Adamson's Village - A Re-write - Part Two.

 

From the Desk of George Barnard – December 18, 2009.

There were Three More!

Show Us Your Hometown Then.

Perhaps if I could convince just one of these guys to accept he was dead, they would all realize their lives had come to an end. They might locate the Angels in charge, and these Seraphim could gather a whole busload of them to take to Heaven. They might not be ghosts after all. They might well be people's confused souls, but if he could show me maps, he would also know how to show me pictures.

"Give us a look at your hometown then," I framed my thoughts in typical Australian slang. In the next instant, so it seemed, we were both standing on the southeastern shore of a freshwater lake. In the distance there were cloud-shrouded mountains. To our left a mountain stream emptied into Lake Van. Facing us was a village of some fifteen huts. Yes, we were facing directly southeast.

The Genius Of The Adamites.

Right where we stood was the very place where Ah-bé-cé-22 had stood so many times, guarding the village of his grandparents and parents. These were grim times when people were hunters, gatherers, raiders and cannibals.

They were comfortable, white-washed round huts, with their rather tall, thatched roofs that looked like they had been standing there for thirty or forty years or more. These equal sized dwellings were typical of so many African village huts, but it was obvious that a great deal of planning had gone into the layout and construction of this village.

The single doorway to each of these dwellings faced the lake, allowing the early morning sun to kindly awaken its occupants. And the doorways were arched, indicating the use of unfired clay with a likely reinforcing of straw, reeds, twigs and branches.

The layout of the village was such that no one could approach the individual domiciles, or sneak up on any of the structures, without being seen when skipping from one temporary cover to the next. A single sentry, placed precisely where we now stood, could oversee the entire settlement. It was burglar proof! Perhaps a half-mile square of lush vegetation had been cleared, leaving only grasses, but a large circle of red river gravel surrounded all these residences of ancient times.

No one could give these Adamites, or their valued consorts, any nasty surprises during either the day or the night. Thieves or man-eaters -- men or beasts -- might not be seen at night, but they would surely be heard as they traipsed across the noisy gravel.

Not Half As Dead As.

Late in the evening of the following day, and as I meditated in my clinic, the warrior arrived once more in a flash. He looked to be rather optimistic about having a therapist for a new friend and pupil, and teaching the mortal many things of long ago.

"I've given you guys a lot of thought," I told him, "and you know something? I figure you're nowhere near half as dead as I thought you were."

It was hardly news to the Midwayer Chief. "What takes you so long?" he asked.

(Fully 25 years later all of the Chief's information would be confirmed when a pre-loved copy of the Urantia Book came into my possession).

© 11:11 Progress Group.
"Encourage your Children to Learn about God,
Your Scientist to Discover His Laws,
Your Travelers to Admire His Creation.
Now teach your Gifted Ones to hear His Words-
I am Athena, who loves you."

 

www.1111progressgroup.com

 

11:11 Angels Archives