The Gleam Within

Theo met me as I was walking back down the mountain to Owl Creek. He was empty handed, but looked very happy, as it he had been successful. He smiled at me. “Well, by the smile on your face, you look like you must have found gold,” he said.

 

“I did,” I answered him, and showed him the contents of my pack.

 

He whistled. “Good job!  I’m glad you found some. Why are you carrying it like that though?”

 

“What do you mean?” I was confused.

 

“Let’s get back down to the house, and I’ll show you what I mean,” he said, and set a pace my tired legs could barely keep up with.

 

When we got to the house, Theo called for Lissa to join us, and we all sat down in the front room. “Show Lissa your find,” he told me.

 

I did this, and she smiled and asked, “But why are you carrying it that way?”

 

I was completely puzzled. “Theo asked the same thing. But I don’t understand what you mean,” I said.

 

“Pick up a nugget,” Lissa told me.

 

I did, holding it in the palm of my hand.

 

“Now, relax, close your hand around it. Do you feel what’s inside it?”

 

I could feel something, yes. It was like the feeling I had when I first found the nugget- a germ of an idea, a flash of inspiration gleamed at me like the nugget had in the dark mine.

 

“Oh!” I said.

 

“That’s it. You’re getting it! Now just keep doing that. Do you feel it becoming a part of you? Reaching down inside you and growing?

 

I did.

 

“Good. Now you see what the gold can do. Reach for it, feel it, let it grow within you. When you are creating, let the gleam from this gold flow into what you are making, let it help you create. You’ll be surprised at what you can do with it when you have some practice.”

 

I smiled at them. “Thank you so much. You’ve truly helped.”

 

“Let me get you a bag for the rest of your nuggets,” said Lissa, getting up.

 

I turned to Theo, “How do you carry your gold?” I asked.

 

“Look!” He opened his hand, and I saw a gleam of gold in the palm, but it was like it part of his body.

 

“With practice, you will be able to do this too. Don’t be alarmed if the alluvial gold becomes one with you. It just means you have learned to tap it at will. Lissa doesn’t even need to be physically at the mine anymore to find the gold. Keep trying. You’ll get there too.”

 

Lissa came back with a little embroidered bag- despite the fact that the gold was weighing me down, I was surprised to see that there wasn’t a lot of it physically. It was just very heavy, very rich. “I keep these around for the people I host,” she smiled. “I’m so glad you were able to find gold!” She helped me transfer the nuggets into the bag- except for the one in my hand, which I was surprised to see was like Theo’s now – part of me.

 

“Good!” said Lissa. “You’re catching on fast.

 

The gleam from the nugget was begging me to go and write for a while. “I can see what you want to do!” Lissa laughed. “You’ll find pens and paper at the desk in your room. Dinner won’t be ready for a while. Go and write. I know that Theo always has to play when he gets home.” Laughing, she left for the kitchen. Theo and I looked at each other and smiled, and he reached for his fiddle as I headed for the stairs.

I had found the secret of my own spark of creativity- buried deep inside, in the dark, where the gleams from the gold shone brightly. I thought that may have been the easy part- finding that it was there. Now came the work- finding it again when I needed it, and leaning to use it.

 

Posted by She Wolf

Depths of the Mine

When I stepped through the door, I found myself in a white swirling mist, seemingly lit from within. Barely seen muted wisps of colors slid by me in this mist and I grasped at them as they went by, only to find that they were insubstantial and slipped through my fingers. I went deeper into the cavern and the mist lightened a little bit. Now I could see flashes as of gold along the wall, dimmed by the thinning mist. I ran over to them, but they were not really there, either. They were just illusions, fed by desire, born from idle wishes for quick results, no more than fairy lights.

So I went deeper into the caverns, following a trail that I felt, rather than saw. The mist grew thinner and the cavern grew darker. I followed the cavern deep into the heart of the mountain. Finally, it grew so dark that I had to light my candle. (Funny, that- I had been in caves before, and usually when you pass the second bend, all, and I do mean all, the light is gone. Here, it went away slowly and gradually, along with the obscuring mist.)

By candle light, I slowly worked my way deeper and deeper into the mine, checking the walls as I went for signs of gold. The way grew narrow and the walls grew rougher. I was seeing bands of quartz in them, though, which was a good sign.

Finally, with my candle half gone, I squeezed through an opening into a small room that seemed to be a dead end. The milky quartz that formed it gleamed in the light from my candle, throwing reflections everywhere. It was fairly dry in here, and warmer than I had expected. There was a sandy spot in the middle of the floor with a smooth rock behind it, and I went over and sat down, leaning against the rock. For a few minutes, I watched the light from my candle skitter around the walls and then quite suddenly, my candle went out.

I was startled, but didn’t panic. I could relight it when I was ready. Instead, I sat in the complete darkness. I listened to my own breathing, felt my heart beating. I began to breath slowly and felt myself relax and slow down. I closed my eyes and then laughed at myself. It was so dark that having my eyes open or shut would make no difference, so I opened them again.

Breathe in, breathe out. Relax. Let your mind flow.

Then I saw it. A flash of gold. And then another. Flash after flash of gold came from around the room.

I got up, slowly, carefully, and went over to one of the golden gleams. I touched it, and it was real. I pried the nugget loose from the wall, and then went on to another. Nugget after nugget was added to my load.

Finally, with my hands and pack weighed down with the precious resource, I sat down again, in the deep darkness, feeling my way back to where I thought I remembered the sandy spot and rock being. Leaning back against the stone, I breathed slowly and deeply once more, and calmed myself from the excitement of finding so much hidden gold.

Then, feeling like I had done enough for one day, I lit my candle again. Once more the room glistened with the light dancing on the quartz vein. There was no gold to be seen, although I knew it was there. I had the proof in my pack and in my hands. Heavy, rich gold- I looked at it in the dim candlelight and marveled.

Slowly, I made my way back to the surface of the mine, following long passages that grew progressively lighter and brighter, easy passages filled with the false promise of quick riches, away from the true source of wealth hidden deep in the darkness of the mine.

When I reached the surface, the sun was setting in a crimson blaze and the air was crisp and fresh. I showed the keeper my gold, and she smiled at me, and nodded. I was exhausted, and slowly made my way back to town, to my host home.

 

Posted by She Wolf

What Shall I Slough

What shall I slough? What useless old skin shall I squeeze out of and toss away?

 

Impatience- that one might be good. Or how about self-doubt? That’s a nasty one. But it is very deep in the layers of myself, and won’t come loose readily. I’ll have to work on that one.

 

Hmmm, sloughing. I need to learn to take the time to finish my work properly. That includes my knitting and embroidery. A big box full of completed projects that I never bothered to mat and frame, bags with pieces for a child’s sweater never blocked and sewn together, stories and poems written and tucked away without smoothing and editing, or rushed out to put on my blog before I read it that one last time, so I have to go back and edit it when I see an error later- all cured by a little more patience.

 

I’m not impatient with the process of creating, just with the polishing and finishing, the going back over things. Perhaps this is what I shall slough, and make an effort to polish the bits and bobs I create so that they are not hidden away in a box somewhere, or put out with incompletions and  errors for all the world to see.

 

Procrastination, perhaps. That’s another one I could slough. There has been some discussion about that, and avoidance and distractions. I suppose it goes hand in hand with its brother impatience above, leaving those same boxfuls of completed work shoved away in a closet. Hmmm…

 

Choices for the moldy old skin I shall rid myself of – this is hard. I know some of the things that should go, but which one?

Finally, I think I have chosen; I’ll try the impatience today, I think, and the sloughing begins. I pull and scrape. It feels good, this letting go of things, but a little bit scary. I feel a bit naked. What if I need this later?

 

No, no, it has to go. It peels off in a cloudy bits, making a small heap on the floor. Finally, I finish and sweep it up, putting it in a pile with all the other sloughed pieces people have left here.

 

The Keeper of the Mine smiles warmly at me, and then says, “Good job. I know this isn’t easy. And it may try to grow back; in fact it almost certainly will, but you know now to be on guard for it, to slough it away each time you feel it growing back and accumulating again. Now, you are ready. Come with me, and put your hand in the handprint on the door.”

 Posted by She Wolf

Arriving At Owl Creek

George and I, along with our traveling companions, reached the town of
Owl Creek today, where the mine is. It did not take long for our friends to find new homes, but I found that I would miss this brave bunch of travelers. Someone, as the cat continued to call herself, said she might think about coming to visit me at Riversleigh. The dog said that he would miss me, too, but that a home and hearth were very important to him and he wasn’t sure he’d want to leave his new one. He left wagging and snuffling at his new master’s hand. The rooster didn’t make it quite as far as town. There was a small farm right outside of town that needed a rooster so he stayed there.

George was happy to get to a nice warm stable and a bucket of oats. I had enjoyed his companionship and learned many lessons under his tutelage. I promised to come and talk with him again soon.

I met the Keeper of the Mine. She told me that I needed to place my appeasement in the wooden box before I could go any farther. This I have done. Now I will wait and see what happens next.

Mining the Alluvial Mine — Day 10

Mining the Alluvial Mine — Day 10 March 18, 2007
Posted by Barbara in Lemurian Grand Tour, Barbara’s Journey, Mining. add a comment , edit post

Do I enter the mine or do I return to Riversleigh feeling like a quitter? Damascus will be disappointed if I don’t reappear and tell him of my explorations and discoveries. I don’t want him to think poorly of me. Why, my feelings run quite deep for my mule. I want him to be proud of me.

“Okay,” I mutter to myself. “I’ll go through the door and enter the mine.” I swallow hard, pick up my tools and blow out the candle. Taking my first steps into the cavern, its brightness makes me wish for sunglasses. I shade my eyes with my free hand and gaze around me. The ceiling is covered with massive crystallized stalactites; the walls with bits of sparkling jewels in a myriad of colors. Red, green, blue, purple, yellow, orange. I do not know the many different jewels’ names, but I am in awe of their beauty.

I look about the floor, searching for some sort of guide. The ground is covered with crushed jewels, demarcating several paths, each in a different hue. A red path switchbacks down the steep incline into the pit of the room. A green path on my left gradually rises up, hugging close to the eastern wall, and leads into a dark tunnel. A yellow passage creeps away from me, hugging the side of the cave and traveling around the edge of the bottomless hole. It follows the western wall and also disappears into a black passageway. I study the pathways carefully, trying to decipher the mystery of the cavern’s jeweled ground. Which trail shall I follow? I glance back at the doorway considering a quick escape, but the door is closed. Did it close itself? Did Maria close it? I have many unanswered questions.

I startle when I see a swooping shadow cross the vacuous space and dive towards me and duck under my arms. Then I sigh in relief when I see Pigeon settling in front of me. He scratches about in the loose crystals, then looks me in the eye.

“Pigeon, where have you been. Were you exploring? Any suggestions?” I take a few steps on the green passage, but Pigeon blocks my way, flapping his wings and squawking raucously.

“If you are so wise, show me the way.” I pause to see if Pigeon will give me direction. I am eager for any sign, for I cannot fathom which direction is the way. What illumination am I looking for anyway? “Come on, Pigeon. Where shall I go? I wish you could speak!”

Pigeon lands gently on my shoulder and pecks at me affectionately. Then he flies along the descending path. This is the very passage I want to avoid, but I do not want to hesitate and lose the trail of Pigeon. The luminosity of the cavern darkens as I peer over the edge of the pit. I cannot see its bottom.

I search my pack until I find a cylinder containing long, wooden matches. It is fortunate I kept hold of the candlestick and candle. I light the candle and prepare to descend. Am I to come face to face with my demons? I shudder and feel damp and cold. Again I reach into my handy tool pack and grab a heavy sweater and a woolen cap. I am ready, again. I can still see Pigeon’s wings flapping ahead.

My heavy work boots and jeans protect my legs as I carefully pick my way through giant crystal boulders and ledges, following the lead of Pigeon. Halfway down, I catch myself from falling by grabbing a rock, and cut my hand on the razor sharp points. Again I reach into my pack and search for a bandage and canvas gloves. Again I find what I am looking for. I begin to think I possess a magic pack. It provides whatever need.

I continue to watch my bird closely. He has led me before and I followed without question. I do not doubt his ability, although I cannot fathom how he knows the answers.

He continues to lead me down into the deep, and I regain some of my courage as we descend. After several hours, we reach the bottom. Then the going is rough because the jewel stalagmites cover much of the floor. Again the sharp points cut my exposed skin. I keep moving further and further into the depths of the caverns, until Pigeon leads me into a small clearing. With relief I lean my pack against a stalagmite and i sit down, leaning against my pack.

With rest, I become calmer than I have felt since entering this mysterious land. I seem to lose my uncertainty and my weariness as I journey into the depths. My eyes focus: I am infused with a curiosity I have never felt, a thirst for the nectar of creativity, the stirring of an overfull cauldron of knowledge. The struggle I endured in this land has come to fruition.

I pull the tiny wings from le Enchanteur’s bag, let Pigeon perch on my finger, and fly gracefully to the entrance. The door is ajar. I hurry through the corridor and pull away the overgrowth that hides the cave’s opening opening.

Damascus sees me and hee-haws with joy Pigeon and I race to his side. Again I rub my face into his shaggy mane, but this time I am crying with laughter, not fear and sorrow. We rejoice together as I tell Damascus of my discoveries.

“Where do we go now, Damascus?” I look around, anticipating good times to come.

“Just up the road, Dear. Not far away. Only minutes, really.” Damascus sniffs.

“Minutes,” I say. “Where are we going in only minutes?”

“Why, Dear, you have completed this leg of your journey. I now deliver you to the portal which leads to Riversleigh Mansion. Only steps away from tits back door, actually.” Damascus sniffs again.

“And, Damascus, what about you? When will I see you again?” I hold back my tears, rather unsuccessfully.

“Why, Dear,” replies Damascus carefully. “You will see me in your dreams, in your thirst for knowledge, in your quest to create what you see in your heart. You will see me often.”

“But, Damascus…”

“Look. Here we are. Now off you go, you and Pigeon. Through the passage, and then you’ll be safe without me. No good-byes, now. We’ll see each other again.”

I peek through the portal, and I can see the back of the Mansion. At the last moment, I turn towards Damascus. I must say good-bye.

I scan the surroundings, but I cannot see him.

He is gone.

Sloughing — Day 9

Sloughing — Day 9 March 17, 2007
Posted by Barbara in Lemurian Grand Tour, Barbara’s Journey. add a comment , edit post

Damascus stops under the willow trees near the cave entrance. He shakes himself so violently that the bag of tools slides from his back. My pack is also dumped onto the hard, crackled ground. The heat is becoming unbearable as I shoulder the tools, reach instinctively to touch le Enchanteur’s bag hanging around my neck and take deep breathes. My palms are sweaty and I feel the beginnings of a migraine banging around inside my head. Stress always gives me a headache.

Damascus noses me away from him and towards the entrance. “Go. I will wait for your return. Remember the secret door to Riversleigh behind the Mine Keeper’s chair. You may choose the other way and escape from this mysterious mountain in Lemuria. It is not a choice I would make, but it is always available.” His voice wanders off into nothingness as he gazes towards the mountain peak. Eventually his attention returns to me.

“You may take Pigeon. If for some reason you cannot continue, send Pigeon with a message to let me know. There are always other travelers coming who require a companion.” He turns his back to me and takes a couple of steps. Then he turns his head slightly. “Please return, Dear. I know you can complete the journey. Have faith and take one step, then another. I will be awaiting your return.”

I rush to Damascus’ side and throw my arms around his neck. Burying my face into his shaggy mane, I cry until I have no more tears. My head is exploding with pain. I do not want to leave Damascus and the comforts of the Valley.

“Dear, it is time. You must go in the mine now. Your assistant, Maggie, is awaiting your appearance.”

I know I have delayed too long. I again shoulder the pack of tools and stumble my way to the cave, my eyes still blurred by tears. Pigeon flies ahead, then waits for my approach. As I pull the overgrowth from the entrance, he alights on my shoulder and pecks my cheek. I swallow hard and step into the darkness. It is cool, a relief from the heat, but the smell is dank.

“Hello, Dear. Hello, Pigeon” The slightly lilting voice of a figure in the shadows greets me. “I have been waiting for you. Follow me, but first don’t forget your candle.”

I go to the table by the Keeper’s chair and find candles, just as I did on my first visit. One of the candles catches my attention. It is glowing slightly, it’s wick flickering ever so faintly. I take that candle and remove the candlestick holder from my bag. Once the candle is in the holder, it begins to burn brightly and casts a warm glow about the cave. I look to Maggie and she briefly smiles, a thin wavering smile. “Well done. Now follow me, please.”

She quickly sweeps down the long hall. I follow her, pain banging harder against my skull with each step. Midway down the hall, I can no longer walk unaided. I close my eyes in pain and drop my pack of tools, but when I lean against the damp roughness of the cave I feel a slight pulsing. Under the pressure of my hand, the power increases with each surge.

I open my eyes, wincing. The pulsing of the wall matches the pulsing of the pain in my head. I continue to touch the wall and feel its pulse grow stronger as the pulsing in my head disappears. The wall heaves violently and a dull redness creeps into its crevasses. A darkness hovers against the wall. It is the shadow I have owned since my earliest years. With all my concentration, I slough the shadow in its entirety from my soul. The darkness leaves me and it is sucked into the glowing rock. There is a sudden lightness in my body. Shaking with new energy, I run deeper into the cave to search for Maggie. She has continued down the corridor, unaware that I was lagging behind.

As I catch up to her, she suddenly stops. I trip over her feet and am thrown against a heavy wooden door. In the light from my candle, I see red ochre sketches on the wall — symbols — some of which I recognize. A bull, a ring, a serpent. A fish, a spear and many others figures that resonate with me, even though I cannot place their meaning. I feel a sudden fullness that I cannot explain.

Maggie pulls a piece of red chalk, darkened with age, from one of her many pockets. “Here. This is for your use.” Then she simply waits. Save for a slight dripping of water, the cave is silent. I know I must make my mark upon the wall of many marks, yet what should I draw? I do not know what is expected of me.

Slowly the hint of an idea creeps into my mind. I do not have to draw what I think is expected. I need simply draw that which is a part of me. Only I can know that my symbol is right. Hesitating no longer, I find an open area and render a simple drawing of a flame.

Before I can return the chalk to Maggie, she has disappeared. As I hesitate with uncertainly, a draft of heat draws my attention towards the door. Carved upon its surface is a hand print. I place my hand upon the print; they fit together perfectly. A slight tremble shakes the entire cave and the door swings open slowly. Pigeon, the daring bird he is, darts through the opening. I peek into the interior and I am awe-stricken. Before me is a intricately carved cavern that I can barely believe exists. Do I enter or do I return to the portal to Riversleigh?

Catacombs

Entering the Limestone Mines of the Paris Catacombs

Photo by Mari

Hazel and Harry Firth, and the Day Before — Day 8

Posted by bfahrenbac in Leaning Birch, Lemurian Grand Tour, Barbara’s Journey, Home Hosts. add a comment , edit post

Hazel and Harry Firth could not be friendlier folk. When I return from my meeting with the Mine Keeper, they show me their home and outbuildings. The setting in the Lemurian Valley is a perfect site. To the west, there are the ancient rock formations — the hoo-doos — spiraling into the sky. To the east, the rolling hamlet of Leaning Birches is spread out below the homestead. Looking closely, I follow the Owl Creek which flows through the center of town, and winds towards Mount Olympus. Hazel points out seven or eight houses snuggled into the hollow and others dotting the country nearby. The town has a church, a general store, a livery, the raven postal service. Hazel watches me as she adds slyly, “and we have a coffee shop, complete with internet service.”

How is that possible, I ponder. Did I misunderstand? “Internet? Are you sure, Hazel? Our internet? Everything seems so –well — quaint. Not that it’s bad. I don’t mean that. I just didn’t expect….

“Expect that we keep up with the world? You’re mistaken, my Dear. It is possible for us to know what the world is like in your land.” Hazel tsked at me a bit. “It is simply that we choose not to follow your way. We prefer our life as it is. But if you wish to go to town and send a message to your companions, why there’s a computer all set up for travelers. I’ll take you there myself.”

I have to think this through. “Maybe in awhile, Hazel. First, I’d like to see the rest of your property. Everything is so lovely.”

Harry overhears me, and together, the Firths take me on a tour. We explore the garden, all a color with reds and pinks and whites. (”My favorite colors,” says Hazel.) The greenery is so deep and shiny, so multi-colored, it is a spectacle in its own right. Harry lets me peek into the garden shed which is as immaculate as a kitchen is at home. The brick floor is recently scrubbed, and the shelves are painted and embellished with tiny paintings of flowers. Each flower corresponds to the seeds above them. Against the other wall are bins of potato sets, soon to be planted in the furrowed fields. A storage shed is behind the garden; the potatoes from the recent harvest are stored there, ready to be distributed to the Lemurian colony. Behind the house is an enclosed pen housing chickens and goats. Two baby goats cajol and dance with each other, occasionally butting their tiny horns. I find myself amused with their antics, and I wish I could be as carefree as they seem. The chickens, Hazel proudly informs me, lay enough eggs to supply all of Leaning Birches’ families.

We return to the barn, which is a simple structure, yet light and airy. Harry has his own mule, a stubborn cuss named Simon, Harry says. “You can’t imagine your good fortune having a donkey like Damascus. The most impressive beast I’ve seen in many a year.” Of course, even though Damascus is gobbling down another stash of hay, he overhears everything.

“Why, pleased to have you be so kind,” says my donkey, demurely. Can I believe this? Not only is Damascus turning coy, why, he’s blushing. (I’ve been with him long enough now, I can read his every expression.)

I resist bursting into hysterical laughter by stepping into the house with Hazel. I hadn’t had time to look about the home when I dropped my pack off earlier this afternoon, but now I stand in the central room — all living room and dining room and kitchen in the one room. A pot belly stove sits on one side of the room and a wood burning cook stove is on the opposite wall. Comfy furniture and crocheted afghans and doilies make the room cozy and well-cared for. The dining room table is set with three places, and the smell of home cooking fills the room. Flowers in tin cans are set about the room and a canary sings on its perch. Everywhere I look there is yet another tiny treasure to enjoy.

“Now, you go on and wash up, Dear. Here’s your room, off the kitchen. A nice view of the flower gardens and warmth from the stove. Daresay, you’ll want for nothing.” Hazel shows me into a spacious room with windows for walls on three sides of the room, and flowers and vines climbing up the window trellises. The bed is dressed in pure white, layer upon layer of linen and pillows. A small bureau with a porcelain wash bowl atop it and a lovely cushioned rocking chair fill out the room. There is a basket on a shelf that contains everything I might need — soap, brushes, lotions, shampoos, and other goodies. There are rolled up towels and a plush white chenille robe in just my size. I sit upon the bed to think a moment.

Hazel calls to me through the door. “Why don’t you rest a bit before dinner, Dear? You have about thirty minutes.”

Grateful for a little time alone to calm my racing thoughts, I muster a thanks. There is so much to think about. How will I prepare for the mining of the cave? When will Harry tell me his secrets of mining? Will I succeed in my quest? I think of writing an e-mail to Riversleigh — now how weird is that? I decide to fore go modern technology and be satisfied with my journal.

Hazel calls me to dinner while I am yet mired in far flung thoughts. Breathing deeply, I gather myself together and come to the table.

“Look at this,” says Harry. “Why Hazel had gosh darn gone all out for ya, Dear! And I get to eat all the special treats, too.” Harry spoons piles of food onto his plate, while I decipher what is in these heaped-to-the-top serving bowls. Mashed potatoes in one, with gobs of melting butter sliding down the mounds. Scalloped potatoes and ham in a second dish. Potato and vegetable soup in a tureen. And potato dumplings in honey for desert.

“Why it all looks so good, Hazel. Let me try everything,” I say, a little amazed at quantity of the food. I only need look at the table a second to know I am amongst potato farmers. But I eat all the food, and fully enjoy it, especially those honeyed dumplings. Yum. I wonder what will be served for breakfast, but this is hours away and I don’t waste any thought on that.

After dinner, Harry speaks up. “Dear, Damascus has finally had his rest and grub. He’d like to talk to you for awhile.”
I shake my head in shame. In all this time, I have not given a thought to Damascus and his needs. I am ashamed as I go out to the barn, but my feelings are dispelled. Damascus is in a fine mood and Pigeon has made himself a tiny nest and he is sound asleep. Both my companions seem content.

“Well, Dear, did you have a nice rest and dinner? I am truly satiated and my nap has revived me.” He hee-haws a few times to show me he is in good spirits. “I’d pass on that trip into Leaning Birches for the time being. Harry will talk to you tonight, and we’ll start out at dawn tomorrow for the Alluvial Mine.”

“Oh, Damascus. I don’t think I’m quite ready for mining yet. Maybe in a few days…”

“Sure you are, Dear. Just keep a stiff upper lip and listen carefully to Harry. You’ll do fine tomorrow.”

As Damascus returns to nosing about in the hay, Harry calls me. “Dear, meet me in the garden in a few minutes. Do you hear?”

“Sure, Harry. I’ll go now.” I turn to Damascus one more time. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck?” he guffaws. “Why, you need courage and discipline and persistence. Well, and maybe a little luck. Now, begone with you.”

So Harry and I walk and talk in the garden until it is black outside and I can see only the glowing windows in the house. I try to remember all the things Harry is saying, but I feel a little overwhelmed. When he finishes, he tells me to get my rest. That is the last thing he says to me. Hazel wakes me in the morn.

In the fragile light of dawn, I eat riced potato porridge and then half-stumble to the barn. Damascus is ready for me to load him and in mere minutes we are on our way. Pigeon flies ahead as our lookout. It is finally time for me to explore the mine.

Damascus turns his head and eyes me. Then he turns away, keeping his head forward, watching the road. “Courage, my Dear. Courage,” he says to me.

Courage, I think. “Yes, indeed, Damascus. Thank you very much.”

Mining the Dream

In 2004, I went to live with my husband’s step-mother, who was living alone and recovering from a broken hip. She lived in Roswell, New Mexico. Nearly 10 years before this, my husband and I had driven and camped across the US, from our home in North Carolina to his birthplace in San Rafael, California and back. Along the way we visited Taos, New Mexico, and Monument Valley, and I fell in love with the Southwest. I longed to go back. In 2004, I got my chance. For six months I lived in Roswell but took trips all over New Mexico and also to Utah to go on a month-long archaeological dig. After six months it became clear that the step-mother needed (and was willing) to move to an assisted living place and I returned home. I had kept lists of places and things to show my husband when we would be able to travel back to the Southwest again and last October, we went back for a two-and-a-half week trip. We traveled all over New Mexico, returned to Monument Valley and Chaco Canyon and the Grand Canyon, and saw (for the first time) Canyon de Chelly and Bandelier. It was a dream come true.

In Canyon de Chelly, we took a Jeep tour led by a Native American man named Oscar Bia. Deep in the canyon, I heard some kind of high-pitched keening, like a hawk or an eagle. But when I asked Oscar what it was, he said it was a raven. We’d seen quite a few ravens in the canyons and mostly they seemed to be squawking. So I was skeptical that this keening was a raven but Oscar, giving me a strange look, assured me it was. I couldn’t see the raven either, but I took his word for it. Just recently, I had a dream of the Southwest. I have been a lucid dreamer for many years, and my favorite thing to do is fly. In this dream, I was some kind of bird and was flying over the distinctive rose, cream and teal colored mesas and buttes of the Southwest. And something inside of me was singing, “I’m home, I’m home.” The song sounded like a high-pitched keening and I know now the raven I heard in the canyon last October was me.

Day 6 – Lemurian Seed Packet

Tiny Froglet wakes up…