That Small Not So Still Voice
An excerpt from Being Here: Modern Day Tales of Enlightenment
by Ariel & Shya Kane
This chapter is devoted to hearing that small still voice; the one that normally does not insist that you listen to it, rather it comes with valuable information that you often realize was important in retrospect. It usually comes, unformed, as an impression, a flash, or a fleeting thought. Then later you say to yourself, âOh, thatâs what it meant. I knew I should haveâ¦â This voice is different from the loud internal radio station, WKRAP, that plays those oldies and not so goodies, the records of how you canât or arenât good enough â the records you would eagerly smash if you got the chance.
In the following story, our friend Ty is presented with an undeniable opportunity to really listen to himself. Persistent by nature, Tyâs intuition was also persistent to get him to finally take action, even though he did not believe in âthat sort of thing.â
Ty, a down to earth fellow in his mid-forties, has apple pink cheeks and the blush of youth. A farmer by trade, he spends his days tending his animals, preparing feed, managing workers, repairing machinery and basically keeping the farm running day-to-day. He once told us with a rueful grin that his animals would all have to up and die in order for him to take a proper vacationâ¦we guess this is actually true.
Ty went to school and earned a degree in business and finance but chose to go back to the farm, like his father before him. As an only child, he has taken over running things on the family farm in Boring, Oregon. People might underestimate him because he is so humble, with a ready laugh and genuine interest in things, allowing him to ask questions in a guileless manner that others might find embarrassing. But if you were to sit down one day and have a casual chat with Ty, you would see the genius that is quietly sitting behind his kind eyes and his soft features.
As a man with dirt beneath his nails, Ty would be the first to tell you that he doesnât think of himself as particularly intuitive, unless itâs the type of intuition that comes from years of experience â such as how to vary the feed or which antibiotic to use when his animals are showing signs of illness. So you can imagine his surprise when one frosty October evening he had a very peculiar dream. While he was sleeping, a voice came to him and very clearly said, âReturn the trains.â
Watching his wife softly breathing beside him, Ty thought, Thatâs odd. What could this mean? It was such a specific instruction and it seemed so clear in its intent. But, he didnât understand it.
At work that morning the words, âReturn the trains,â came back to him so he tried to guess the meaning. But as he became involved in the long hours and heavy work, he put it out of his mind until a few days later, when the dream came again. It was just as specific and equally as frustratingly vague. âReturn the trains,â it commanded. Awakened in the pre-dawn hours, he lay in his bed and pondered the meaning.
Ty realized that the theme of trains, in general, did have meaning for him. Heâd had a fascination for trains as long as he could remember, starting when his grandfather gave him model trains. He had adored them as a child and still cherished them as an adult. How can I return these trains? Ty wondered. His grandfather was long since dead. Ty also likes real trains. When he was just a boy his grandfather took him to the train yard. With his small hand clutched in his granddadâs enormous one, they would watch the trains pull in and unload grain and timber. The hoot of a night trainâs whistle still brought a nostalgic pang to his belly and occasionally a fluttering in his chest. But these trains were long gone; just phantoms of memory that could not be returned.
Being a practical sort, Ty dismissed the voice in his dreams and went to work. There was plenty to keep him occupied and at night, after spending the evening with his wife, he gratefully sank into bed. But sometime during the night, the voice came again. âReturn the trains,â it insisted.
Now this was getting annoying and kind of weird. Keeping the nocturnal auditory visits private, he wondered what it could mean. It was then that Ty remembered his Uncle Clyde and his cousin, Clydeâs son Jack, who had also collected trains when he was a boy. Jack, now in his late 50âs, had also been an only child. When Ty was young, his cousin, ten years older than he, sometimes babysat him and they would play trains together. But that was a lifetime ago, before Uncle Clyde died from a brain tumor.
Early in the morning, Ty ruminated on the last time he saw his uncle alive. It was in 1984 when Uncle Clyde was close to death and in hospice care. He had visited him in the upstairs of Clydeâs old home. Even though his breathing was labored and his face was pale, his uncle was glad to see him. Ty was glad he had made the effort to go. The families were not particularly close. There had been no major falling out â it was just the way his folks were. Ty had not seen Jack for several years. When he came in, Jack was at his fatherâs bedside. A full Colonel in the Green Berets, he looked fierce in his lace up black boots and military uniform. Ty was impressed with the powerful man he had become.
âWhat are you doing here?â Jack had snapped. âGet out of this house. I never want to lay eyes on you again!â
Jack had looked like he meant it and that he had the means to back up the implied threat in his words. So, apart from the funeral a few days later, Ty had not seen his cousin in nearly two decades.
Suddenly Ty remembered one train in his extensive collection that he had not bought and neither had his grandfather. There was one Lionel in mint condition, still in its box, that had once belonged to Jack. When Ty was 13 and Jack was 23, his Uncle Clyde had deemed that Jack was too old for toys and had carelessly given the train to Ty and never thought of it again.
As Ty lay in his bed that night, he realized that yes, there was one train he could return. In the light of day, however, the farm demanded that he get to his chores so he put it out of his mind.
It seems that the mysterious voice had other ideas. It intruded on his sleep now every night, getting more specific. âReturn the trains,â it commanded, âby Christmas!â
Thinking back on it later, Ty realized that he was a little cranky during that time, from having broken sleep. It was almost like having a young child in the house who didnât care whether or not Ty needed sleep or if he was dead tired from a hard day. The voice called out to get his attention and to spur him to action. But Ty was dragging his feet. He didnât believe in supernatural phenomena, you see. He believed in practicalities: animal husbandry, the earth, the seasons and such. So he put up with the noise and lack of sleep and went about his day with the kind of stubborn determination that helps a farmer make it though lean seasons.
New Yearâs came and went as winter turned the corner and headed into spring. But the voice was not finished with Ty yet. It, too, was determined and keeping pace with the calendar, it began to wake him again. âReturn the trains,â it said. Now there was a new instruction. âReturn the trains by Easter!â
Eventually Ty thought, Enough is enough. The Saturday afternoon before Easter Sunday, Ty placed the box with the little train in a brown shopping bag. He donned a red pullover, khaki pants and a pair of clean work boots and whistled to his chocolate Labrador Retriever, Hershey, to come along for moral support. As he got ready to climb into his truck, Ty was struck by a thought, What if he doesnât recognize me? It had been 20 years after all…
Click HERE to find out what happens!