How Did We Get Here?

THE MORNING GRAY SKY GAVE WAY TO A SUNLIT SPRING AFTERNOON, filling the air with a hope of sorts. Smythe stood up. She shook her legs and bent over, stretching out her hamstrings and calves before walking into her bedroom. She sat on her recliner, comfortably erect, feeling the support of the chair. She breathed in deeply and slowly, releasing her breath, and gently closed her eyes.

Similar to a news crawl at the bottom of a television screen, her thoughts began to scroll through her mind, demanding her attention—demanding her agreement. Yet, she chose to simply observe them momentarily before focusing her attention on her breath. After a few minutes, for just the briefest of moments, she glimpsed her life in its totality. She remembered a meditation her mentor recorded.

Without judgement, she whispered, “I am not my thoughts. I have thoughts, but I am not my thoughts.”

She continued to breathe, silently repeating her mantra. After a time, she became aware her thoughts quieted to a whisper. Much like the way the clouds from her window continued along their path, without placing her attention upon them, her thoughts moved into her conscious awareness and then floated away.

She slowly opened her eyes and began to scan her surrounding area. A small polished burnished sage pebble sat on the arm of her chair. She picked it up and held it gently in the palm of her hand. It was a stone of gratitude, given to her by a medicine woman several years ago. It served as a reminder to return to the creative Universe to offer gratitude for all that is. To remember the earth, the wind, the lakes, and the forests; to honor all living beings, to remember the abundance of life itself. Recalling the significance of the stone, she spoke quietly for all that she was grateful for.

“I am immensely grateful no harm came to me. And grateful for my protector and her team. Thank you for a home of safety; for the abundance of life in and around me. For the food I eat and the clean water I drink, I offer appreciation. And most of all—I am grateful for this moment. For in this moment, I am grateful for you, my Beloved, for I know you hear me.”

Silence deepened around her. She repeated her gratitude quietly, discovering additional reasons to appreciate all that is. With each offering, she allowed her words to synchronize with expanded feelings of gratitude. And with each new offering, a smile shone brightly upon her face, and the exuberance of love embraced her.

“The journey really has begun,” she quietly mouthed.

It seemed for just a moment Smythe experienced a deeper truth. In the midst of chaos and uncertainty, the power to change her vibration and her responses to any situation were always available. The sheer act of gratitude has the cleansing power to raise her energy, and reconnect her to what is present in the here-now moment. She need only to connect this gratitude to additional higher vibration emotions and linger in the present. In so doing, she would come to understand time as not a linear entity, but vertical, stacked upon itself with the power of choice. For the briefest of deepening moments of consciousness, Smythe glimpsed the here-now moment, which contained all time in the present and in which all that she would ever need was available to her. From the present moment, she would know all was well, even in what appeared to be chaos.

Not yet fully able to grasp the elegant art of emotional elevation, but glimpsing the truth of it all, peace enveloped Smythe. She sat for several minutes before returning to her dining room to resume her studies. She watched as Artie paced back and forth along the sidewalk. Artie’s presence reminded her of the abrupt departure from the baker’s shop. She frowned and swept the thought away with intention, returning to the task at hand. She replayed specific portions of her videos, opened her manual, and reviewed corresponding sections.

Hours later, saturated from all that she learned, she stood up again and began to pace. She couldn’t help but think about her circumstances once again. She thought about the people who made an attempt on her life. She glanced at her library of books as she replayed the moments leading up to the murder. Cold shivers danced along her spine as she remembered the terror she heard in the man’s voice. “Why did he have to die?” she questioned aloud. She scanned the book titles, looking for something that would answer her question. None popped out at her.

She stared at her image reflected in the glass of the cabinet and wondered about the effect of the crime ring’s tactics upon community members in her tiny enclave. She imagined the intimidation used against them and the resources taken from others.

She looked deeply into the eyes reflected back to her. How did we get here? How did that poor guy get there? What was it they offered to this man that we as a community could not give?

In the present moment, Smythe was unaware of her role in the divine intervention of circumstances she was now uniquely a part of. If she had, she would rest in the grand design of her soul’s reason for participating in a seemingly violent reality. She could have rested in her role to offer a community a certain measure of justice and let go of the how. But like so many with a myopic view of the world, she missed what her soul was up to.

She turned toward her front window and stared out toward the sidewalk. She could hear faint bits of Artie’s conversation as she stood outside. Her mind was spinning with thoughts of the fragile fabric of trust within her community and the role she and Artie were playing within it.

Could there be a positive outcome, or are we destined for more bloodshed?

My Beloved, I recognize my own issues with trust. Yet, I understand trust is an essential element in the overall health of any community member, not to mention the community as a whole. To trust not only each other and ourselves, but to trust You as well. Yet here we are. Our trust has been so easily eroded by the echoing cacophony of divisiveness. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m not sure I know how to trust or to build trust. You’ve asked me to, but it is such a struggle.

She recalled French sociologist Emile Durkheim using the term “collective consciousness.” She could recite the definition, “The set of shared beliefs, ideas, and attitudes which operate as a unifying force within a society.” Intrigued by the term, Smythe studied it as it related to her work in diversity education.

She imagined not only her energy, but the energy of the community, wondering how the disease of distrust grew so terminal. And she, too, wondered if there was a cure.

*
*     *

Artie stood outside the apartment and paced. While Smythe aspired to live within the spiritual realm, knitting a tapestry of unity, Artie moved solely within the physical plane. She held no interest in anything other than what she could see, touch, or hear. Even when her intuition was at work, she simply attributed the intuition to prior experience and her ability to read her environment. In her present circumstance, she gave no thought to the “why” of the crime ring and the community’s role in its rise. Implacable to treachery and deceit, she held only the perspective the group was a menace to her client, seeking to gain power, and she was determined to drive the group from Smythe’s life.

Artie thought about her unconventional way of protecting Smythe. Her training taught her to work by the book, making the necessary adjustments for only the most important activities in a client’s day, restricting all other superfluous movements. Her former clients understood her edict and had been fearful enough to make the necessary changes in their lives, but Smythe was different. She was “headstrong,” as Artie had nicknamed Smythe to her team.

The nickname was not used as a putdown, but instead as a way to understand the overarching behavior of her client—the client who would not cooperate and get herself killed if she was not granted the necessary freedom to move about her life. Her earlier insistence to drive to the baker’s shop was Smythe’s most recent example for the nickname. But, long before that, Artie and her teams had been tailing Smythe, dismayed at the number of risks she took tooling around town without a care in the world. The dilemma was a risk Artie was uncomfortable with. Yet, she had a reputation for looking at all angles and calculating the best chance for the desired outcome. And, with each passing moment she spent in Smythe’s presence, the more focused she became.

She continued to pace outside Smythe’s apartment and called Carole to fill her in on what she believed was a veiled threat to Smythe’s life. With that news, Carole became angry and second-guessed herself. Replaying her previous conversation with Smythe, Carole’s initial judgement to place her in Witness Protection was the best overall choice, but Smythe refused. Now Carole wondered if placing Smythe under WitSec’s protective custody was the necessary option, whether she wanted to relocate or not.

While Carole trusted her friend, the unexpected threat concerned her. Was Artie using enough of her resources set to keep Smythe from harm? Perhaps moving her out of state, with Artie and her team, was a better option instead of WitSec. Her mind raced. She thought about the career changes her friend had made. FBI special agent to defense attorney and now, CEO of her own private protection agency. Artie certainly had the experience to handle this assignment.

They discussed their initial assumptions when they first met to discuss Smythe’s protection. Both women believed Smythe was nothing more than an annoyance to the crime ring. They theorized those closest to the case, which included the judge, the lead District Attorney, and members of the jury would be likely targets through either bribery or threat. At the time, they had no reason to believe the crime ring knew who Smythe was; therefore, any attempt against her life would have to occur at trial.

However, recent circumstances now shifted their belief. Most troubling for Artie was the fact that the crime ring apparently knew identity of Smythe as the anonymous witness. Since her identity had not been revealed publicly, Artie continued to question Carole, particularly how the crime ring determined it was Smythe who had identified the suspect and what they believed she had witnessed.

“After all, it’s quite possible Smythe could’ve simply found the victim lying on the concrete,” Artie said.

“It doesn’t matter how they found out. Given your report, they obviously know! Trust me, Artie, I’ve been working this case hard. From my end, we’re investigating several members of the ring and their affiliates. They may even be involved in several homicides on the island of Oahu. If you recall, just as you left the bureau, this ring was becoming more ruthless and widespread. Remember the Chris case at your firm?”

“How could I forget? I was barely out the door when it hit the fan.”

“Well, after Chris was acquitted, we started an investigation. One of the partners at your firm was intimately involved in some shady dealings during court proceedings, and it had far-reaching consequences outside just this city.”

“What?!”

“I can’t go into specifics over the phone. Suffice to say, you got out just in time.”

“Who else was investigated?”

“What I can tell you is that you were cleared. You weren’t the attorney on record. But some did call your timing into question.”

“You know why I left. What little I knew of the case, I still knew the guy was guilty. Yet the firm still took on the case and got the guy off. He had ties to some local chem company. That acquittal cost the witness her life. I just couldn’t—”

“I know, I know. That’s one of the reasons I chose you for this assignment. You’re stellar, Artie. You can’t be bought, and you can’t be intimidated. Look—I’m only bringing up the Chris case because you were left completely in the dark about what was happening two floors above you. Right now, with this case, I just need you to look at all angles. All of them. Question everything and everyone. Your sole job is to stay ahead of the ring, keep me informed, and keep Smythe alive.”

“I get that, but information goes both ways. What you know, I need to know.”

“I’ll do my best. I’ve got a bit of a hunch, but I’m working on the evidence.”

Although she held little hope of persuading the District Attorney for an earlier trial date, Carole agreed to at least try. She was suspicious of holding ongoing conversations about Smythe over the phone and opted to meet with Artie in person. She set up several in-person meetings over the next several weeks before abruptly ending the call.

Artie stood, clenching her jaw and holding her hands in tight fists. She was suspicious of the FBI and considered that there was a leak within the FBI that perhaps Carole was unaware of. How else could the syndicate know of Smythe’s existence? The reference to the Chris case also troubled her. She unconsciously cupped the bottom of her throat. She had held a suspicion about the witness’ safety and voiced her concern to her agency’s law partners. They discounted it, steadfastly stating their client was innocent; therefore, the witness was safe from harm by their client. Grief began to swell within her.

I should have reached out to Carole. Told her what I suspected. And now the witness…

Artie cleared her throat and motioned to Dennis, who sat in an SUV outside Smythe’s apartment. Together, they reviewed team logistics for Smythe’s protection. She also wanted an update. While the trial would be months away, Artie placed her number two in charge of interviewing potential new team members who would be assigned as needed during the course of the trial.

“I like four of them—I’m running background on them now. I should receive the reports back in about three weeks, and I’ve just received a new batch of apps. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Excellent. We’re going to need four additional teams of two. Keep on it; we may not have a whole lot of time. Get them on my calendar when you’ve decided they’re worth the trouble to interview.”

“You ok, boss?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Old wounds. I’m going to take one of the team vehicles. I’ll be back in about an hour or so. Hang out with Smythe until my return.”

Artie left the complex and chose a route that skirted the city limits, eventually taking her to an isolated dirt road. The road rambled around the side of a hill through a smattering of oak trees. She continued to bounce along the rocky road, deep into the hills, until the road abruptly ended. She peered up at the steep slope, which rose before her as she parked her car. The rolling hills around her showed signs of recent use. She exited and stood beside her vehicle, hands on her hips, her eyes following a line of the undulating terrain. Gashes scarred the gravel beneath her feet and lances of sunlight speared clumps of dirt unearthed by recent travel through the area.

Off roaders.

She remembered the journey she made to this area after hearing the news that the witness against her law firm’s client had been brutally murdered. She walked forward up the rising slope and retraced her steps along a sparsely wooded path. She could hear the soles of her boots scrunch the mixture of fallen leaves and gravel beneath her feet. After several minutes, she pushed her hand through a thickening of oak tree branches and arrived at a clearing. Twenty or so feet in front of her, the clearing gave way to a steep jagged drop-off. The hush of silence surrounded her. She breathed deeply and surveyed the vista of rolling hills below. A freeway off in the far distance was light with traffic in both directions. She rested her gaze on the drop-off. It was there where the victim’s body was found. She looked up to the oak trees. The spot offered her a bit of shade. She bent low, grasping at the dirt in front of a small wooden cross with carved initials, standing no more than a foot high among a patch of dandelions at the base of a tree. She sat down next to the cross, picking at the dandelions. She spoke no words, but sat in quiet peace, staring out onto the vista.

She remained at the memorial for close to an hour before she stood up, brushing off the back of her pants. The dandelion bunch she picked laid before the cross. Turning to leave, she paused briefly, her words caught in her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, returning somberly to her vehicle.