Stress Free Living

Brahma Khumaris

Description

Heal the heart and soul with beautiful music. Take a journey within, as the sounds of love and peace guide you to the ultimate silence that connects us all together, and links us with the higher source of energy, God.

Sujets

• Erotic literature
• Mind

Informations

• Publié par: B K Publications
• Date de parution: 01 janvier 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781906658175
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Copyright
A M-Y BOOKS Paperback
ePub Reader Format
Copyright 2008
Michel Russell
The right of Michel Russell to be identified as the author of This work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All Rights Reserved No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-906658-11-3
Published by M-Y Books 187 Ware Road Hertford Herts SG13 7EQ
Typesetting and cover design by David Stockman [e-mail]
"THE SPIRIT OF ETERNITY"
by
MICHEL RUSSELL
Dedication
"AND if I laugh at any mortal thing, ‘Tis that I may not weep."
--BYRON
ONE Strangers in a Strange Land
It was a cold November day when Frances left the ‘Autumn Days’ nursing home after visiting her sick mother. She felt a pang of sadness that her mother had not recognised her. It had been a heartbreaking moment when she had tenderly placed her mother’s frail hand to feel the sudden movement of her unborn grandchild, only to realise that it meant nothing to the old lady.
The morning mist seemed to chill her every bone and she quickly boarded the waiting taxi, oblivious to anything the driver was saying or doing. Shivering, she laid her head back against the cold head rest of the seat, thinking about the long journey back to Newcastle ahead.
As the barren fields flashed past her closed eyes, she wondered what life had to offer now, after so much had happened in a land far, far away. It had been so different to Newcastle, her home town. As the car sped on she allowed her mind to drift along with the tones of the engine. For a moment the noise seemed to be transformed into a louder one, like that of an aeroplane!
---oo0oo—
The twin-turbo jet, which had been chartered by the UN with only a scattering of people on board, circled and dipped down through cotton wool clouds to emerge into brilliant sunshine. The sky glistened as the silver wings reflected the sun back on to the last remaining clouds,momentarily tingeing them with all the colours of a rainbow.
"Look," someone shouted, "we are almost there! You can see the volcanoes of Vulcan and Tavurvur".
"There’s the harbour of Rabaul." answered another passenger from the opposite side.
Frances remained seated; she had heard the pilots instructions to ‘fasten your seat-belts’, despite the commotion. Marc, her husband, straightened his tie and clipped the seatbelt firmly into its steel retainer. They stared at one another, smiled and squeezed each other’s hands.
"Well old girl, what do you think?" he asked, turning to her as she patted her hair in place.
"It’s like entering a whole new world," she replied, "I hope we have made the right decision. The offer of the contract did come rather suddenly and we have heard so many strange stories about the island." She pondered doubtfully, "Perhaps we should have stayed where we were, or even returned to England?"
"Too late now, but at least it’s not raining!" he answered, raising his eyebrows, which made them both smile.
As the plane slowly descended a panoramic view was beginning to form, palm trees, coral reefs, blue lagoons and sandy beaches. The plane circled over the coastline before the dusty airstrip became visible. The passengers strained on their seat-belts to get the best view, their faces, and sighs, reflecting the many breathtaking sights.
Finally, the small plane touched down and within moments the passengers were scrambling to release their restraints and get off first, as if to claim a small part of this new and exciting land.
The Fairchilde’s’ were the last to leave, stunned by a blast of heat sweeping through the cabin as the door opened, hitting them straight between the eyes. "Phew!" they exclaimed simultaneously, their smiles turning to disbelief as they descended the dirty steps.
The others, despite the heat, seemed to be in a hurry, scurrying towards a building that reminded Frances sharply of a wartime air hanger that she had seen on a TV programme. Frances and Marc followed at a much slower pace, noticing how quiet the airport was. All they could see was a few small aircraft, similar to the one they had travelled on.
Their clothes were soaked with perspiration by the time they reached the shade of the airport terminal, and feeling uncomfortable they removed their jackets. The building stood in sharp contrast to the elegance of the one at Darwin, where they had departed from.
Moving a bit faster in the shade, the couple finally caught up with the others who were being hustled towards a spectacled man seated at a high desk. Beside him stood a tall, black, uniformed guard, armed with a gun strapped to a shoulder harness.
All around the airless room were other guards, carrying guns or rifles, all very much on the alert, as though an attack from someone, somewhere, was imminent.
"It’s very warm!" Marc announced loudly, shifting his jacket from one arm to the other.
"This is the cool season," one of the guards grunted, "It’s only 24°C and good for September."
A well-worn sign, ‘WELCOME TO PORT MORESBY’, was just visible against a corrugated wall.In fact, Frances noted, the whole area could so with a coat of paint and spring clean or an autumn spruce up!
Marc pondered how he might break the ice and start chatting to the little group of passengers waiting for their credentials to be checked. Should he dismiss his cool English reserve and join in? Before he had a chance to put his idea into action a battered old side door opened and an upright, middle-aged woman emerged. Striding smartly up to the man at the desk she glanced at a list in her hand, before whispering into his ear.
Turning to the group, she raised her hand: "Would the UN party please follow me. All this paraphernalia can be checked later. None of you are going anywhere" she smirked, making an exit by the same door, muttering "The silly old fool is always doing this."
The group responded to this new source of authority and followed like a nervous flock of sheep. Before they could take stock of their new surroundings they were hustled on to a waiting mini-coach, which swept from the tiny airport at speed.
The journey, described by Frances much later in her diary, was ‘like a tank on an assault course’. Battered and bruised from the journey over unmade, potholed dirt tracks, they finally arrived at Boroko. The trip seemed like a million miles from the landing strip.
Marc and Frances were the last to be shown to their sparsely furnished flat, containing only the bare essentials. For Frances, the final insult was the lack of any water, hot or cold, for a much needed shower! This deprivation was something that would haunt them for the rest of their stay on the island.
The exhausted couple were informed that a meeting was arranged for the men the next morning, and a get together scheduled for everyone in the evening. Frances and Marc literally fell into their beds, without noticing it was only early evening and that they had not eaten since they left Australia.
Chapter 2
On rising, Frances had a sore throat; a note left on the small kitchen table revealed that Marc had already left for his ‘business talk for new arrivals’.
She rummaged through her handbag for an aspirin. Finding one, she placed a tumbler under the tap and with a firm grip, managed to turn it on. There was a strange noise, and then a gush of orange liquid spurted out, followed by a shade of brown before changing into a motley white. She squirmed, changing her mind about the water and swallowing the pill whole.
Her attention was drawn to a large word written in the dust which had accumulated on the rickety bathroom cabinet, ‘ETERNITY’. Her experiences to date had been far from that, more like , "Let’s get the HELL out of here", she thought, but that was not an option!
Her train of thought was interrupted by an odd noise, almost a buzz that continued on and off. Could this be the telephone that the woman organiser had talked of on that earlier near fatal journey? If it was the telephone then where was it to be found? Frances searched diligently before going into the lounge where she saw something sticking out from under a dilapidated cushion, on what was laughingly known as a sofa. She sighed; she had located the elusive telephone. She lifted the handset and to her great relief she heard Marc’s voice.
"Hi darling, sorry I had to rush off. Didn’t realise the time was getting near the 7:00 am deadline. Thank goodness the security man was outside to guide me to the waiting jeep" his familiar tones said quite clearly.
"Security man? What do you mean?" she asked.
"Can’t stop now," Marc cut in abruptly, "I shall be home earlier tonight as we are being released early on our first day. The fridge is well stocked so please don’t venture out. See you soon. Bye."
"Marc wait..." she cried, but only a voiceless echo remained
Moving towards the window and peering out into the strong sunlight she noticed a guard, armed like the ones at the airport but in civilian clothes. He was walking up and down at the bottom of the entrance to the apartment block.
Frances shook her head and went back to the seen-better-days sofa. How could she get rid of all the holes and grime, she thought, but what was the reason for the high level of security?
Over burnt toast she ruminated that she and Marc really should have asked for all the vital information before accepting the post at the UN. But on reflection she admitted that the advertisement, which Marc had answered in the computer magazine, had painted such an idyllic