SPIRIT BOY
An Earth Spy
a novel by
Tricia Kelly
Copyright TRICIA KELLY 2008
Published by LIGHTEN UP BOOKS
at Smashwords
SPIRIT BOY—An Earth Spy is a work of fiction. All of the characters, incidents, and dialogue portrayed in this book, except for incidental references to public figures or products, are imaginary. It is not the author’s intention to refer to any living persons or to disparage any company’s products or services cited in this fictional story.
The story does revolve around nonfictional material—metaphysical teaching from numerous sources and Masters. The author’s intention is to offer this information to help you on your emotional and spiritual path of well-being. The author and publisher bare no responsibility for how you use or act upon the information in this book.
Text Copyright 2008 Tricia Kelly All rights reserved.
Cover artwork Copyright 2008 Jewel Lynam www.artscopestudio.com
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer “fair use” of quoting a brief passage in reviews or articles about such book SPIRIT BOY - An Earth Spy or the author, TRICIA KELLY.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data 2001012345
Kelly, Tricia
Spirit Boy - An Earth Spy.
ISBN # 978-0-9818134-4-8
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PUBLISHED LIGHTEN UP BOOKS USA
ebooks AT SMASHWORDS.
for my daughter Amber—for sharing her life with me
my sister Frances—for being my lifelong friend
my family in spirit—for never leaving my side
===
All I have loved is with me forever
St. Luke
Table of Content
Foreword
By-Peter Tongue B.Sc., P.G.C.E
Prologue
Chapter 1
A Clap of Thunder
Chapter 2
No Reason to Rush
Chapter 3
A Long Way Home
Chapter 4
I Spy
Chapter 5
An Empty Heart and Home
Chapter 6
Love Thy Neighbor and Sibling
Chapter 7
The Journey Has Begun
Chapter 8
Hungry for Love
Chapter 9
Every Action Has a Reaction
Chapter 10
Our Own Timetable
Chapter 11
List of Dreams
Chapter 12
Believe in Yourself
Chapter 13
Can’t Stop the Magic
Chapter 14
Your Children are not Your Children
Chapter 15
Living in Different Dimensions
Chapter 16
Passion is Bliss
Chapter 17
Knocking on Heaven’s Door
Chapter 18
Practice What you Preach
Chapter 19
Never Stop Learning
Chapter 20
The Power of Prayer
Chapter 21
Time for a Change
Chapter 22
Tuning into Your Higher Self
Chapter 23
Show me the Facts
Chapter 24
A New Day - A New Dawning
Chapter 25
Giving and Receiving
Chapter 26
The Past is Over
Chapter 27
Open for Discussion
Chapter 28
Under the Microscope
Chapter 29
Lots of Shining Lights
Chapter 30
Life is Full of Surprises
Chapter 31
Roadblocks
Chapter 33
The Show Must Go On
Chapter 24
A Time to be Friends
Chapter 25
Can’t Turn Their Lights Out Now
About this Book
What’s Now - What’s Next
Acknowledgments
About the Author Tricia Kelly
Great Endorsements
By-Peter Tongue B.Sc., P.G.C.E.
"I am so happy that this book is available to all of
those children who live in an isolated World,
but actually know the truth and live closer to
spirit than most of us ever will.
What a gift Spirit Boy is to these children!"
As a former Independent School Principal with 30 years experience in education, I am a strong advocate and supporter of the Indigo and Crystal children. Many highly intelligent children and teenagers find themselves constantly bumping up against "old" ways of living and learning.
Tricia Kelly's novel addresses these childrens' special talents, and you get to see them shine within this colorful story. One of her characters, like me, has the same vision. It is to create a new educational system that meets the needs of these wonderful children. One that recognizes that all children are gifted and their own special talents should be developed to the highest degree.
Peter Tongue is one of the founders of The Legacy of the Rose—an Education system for Humanity's Highest Potential.
MY ANGELIC FRIENDS in Heaven call me “Spirit Boy.” They say I still look like the eleven-year-old kid I was when I died on that school playground. I’m still wearing the same shirt, the same jeans, even have the same curly blonde hair, those bright blue eyes, and those cupid lips. That’s what my mom called them, she always said it when she kissed me goodnight. I can’t remember how long ago that was, or when it was that I died exactly, or how long I’ve been up here in Heaven, because time has no meaning here. Spiritual Beings like me, we just hang out, mind our own business, and watch you guys down there, like you're starring in your own TV show—a show we call “life.” We see all the different choices you make and all the different roads you travel down, and sometimes wonder why you choose paths that lead you nowhere, why you’re on a journey with no happy ending.
It’s easy for me to see that now from this perspective. I wish I knew what I, Spirit Boy, knows now, all those cosmic laws way back when my life went astray. The day I took a bullet on that school playground. The day my life ended. I can see it so clearly now. I was one of those kids on a journey that ended too soon. Before I was even a teen.
So there I was, Spirit Boy, watching these two boys ready to explode—with negative energy. I couldn’t stop myself from being pulled back to that same school playground I had played on when I was alive. Today, these two energetic Beings, reminded me of the time when I was a troubled kid, when I got mixed up in conflict, when I couldn’t see the right road ahead of me, when I couldn’t see the light. It was a feeling I knew oh so well. It was probably the reason I couldn’t stop myself from swooping down on them. I heard their souls crying out for help. These kids had no idea I was about to be stuck on them like a magnet, and that this was my soul’s journey, too. My journey was to teach these kids a few simple lessons: that all they needed to do was love themselves and live their dreams—the ones they are destined to enjoy. It’s really that easy. Everyone can create their own Heaven on Earth. It’s all about faith—and the right energetic attitude is a must too...
PART OF ME didn’t want to go back to that school playground. Back to the place that had taken my life. I knew I had to, to at least try and stop these two boys, Sam and Henry, from heading down a road they’d regret later—a road filled with all the consequences they were creating for themselves today, and everyday lately.
===
“Give it up, ain’t gonna be no ballplayer... white boy’s ain’t no good at shootin’ hoops!” Sam hollered at Henry, as he gave him one heck of a shove, so he could show off one of his cool basketball moves. Sam was just killing time as he waited for his school bus, to take him back to his own side of town, South Central, L.A.
“Hey, watch what you’re saying, stupid head!” Henry yelled back, as he turned to his backup support with that smart-ass grin of his. The other kids cheered him on. They loved being part of this fight, too. Their bantering encouraged the two boys to hate each other even more.
“Get ’em!”
“Kick him!”
“Take ’em down, Henry,” they screamed, transforming into one big, dark, negative force of collective energy.
Steeled by all his support, Henry again tried to snatch the basketball out of Sam’s hands.
“What happened...did they kick you out of your own school...had to bus you here so you can learn from us smart guys, did they?”
The two never stopped their hurtful remarks.
===
Whoa, I couldn’t help wondering why these two had such a bad attitude. What side of the bed did they get out on? What was going on at home?
Regardless of their problems, Henry had no right to needle Sam and interfere with his basketball game. And Sam had no right to put Henry down and taunt him with “white boys ain’t no good at shootin’ hoops.”
So here I was on this beautiful California day standing between two boys wrestling each other over a basketball. Both punching each other. An occasional direct hit. Pain. Lots of it. It was a good thing I was a Spirit, otherwise I’d have been black and blue with all the jabs and punches they were throwing at each other. Plus I had to dodge all those other kids’ negative energies flying around like poison-tipped arrows.
Then one of the kids shrieked, “Wartface!”
Their screaming stopped. The kids fled as if a dark storm cloud was about to descend on them. Like they knew a clap of thunder was about to erupt any second and scare them into silence.
They left the two boys alone to endure the most excruciating pain of all. The pain of having their ears pulled. In this schoolyard, that was way more painful than landing a fist—and way more scary. Especially when they looked up and saw Mrs. Johnson’s face staring down at them.
I couldn’t believe it either...it was her. We even called her by that same nickname, Wartface, back when I went to school here. Most of us hated her, too. And I can remember that look, that face—one you didn’t ever want glaring down at you. She had used that glare when I was a student in her class. When I allowed her to degrade me with those eyes that went right through me. But not now. She wasn’t vibrating at a high enough frequency to even sense I was there.
It seemed that, year after year after year, that same name cursed her. I know they’re just huge moles and it’s rude to call people names. But to a kid standing below this tall old woman, her large black moles stood out like volcanos ready to erupt.
And I could tell by her expression today just how much pleasure the old lady got from pulling their ears, separating them with the same negativity they’d used against each other. She had been warned about her negative ways. Most of her fellow teachers, especially the new school principal, Ms. Karen Bennett, considered her a rigid old bag. They had no respect for her old-fashioned methods of teaching.
===
Sam’s eyes darted sideways. From the corner of his eye, he saw his school bus pull up and stop by the school gate. “Mrs. Johnson, please let me go, so I can escape your mental semiautomatic gunfire,” he silently pleaded. He’d heard enough gunfire nearly every night of his young life in South Central.
“If I catch you fighting one more time, displaying this kind of behavior, I’ll have you expelled, Sam. And you...” She turned and glared down at Henry. His ear was on fire, the pain rushed all the way down the side of his body. His eyes filled with tears of pain and fear. “And you, Henry, you are just lucky you are a neighborhood kid!” she shouted in his face.
Then it happened. Ms. Bennett’s voice echoed across the playground. A savior.
“Mrs. Johnson, you let those boys go right now!” she yelled in a voice she didn’t often use. Ms. Bennett did not tolerate that kind of archaic punishment and had warned Mrs. Johnson repeatedly to stop using this method of discipline.
Mrs. Johnson just couldn’t stop herself. Her excuse, always the same, was that this was the way she’d been teaching kids for the past thirty years. She reminded the young principal that “Schools back in the old days didn’t have the trouble they do today, did they?” She really should have said, “It’s the way I’ve been badgering kids with negativity for the past three decades.” I knew that well. I was one of the kids she used to be mean to and hate for no reason.
===
Sam quickly grabbed his backpack and his old sweatshirt off the ground and headed for his school bus as fast as his legs could hightail him away from the meanest person he had ever known. Nothing was appealing about Mrs. Johnson’s demeanor. Even her old fashioned style of clothing, her hand knit brown sweaters, and those grey box pleated skirts she wore every day were just plain ugly to a kid. Sam couldn’t find one thing in her that he liked. It wasn’t as if Sam got to wear what he wanted either. He’d spend most of his life wearing other peoples hand-me-downs. There was always something wrong with every piece. A button missing here and there. Or it was over sized, or some ugly color. He was always told to be grateful he had clothes, considering there were people all over the world who had none. His single mother would always preach. “You ain’t cold, are you boy?” How he longed to hear her voice say that again.
Sam nearly tripped on his untied tattered shoelaces as he flew up the bus stairs. His classmate Vanessa begged the bus driver to wait. He usually didn’t tolerate kids being late, but today he could see that Sam was being picked on again by Mrs. Johnson. On the long drive home to South Central, he’d often hear the kids complaining about her meanness.
Vanessa patted the seat she had saved for Sam. She had known him her whole life, even though she was banned from talking to any of the Smith boys. Her mother and father, the local minister, were snobs in their neighborhood. Nobody was ever good enough for their little girl. Their only daughter. The one dressed in pretty pink dresses like she was going to church every day of the week. They must have believed that if they dressed her up like this, their neighbors would know she was special—not like the rest of the kids in the neighborhood.
Still, Vanessa saved a seat for Sam that day. And was special for another reason—something neither her parents nor she knew about yet!
===
Henry took off down the sidewalk, sprinting as fast as he could away from all the commotion still being created on the playground, now by Mrs. Johnson. She was screaming all sorts of threats about how Ms. Bennett wasn’t qualified to be their school principal, and how these children needed a good old-fashioned spanking sometimes.
Ms. Bennett, who was a few generations younger, and quite a few pounds lighter than Mrs. Johnson always wore trendy clothes like some of the wealthy neighborhood kids that go to this school. She even had a cute modern haircut and sometimes wore great junky jewelry. She looked years younger than her real age. It was mainly because she had this wonderful, positive attitude. She liked to start each day with a smile, one that could light up a room. Her smile just beamed right through you and made you want to like her and smile back. She was already popular with most of her students after only being at their school for one semester. Her job was the position Mrs. Johnson had for years dreamt of having. Mrs. Johnson had wanted to be the big chief and enforce her martial law on the playground. Then along came Ms. Bennett and stole the job away from her. She never got over it. Ms. Bennett would have loved to have had Mrs. Johnson fired, at least a dozen times in the past couple of months, because of this kind of cruel behavior and the discipline she often displayed toward certain kids on the playground and in her classroom. But Ms. Bennett knew that if she reported Mrs. Johnson to the school board, she would not only lose her job, but also her health insurance and maybe her pension too. She didn’t want to be the one responsible for this misfortune.
===
Sam Smith was glad when the bus finally pulled away from the curb. He couldn’t wait for fifth grade to be over at this elementary school on the other side of town, a school full of white kids who lived in their so-called upper-class neighborhood. The kids who thought money made them a better person, more valuable. The ones who wore their trendy logo clothing and believed it made them special.
I wanted to tell all of them: “You are what comes from your inside core, not what you look like on the outside.”
Most of these kids didn’t even know why they had a negative attitude toward the African American and Latino kids bused into their neighborhood school and play on their playground. But they did.
The bused-in kids were there so they could be at a less crowded school. Most of them hated being bused there, too. They hated being reminded every day of what they didn’t have back home, and they hated having to get up hours earlier than the other kids and get home hours after the other kids had time to do their homework, have an afternoon snack, and enjoy the rest of the day outside doing fun stuff before it got dark. And Sam hated that boy, too, the one he saw again as he glanced out the school bus window before the bus left the school. He hated that Henry was wearing his favorite basketball team’s t.shirt, and he got to skateboard home from school everyday.
The two boys’ eyes met again as Henry skated by. They still had that glare of hatred. They scrutinized each other with their silent thoughts. I knew what they were both thinking. They were repeating it over and over again in their heads. “Next time, I’ll get ya!”
ONCE HENRY WAS far enough away from his school, he slowed down to a snail’s pace. He was in no hurry to get home and have his mother see his bruised face and his torn shirt that wasn’t even two weeks old.
Finally, the two of us made our way down his driveway past his mother’s new SUV, the one that they were having trouble making the payments on. Henry slowly climbed the stairs of their cute two-story house and stood in front of their expensive stained-glass door, the one his mother insisted she had to have even when she knew they couldn’t afford it.
I watched him as he stood there for the longest time. Henry’s heart pounded in anticipation. His hand, drenched with sweat, held onto the front door handle he didn’t want to open. He was afraid to go inside. He didn’t want his mother to see his condition. He knew she would flip out and get mad.
His mother, Diane, was always moody these days. Her work in real estate was taking its toll. Nothing was selling in the inflated market. Henry knew her moods. When she got a commission check, she was happy for only a minute, and then went back to worrying again. He’d often heard her talking with his dad, Michael, about their money problems. “How are we going to pay our mortgage this month?” she’d say, more than ask him, blaming him for their troubles. He’d been laid off now for a few months from a great six-figure job in the computer industry, like millions of others suffering in this bad economy. Henry had no idea their safety-comfort-zone lifestyle was about to end. His mother thought it was all because his father was out of work, but it was more than that. Part of it was his mother’s need to spend what they didn’t have on stuff they didn’t need. It had finally caught up with her. They were now living in the red.
===
Henry’s attempt to sneak inside failed badly. The Fluff Man, his buddy, always yelped his joyous hello. It was their ritual. They were inseparable, this dog and master.
His mother heard the Fluff Man barking his hello. She yelled her hello from their kitchen, where she was preparing one of the many dishes she made every night for her fussy children.
Henry froze. He went pale, swallowed a gulp of air, and stood like a statue.
“Henry, is that you?” she called, then came around the hallway corner to find him just standing there. She gave him the look he dreaded. Her thin lips narrowed even more. “What have you gone and done now? You ripped your new shirt! I hope I don’t have to visit your teacher tomorrow. I have an open house all day!” she scolded, as she cupped her hands around his face and stared down at his blackened eye. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. How many times do we have to tell you? You have to stop this kind of behavior!”
“It wasn’t my fault! He shouldn’t even be at our school! That kid always starts everything. He always has to show off. He told me that white guys never make good ballplayers.”
She cut him off before he could finish. “You can’t spend your life blaming other people. I hear the same excuse over and over again. You are definitely grounded! Now go to your room and do your homework. And then you’ll be practicing your piano lesson for an hour, too!”
“That’s cruel! The day will be over!” he bellowed back, then instantly wished he could take back his words. He saw that glare of hers again.
Her lips narrowed as she clenched her teeth together and bit down hard before she raised her voice even louder this time. “That’s right! And there will be no TV either! And wait until I tell your father. As if we don’t have enough problems!” She just went on and on, talking to herself about all their money problems, like a madwoman, as she drifted back to her kitchen in her depressed mood about life. Her face covered in worry lines. Her mind mulled over the same thought, over and over again allowing her energy source to get even more drained by the second.
Henry, took it all in. Right down to his core where he believed he was a trouble maker. He continued going from one fight to the next. Attracting that same negative vibration into his space time and time again was what he was doing.
With his shoulders slouched even more, he made his way upstairs to his bedroom. The Fluff Man followed, wagging his tail, full of love for his master and completely unaware of his doldrums and all the consequences he had created for himself today.
I STOOD BESIDE Sam, who was still harboring all the events of the day on his long bus ride back to his side of town. It was a good twenty miles away from the place he hated having to go to school every day.
“You shouldn’t let ’em get to ya,” Vanessa said, like she knew better, as she tried to comfort him with a pat on his knee.
“I coulda flattened him!” he declared loudly, full of that dark anger he needed to release. It had been eating him up for months now for a lot of reasons.
“You shouldn’t let ’em get to ya,” Vanessa said again, lovingly trying to connect with him.
“Well, I ain’t goin’ back. I don’t need no whitey telling me I’m stupid! I don’t need no school either. I’m gonna be a businessman just like my bro!” He raised his head in the air, like he was a big man, like his bro.
“My papa, he says that kind of business, drug dealing, is bad business. It’s gonna send you to hell.” She quoted her daddy, believing it was all true. There was a place called hell.
Sam stared out the school bus window. I knew what he was thinking. “Couldn’t get much worse than this kind of hell,” he mumbled, subconsciously speaking his thoughts. His neighborhood was his hell. He hated that it was covered in graffiti. That there were gang symbols everywhere claiming ownership to other people’s property. He hated that his neighborhood lacked those pretty perfumed flower gardens, and those green, green lawns, and those white picket fences that Henry’s neighborhood had. He hated that he had been born in South Central.