I answered the phone. It was a long distance call – or maybe not. It might have been an extremely short distance call. It depends how far away one imagines another dimension is from this one.
You can travel for several years, zig-zagging around this entire world and never cross into another dimension. Conversely, you can be sitting in your own neighborhood, minding your own business, and suddenly be kidnapped by one in a flash. It’s not a matter of miles. It’s a frequency thing, just like turning a knob on your radio and getting Beethoven’s 5th versus Country Western. I’m not commenting on which is better, but certainly it’s clear that they are a world apart.
Meanwhile, back at the phone call, this is roughly how it went on my side: “Oh no, no, no you don’t. I’m not becoming a channel.” (This issue was of particular importance to me because I lived in a town where everyone channeled somebody. I had become wary of this process because I couldn’t figure out why somebody without a body gained instant credentials to speak as an expert on almost everything. What’s so hard about being disembodied? It’s having a body that is hard. No, channeling was absolutely out for me. I would consider it a hostile takeover.) I continued my protest, “Nope, no way José, I’m not a Kelly Girl.* I have zero secretarial skills. I can’t do shorthand, I don’t take dictation and I type with two-fingers. I don’t care if God needs a secretary. I am not it. Besides, I’m organizationally impaired.”
“If you want me to speak for you, you will have to speak to me directly. If what you say doesn’t make sense to me, I’m not writing it. It is my name that will be on this book, not yours. And even if your name does appear on the book, how is anyone going to find you to hold you accountable for what you said? These are the ground rules. Capisce?” (That’s Italian for, “Do you friggin’ understand?”, conveyed mostly by how it’s said and the accompanying hand gestures.)
After a short silence, the response came. “Okay.”
Despite the histrionics, the kicking and the flailing, the contract was swiftly negotiated. To my great surprise, they didn’t fight back at all. And I was especially relieved, thinking, Oh good, they understand Italian. With this thought, my dog just looked at me and rolled her eyes. She had intensely followed my phone conversation all the way through and I guess she had a point. We really weren’t talking at all. It was completely telepathic. Who cares if you switch languages mid-stream. No sound, no foul. The bigger mystery was how my dog learned to roll her eyes.
* Kelly Girls is a company that provides temporary office services.
Continue to the next exciting adventure of – I Will Blend No More Forever – Part XI