Treasure, Treachery, and Love
By Summer Bacon
I was sitting on a Southwest airlines flight on my way to Los Angeles in May 2001. In my hands I held a leather bound copy of the book I’d been editing for the past year, Now That I’m Dead, by Jerry P. Helmeczi.
Now That I’m Dead is a remarkable true story of treasure, treachery and love. It is a compelling read that blurs the lines of mysticism and Christianity, and bridges two worlds 270 years apart. Digging through the sands of time, Jerry takes us on a journey into the dark world of 1726 pirates and back into modern times where, in a startling revelation, he discovers that they have buried their treasure on the very spot where his father has built the family home. This book is a fascinating excavation of the heart, mind and soul…and actual buried treasure.
It is also the story of my own past life experience. Prior to meeting Jerry, I was having nightly encounters with rowdy pirates who awakened me, taunted me, and teased me to the point of tears. I normally am not afraid of spirits of any kind, but these guys were relentless, and I couldn’t get them to go away. I didn’t know why they were there, or what they wanted from me.
When I met Jerry, I found the answers. I agreed to publish his book within minutes after we met. The conversation when we met went like this, starting with Jerry, who paced back and forth like a nervous parrot as he spoke.
“I have a book you need to read.”
“Yeah? What’s it called?”
“Now That I’m Dead.”
“Oh? I’m a trance medium.”
“Oh, really? We need to talk.”
“I know. I’m going to publish your book.”
“I know. You’re the next player.”
“I know. Why do you say that?”
“I need to give you a piece of the key,” he blatantly ignored my question, although I knew he heard it. Jerry doesn’t miss a trick.
“What key?”
“The key.”
“A real key?”
“Yeah. You can hold it in your hand. You’ll have to see it someday.”
Jerry had, in one imperceptible movement, taken my hand in his, and placed his palm flat on top of mine. His hand was small and perfectly shaped like mine, and had a similar warmth. It seemed that his hand had always been there. That it had never left. Unbeknownst to Jerry, my car keys were dangling * * heavily from between my forefinger and my thumb. He couldn’t see them, and although I could feel they were going to drop to the ground, I didn’t care, and made no attempt to prevent the fall. I was mesmerized as he spoke.
“I dug into the sand, and found myself shaking hands with a skeleton.”
Just as I suspected would happen, the keys dropped to the floor with a thud. I was not self conscious, and I didn’t move to pick them up, but stayed focused on Jerry’s face.
“That’s okay. Keep going,” I said.
Jerry smiled at the irony, and quickly snatched the keys from the floor, placing them firmly into my hand.
I hated that second without his touch. I left my hand in a ready position.
“No, no!” he said, “This is perfect. It’ll help to illustrate the point.”
Again, to my relief, he placed his hand on top of mine, this time covering the keys.
“And, as I pulled my hand out of the sand…” he slid his hand slowly off of mine, palming the keys as he did this, “I had in my hand…a key. He’d handed me a f---ing key.” Jerry held the keys to my vehicle.
He smiled radiantly, and knowingly. Something felt familiar.
“You know, the book is the treasure, Jerry.”
“I know.”
Before I even read the book, I was taken on mystical adventures that revealed the story to me, and showed clearly who I was in it. Suddenly my life began to make sense. The lines of my existence were blurred. I watched my past life unfold in front of me as if I was watching a newsreel. It was the most exciting experience of my life.
During the editing of the book, Jerry and I learned that one of my ancestors had actually lived in the pirate’s lair that was now buried deep in the sand underneath his father’s house. The parallels of our lives were uncanny.
So, now I was sitting on an airplane with a handmade leather bound version of the book, bound for Los Angeles. I was nervous as I read it, and thought, “Hmm...maybe I shouldn’t be reading a book called Now That I’m Dead while I’m flying on an airplane.”
I put the book down, and looked at the aisle. Three of the five pirates in the book were standing there pointing at me and laughing. I was flabbergasted.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked them telepathically.
In their classic gutteral British accents they said, “Ohh...we’re just gonna have a little fun!”
“What?” I cried out in my mind.
Suddenly, it felt like the airplane dropped 200 feet. On a remarkably clear and cloud free day, the plane bounced mercilessly from turbulence. The pilot told us to fasten our seatbelts, which we gladly did, and we bounced along all the way into Burbank airport.
The plane landed with a hard thud, and we taxied at breathtaking speeds through the airport. The plane would bank, and people were grabbing onto the seats in front of them to steady themselves.
The flight attendant was brilliant. “Please remain seated until the Captain brings the aircraft to a screeching halt in front of the terminal.”
Everyone laughed in relief, while we held on for another rollercoaster turn. The brakes slammed on, and we were jolted forward as the plane came to a stop.
The flight attendant continued, “And, thank you for flying Southwest Airlines, where we prove that we CAN taxi as fast as we fly.” We were all in stitches. Fortunately, they were the kind that come with laughter.
Once the book was ready for press, it was decided that the pirates needed to get out of the sand of their existence. The pirates are now free. On one amazing afternoon, I sat and channeled the pirates one at a time, and Jerry guided them to the light
I never knew that I could love beings who were so ruthless, mean and souless. In the editing of this book I learned the value of all humanity and spirit. I learned to love the pirates, and I learned how truly sad and vulnerable they could be. To think that they had been trapped in the sand for nearly 300 years was unbelievable. I felt their desperation. I felt their need for release. Above all, I knew that they, just like anyone else, deserved love and peace.
I was sitting on a Southwest airlines flight on my way to Los Angeles in May 2001. In my hands I held a leather bound copy of the book I’d been editing for the past year, Now That I’m Dead, by Jerry P. Helmeczi.
Now That I’m Dead is a remarkable true story of treasure, treachery and love. It is a compelling read that blurs the lines of mysticism and Christianity, and bridges two worlds 270 years apart. Digging through the sands of time, Jerry takes us on a journey into the dark world of 1726 pirates and back into modern times where, in a startling revelation, he discovers that they have buried their treasure on the very spot where his father has built the family home. This book is a fascinating excavation of the heart, mind and soul…and actual buried treasure.
It is also the story of my own past life experience. Prior to meeting Jerry, I was having nightly encounters with rowdy pirates who awakened me, taunted me, and teased me to the point of tears. I normally am not afraid of spirits of any kind, but these guys were relentless, and I couldn’t get them to go away. I didn’t know why they were there, or what they wanted from me.
When I met Jerry, I found the answers. I agreed to publish his book within minutes after we met. The conversation when we met went like this, starting with Jerry, who paced back and forth like a nervous parrot as he spoke.
“I have a book you need to read.”
“Yeah? What’s it called?”
“Now That I’m Dead.”
“Oh? I’m a trance medium.”
“Oh, really? We need to talk.”
“I know. I’m going to publish your book.”
“I know. You’re the next player.”
“I know. Why do you say that?”
“I need to give you a piece of the key,” he blatantly ignored my question, although I knew he heard it. Jerry doesn’t miss a trick.
“What key?”
“The key.”
“A real key?”
“Yeah. You can hold it in your hand. You’ll have to see it someday.”
Jerry had, in one imperceptible movement, taken my hand in his, and placed his palm flat on top of mine. His hand was small and perfectly shaped like mine, and had a similar warmth. It seemed that his hand had always been there. That it had never left. Unbeknownst to Jerry, my car keys were dangling * * heavily from between my forefinger and my thumb. He couldn’t see them, and although I could feel they were going to drop to the ground, I didn’t care, and made no attempt to prevent the fall. I was mesmerized as he spoke.
“I dug into the sand, and found myself shaking hands with a skeleton.”
Just as I suspected would happen, the keys dropped to the floor with a thud. I was not self conscious, and I didn’t move to pick them up, but stayed focused on Jerry’s face.
“That’s okay. Keep going,” I said.
Jerry smiled at the irony, and quickly snatched the keys from the floor, placing them firmly into my hand.
I hated that second without his touch. I left my hand in a ready position.
“No, no!” he said, “This is perfect. It’ll help to illustrate the point.”
Again, to my relief, he placed his hand on top of mine, this time covering the keys.
“And, as I pulled my hand out of the sand…” he slid his hand slowly off of mine, palming the keys as he did this, “I had in my hand…a key. He’d handed me a f---ing key.” Jerry held the keys to my vehicle.
He smiled radiantly, and knowingly. Something felt familiar.
“You know, the book is the treasure, Jerry.”
“I know.”
Before I even read the book, I was taken on mystical adventures that revealed the story to me, and showed clearly who I was in it. Suddenly my life began to make sense. The lines of my existence were blurred. I watched my past life unfold in front of me as if I was watching a newsreel. It was the most exciting experience of my life.
During the editing of the book, Jerry and I learned that one of my ancestors had actually lived in the pirate’s lair that was now buried deep in the sand underneath his father’s house. The parallels of our lives were uncanny.
So, now I was sitting on an airplane with a handmade leather bound version of the book, bound for Los Angeles. I was nervous as I read it, and thought, “Hmm...maybe I shouldn’t be reading a book called Now That I’m Dead while I’m flying on an airplane.”
I put the book down, and looked at the aisle. Three of the five pirates in the book were standing there pointing at me and laughing. I was flabbergasted.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked them telepathically.
In their classic gutteral British accents they said, “Ohh...we’re just gonna have a little fun!”
“What?” I cried out in my mind.
Suddenly, it felt like the airplane dropped 200 feet. On a remarkably clear and cloud free day, the plane bounced mercilessly from turbulence. The pilot told us to fasten our seatbelts, which we gladly did, and we bounced along all the way into Burbank airport.
The plane landed with a hard thud, and we taxied at breathtaking speeds through the airport. The plane would bank, and people were grabbing onto the seats in front of them to steady themselves.
The flight attendant was brilliant. “Please remain seated until the Captain brings the aircraft to a screeching halt in front of the terminal.”
Everyone laughed in relief, while we held on for another rollercoaster turn. The brakes slammed on, and we were jolted forward as the plane came to a stop.
The flight attendant continued, “And, thank you for flying Southwest Airlines, where we prove that we CAN taxi as fast as we fly.” We were all in stitches. Fortunately, they were the kind that come with laughter.
Once the book was ready for press, it was decided that the pirates needed to get out of the sand of their existence. The pirates are now free. On one amazing afternoon, I sat and channeled the pirates one at a time, and Jerry guided them to the light
I never knew that I could love beings who were so ruthless, mean and souless. In the editing of this book I learned the value of all humanity and spirit. I learned to love the pirates, and I learned how truly sad and vulnerable they could be. To think that they had been trapped in the sand for nearly 300 years was unbelievable. I felt their desperation. I felt their need for release. Above all, I knew that they, just like anyone else, deserved love and peace.