"Past, Present, Future"

                                            "Past, Present, Future"



      "To man, the terms: Past, Present, and Future, represent three different stages of time and existence. Yet to God; they occur all at once; one single canvas upon which He paints"....PLA* 


                                                      "PAST"   




      She was old. Old and she knew it. The folds and creases which adorned her face gave silent testimony to that fact. Yet she did not feel old. Not in her mind. In her mind's eye she was still that barefoot little girl running through her father's cornfield; running with her plats flying in the wind and the heady intoxicating aroma of the fresh grain filling her nose.
      Had it really been eighty-nine summers ago that she had first drawn breath? (She had stopped counting the winters. The very thought of them made the arthritic bones in her hands and feet ache.) She paused in her reflections of the past long enough to watch the boy at play in front of her. How much he reminded her of her father. Not so much in appearance as in manner. Her father, Frank Porter believed that hard work and dedication could lick any problem. And that anyone afraid of getting dirty while working was someone not to be trusted; most of the time he was right.
      Her father had been something rare in his time; a colored-man who owned land. But he was so much more. He was a well-read man, something he insisted upon in all of his children. He really hadn't needed to insist, they all loved to read. They would sit for hours either reading to themselves, or listening to him read. Papa had told them that back before they were a free people it was against the law to teach a slave to read. They had found that hard to believe. Were there book-bounty hunters that chased you down and hung you if you were caught reading? The very idea of that struck them as hilarious. Besides, who would it hurt if you knew how to read? She would never forget his answer. He'd leaned forward with a strange look in his eyes, glanced from side to side as though he suspected that there were hooded-men in white robes right outside of their door waiting for him to speak. Then he whispered in a voice that they had to strain to hear; "It's cause they knew that reading was the secret". "What secret"? They'd asked in unison. "Why the secret to life itself", he replied. Reading was the path to knowledge, and knowledge was the key to unlock all of the doors that life might put in your way. Even before they truly understood the words that he had spoken that day; they were thrilled by them. It was in the way he had said them.
      Frank Porter had been a great tree; a tree which provided shade for more than just his kin. All of his neighbors trusted and respected him; whites and colored alike. In times of crisis he would be the first to arrive, and the last to leave. That was the kind of man he was. On the subject of racism he stood firm. They were forbidden; forbidden to even consider it. To him it was the great evil, the evil that divided men simply because of the color of their skin. He'd said that it was an offense to God Himself. One could not be a christian and a racist, the two were like oil and water; they just didn't mix. 
      "Liza, he would say. Folks generally fear and hate what they don't understand;  that's human nature. That's the trouble between us and the white-folks, not taking the time to get to know one another for who we are, judging by the color of the skin; instead of the manner of the heart. Most of the time it's just pure O' D fear that has got us against each other. They's afraid that we's gonna take something they's got, or afraid of what they's neighbor gonna think, and the door don't just swing one way; we's afraid too. We's afraid that behind the smile and the pat on the back, they's thinking that we ain't fit to breathe the same air that they do. Do Jesus! If we'd just take a chance, we'd find out that we ain't so much different; as we's alike. We loves our family, our land, and our God. God most of all cause he made all o' us; and He ain't got no stepchildren. Papa loved The Lord too much to hate any of his children.
      Papa never had any time just for himself; he was too busy taking care of the land he loved so much, that's why the loss of the farm killed him.
      Each year the town of Uriah and the state of Alabama asked for more money in property taxes. It was in the sixteenth summer of her life that they had demanded too much, too soon.
      As it is often said; "when it rains; it pours". In that year alone her family suffered a deluge of grief. In that single terrible year they'd lost Mama, Joe and Bill. Mama was taken by "The Cancer", while Bill and Joe working with the only equipment they could afford; "makeshift", were sacrificed to the farm. Sometimes the land required blood to sustain it. That's what made it so precious. In a way they were the land, and it was them. With all the misfortunes and setbacks of that year, Papa could not meet the tax deadline. He was forced to sell most of the farm. Soon after he took to his sickbed never to rise again. The doctors said that it was his heart; she had known better. It was his spirit; the land was his life.
      On his deathbed he'd called her to him. "Liza, he said. I want you to sell what's left of the farm and move to Mobile. Your mother's sister "Bama" will be glad to have you". At first she had resisted. She'd known how much it meant to him to keep some part of the land in the family. "Child, he'd said with tears in his eyes. You can't take care of this place by yo' self. 'Sides, after what the state done took, what's left ain't no bigger than the tailbone upsides the 'hole frog". She had to grin in spite of her tears. He was smiling "that smile"; the one that always made her feel safe inside; "that smile" for the last time.
      As her thoughts returned to the present she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye; Lord knows, after all these years; she still missed them. So much time had slipped by between now and then. Now she was the root of her own family tree; one which had branched-off in many directions. Some she approved of, some she didn't. Papa had always said to try and leave something for the next generation, something to build upon; a foothold. Over the years of housekeeping, taking in clothes, and sewing; she had a tidy sum put away. It hadn't been easy; she had done without for most of her life. She had saved until the "right one" came along. Lord, how she had prayed not to give-up The Ghost too soon; and The Lord had been merciful. Marcus, her great-great grandson was "the one". She knew that he would do the right thing by the money. She trusted him. How could she not? He had Frank Porter's eyes.

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                                                      "Present"




      Her name had been Eliza-Jane Porter Battle. He'd always teased her about the length of it; for to him she was, and always would be; "Mama". Tears welled in his eyes as he placed the flowers upon her grave. It seemed like an eternity since she'd departed  this "veil of tears". In his mind he could still smell the delicate scent of the lotion she'd soothed on her work-worn body. Whenever she would hug him, (which was often) his nose would be filled with its fragrance. It wasn't the sharp pungent odor that some older women put too much of on. It was the aroma of lilacs growing wild in a field; it was natural; it was the scent of security. He knew that he was safe in her arms. He missed that feeling. Everything that he knew of being good and decent; she had taught him. It pained him to see the youth of today, the way they disrespected their elders. In his mind the "old ones" were priceless. They had a lifetime of knowledge and experience to share if one would only listen. He was lucky; he had listened. He could still hear her saying; "Son you can have almost anything in life you choose if you're willing to work hard enough for it". He had believed her, and as usual; she was right.
      While his peers were destroying their bodies with drugs and booze, he'd worked towards a goal. While they were dulling their senses, and damaging their hearing with the mindless jargon known as "rap music", he was refining himself with study and dedication. He was tall and strong of build. He could have excelled in any sport of his choosing, but he knew how she felt about that. "Son, she would say. Physical strength is fleeting, but mental and spiritual strength endures". One thing he never had to worry about was the money to provide for his education; she had seen to that. His college tuition was waiting for him before he even graduated from high-school. The academic scholarships he'd earned along the way helped him to keep a large part of his "foothold money" in the bank; a fact which pleased her to no end.
      He'd majored in computer science because he knew that they were the wave of the future, but his first love, his true love, was magnetism. For as long as he could remember he had been fascinated by it. In his heart he knew that it was the key to everything. The one who solved the enigma of magnetism would usher in a new age for mankind. It would be an age of endless energy, an age of miracles yet thought impossible. He believed that he had just become that someone. He had solved the magnetic riddle, he understood the secret of gravity; and he knew that the world would never be the same. That was why he found himself standing here before her grave, for if it were true that he was the master of magnetism; then she had to be Its patron saint, she was the one who had made it all possible.
      After college he had went to work for Quality Micro Systems. They specialized in computers. By anyone's standards the job was considered a good catch, but it wasn't who he was. It did pay the bills and he was grateful for that. Yet at the end of every workday he could hardly wait to get home to his "real vocation"; the study of magnetism. The money he had left-over from Mama's endowment he used to build the best possible lab he could put together at home. Late into the night he would labor, searching and groping, desperately seeking answers to solve the ultimate puzzle; the enigma of the magnetic riddle. Years had flown by without any measurable success. He was nearing the end of his money, his credit, and his hope. Then he had "the dream".
      In the dream he had "dreamed" of Mama. She was sitting in her chair, humming and rocking just as she had done in life. Even in a dream what had struck him as odd was the way she was dressed. As he remembered, for the most part, Mama wore four modes of dress. There was her basic everyday cotton housedress; the one even when she wasn't wearing it carried the fragrance of lilacs, her flannel, flower-printed nightgown, her blue Sunday-going-to-church-dress and her black going to town taking care of business outfit. By all rights, even in a dream when she was rocking in her chair she should be wearing her lilac-scented housedress; the fact that she wasn't got his attention in a hurry. She was dressed in black. That meant that she meant business.
      In the dream he quickly sat-up in bed and asked; "What are you doing here Mama? You're dead". She threw back her head and laughed. Tears of mirth streamed down her face. "Do Jesus son, she said wiping the tears from her eyes. Don't you think I know that"? Seeing her smile released all of the fear and tension he'd felt building up inside of himself. It always did. "Now listen, and listen good son; cause I ain't got much time. There's a limit to even God's patience. Son you done gone and did it again, you done outsmarted yourself. You can't see the forest for the trees. Stop thinking so doggone hard. The simple answer is usually the right one. Just trust in yourself, the way that I trust in you; that's all you need to do; trust in yourself and trust in God. He ain't never steered me wrong. If it be His will, you'll find the way. Believe! Then she was gone, as if she never was there.
      All through the next day at work he thought about the dream and what she had said. It had all seemed so real. That night at home while once again mulling-over the odd events of the night before and wondering exactly what she had meant; it came to him. Why it was as simple as pie. Why hadn't he seen it before? The trouble with magnetic-waves was their wavelength. They were just too short. If he could find a way of blending them together with farther extending waves, like radio waves, forming a kind of universal-field; that would solve the problem. Why more than that, with a universal-field he could make a wave repel both poles; repelling both poles therefore effectively creating a perpetual motion machine---endless energy for the asking. His head nearly exploded with the possibilities. It was all so clear. Why hadn't he seen it before? At that moment he had known why; "the forest for the trees". "Thanks Mama, he whispered". Suddenly a thought hit him. If Mama being in his room was just a dream, why had he awakened with the scent of wild lilacs permeating everything. Why could he still smell them? Tears filled his eyes. As a scientist he had always tried to keep an open mind in relationship to the Spiritual World. Now his mind was more than open; he knew the truth. Thanks God, thanks for letting her steer me straight one last time.



                                  _________________________________

           
                                     

                                                      "Future"




      She stood looking out of the large picture-window in her office. He was down to the pond again, she thought to herself. The "he" in question was Marcus Walker, creator of The Uni-Field; her father. She was Alisa-Jane Walker, chairperson of Walker Enterprises; The Field Company, the company that was the force which powered the world.
      Although his mental facilities were as sharp as ever, her father had retired from active involvement with company business some time ago. He would always be the scientist at heart; never the businessman. It had been his brilliant mind that had solved the mystery of magnetism and created The Uni-Field. In doing so he changed the course of the entire world.
      With The Field the need for all other forms of energy was obsolete. The Field provided and endless source of clean energy. This in effect destroyed the vicious and greedy monopoly the rich kingpins of commerce had enslaved the world with for centuries. Finally, with the abolition of the financial structure of the planet which had fed on the blood, sweat and tears of the "middle class", all people were truly equal, able to be whatever their hearts and their courage would allow them to be. Indirectly The Field had even led to world peace; without "haves" and "have-nots" there was nothing to fight about. The world shared Its bounty equally.
      After his discovery of The Field her father did not rest. He knew that the real work was just beginning. Understanding human nature the way he did, he knew that they would try to turn his life's work, his dream, into something "dark"; a weapon of some sort, or at the very least they would try to profit off of it. But he was ready for them. No one truly understood the secret of The Field but him. And without his help, they never would. So, before he would allow mass distribution of his device, he established what would later be known as The Fundamental Rules of The Field. Rule number one; the most important of the three, stated that The Field could never be used for destructive purposes. Rule number two said that it could only be used for the betterment of "all" humanity, not just for the privileged few. And finally, rule number three stated that there must always be a "world" governing body. No one nation could monopolize The Field. It belonged to mankind.
      At first there had been a great deal of bickering amongst "the superpowers"; but that quickly died-down when they saw how firm her father stood on his position. Then someone had given voice to the unspoken question, the one hiding back within the dark and primal corners of most of their minds. What was to stop them from forcing him to turn-over his creation as a matter of "national security"; for the good of the world of course? He had just smiled. They had underestimated the great mind they were dealing with; a mind who had forgotten more than most of them would ever know. In his own quiet manner he had set them straight. He told them that if they tried to force him to reveal the secret of his discovery, he could mentally setoff a device which would begin a magnetic reaction that would destroy the planet Itself. Furthermore, if he were to meet with a sudden "unfortunate accident", the same sequence would start. They had all grown quite pale (which indeed looked astonishing on some of them) and a hush fell over the conference- room. He was far too brilliant, and much too dedicated to doubt what he was saying. This had ended all debate. Her father quickly became a leading diplomatic figure; a leader that never once abused his great power and influence. In the years to come so many present in that room that day would be amazed at his restraint; she wasn't. She knew what had always kept him in check. His greatness was        reflected greatness; a gift from God and an old woman; something he never forgot. His final accounting would have to be given to a power far greater than man.
      For years she had not known whether or not her father had been bluffing. She respected him far too much to ask such a question. But all had been revealed in time, and at the right moment. She should have known that it would be.
      It was during one of his annual checkups that they discovered a mild heart condition. At the moment it was not a serious problem, but later that night he had called her to his study. He explained that although there never was a doomsday device, (in her heart she knew that he would never hurt the innocent) there was one that would release a stream of negative magnetic energy that would nullify all of his other devices. This was his safeguard against "the powers that be".  When she had asked him why he had told the gathered nations the other version of his safeguard; when the truth might have sufficed? He smiled a grim smile and said; "The only way to convince a collection of predators one meant business, was to speak a language that they could understand". As usual; his reasoning was flawless.
      The world was finally at peace and yes she held a position of great power; but she knew that the kind of power she welded was just an illusion, an illusion created by man. "Authentic power" did not die with the person, it transcended time. Authentic power was the power to change hearts and minds. It was the power her father possessed. He was rich in ways that had nothing to do with "power"; and she was rich because she was his daughter, and a member of a great family that had always cared for more than just themselves. Her people had helped the world learn what it truly meant to be "human" and a child of this "greatness" known as God. Perhaps that was the greatest wealth of all.
      Time and time again the board of directors had asked her to move the headquarters of the company somewhere else. She had heard all of the arguments. New York was still the center of communication, California had a better climate and Paris; well it was "Paris". They could not see why she had to have the center of the world located in such an obscure place as Uriah, Alabama. She did not bother to tell them that it was personal; a family matter. Even though when one considered the entire world as an option, and in comparison, the land was still no bigger than the tailbone "upsides the 'hole frog", it was once again theirs; and her family loved it. After-all, it was home. Frank Porter would have been proud.




                                                      "A Voice"