The Secret - When You Can Walk On Water , Take The Boat ( Part 7 ) By John Harricharan At Isnare.com Ezine Articles

“We must speak more about the sea one of these days,” said Wittersham,“I myself am an old salt.”Turning to Seymour, Wittersham continued,“Seymour,I like this young man.I’ll be happy to have my company distribute your product.” Then he abruptly got up, said good-bye and left.

I could hardly contain myself.After so many months we'd finally landed one of the largest accounts in this business. Seymour would now take on our product because his largest distributor wanted it. The dark clouds of depression were lifting and my spirit had already taken wings.I couldn’t wait to tell them about it back home.

Seymour and I continued our conversation but it was now in a lighter vein. We talked about boyhood days when I stood on the shores of the Atlantic and gazed as far as the eye could see. How the passing of tramp steamers with smoke stained stacks would carry my thoughts to distant shores.How the tall ships with billowing,white sails would conjure up visions of mystic climes and far-off places. I told him of the many times I stood by a tree on the beach wondering if there were other boys standing on other shores looking out and wondering, just as I was doing.

I told him it was the song of the sea that lured me from my birthplace, led me through tropic isles with balmy breezes and finally set me down in the northeast portion of the United States. He smiled as I mentioned the song of the sea and how the thought of the trade winds still strongly calls to me, some- what like the singing of the sirens to a tired Ulysses.

Finally it was time to leave.Seymour agreed to have all the necessary documents signed and sent to me within a few days. He promised to work very closely with us to make the project a success.We said good-bye and I took my leave of him and returned to the hotel.It had been an exciting morning.

Marla was waiting for me in the lobby. “I trust you had a productive morning,” she said with a quick smile.

“Very productive,” I replied, and as an after-thought mentioned that no one had called me last evening.

“Of course you got the call,” she replied with a wink.

“No!Nobody called me last night,”Iinsisted, somewhat puzzled.

“Didn’t you receive a call for a Mr.Seymour?And wasn’t a Mr. Wittersham discussed? And didn’t the call contain important information,which you used during your meeting today? Have you forgotten your dream?”

I almost fell over. I'd told no one about my dream, not that there was anyone to tell, anyway. Yet Marla knew about it. In fact, it seemed she knew exactly what dream I was go- ing to have that night. I stared at her in awe. She seemed in some ways so similar to Gideon, especially in the way she said things. Noticing my discomfort, she calmly said, “Don’t be alarmed. You’ll understand more soon.Your flight leaves at six, so I’ll pick you up at four.This way,we’ll have enough time to get you to your plane.”Before I could answer, she turned, waved and was gone.

Puzzled and intrigued by the turn of events, I went to my room, packed my things, relaxed for a while to think over the events of the day and promptly fell asleep, thus missing lunch. When I awoke, it was almost four o’clock, so I quickly collected my things and went down to the lobby to check out and await Marla’s arrival. I tried to put out of my mind any thoughts about her and Gideon and their strange ways.

Marla was punctual and we made it to the airport in record time. In spite of the rush hour traffic, it almost seemed as if vehicles moved out of the way for us. Before saying good-bye, Marla mentioned she was extremely happy to have been of some help to me, that any friend of Gideon’s was a friend of hers and it wouldn’t be too long before all of us met again. I thanked her, wished her well, and boarded my flight.

Much as I tried to push Marla and Gideon out of my mind, thoughts of their strange ways haunted me and raised a thousand questions during the flight. I finally managed to engross myself in one of the inflight magazines, knowing that sin a few hours I’d be home.To read the rest of the story visit http://www.spiritual-simplicity.com

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