Lotus poised and rooted upon lush green fuzzy earth, he is reminded of that night many moons ago where she was the goddess of the firelight, and he the young squire.
We are all so beautiful. These are the words he sings as the symphony of life dance around his music. Perched high above a majestic river surrounded by the last of an old growth forest, these are the trees that know his name. Overhead gliding a blue heron is startled by his presence. He’s admiring her flow.
With the flutter of life inhaling and exhaling around him, tears stream from weathered indigo eyes. Spellbound in a distant memory, this legendary waterfront transports our hero upon the wings of antiquity, rattling the memory chains of bright lights and dark tunnels.
Entranced in the melody under nature’s cathedral, he senses their approach. It is a sacred gathering on the shores of his birth, and it’s simultaneously occurring around the entire planet. It is the age of Aquarius and humanity is fighting a battle between light and darkness. People are remembering who they are and their collective true purpose upon this planet. It is also an age where a fashionable, yet delusive dogma, threatens to derail the path of many. It is a calculated infiltration and sabotage upon the fractured algorithms of the human condition.
Like any extraordinary story, there’s tremendous temptation to dive deep for the decoder ring at the bottom of the box. So, before we stray too far ahead, let us surrender to the flow and venture into the heart of where it all began…
We are all so fractured. And although memories typically gravitate to the breathtaking sound bites, there’s been a darkness overshadowing him his entire life, attempting to suffocate the light. Human beings experience similar pain in this life, though it reflects on each at different times and in different ways. They struggle to find their voice among the fray, and yet, everyone wants to be heard. Even in his darkest moments of a hopeless abyss, there is a light. And though faint, it is a connection to a power greater than the self and to the unfettered magic of the child who once dreamt of it all.
Staring deeply into the mirror of uncertainty, he scours his soul for a glimmer of hope. A catalogue of painful memories stares back, entombing him in silence. Desperately resisting the suffocating stranglehold of darkness, he sternly confronts his reflection. Tears streaming from his eyes, he screams. “Why are you the one still alive and breathing? It should have been you and not them…” Mourning the loss of a wilting spirit, he collapses to the floor sobbing uncontrollably. He recalls stories of others hitting rock bottom, and assumes he is there, but alas the bottom many believe they’ve reached is but a mere glimpse to the true bottom patiently awaiting final descent.
Sounds of songbirds serenading the day, snap the stranglehold of his terminal uniqueness. Scanning the backyard through an old tobacco-stained window, he follows the spiraling twitters. Finally ending in a slow trill, bright red plumage dance in a lush green backdrop of dense shrubbery. He lightly taps the window with his finger tip.
“Hey there, little red. Look at you doing your thing, so perfectly lovely.” He pauses momentarily wiping one streaming tear from his cheek. “Wish I could fly with you in and out of the treetops, high into the sky, to a place no one else knows.”
Mesmerized in the simplicity, his sobbing dissipates. Waving his wing like a matador’s cape, little red finally flies off. This little red beacon shines long enough to temporarily lift him from the consuming sadness. It’s an unfortunate perceived reality progressing slowly over time, blinding him from the true self. Walking back towards the mirror, smacking his cheeks, briskly running his fingers through his hair, he mutters to himself, shake it off, cry baby. Tonight, is the party of the summer, and his entire crew will be there. Feeling like this, he’s not quite prepared to face them. If he’s aware of his own sorrow, surely, they’d see it, too.
Born and raised off the waters of Shore Acres, Maryland, he is a child of the clouds, wanderer of the sky, and an animated fellow with an affinity to color outside the lines. His reputation for escorting turtles safely across the road is legendary. In his world, self-confidence is an evolving concept, and self-doubt and fear his greatest adversaries. Slender in stature, the map of the Emerald Isle is sun kissed across his ashen face, and shimmering blue eyes pierce through dangling locks of freedom. When he first set out to grow his hair to the soles of his feet, freedom was the main objective, and a coup d'état towards everything else.
It is the grand finale of his eighteenth summer and he yearns to spread his wings further. There are countless arguments with loved ones pertaining to lifestyle and lack of direction. And they’re particularly protective and worried ever since the tragedy several years ago.
With proverbial bandanna dangling rebellious on a stick, he is now couch surfing with various friends. Like many a young man, he finds life’s rules completely unreasonable. Though his friends love him unconditionally, they stand firm in their resolve of placation. The lessons learned along the path are invaluable to developing an appreciation for the love surrounding. There’s no universal handbook for life’s little instructions. You make your bed; you lay in it. And in this town, that is easy. Someone’s parents are always on vacation in some remote locale of the world. He, on the other hand, knows nothing of this concept.
As a native of Shore Acres, he sits front row center to all the amenities suburbia provides; great schools, public parks, pristine roads, and anything else a person can desire. For the average kid of Shore Acres none of this is ever enough. He, on the other hand, only knows the confines of the one impoverished neighborhood in the entire county.
His peers are a colorful cast of characters with varied backgrounds. Travelling to various music festivals, concerts, and campouts together is commonplace. They are a convivial hive of bohemian spirits living for the moment, and a tribe of artists, musicians, and music lovers alike. Their explorations in the realm of love and human spirit are legendary among the waters of this little peninsula. There’s a magical energy created by them, and it is felt everywhere they go. It is the first time he genuinely feels accepted by people.
Bayberry River is a relatively unscathed portion of waterfront tucked away on a peninsula of Shore Acres. It is a little piece of paradise, and the cornerstone of their tribe. It is the setting where discovery of self, and an awareness to heart, mind, and spirit, the only prerequisite. The river knows she is life; curiously wandering, lapping the shores, sharing her knowledge.
The events of August 17th, 1989 are forever etched upon the ethereal fabric of these waters. While most of his peers are preparing for their first semester of college, he is awkwardly sailing on the still waters of self-doubt and fear. And what better way to celebrate a sad and lonely descent to the bottom; the number one party of the summer.
Music blasts from the back deck, and cold ale pours freely from the tap. Warm summer winds and sweet aromas of various smoke fill the air. After a few hours of ingesting anything and everything within his grasp, the all too familiar philosophical conversations of world domination fail to retain his attention. Spinning wildly with thoughts of his life, the past, and unknown future, the coiled serpent hisses in the dark corner of his mind – Enter the soul constrictor. Welling of tears advance without warning, and desperately craving a change in scene, he retreats from the maelstrom of sensory overload. Barefoot, he makes his way down the wooden stairs on to a dimly lit trail. Fueled by a lifetime’s worth of sadness and pain, the water works are finally safe to commence. Cattails lightly sway on either side, bowing in reverence to his sorrow.
Bayberry Beach is located through the small patch of forest, and the light fresh river air beckons. Walking along the gravel path, lightly stepping on the stones, his feet have become accustomed to a summer of no shoes. His toes love freedom. At the bottom, the field opens, and fireflies surround blinking their secret Morse code. To this day, the messages have yet to be accurately deciphered.
The air is East Coast muggy, light breeze, and slight chance of a nervous breakdown. Constant drinking and experimentations with mind altering substances are taking its toll, amplifying a self-deprecating thought process. Laying on a picnic table, head pointed towards the cosmos, he contemplates the last few years of life choices.
Amidst the soul searching, he is startled by a popping noise coming from the direction of the water. Burning brighter than a firefly, a flickering glow of firelight dances mysteriously at the end of the pier. Curiosity summons him to an ideal moment in time, and serendipity, her calling card. Meandering to the end of the pier, he sees a woman sitting legs crossed, gazing out towards Mother Island. As he approaches, she turns her head towards him. The fire is crackling and whispering songs.
“Evening.” she says, half looking in his direction.
He nods. “How’s it going?”
Carefully feeding the fire with little pieces of dried bay grasses and small sticks, she replies, “Oh, fair to middling.”
He takes a few steps closer. “I saw the fire and figured I’d come down and check it out. It’s kind of odd having a fire on a wooden pier. Don’t you think it’s a bit of a fire hazard?”
In a wordless gaze she points to the metal fire-pit underneath.
He laughs. “Well don’t I feel like a dipshit?! Anyway, do you live here on Bayberry River?”
She points to the pier, and replies, “I live right here, right now.”
One eyebrow scrunched, he asks, “Ok. Well, are you visiting someone here?”
Her aura shifts gears, and answers. “Why yes, yes I am.”
He continues to poke. “Ok, so who are you visiting?”
Withdrawing her gaze from the horizon, an orange glow of firelight dances in the corner of her eye. She rolls another ball of dried grass, and gently flicks it into the coals. She turns, looks at him deadpan, and replies, “I’m visiting you.”
Rolling his eyes, he quietly laughs. “You’re visiting me? Huh. Ok. So, you’re visiting me. Right on. Well, then I guess I’m visiting you, too, here on the pier where you live, right here, right now. And perhaps messing with me for shits and giggles. No, but seriously, why are you here then?”
She pauses for a moment, and says, “That is the eternal question, isn’t it?” She smiles, shifts position, and continues. “I’m here to watch tonight’s full moon, and lunar eclipse. I also came here eighteen years ago visiting this same river to bury something on the island out there.” She pointed out across the water. “And now I’ve come back to dig it up, but have no way to get there.”
“I didn’t know there was supposed to be a lunar eclipse tonight. That’s cool.” Following her gesture, he points, and asks, “And you seriously buried something out there? Are you speaking of Mother Island?” He asks.
She nods. “Yes, I’m speaking of Mother Island.”
“What did you bury out there?” He asks.
She looks at him with the devilish of grins, and replies, “I buried something for you. And now you’re here, so shall we go and get it together?”
“Wait…What? What are you talking about?”
She continues. “We’re both here now, so I think it’s time for us to venture out to my island.” And curiously puzzled, she asks, “Why did you come down here tonight to this pier towards my fire?”
Pondering for a moment, he shrugs and replies, “I don’t know. I saw the fire and I was curious.”
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think that’s exactly why you came.”
Confused, he says, “I’m not sure I follow.”
Throwing more dried bay grasses into the fire, she smiles. “Well, I’m positive you’ll follow, if you believe, so let’s stop wasting time and head out to my island. Let me ask you one more question, Beija Willow. Why are you down here walking by yourself while a perfectly good party rages up the hill?”
Assertively, he answers. “I felt like taking a walk by myself, and besides, I always come down here. And wait, how do you know my name?” He feels slightly exposed.
She gently chuckles. “Ok, if that’s what you say.”
He stands firm. “Yes, that’s what I say.”
She asks him again. “Well, since you’re here, do you feel like taking a ride across the river to my island? Old Smiley is lighting the way!”
He laughs. “I guess so, maybe, I don’t know. How do you plan on getting there?”
Quick on the draw, she replies, “Easy. Let’s take a walk along the banks and see if we can find us a useful boat.”
Opening his eyes wide, he asks, “You plan on taking some random boat that’s not ours, and rolling on out there?”
“Yesss!” She says, clenching her fists; stretching her arms towards the sky.
Quietly chuckling, he finally asks, “Who are you anyway?”
“I’m Aislyn.” She replies, standing with both hands on her hips, looking out towards the island.
Aislyn, by his estimation, looks to be in her mid-thirties, a smidge above five feet in height with piercing eyes; though the color is indiscernible in the night. A simple summary of her appearance: Earth-child style. Light brown wavy hair drapes to the middle of her back, and two small braids above her ears create a hair-braid headband effect. Her clothing is an all-in-one green tank top dress, simplistic, yet, custom tailored in the accoutrements of mandala embroidering with earthy color tones. Her toes, similar to his, love freedom.
He replies. “Hi Aislyn, I’m Beija.”
“I know who you are.” She says, unclasping her hands, and playfully pointing her index finger.
“You know who I am? How do you know me?” He curiously asks.
Calmly she replies, “Spot it, you got it.”
“What does that even mean?” He asks.
“Oh, ya know, it means exactly what it means, green bean.” She says, singing in a brilliant melody.
“Umm, ok, so now, what is that supposed to mean?” This time laughing out loud.
“There ya go! You’re a poet, and you know it, making rhymes all the time. And that’s what I mean, green beany-bean.”
“I don’t ever remember meeting you.”
She shrugs. “That’s ok, I remember you.”
“Ok, what are you getting at here? Have you been following me around before tonight, or something?”
“Nope.”
Assuming she’s as buzzed as he is, he replies, “Ok, well, I think I may head back up to the party. Do you want to come with me?”
Looking back towards Mother Island, she answers, “No thank you, but I guess I’ll just wait here until you come back.”
He shakes his head, and continues walking down the pier throwing up a backwards peace sign. “Well, you may be waiting a long time because I’m not sure I’ll be coming back. If I don’t see you, have a good night, friend.”
Leaning back on to a dock piling, she replies, “Then I’ll wait until you do. And by the way, you shouldn’t hide the crescent moon birthmark on your shoulder on the night of a full moon lunar eclipse. It’s bad form.”
About to walk off the pier, he stops, and whispers under his breath, “Are you kidding me?” Ever since he was young, the thought of doing something new makes him anxious. Change is not a favorite for the young lad, though the last couple years he’s become more adventurous and open to jumping off the edge without thinking; spontaneity has become the daily mantra. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Beija walks back towards the fire, kicking stones of metaphor, and Aislyn sits silently basking in the swagger of his surrender.
“I tell you what. Let’s start over. And then maybe I’ll join you on this stealth mission across the pond. Deal?”
“Whatever’s clever, Beija Willow.” She replies, with a grin.
“Where are you from, Aislyn?”
Her eyes enhance in brightness, “I thought we already covered that. If you’re asking where I was born, I grew up in the mountains of Western North Carolina, in a little town called Blue Falls. It’s near the Blue Ridge Parkway and I still maintain my home base there. I’ve been traveling around to different parts of the world, off and on for the last few years and now I live wherever I lay my head at night. I’ve pretty much gone to all four corners of this world, which I’m sure you’ll do yourself someday.”
“What have you been searching for?” He asks.
Looking at him deadpan, she replies, “You, Beija, I’ve been searching for you.”
His stomach somersaults, and his heart slowly picks up the pace. “Ok mystery woman, so you’ve traveled the world in search of a long haired eighteen-year-old kid from Shore Acres. So, here I am. What now?”
She stands, and confidently proclaims, “We grab one of these lonely boats, and then I will show you what now.”
Arms crossed, he asks, “And how the hell do you know about my birthmark?”
She clasps both hands together. “Throw caution to the wind, and trust me. I have a story to share with you, and I would like to do it on Mother Island. Also, you can pick the boat we take, I’ll sit on my hands the whole way out, you can keep watch on my bag, hold my walking stick…”
He laughs. “No, it’s cool, all that isn’t necessary. Mother Island just so happens to be one of my all-time favorite nature spots, so that in itself has a lot going for it.”
She smiles. “Well, there you go; a ringing endorsement if I’ve ever heard one.”
Old Smiley keeps a watchful eye as they stroll along the banks of the Bayberry River. Lapping waves ripple upon the silky shoreline, bending and breaking the bioluminescence. They both kick fluidly through the supernatural, igniting the fiery blue. With laughter casting spells, they stumble upon a noble black-crowned night heron, red eyes reflecting the moonlight, suspiciously whispering secrets. It swiftly flies off into the darkness following a tiny tributary meandering delicately through the swaying bay grasses.
Beija snickers to himself silently, hijacking another boat out to Mother, here we go. Many a hijacked boat has been enjoyed along these rivers; it’s a rite of passage and riparian way of the river folk. A wellspring of wealth surrounds, and many own a boat, if not a few. The avaricious appetites of a few spoils the shoreline in excess, drowning most sense of gratitude. Beija and tribe feel strongly, if you leave a boat unattended, it is simply fair game. They of course always return them, but it is their way of playing renegade outlaw off the waters of suburbia.
Down along the moonlit sand an old handcrafted wooden canoe is tucked carefully under a battered blue tarp, well equipped with two oars, and two life jackets. Neither say a word and within no time they approach the shores of Mother Island.
Swiftly riding the breakwater onto the beach, they land smoothly. Wasting no time, Aislyn gathers wood for a fire. She scouts a site tucked behind one of the dunes; a place hidden from others eyes. Beija drags the canoe up just beyond the grasses. Watching her scurry about, he rolls a fresh bourbon-barreled aged tobacco cigarette.
Aislyn yells over to him. “If you can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, my friend, that’s when it’s time to light a fire.”
Within a few minutes flickering orange flames dance in the wind, casting shadows of them circular around the dunes. He smiles, imagining they’re on some far-off deserted isle. Twinkling above a night fall of diamonds shines crisp and clear. Aislyn is tending the coals, and angling the tipi of sticks for maximum torch-ability. She is the goddess of the fire light, and he, the young squire.
Eyes closed in silent meditation; she quietly sits. Upon opening them, the fire spins a circular plume of smoke up into the air. With her daypack as a pillow, she lays down, and begins. “Beija, I know you have many questions for me. I told you earlier I know who you are. Your question for me is how do I know you? How I know you is a lovely story, and most recently when you were younger, I came upon you in the neighborhood where you grew up. You had a white Husky named, Lyra, and she was pulling you on your skateboard. Watching you gravel surf through the neighborhood with her at the helm, I was drawn to you. You stopped, we spoke for a few moments, and the knowing whispered gently to my spirit. You were wearing a tank top, and at one point turned your shoulder revealing to me the tiny crescent moon birthmark. Without even asking your name, I knew you were the one I was seeking.”
The epiphany strikes. “Yea, I remember you now. You were colorfully dressed, and had a cool walking stick. I’m guessing it’s the same walking stick you have with you now?”
She smiles. “Yep, that was me, and this is my wand!”
He replies, “Wow, that’s random weirdness. I remember when you walked away from me, I thought to myself, that woman looks like she has quite a story to tell.”
She nods. “And I do Beija. I came here to Shore Acres years before on this day in 1971. I was barely nineteen, and had recently returned from some islands in the Pacific Northwest. I had ventured to Spirit Bear Rainforest in British Columbia with a group of students from my college, and some from other countries participating in an exchange program. We had spent the entire semester there. Near the end of our semester, with the help of a guide, the plan was to hike parts of the rainforest gathering different specimens of plants for our group school project. A little background: I grew up in a family who live and breathe a life of reconnecting to the land, exactly how our ancestors once lived and thrived. I consider myself a practitioner of simple herbalism, or as I like to say herbalism as it’s meant to be. I’m a believer in using plants in their natural state for purposes of healing; our herbal allies. So, about a week into my British Columbia adventure, I decided to take a solo canoe trip across to one of the islands without telling a soul where I was going. Not my finest moment. Eventually a torrential storm made its way up the coast, and needless to say, took the canoe and all of my gear with it. I was lost for several days in the rainforest and I was eventually found stumbling, dehydrated, and delirious, on an offbeat trail. Apparently, I’d been stricken with some sort of water born virus, and spent the next several weeks being nursed back to health. When I finally came to, a woman explained how she found me, and that I was in a safe place. Apparently, I also had a mild head injury and couldn’t remember who I was or how I got there. I was so sick and felt like I was going to die. I had many a delirious moment inside that thatched hut. My bed was a hammock of leaves, entwined in vines, and clouded in sequin bed netting. The view was hazy, and I could only make out random shadows on the rare moments I was awake. I had no idea what was going on. I was deep inside the forests of a hidden world and my life was about to change forever. After a few weeks, I had my energy back and finally arrived back on earth relatively coherent. There were several well marked trails near the campsite and I decided to stretch my legs and shake off the cobwebs of my convalescence. I walked into the forest and met Noelani. She is the one who swooped in and found me, and these islands were supposedly uninhabited, but a few of the native people lived primitively among the forest guarding the legacy of the Spirit Bear.”
Beija is hooked. “Wow, Aislyn, that’s crazy. How long did you stay there?” In the darker corners of his mind, her story triggers feelings of a confusing and suffocating fear. The familiarity, he can smell and taste, but the picture is scattered.
Aislyn continues. “It took over two months for my memories to resurface. In my time there I gained much insight on who I was and who I wanted to become. There I was, a young woman from the Southeast United States living amongst a tribe of people from the Spirit Bear Rainforest. Without question, they accepted me in and loved me as if I was one of their own. I learned to climb trees and catch fish. I played with their children and was the butt to many of their jokes. Profound change engulfed my spirit in a short amount of time and I know I never would have discovered any of it had I not gotten lost in their forest. I learned the heartbeat of this planet is alive and well within all people, and a rainforest is undeniably earth’s lungs. My life was changed forever. As my time there grew to a close, a group of the tribesman organized to lead me out of their forest oasis. Although I loved my time with them and the wisdom I was bestowed, I missed my home. There were many people worried about me and at this point, I could hear their cries. My day of departure arrived and they led me to an American based hub of the Peace Corps. From there, I arrived back in the states the first week of August, 1970. As a gesture of kindness, I was presented this hand carved walking stick, forever supporting my path. On one of my last nights, Noelani led me to a sacred location in the rainforest. When we arrived, we sat at the base of a small waterfall. The sun was on the verge of dusk, and I marveled at the echoing harmony of songbirds throughout the forest; their potent symphonies bidding farewell to the day. She, and the forest, began to tell me a story. It was a legend passed down from the elders, spoken by grandmother tree.”
‘Aislyn, grandmother shared with us a story told to her by the forest. She held a wooden box in her hands and said, “This is ‘The Sun Song of Earth’. Our mother sings to me about children of the indigo, born in a free world with the power to unite all humanity in one language from the sky. She kisses the sun under a tree by the water, her branches cry thunder. Light flashes bright beneath the moon; a green patch protects what is under. A tail of the hawk, a feather from heaven falls down to the ground… Our song is the one to lead us united and we all become wings of the sound.” Grandmother also told me I would meet a young woman from the free world who would know where to take this’.”
Aislyn continues. “Noelani led me to the box, and whispered, ‘In my heart, I knew the one grandmother spoke of would stumble into our rainforest someday and I know you have some part to play. I have waited and waited for this day and now you’ve arrived. The feminine soul listens to the natural thump inside her. It is the divine heartbeat of all humanity guiding the journey. I am wise and have risen up, for it is I who found you stumbling in our forest. When I saw you, I heard the voice of grandmother tree whisper in these winds, and I knew you were the one. You have the mark of Luna in your eyes. Let it guide you to the others.”
Aislyn looks at Beija with piercing eyes and says, “And then, the aura of Noelani changed, the light in her eyes grew dim and body a bit withdrawn. The sounds of the forest halted to an eerie silence. And with an impenetrable stare, whispered, “Grandmother also shared something else. She said there are others aware of this prophecy. They came here years ago, probing and questioning. They did not believe the elders when they denied knowing the location of the sun song. In the end, they left the forest, but the experience was unsettling. The children of indigo are not immune to this power. They, too, have darkness lurking in the shadows of their heart. This darkness is waiting for them to be found. When they’re found, and given these songs, they must choose what direction to follow. It is for their eyes only. This darkness, and those who unknowingly yield it for selfish gains, will do everything in its power to suffocate their light. The others seeking them, wish only upon their failure.”
“Noelani then danced around me and said, “I found you, and as you are the one in my heart, your heart will also guide you to find him.”
Putting her hand on his arm, she says, “Beija, I was beside myself on what I was hearing, and then I asked, what am I supposed to do with the box? Where would you have me take it?”
“And the wind responded, ‘You will know when you are there’.”
“Beija, I buried something here many years ago with the intent of sharing it with the ones she spoke of. Noelani’s parting words to me were, ‘Aislyn, take this and bury it along the banks of a river in the east. I trust you will know in your heart when you find it. Find the tree that calls their name and bury it beneath its branches. It is made only to be looked upon by the one whose eyes will see. The world is depending upon them to awaken’.”
“Beija, I’ve waited eighteen years for this day. When I met you a few years ago with Lyra, one of the last things you said to me was, ‘Well, it was good to meet you, I’m Beija Willow. Maybe I’ll see you again someday’. And as we parted, and you revealed the crescent moon, I knew I’d buried it exactly where it needed to be, and that yes, I would indeed see you again someday.”
Aislyn stands up, grabs a small piece of driftwood on fire, and gestures for him to follow. With Old Smiley still lighting the way, he follows. His mind is questioning everything this woman has shared. The butterflies in his stomach have migrated south, and then north again. He thinks to himself, is this all for real? At the very least, she’s a great storyteller equipped with the gift to transport a person deep inside the fantasy, and the evening has certainly been entertaining. He slowly drifts back in time, deep inside the memory of the day he first met her. One detail shining brightest is how attracted and extremely loving Lyra was towards Aislyn. There’s a familiarity with her, and feeling of comfort and trust. Being on the island, under the firelight, digging for some sort of treasure box is exhilarating.
They continue walking a few hundred feet around the water’s edge, climb slowly up towards the embankment and finally stop at the base of a giant weeping willow. Thick lush patches of bright green moss cover the ground. She drives the driftwood torch firmly into the earth and begins to dig, meticulously carving a circular pattern. She’s softly humming to herself a melody; this triggers in him a déjà vu, but he cannot place the tune.
Aislyn continues. “Beija, when I left Spirit Bear and arrived back in the states, it took me a couple weeks to float back down to earth. I had no idea the area Noelani spoke of, but after my experiences with her, and the love from the forest, I felt my instinct would lead the way. One day walking on a trail of my family’s property with this walking stick, I felt called to a bed of white rock in a location that’s sacred to me. It’s called Shining Rock, and it’s a place I go to connect with myself and the universe. I hurried back to the house, retrieved the box, my mandolin, and a map of the Eastern US, and set out to Shining Rock. I played some music and meditated on the energies of Noelani and grandmother tree. When I reached a calming place in my mind, I took out the map, closed my eyes, and touched the map. Once I opened my eyes, my adventure began, and in a flash, I arrived here on Mother Island. I had an ebb and flow of emotions pulling and tugging at me from all directions. I questioned everything. Was this indeed the right place I was supposed to journey? What would people think if I told them my story? I’ve never told another soul the story I just shared with you. And there’s so much more to share. In some ways, even up until this moment, I still question everything, but it is in this moment I am aware, both you and I are right where we need to be. Over the years, I struggled many times with the temptation of knocking on your front door and pitching my story right there and then. I told you earlier I came to see you, and believe I have something belonging to you. Not only do I believe, I am certain.”
Aislyn reaches both hands into the fertile soil, and pulls it out. Wrapped in an old brown leather sack covered with dirt and small roots embedded in the fibers is the box. She pulls the torch closer, brushing the shrapnel away, revealing a flower shaped mandala carved brilliantly into the wood. Inside the mandala is a forest scene, the sun in the center above, and various musical instruments, some he’s never seen before. At first glance, it is exquisite.
“Beija, take this torch and find a spot on the island that feels right to you. When you’re there, I want you to open it. When you’re finished, come back to the fire.” She quietly stands, hands him her walking stick, and walks down the hill. Before she’s out of sight she turns to him and says, “Around in a circle the sun song surrounding, I hand you the power. The race has begun, and the wand as you run, will turn into a flower. Remember, you have three eyes, Beija Willow. Two to look, and one to see.” And then she disappears into the shadows.
Drifting back to the box, the torch flame wistfully dances above it in the wind. What could be inside? He now takes his first step towards a journey of the ages. Out loud, he says, “so she wants me to find a spot that feels right, eh?” Legs crossed sitting under the branches of a giant weeping willow; the moon shines in brilliant blue over his shoulder. He looks around searching for inspiration, and then it dawns on him. He is exactly where he needs to be.
Startled, he hears stirring in the water behind him, but the moon, and the flickering glow from the torch produce a temporary blinding effect. Jumping up, he peers over the bank, but sees nothing. Heart picking up in pace, he turns back towards the blanket of green, and under the willow, his journey begins. He rests the box lightly on to the velvet moss, draws the torch closer, and opens it. The winds blow circular around him. Inside is a rolled up thick piece of paper. The texture feels of weathered cloth. A small compartment pops open with a gentle flash revealing a tiny blue gem quartz necklace. He unrolls the scroll. On it the words are hand crafted brilliantly:
Bespoke in the rhythm of infinity, on the astral plane divine
The sacred sound will guide them, in harmony they shall align
Transitioning out of darkness, and humbly entranced in the glimmer
A door in the shadows crack open, luminaries unveiled in the shimmer
Sun shine on the Seven Sisters, a blue haze in the forest is calling
Sentients in tune under a spherical moon of a new day that is dawning
And back to the source, the wellspring, they return to the sacred garden
Where ancient tendrils gently unfurl and the indigo song is written…
Inside the box, is the original writing, but written in a language he cannot read. He assumes it is the language of the Spirt Bear, or the symbols Aislyn spoke of. Underneath the writings appear to be a timeline of sorts written in a scale of music, and it appears on both copies. The English version shows the dates, and an empty scale of music. The original is filled in, but with markings that make zero sense to him. Even if they are modern musical notes, he is unable to read music.
After perusing it a few times, he sits back and questions the meaning. It is certainly beautiful, but beyond that it does not resonate, and he feels no different. Beija does not believe in magic and has every reason not to. After placing everything back into the box, he strolls back to the fire. Approaching the dulling flames dancing under a pewter moon, he expects her to be sitting there, but she is not. Mother Island’s quite small, so he walks around for a while looking for her. After circling it multiple times, he arrives back to the canoe, and the now smoldering fire. Aislyn is nowhere to be found.
He retrieves a few smaller logs and small sticks to re-stoke the fire. The flames entrance him, and he lays back staring at a wondrous surprise. It is the beginning phase of the lunar eclipse. This is a first for the young lad. He closes his eyes in reflection, and in the distance hears the faint sound of a Great Horned Owl.
Shaking off the feeling of a cold dream he opens his eyes to another smoldering fire. The dream is scattered and within a glimmer of understanding. He wishes for a pen and paper to capture the essence. Standing up from his island slumber, he walks around looking for Aislyn. The island has swallowed her whole. Looking up towards the sky the eclipse has peaked, and is now fading. Dawn approaches, and the sky drips wet in the lavender glow of twilight.
Paddling back across the Bayberry, he is floating on a cloud. Lucid. Focused. Curious. Laughing aloud. He is awe struck by the experience, though more impartial than anything else. He thinks to himself: Was this some sort of put on? Maybe my friends set me up. Well, at least I’ll have a good story to share. He now has more pressing concerns swimming inside his brain. First, he needs to get this canoe back under the blue battered tarp. And second, he needs waffles and hash browns in his belly, stat.ught. And 2nd- He needs waffles and hash browns in his belly, stat.