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Late
February, 2002
"Come on, get up. Come on, get up. Come on, get up." The
words were spoken in a low chant. "Come on, get up, Moppy."
Moppy! She had not been referred to by that nickname in more than 20
years, since she was in middle school. Moppy, a diminutive of "Moptop,"
a name affectionately (depending on the speaker) bestowed upon her for her
love of the Beatles during a time when open declaration of such love was not
always viewed favorably.
"Come on, get up. Moppy." Moppy forced her eyes open
and stared straight ahead, thinking the words were dream-induced or perhaps
media-induced, such as a radio that might have been left on all night.
A quick glance at that very clock radio showed red luminescent numbers that
read 2:07 A.M.
"You heard me. Come on get up." Moppy, by now fully
awake saw, or rather felt, something. She could see George Harrison,
as he looked in 1965.
"It can't be," Moptop said. "It just can't be. I
have never hallucinated in my life and I have always known what is real and
what isn't."
"Nothing is real. Remember that, Moppy, from 'Strawberry Fields.'
Just release your mind to accept cosmic knowledge, that all knowledge,
whether or not you understand it is a universal experience. It means
it's part of the universe and part of each one of us."
There was no mistaking that voice. The voice that encouraged people to
think for themselves, that sang of the sun coming. "George, is
that really you? I didn't know you when you were part of the material
world, I mean, I didn't really know you. All I know is what others
have said and what I have read. I think I know how to extract logic
from what I have read and I think, being a Beatle expert..." At this
point Moptop flushed, her voice trailing off as she remembered how the one
known as the Quiet Beatle tried to downplay that part of his career,
dismissing fans as "hooting lunatics" who chased the Beatles
"from hotel room to hotel room."
"Yeah, well, I was a hooting lunatic in those days," Moptop said.
"I am really embarrassed about that now. I mean, I learned over
time. I mean, when I was younger, so much younger than today..."
Almost as a reflex Moptop lapsed back into a long established habit of
quoting Beatle lyrics when stymied. "Seriously, ARE you real?
Or am I really hallucinating?"
"If you were hallucinating, you would not be thinking logically.
That is what I mean about thinking for yourself,” George told her.
“Knowlege is cosmic. It is something that includes all people.
If you were hallucinating, you would not understand that."
"Yeah, I remember now," Moptop said. "When I was very
little and wished I could transform thoughts into words, your song 'I Want
to Tell You' was the one I relied upon. When I had to write legal
documents I would play that song for inspiration. I thought if it as
the story of my life. I mean, I always used you for my spokesman, and
sometimes old habits die hard." Moptop flushed, realizing the
choice of words. "I mean, it's just that..."
"I am not here to judge but to ask you to think. Just like the
song, 'Think For Yourself.' Remember, 'the future still looks good,
and you've got time to rectify all the things that you should.' There
is nothing cryptic in that. Just apply that logic when you make
decisions. Like the ones you make on a day-to-day basis."
"Yeah, but...like what now? Besides changing life style for
health reasons, which I am currently doing, do you mean other decisions that
are not as life impacting?" Moptop was a mass of confusion,
wondering how such a conversation could be taking place. Another quick
glance at the digital clock read 2:24 A.M.
"Consciousness has many levels. This is one level.
Remember, you have to decide what your core values are and shape them around
your system of beliefs. In this life I was recognized as Sriman,
a Respected Man and Friend of Krishna. Just as when you were
confirmed, you were recognized as the Lord's child. All religions are
expressions of beliefs. They are not too different, not the core and
not the goal."
Moptop was becoming more fascinated yet a little bit uneasy. How was
such a conversation even possible? She inwardly cringed at the
adolescent comments she had made about the former Beatle during her
embarrassing puberty. She hoped with all her heart that these comments
would not be held against her. If knowledge was really cosmic as this
man said....
"You can see me because all physical boundaries expand once one life
form has passed. I look the way I do because I wanted you to recognize
me and to get the message I wanted to impart."
"Message?" Moptop queried. "Like in angel, a
messenger?"
She could almost hear the former Beatle laugh. But was she really hearing
this? Was this a form of her consciousness that caused her to believe
she was hearing this? Or having this vision? She was still not
sure.
"As in a messenger. Who else would you have heard this from
and had it register?" There was a determination in the voice.
"You listened to me all these years. Keep hearing the message.
Love one another. Follow the belief system you have inside.
Remember, I am part of the universe, but in different form. Just like
you are in different form from me. That is something that you will
understand at a much later date. Right now use my words as teaching
tools. If that is what it has taken to inspire you, I encourage you to
keep using them. "
"But you felt like an economy class Beatle," Moptop said.
"I never thought of you that way. You were always vital and
integral. You said everything I wished I could. You used to
speak for me and like your song, my head was filled with things to say, but
when I got near someone, those words all just slipped away."
Moptop could see the former Beatle actually smile. "Wasn't me who
spoke. It was you saying these things, even if you learned them
from me. Remember, you have to go within you without you to find that
information. I might have planted an idea, but it was your
interpretation that brought it to fruitition. Remember that, Moppy."
"It's only me, it's not my mind, that is confusing things...yeah, those
words have gotten me through some really rough times. I always wanted
to meet you. I always thought you were so cool and together and I like
the way you spoke. You taught me that your thoughts are just as if not
more important than your words. You made me think. I always
wanted to thank you. " Then, in a spontaneous burst, Moptop’s
words rushed out. "I wish I hadn't been such a hooting lunatic
when I was growing up. I am so embarrassed about that today. I
should have known better. Me, of all people. I don't like to
talk about myself and look at what I have done."
"And what have you done, Moppy? So many people did the same
thing. You didn't attack anyone. You never did anything to me
personally, or to anybody I knew. You never embarrassed me.
Well, maybe that one time when you jumped up on the couch and screamed and
jumped up and down and emptied the wastebasket to use it for a drum while
watching 'A Hard Day's Night.' You also literally drooled
during that shirt scene I did in the film. Then there was the time you
cut the fringe on somebody's lamp so it would look like the my
hair…"
"How did you know about that? I never told anyone else
about that lamp," Moptop said. "I mean, nobody was there and
nobody knew about it. How embarrassing! I was about 12
when I did that and the only place that was recorded was in my diary!"
"Yes, but thoughts can come through quite plainly. Remember that
after a certain point, one is no longer tied by physical bonds. Yeah,
I know about the lamp; it is quite funny, really. Not that I'd fancy
you the sort to barge in on somebody. You seem more comfortable behind
the scenes."
"Yeah, I rarely take credit for my ideas," Moptop said.
"I usually work the background and let others work the foreground.
It just seems easier and better that way. And you know something?
You were never economy class. Just because you wrote songs at
your own speed, what you wrote spoke volumes. You said everything for
me!" Moptop was a runaway train, unable to cease the flow of
verbiage. "You made me aware of my own spirituality. You
were the one who had me concentrate on more esoteric matters. It was
your influence that shaped me musically. The first songs I ever
learned to play were Beatle songs and I taught myself in full one song that
you sang. Just a few months ago, you reminded us all how important it
is to love one another. I'm so glad you're here, even if it is just a
form of my wishful thinking or some off shoot of my consciousness, you
wanted to tell us. You did!" Moptop's voice had a note of
urgency. "I listened to you! I'm listening right now!
You had a strong influence on me, even if I didn't know you!"
"Then use what you have learned from what you read and heard.
Besides, I've heard the Fabs were rather good." Moptop could
detect a smile in that distinctive Liverpool accent. "I
rather like them myself. After all, don't forget 'All Those Years Ago'
and 'When We Was Fab.'' Moptop laughed in spite of herself.
"Yeah, I remember well. And for my hard earned dollar, you are
still fab. I am so glad you're here. I want to tell, er, I mean,
I want to thank you. I know that seems so small and paltry when you
gave so much, even when you were crowded by hooting lunatics. I want
to use the information and what I've learned."
"Not 'learned.' Learning. Remember that all cosmic
experiences, which are everthing, means they are part of this vast universe
is a continuum. Just open up your mind. Keep it open. Just
include others in that knowledge and that quest. It's a never ending
journey, but you don't want it to end. Ta." And with that, George
was no longer visible.
Moptop was a mass of confusion and fell into a deep, hard sleep. At
7:00, when the radio alarm clock went off, "Here Comes the Sun"
was playing. "It couldn't be," Moptop thought.
"It just couldn't be." After the song ended, she switched
the dial and heard "Awaiting on You All." There was a whole
medley of songs from Concert For Bangladesh, Cloud 9 and Living in
the Material World. It was during the first medley that
Moptop knew for sure that what she experienced was not a wish-induced dream.
"...the smiles returning to their faces...here comes the
sun..."
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