"How's she doing?!" came
somebody's frantic voice. "She's going to be
fine," the doctor said, "but I think there is
emotional residue." Placing a flat, clear,
cylindrical object above my soul, I began to
enter a natural state of detachment.
Realizing my error in losing focus, I vowed
never to do so again. Now calming, the
frantic man conveyed to me that he was the
supervisor on several of my missions.
Terribly upset about the failed alteration, he
calmed me, pointing out that another alterer
would go in at an earlier point in time and
try to fix it.
"Well, you're all healed up, time to
get back to work," he said. "What!" I shouted,
annoyed. "If you don't go right back into it,"
he said, "you won't have the courage to try
again." Within less than a second, I was off,
led to complete two more alterations this
night, which I did successfully.
Sitting upon a mountain peak, two
Indian men approached me. Handing me a
document with pictures of twelve Indian
chiefs, they said, "You are the eleventh
generation, welcome home, Red Hawk."
"When the nervous system functions it
conveys the experience of objects through the
brent
(Brent)
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