The Opportunist Planetary Helpers.

 

From the Desk of George Barnard

Expect The Unexpected.

They are the Midwayers, Planetary Helpers, or Spirit Guardians. They have a way of making some willing people do things for them, but they also have a way of making other people listen.

When they’re around, always expect the unexpected.

Their 11:11 AM and 11:11 PM time prompts that are known worldwide are their ‘trademark’ courtesy calls. Once you are used to seeing 11:11’s on your clock radio, microwave or computer monitor, they’ll use any double-digit number to say hello, and input subliminal info into your deep mind. They can blink your electric lights, or hide your car keys. They are possessed of a great sense of humor.

And they are the supreme Opportunists of the Midway Realm.

“Better Get Rid Of Those Feathers.”

Rodney Jacobs was a medical man with a very long string of little black letters behind his name. There wasn’t much in the way of operations, spinal adjustments, and weird and wonderful ‘unorthodox medicine’ he did not practice.

If Rodney did not practice it, he and his staff at least knew about it, and which of our colleagues was most involved.

The energetic healer was also a clinical hypnotherapist, and one of my 1960’s eminent teachers.

I could always count on Rod Jacobs to fill me in if I were stuck with a problem. Besides being extraordinarily knowledgeable, he was often also greatly intuitive. The covered-in patio at the rear of his two-acre home base was ‘the meaningful discussions area’ where guinea chicks and peafowl begged for scraps.

“If you are taking over Sandor’s practice,” I volunteered, “You’re going to need more help in the clinic, but more importantly; you had better get rid of that big vase full of peacock tail feathers that’s in reception.”

Jacobs blinked. “What about those feathers?”

“We Had A Falling Out.”

“Well, if Sandor is serious about going back for good to Hungary, and you take on his work, there’ll be quite a lot of Gypsies come calling,” I suggested. “The Romany patients will take one look at those feathers and jump right over the top of their caravans out of sheer fright.”

“Some came to see me, and they came in through the back door,” Jacobs recalled. “Interesting! What do you know about Gypsies?”

“Not a great deal,” I answered. “There were some in Europe, and after the war they came around regularly to collect rags, scrap metal, and to sharpen knives and scissors. They hate the ‘evil eyes’ of the peacock tail feathers, because they believe bad spirits are attracted to them. They also hide a lock of their hair in a hollow oak, and they believe that the oak, and they, become one – something like that – and doing that also stops them from getting arthritis.”

“You don’t say!” Jacobs exclaimed. “Come with me. Sandor and I had a falling out, and what you just told me might help us. Help me a lot.”

A Serious Ethical Problem.

We were back in one of Rod Jacobs’ treatment rooms, and the healer dragged a machine out from under a cupboard. It was about the size of an old double-sided record player, but it would hold no records. Instead it housed two metal cups.

The next item to appear from under the cupboard was a big wide flat drawer, and in it were hundreds and hundreds of small plastic bags, each containing a lock of hair. On each bag was written a name and a number.

The light went on for me on an otherwise dull afternoon. “You got yourself a mechanical oak tree,” I laughed. “How novel!”

“I have a serious ethical problem with this,” Jacobs admitted. “We’re supposed to get about ten phone calls per day, switch on that thing, put the caller’s lock of hair in one of those cups, and leave it there for an hour. A check for thirty dollars arrives in our post box a few days later. George, we would be taking three hundred dollars each day for doing nothing! I told Sandor to forget it. The hothead swore at me, walked out, and left the stuff.”

You Might Contact Him.

“Apparently, the machine is said to send out a slow wave that reduces people’s metabolism no matter where they are,” Rod Jacobs added. “Hard to believe.”

“You might contact Sandor,” I suggested. “I think that thing will probably do a great oak tree job. Sandor will come around, and that leaves you with just one problem; where to get a machine with ten of those cups.”

Rodney Jacobs knew how to laugh, he also knew where to find Sandor Kisch on an overcast Saturday afternoon, and soon after he would learn how to put little plastic bags in metal cups. Such a time-robbing chore!

This all happened in 1988, on that rare occasion when Jacobs’ intuition had failed him, and when I long ago understood who was guiding me to such places as Rod Jacobs’ two-acre ‘garden near the city’.

They were the 1,111 Opportunists Planetary Helpers.

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Toujours au Service de Michael.

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