SATURDAY SESSIONS # 5

# 5

In Lemuria, you don't buy anything at all, as such; whatever you need is delivered to your door. Tailors come to your home to tailor your clothes for you.  Artificial intelligence, robots, do all the manual work here, so anybody who wants to work does it voluntarily, simply because they love doing it.                                                          
At least, that's what we're told.  Whether it's true or not, is another story.  Life here isn't work-driven, they tell us, because everybody feels a deep sense of joy in serving others and being of use to society at large.                                                           
Basically, Lemurians are more interested in being than in doing. We are human beings, they say, not human doings. Work, as we know it back home, just doesn't exist here. They probably don't even have a word for it. As volunteers, if they find the area of service that matches their true essence in which they can maximise their contribution to the whole, they're overjoyed. Even sweeping the streets, for example - not that the streets need any sweeping in this city!  I can see for myself how physical work of any kind is just not practised or even needed here in Lemuria. Even the buildings look natural, tree-high, curved, no sharp angles; it's as if they'd sprung up from the soil. 

Everything seems to be accomplished with the least possible effort. It's all team-work here. People either create things or monitor them. Anything devised by Lemurians and manufactured by the robots has to be easy to handle, non-toxic, and above all, can be used later as something else after it has outlived its original purpose.  

All living things are respected in Lemuria, even everything that grows in the ground.  Having said that, they grow really luscious fruit and vegetables here for the consumption of official visitors like me who stay at the Welcome Hotel.  What we had for breakfast at the hotel was tastier than anything I can imagine; my mouth waters even to think about it. I'm only sorry I can't bring back a sample to my family and friends, if only to prove that I'm not exaggerating.                      

Our flight landed at the one and only terminal at the one and only airport in the whole of the continent of  Lemuria. It's on an island, about two hours, on the map, from the nearest shore. Two hours on one of our own aircraft, I mean, but our planes are not allowed to land here. My mouth fell open in sheer amazement when I disembarked in Lemuria with my colleagues in less than five minutes on board an intriguing glass vehicle which made no noise at all. Don't ask me how they do it because we just don't know. We may be from the QSA but we don't even know what our employers know and we certainly don't know what the politicians know in their smart suits behind closed doors at Government Buildings. We don't even know what they don't know. 
One thing we do know, however, is that they know little or nothing about Lemuria.                    

No one speaks here in Lemuria because the Lemurians communicate telepathically. Thoughts or ideas are delivered in parcels or chunks, not in a linear way, as we do, when we communicate using language. Thanks to the popular press at home, very few people actually believe this about the Lemurians, claiming that they spread that rumour in order to remain private and unapproachable. Having said that, our guide did tell us this morning that nobody has ever heard a Lemurian speak.  Linguists back home have been unable to decode the Lemurian written language which, they tell us, is virtually indecipherable.  For my part, I can't imagine a more effective and advanced way of communication than telepathy.  It would certainly save a lot of time spent back home at the QSA trying to make sense of some of the spurious submissions that come in from the offices of the pharmaceutical factories and their companies or worse still, the vague and equivocal directives from Government Buildings.                                     

The peace here is really soothing, the tranquillity, the deep silence, broken only by those exotic little birds and their exuberant birdsong.  The bench I'm sitting on, made from some unrecognisable material, looks hard and durable, but it's actually quite soft and snug. It could be used as a bed. Huh, no wonder...no wonder...I feel so...so ss....     
I hear a woman's voice.                                                                           Jordan!...Jordan... 
It's Lucy! 
'I'm sorry, Jordan, but you fell off the couch! Are you all right?'
I'm lying on the carpet, laughing hysterically. Then I jump back up onto the sofa and plead with Lucy to send me back to Lemuria.
'Lemuria?' she laughs.  'Never heard of it!... But you have my interest! And by the way, my clients generally don't go to sleep and fall off the sofa! In fact, they don't go to sleep at all! That's not part of the plan!...What's Lemuria? Where is it?'
'Whatever it is, Lucy, wherever it is...it's amazing! But it couldn't have been a dream, could it? It just couldn't have been! It felt so authentic!'
'Let's get started on the recording while it's still fresh in your memory!'                   
She listens excitedly to my story as we record it on the phone.  She tells me that it is most unusual for a client to participate and engage so coherently and at such length in a past life story.  She's as keen as I am to let me continue with the adventure. 
'Let's see if we can get you back there. Ready?'                                       
Switching to her soft, soothing, hypnotic voice, Lucy starts the countdown.

You can catch up on the first four chunks of the story here:

gregoryrosenstock.blogspot.com

# 6 next Saturday!  😄

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