Book 1, Chapter 4, "Don't Paint It Black!"

"I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door I must have it painted black
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts
It's not easy facin' up, when your whole world is black"
.
Paint it Black, ROLLING STONES
**
Located in a fancy neighborhood of Newport Beach, CA, the house was beautifully furnished with Spanish style decor and painted in orange-brown color as many houses are by the California coast.

Family pictures were everywhere on the walls.

Many looked real old; perhaps a few generations old, I could imagine centuries old except the science of photography didn’t exist in the 18th century. Interestingly all the photos were in black and white as if no color had ever been splashed on the faces of those in the frames. Their faces were pale and eyes lifeless. They were faces without spirits. Like them, “The Messenger” also presented herself in black and white.

Now that I had witnessed Olympia’s power, I felt as if all those pairs of eyes in the pictures were staring at me, daring me, checking me out, studying me and measuring my responses. No matter which way I looked, how I turned my head, I felt the weight of hundreds of eyes on my face and neck.

Were they all mediums?
Did they also bring their “messages” to the livings?

It seemed like that sun light was the only light source of the house in daytime. With three sun roofs in the living and family rooms, entering the place reminded me of walking into the historical European castles were the natural light kept the palaces bright and livable before the invention of electricity.

The house was wide open as if no obstacles should separate different parts of it from each other. The cool air of cities by the beach moved freely across the rooms and through our bodies.

That felt good to me. I was claustrophobic and reacted tensely to small spaces.

The tall half-circle, arch-shaped, open walls provided the impression that the house was much roomier that it was. Perhaps such open space was needed for spirits to roam around. Were the owners of those eyes in the black and white photos roaming around this house?

Then another thought entered my mind. Was Isaac’s spirit roaming around at that moment? The possibilities to that question made me shiver.

*********
Staring in the deep blue sea
I see lights, I see life
You let go of me
But I not of you…

I read someplace that miracles happen in mysterious ways.
Some may consider a mid-summer rain in a hot and exhausted metropolitan rotting from the heat as a miracle.

Most may consider the birth of a child as a miracle.

A miracle could be a single survivor 9-month-old, in a plane crash.

A miracle may be how a man feels when he holds a deep love for a woman that touches his heart, his mind and his soul; sometimes even when he knows that the love could never be expressed, communicated and shared.

My journey over the last two months had been nothing short of a miracle. Yet, the outcome could be the most unbelievable miracle of all.

It was in that roomy house when we first met “the Messenger.”
It was in the house occupied with hundreds of pairs of eyes that I buried my “long life” belief system and allowed for a new one to be born.
It was in that house that our “lost” boy was found.

--------
August 31st

The adventure we were about to embark on could be considered as a small miracle. On board of a 747 airliner, flying from Los Angeles to Madrid, along with Christine, we continued on our search for “the truth.”

The truth could lead us to a child we didn’t know existed, from a father that had been missing for nine years. He was a father and a friend that according to “the Messenger” had died under torture; or did he?

It was not Isaac that we were seeking in a land nine time zones away. It was finding David a boy that we didn’t even know had existed two weeks earlier that could turn into a miracle.

David, if in existence, would rewrite the personal belief system of many. It would modify our views of the Time, Life, Death and beyond. That is how we came to know of his “being” that changed my view of life, death and love. As confused as I am, I am no longer certain what order should these three come but now believe that death is no longer an end in our journey through life just as much as birth is not the beginning.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are five hours into our inter Atlantic flight and shall arrive in Madrid at 8:30 AM local time. “, the First Officer announced in a voice sounded so rehearsed as if he had read the same text hundreds of times. Indeed he had. The announcement was followed in Spanish:

“Damas y caballeros, estamos a cinco horas de nuestro vuelo y llegaremos a Madrid a las 8:30 a.m., hora local.”

Christine is sleep.
Most passengers are sleep. With all the exhaustions of last two weeks, I should have been sleep as well.

I looked around as I usually do when I get bored. Studying people’s faces has been a way to pass time. An old woman argues with her old mate over why they are not taking a tour to see the Spain rather than trying it on their own.

Will Christine and I turn like them in our old ages? Arguing in public?

My best friend Ramin and his wife Sharon are sitting in a row in front of us. They are fast sleep, too.

A child’s restlessness makes his mother uncomfortable.

A teenage girl is reading the latest copy of the “Seventeen” magazine. For a moment I think sarcastically that I would wager a bet that every staff member of “Seventeen” is long past their teenage years and well headed into their thirties.

A man with dark glasses reads LA Times. I smile at the thought of that it must be hard to read like that.

It was my turn to close eyes and let the weight of thoughts put me into an hour of rest. As I was getting comfortable in my seat, I felt a draft over my shoulder touching my skin.

I wished so much for Isaac to make the trip with us but was he?
That thought gave me comfort and put me to a deep sleep.

https://www.myfreshperspectives.com/posts/the-three-kings-book-2-chapter-1-the-birth-of-a-child