IN THE NEW MILLENNIUM: Laura and Ark at Green Key Beach in New Port Richey last Sunday.
This is Laura's true gift. The only special ability of hers to which I can swear.
When I share Laura's story with people, they ask me what it means. I tell them I do not know. I cannot prove that sixth-density beings, hailing from a constellation in the sky, actually hooked her up with a second husband who was perfectly suited for her but who lived across the ocean.
All I know is, Laura is real, and Ark is real, and against all the odds, they found each other and are now married.
Isn't that enough?
I find it amazing that Laura has spent so much of her life pursuing aliens and dark entities, when in the end she caught hold of something far more elusive. We talk about love all the time, but how do we know it's real? We can't see it, can't nail it down, cannot begin to prove exactly what it is. Love is an idea, an invisible notion without form or substance, that we accept on faith. And yet we spend our lives chasing it. We crave it, long for it, cry ourselves to sleep over it. We do these things, because we feel what love means inside us, and that is all we need to know that it is real.
When I go to see Laura and Ark these days, I think about these things. I see them together, and it reminds me that the invisible is sometimes within reach. They have been married for a year and a half now. They live in the house on Montana Avenue. They have renovated it and redecorated extensively. The walls in the living room have been painted an odd shade, vaguely purple; the windows are hung with curtains of leopard prints. One of Laura's friends, viewing the changes, has politely called Laura's taste "whimsical."
"I think it's pagan baroque," says Laura, grinning.
The kids are growing up. Laura's two oldest daughters have jobs now and have moved out. The three remaining children, including Jason, live at home. Their father, Lewis Martin, lives not far away, in Crystal River. He sees the children whenever he can. If he feels any bitterness toward his ex-wife, he did not show it when I last spoke with him. He told me he has moved on; he said he still believes in Laura and considers her "a seeker."
"I wish her no ill will."
Laura and Ark have gone on with their lives as well. Ark says he works as a contractor for Constellation Technology, a defense company in Largo. He works at home mostly, staring at his computer screen, working on mathematical equations and physics problems that I could not begin to explain.
Laura works at the house as well. She is busy with the kids, assisting Ark with his research, branching into new directions with her work, which remains as provocative as ever. Though she no longer performs spirit detachments or exorcisms, Laura says she and Freddie still channel communications from the Cassiopaeans; Ark sits with them, posing questions about physics and other topics to the Cs. Laura and Ark have also put together something called a "psychomantium" in Laura's study, which is basically a black felt tent that she lowers from the ceiling. As best I can understand it, Laura sits inside the darkened enclosure with a candle and a mirror. By staring into the mirror for extended periods of time, she hopes to someday see images from past lives or other realities.
In recent months, Laura and Ark have devoted a great deal of time to a sprawling Web site that discusses their lives, their theories, the channeling with the Cs. Those who read through its contents will see that my descriptions of the channeling have only skimmed the surface of that subject.
Laura's curiosity remains as epic as ever. Not long ago, I noticed two piles of books -- her current reading material -- stacked precariously beside her chair in the living room. The titles included The Atlas of Early Man, The Myth of the Eternal Return, Mysteries of the Alphabet, The Etruscans and Subquantum Kinetics. Not all of her selections were so intellectual. Wedged in the middle of the books was a copy of Woman's World magazine, which she was scanning for new diets.
Her desire to unlock the mysteries of the cosmos burns just as fiercely as when I first met her. Recently I asked what her goals were for the years ahead. She gave me her list.
"A," she told me, "change the universe.
"B, transcend space and time, which includes time travel into the future and into the past.
"Or, C, transition into another density and effect all of the above."
In the meantime, Laura and Ark have each other. The two of them talk for hours on end. They almost never go out, except when she wants to venture to Sam's Club to hunt for bargains.
"We don't go anywhere," she says happily. "We don't do anything."
There is a different feeling now to Laura's life. It feels less scattered than before, less uncertain, immeasurably more calm. Inside the house, there is a palpable, tangible sense of contentment.
Recently I asked her what she has learned. Not so much about aliens or UFOs, but about her heart.
Laura paused and thought for a moment.
"In my mind," she said, "life is an ongoing miracle. It really is a miracle. And the one thing I have learned just in the past few years is that if you don't see something miraculous in your life, if it seems dark or sad or it seems like a burden, the most miraculous thing you have is your ability to choose to be that miracle. I mean, to be it. I think once people choose to be a miracle, the universe reflects that back to them."
Some people would call this luck. Laura would not.
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Laura Knight's Web site can be accessed at: www.cassiopaea.org.
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Just before the clock struck 12, we stepped out onto the front lawn and watched as Laura and Ark lit fireworks in the street. All around the neighborhood, other people were shooting off fireworks of their own. Laura and Ark were acting like schoolkids. They would run into the street, light one of the fuses, then run together back onto the lawn, laughing and holding hands.
At the stroke of midnight, cries and cheers rose from the houses and streets around us. The two lovers kissed as a blaze of explosions lit the sky, obscuring the stars burning in the blackness beyond.
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