12 - Montgomery Alabama December 1st 1955 then later the same evening in the botanical gardens, St. Vincent WI
DESTINY’S SECRET AGENT

Time and space meant nothing to Denis, it was as if he could be anywhere anytime at the blink of an eyelid.

Sometimes he found himself as an observer, just an invisible witness to events, while other times he found himself playing a role, inhabiting a body which wasn’t his, speaking strange languages, seeing and understanding all things.

From each point, the future stretched out like a huge tree and the tiny actions of individual people enabled one branch to grow stronger than others. Most often Denis realised that a branch was about to break in the wind and it needed help and support to survive the storm and grow on thereafter stronger than ever.

But Denis had no control over where and when. Just a premonition, a feeling that he was needed somewhere, and the pattern was becoming clear to him: Destiny needed his help and, however insignificant the actions, Denis and the others like him played a necessary role in moving the whole Big Picture of Nature forward in a positive way.

And the reward of being able to see the profound consequences of one’s actions into the future infinity was a gift beyond imagination.

The angry bus driver now slammed on the brakes and stopped the bus. He walked up to Rosa Parks and shouted at her to give up her seat, “It’s against the law, you can only sit here if there are no Whites standing”. She simply refuses to budge.

The driver stormed out the bus and came back a few minutes later with a policeman who promptly arrests Rosa for breaking the segregation laws.

Observing the scene, Denis could see the consequences into the future: Rosa’s trial, the year long boycott of the bus company by Montgomery’s Black community, the White shop owners becoming bankrupt because their Black customers could no longer get downtown to their shops, the upset White bus passengers who had to pay more for their seats on the now empty buses, the violence, and the ultimate justice. The dominoes fall one by one.

Denis mused “the storm comes and goes......and the branch of the tree grows forth stronger than ever.”

And then he found himself no longer on the bus in Alabama, but in St. Vincent. Standing on a hillside in what appeared to be a luxurious tropical garden, he could smell the evening air and he knew immediately where he was. It was still December 1955, across the evening breeze he heard the sound of screams coming from a little house up the hill.

Jean-Marc’s mother was having a very difficult time giving birth to the baby. She was French and had been in the movies before the war, she had even been in a film with Maurice Chevalier, but the war had destroyed everything. After the war she had tried to pick up the pieces and had found some work as a model, but she had always lied about her age. Unlike her false birth certificate, she was not 35 years old but almost 10 years older, and this was her first baby. And she was giving birth in the tropics, several days boat trip from the nearest “proper” hospital and two weeks from her home in Europe.

She had been booked to return on the boat to Southampton the very next day, and suddenly she had gone into labour....over one month early.

Denis knocked on the door of the cottage. The West Indian midwife opened the door expecting to see the doctor but her initial surprise at seeing the elegant gentleman standing on the porch was quickly dispelled, she recognised the Healer and was happy to let him in, the baby was twisted in the womb and she had been unable to turn him, any help was a blessing.

Jean-Marc’s father was was manager of the local Barclay's Bank, as a young bank clerk in London ha had jumped at the opportunity to return to Saint Vincent where his father had spent 20 years or more. His two passions were botany and gin and, on this evening, the gin had obviously delayed his return home. He was down in “the Club” in Kingstown with his fellow businessmen and diplomat friends and oblivious to the fact that he was about to become a father, the baby was at least one month pre-mature.

Denis recalled a moment in his earthly life when, as a young man in India, his teacher had taken him to a remote village where a cow was seriously ill. She had not been able to urinate for many days, she had stopped eating and drinking and was obviously in pain. The villagers were distraught. “Don’t concentrate” said the teacher, “just listen to Mother Nature and your instinct”. Denis looked at the animal, closed his eyes and saw a figure of eight, the cow’s bladder was twisted like a balloon: in his mind’s eye he held the balloon and turned. The cow lifted her tail and relieved herself to the cheers from the villagers.

Those who believe in reincarnation will tell of how a new born baby still holds the memory of his or her previous life, although this is quickly forgotten as coping with a new life becomes more of a priority. The intemporal link between Jean-Marc and Denis was profound.

Like he had done with the cow’s bladder, Denis turned Jean-Marc in the womb, unravelled the umbilical cord and relaxed the mother to be. In five minutes it was over, even arriving one month early Jean-Marc was a fine baby well over 3 kg, as he crawled up his towards his mother’s chest he turned and recognised his friend from another life, then the memory was gone.