The Commander's Quarters

Having been given permission to enter Commander Korton's quarters long ago, I find myself seeking solace there often.  The entire exterior wall of his suite is the Universe that drifts silently outside.  The 'wall hangings' are whatever star system is passing by at the moment.  The entirety of the Universe can be felt in the room, like a reassuring blanket of eternity.

The hallways that lead to the crew members private areas are distant from the quiet workings of the rest of the craft.  If I were to stand in the control room and point in the direction of the rooms, I would point 'north-east.'  The Commander's suite is the first on the left, after turning right into the long hallway of suites.  To me, a sense of reverence fills these halls.  I suppose that comes from the crew members themselves; their dedication to serving The All That Is, their integrity, and their deep and eternal spiritual understanding of All That Is.  Each of them, to me, represents the epitome of spiritual integrity, which might be why I find myself hanging out there almost nightly.  I'm drawn like a moth to a flame, anxious to drink in all of the peace that they live as they quietly go about their work.

Often, when I find myself in need of a deeper perspective, a more quiet and fulfilling way of being, I find myself standing in front of the bank of windows in the Commander's rooms.  Because the 'windows' appear to be black (or non-existent), I have a sense of standing in the embrace of infinity.  The minutiae of the tiny, temporary life on Earth steps back and allows the real to enter my energy field.  Interestingly, I find the vast, never-ending vision of All fills me with an incredible sense of peace.

The rest of the quarters are dimly-lit, with the brief light in the rooms barely casting light off of the shiny black surfaces of the few pieces of 'furniture.'  To say that the entire scene looks surreal is probably a bit strange, considering everything, but that's what it is ... surreal.

Quite often Korton allows me my solace time alone there, communing with the silent Universe.  But today was different as I heard the faint whisper of the door open and close behind me.  As he always does when he approaches me, he moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me.  I can actually feel his energy embrace me with his compassion and support.  It means everything to me that we call each other 'friend.'

His deep almond-shaped eyes moved across the scene in front of us.  The Earth was in the far-far distant left, a tiny ball of life that looked no larger than a tennis ball.  "The puzzle of it all must be quite burdensome at times," he murmured.

"From that perspective, yes."

"Which is why my spirit is so grateful that you embrace life without boundaries."  His reflection glimmered in front of me, echoing against the dark glass.  I thought I might have seen a tear in his eye.

"Compassion," he whispered.  And I knew exactly what he meant.

"Sharing with others, in the way that you feel called to do, is a great service that opens up the door of hope to so many.  Somewhere behind the veils of forgetting are the memories.  The more those memories get stirred, the more hope returns."  He turned toward me slightly.  "And we can agree that hope is a necessary commodity in the changing times."

"Indeed," I agreed instantly.  I hesitated, not wanting to voice the question that we both already knew I was there to ask.  "What happens next?"

( ... to be continued in next blog ... )