Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah
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In the cloud-washed airspace between the cornfields of Illinois and blue infinity, a man puts his faith in the propeller of his biplane. For disillusioned writer and itinerant barnstormer Richard Bach, belief is as real as a full tank of gas and sparks firing in the cylinders ...until he meets Donald Shimoda - former mechanic and self-described messiah who can make wrenches fly and Richard's imagination soar...In Illusions, the unforgettable follow-up to his phenomenal New York Times bestseller Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Richard Bach takes to the air to discover the ageless truths that give our souls wings: that people don't need airplanes to soar ...that even the darkest clouds have meaning once we lift ourselves above them ...and that messiahs can be found in the unlikeliest places - like hay fields, one-traffic-light midwestern towns, and most of all, deep within ourselves.
bread-baking." I didn't reply to that, just eased myself down on my bedroll and was quiet as could be. If he had something to say, he could say it in his own good time. "Some of us start learning these things subconsciously. Our waking mind won't accept it, so we do our miracles in our sleep." He watched the sky, and the first clouds of the day. "Don't be impatient, Richard. We're all on our way to learning more. It will come to you a little faster now, and you'll be a wise old spiritual maestro
something's happening, the cloud strikes back and goes poufing up bigger than ever." He sighed and sat up. "Pick me a cloud. An easy one, please." I chose the biggest meanest cloud in the sky, three thousand feet tall, bursting up white smoke from hell. "The one over the silo, yonder," I said. 'The one that's going black now." He looked at me in silence. "Why is it you hate me?" "It's because I like you, Don, that I ask these things." I smiled. "You need chal lenge. If you'd rather, I could
this was. "So you never get lonely, Don?" I said. "Unless I feel like it. I have friends on other dimensions that are around me from time to time. So do you." "No. I mean on this dimension, this imaginary world. Show me what you mean, give me a little miracle of the magnet... I do want to learn this." "You show me," he said. 'To bring anything into your life, imagine that it's already there." "Like what? Like my lovely lady?" "Anything. Not your lady. Something small, at first." "I'm supposed
Shimoda fell the last inch to the primer knob, and died. There was a roaring in my ears, the world tilted, and I slid down the side of the torn fuselage into the wet red grass. It felt as if the weight of the Handbook in my pocket toppled me to my side, and as I hit the ground it fell loose, wind slowly ruffling the pages. I picked it up listlessly. Is this how it ends, I thought, is everything a master says just pretty words that can't save him 180 from the first attack of some mad dog in a
over my farm?" "Sure," I said. "Just point the way you want to go, sir." I dumped my bedroll and toolbag and cook pots from the front cockpit of the Fleet, helped the man into the passenger seat and buckled him in. Then I slid down into the rear cockpit and fastened my own seat belt. "Give me a prop, will you, Don?" "Yep." He brought his water cup with him and stood by the propeller. "What do you want?" "Hot and brakes. Pull it slow. The im pulse will take it right out of your hand." Always