An Introduction to Damascus, The Donkey — Day 3

 

Again I hear a deafening racket in my ears. I squint at a large form hovering over me, then gasp. I see a large, a very large, donkey perched precariously on the rocky ledge of the mountain with me and braying into my ears. I tentatively look down — we are at least 1,000 feet above the ground.

 

“Shant we get going?” The donkey speaks. I am surprised. The donkey speaks the King’s English. “The others have left months ago, perhaps even years ago. And I was sternly commanded to wait for any latecomers. That would be you, yes?”

“Why… yes. I have just started, and I am very behind. I’m so sorry you had to wait,” I said , chagrined at what appears to be a poor first meeting.

The donkey humphfed. “Well, you are who you are, aren’t you.” He looked me up and down, scowling. “And yet I do not know. Perhaps we shall have introductions, as one does in civilized countries. I have already met your Pigeon, and we have had a long discussion about your travels. In fact, we have made a pact.”

“And just why a pact? What are you up to?” I was wary as this trip was proving to be most surprising.

“Simple, my dear. You are a lone traveller, a woman at that, and you will need us if you run into, uh, unfortunate circumstances.”

“I am perfectly capable as a woman traveler. In fact, I dare say women are better travelers than men.” I was perfectly incensed. “Since I gather you are to be my companion, perhaps you will be surprised by my capabilities in the wild.”

“Yes. Yes. But we are wasting time, perched on this rock. Your country must be full of rude people. Here we are having a rather proper conversation, and we have yet to be introduced.

Pigeon swooped down between them. “Sorry, sorry! My fault! Donkey, this is Dear, although she will answer to Barbara most pleasantly. And Dear, this is Donkey. His proper name is Damascus and he prefers you call him his proper name. There. Now let’s get you two down from this precipice. I myself will have no problem. I shall meet you at the bottom.” And pigeon swooped into the air, riding the currents, until he could no longer be seen.

“Now, to see us down.” Damascus brayed with pleasure. “Lucky for you, I am very sure-footed. Fasten up!”

I tied my pack to the side of Damascus, using several of the bandanas that softened the straps of the pack on my shoulders. Already my things were handy! Then I clumberred upon his back, unsure of Damascus’s abilities, or truthfully, unsure of mine too. I need not have worried, for my travel downward was very smooth. I was not one bit fearful.

Until, that is, we took our first steps upon solid ground!

Barbara Farhenbac

« A Portal Passage — Day 2 The First of Many Lessons — Day 4 »

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Author : bfahrenbac–>
• Date : 5 March 2007
• Categories : Barbara’s Journey

A Portal Passage — Day 2

 

As goodbyes from the Riversleigh Manor residents still reverberate in the distance, deep fog in the woodsy landscape swirls about me. I find myself taking cautious steps, arms outstretched in front of me. Within minutes my hands touch a damp wall of mossy wet granite. I am perplexed; I do not remember rock formations in this part of the forest. The mist turns into rain, but luck is with me, for I fdiscover an opening in the rock. I duck into the drippy hole, a small cave in which I can barely kneel upright. As I move further inside the space diminishes, until I can only continue by slithering on my belly.I push my pack through the hole, wriggling it back and forth until it slides forward. Then Pigeon struts through, flapping its wings in excitement. But before I can follow, there is a firm tap on my back. I look into the shadows and am surprised to see le Enchanteur motioning for me to come to her.

 

“I have a gift for your journey, my dear. See? A tiny bag,” she says, smiling and holding a silken pouch towards me.

Curious, I inch towards her. I open the bag’s tie strings, emptying its contents on a clean cloth she has spread upon my lap. There is a tiny metallic paper packet marked ‘Ten Dream Seeds. Use with care!’ Then I find a pair of spectacles, old-fashioned granny glasses, but I see nothing remarkable when I gaze through the lenses. Next I pull out a candlestick, (why a candlestick?), a tiny anchor which is surprisingly heavy in my palm, a well-worn medallion with the imprint of a faded Unicorn on it, and a set of miniature wings which unfolds like a very large map. I catch a speck of writing on one of the wings. There IS a map imprinted lightly on the nylon mesh. A double use — a set of wings and a map combined! “How clever,” I whisper to myself.

Le Enchanteur hears me and dips her head slightly. “One more gift,” she says in a pleased voice.

I search in the bag and in one of the corners, I find a wee bit of gossamer. Opening it in my hand, I discover a pair of amber scissors set with crystal blades.

“Be careful. They are so sharp they can cut through a brick of diamond ,” cautions le Enchateur, “and do not let this bag out of your site. Hang it around your neck and keep it well-hidden until it is needed.”

I place the pouch under my shirts, resting it against my heart. When I look up to thank le Enchanteur, I see only the swish of her cape as she disappears into the rain. Breathing heavily, I return to squiggling through the hole. Ahead I see Pigeon illuminated by light, watching and waiting for me.

I finally poke my head into the light, blinking my eyes as I pull myself through the portal. I am awe-stricken. Before me lies the land of Lemuria. I lean my back against the cave’s wall to catch my breath and nearly fall. There is nothing but air behind me. The hole has evaporated into space. I am alone in a mystical country of strangers with no means of returning to familiar land.

I think of this only momentarily. Then all of my senses are magnetized. As my eyes adjust, I see I am surrounded by pure light, but it is a light without sun. The luminosity is spread across an endless sky. I wonder if night ever falls in Lemuria.

A breeze drifts across my face, singing a whistling melody. I strain to hear the sound as it fades, then crescendos, then fades again. Aromas float in the air — a mild scent of mint and lavender. I become even more aware of my surroundings — it is forever a greenery of shrubbery and plants of all types, sizes, and color. I recognize only a few common herbs, nothing else in all of this vast region.

I take a step back, stunned with the beauty surrounding me. And suddenly I gasp in surprise. I bump into rock — again! I turn around and see that I am standing on a rocky outcropping protruding from a tall mountain. I now understand why the view has become so magnificent. I am high and I can see everything succulent and lush, shining in its glory. The country feels welcoming; I feel relaxed.

Gradually I feel drowsy. I sink down onto the rock ledge, lean against the mountain, and use my pack as a pillow. I sleep deeply. Until I am jolted awake by a deafening sound.

« Visit Potsdam An Introduction to Damascus, the Donkey Day 3 »

Packing for Tour Day 1

 

 

 

So the message has been surreptitiously slidden under the door of my attic room. “Pack and leave at once on the Grand Tour. You are given permission to travel this road alone, as all the Riversleigh residents will be with you in thought. Find the portal to your trip to the East of Riversleigh, and do so with haste, for it may close at any time. Keep all of us posted.”I pull the green canvas pack from it’s strorage nook. It is special to me; it was given to me by my Grandfather as he lay on his bed dying. It is strong and versatile. It is supported by bamboo poles and can be used as a backpack with its straps or as a bag with handles. The straps, which once dug into my shoulders, have been heavily padded with bandanas and strips of cotton material. (Perhaps those items will come in handy.)

Now as to the actual packing, I must hurry before the portal closes. I throw in practical items (from my many years as a Girl Scout). I have no idea if I will need such things on my trip, but I pack a string and a fishing hook, a metal case holding matches, a small first aid kit, and a canteen of water. Next I pack my layer of clothing. A black leotard, exposing only my hands and my head. One never knows when one might need to sink into the background. I will pull on an extra pair of lightweight, but durable and warm, pants. I will need a tee-shirt for warm weather, a long sleeved shirt for cooler weather and my all purpose cape.

On the top level I will carefully pack my journal, colored pencils, pens; my camera although I am rather a photographic novice, but it may come in handy; and a bit of charcoal and my Conte pencils. That will provide me with a wide variety of media. And my tiny book of an inspirational nature.

Finally I pack on the very top, where they may easily be gotten, I pack courage, persistence, curiosity, good will and a spirit of adventure.

I set my very tame carrier pigeon, named rather originally Pigeon, on the top of the pack and I am ready to go. I will go down to the east veranda and say my good-byes.