to come? And why should he draw especial attention to the sun’s sign? A signal to free herself from the merely phenomenological, or was there a more destructive intent, a parabolic reference to former devastations upon the earth? And there were the numbers to be considered, the number of miners who perished, of course, ninety-eight, but if thought of in a series, nine and then eight, then the next number would be seven … but what of that? For it is to “numberlessness” he asked her to lead men.
She inspected the whole band and all channels, but neither radio nor television provided her clues, although the radio repeated frequently the toll of ninety-eight miners missing or dead. She copied down what names they gave, but they proved meaningless to her. Now, if something of cosmic significance were to happen, how would it be signaled? Isn’t a fire deep in the earth as telling as a prodigy in the sky? Perhaps, but there were few precedents. Of course, there was the evidence of lithomancy, and even the scales of fish had prophesied. Nevertheless, the message seemed to discount a cosmic event:
… an infinite repose.
Outside, the fog lifted, but the day remained overcast. Lunch came and went, but she had little appetite. Wylie napped after, then went for an afternoon walk — she had been greatly blessed: she knew she could never have survived the humiliations and suffering of the last fifteen years without Wylie’s belief in her. She read once more the past two years of communications, and struggled with the enigma of these present words. Impulsively, she counted them … ninety-eight! She started, counted again. Her heart raced. No doubt about it!
Lead men to numberlessness!
Of course! Domiron was trying to tell her to lead men away from … from a head-count of mortalities to his message! to the limitless and ununumbered truth of his word! “Does it matter these have died?” he was in effect asking. “Bring all to wisdom!” She nearly leapt for excitement! And it was in this state that she found herself when Wylie came back from his walk with a copy of the special edition of the West Condon Chronicle, announcing in headlines the miraculous rescue of Giovanni Bruno. “Wylie!” she cried. “I knew it! I knew it! I knew it before you came back! Domiron told me!”
“What! You mean about the rescue?”
“Yes! It was all there! I wanted to shout it out, but I was alone!”
“But how—?”
“It started with the numbers. Nine and eight in a series. Next comes seven, and it—”
“Seven?”
“Yes, and it is seven that leads to numberlessness and to the One!” She was so excited she hardly knew what she was saying. Everything fit at last! It was happening! She even felt certain she had begun thinking about Bruno before Wylie came in.
“That’s funny,” said Wylie, as though disquieted.
“Yes, don’t you—”
“Eleanor,” he said softly, “there were other men trapped in a room with Bruno, but they died.” He paused, but his gentle blue gaze, aglitter with a kind of awe, was on her unwavering.
She lowered herself slowly to sit on the sofa. “How many?” she asked in fear.
“There were six others,” he said. “With Bruno, they made seven.” They said nothing more for a long time. There was much to consider.