Passing you on the road, I noted your bag full of sun
kissed stones, some rainwater washed and polished by clear water to an
unearthly sheen. Your skin glowed,
radiant. I stopped and asked what you were doing in the land of the beginnings of
the caves.
“I am a being of light,” you gushed. “I have found my
bliss. Now I am walking towards new adventures.”
As we spoke, you talked about the things you have come to
believe and that you are looking forward to teaching others so they can find
their bliss as well. You spoke of your tribe, your many friends, the great
gatherings, the dancing, the cuddle-puddles and love that courses through your
being for all life.
“I work with light beings and seek spirit wherever I go,”
you said with a lilting canter that seemed to say you knew little of anything
related to the kind of effort that was my daily taskmaster.
A small shock of jealousy shot through my insides. Seeing
it, it ran from its hiding place back into the earth where I sent it, almost
automatically, as I had done hundreds of times before.
When I didn’t respond immediately except to smile a
congratulations to you, you seemed to notice my appearance for the first time.
I was dirty, as if I had been living in a cave for
months. This was appropriate, because I had been.
My skin was its’ natural, non-sunbleached color. My eyes
looked tired, devoid of humor.
I had no bag, but I had bulging pockets. You looked at
them with some interest for a moment, but as they appeared to be dripping a
bloody substance you declined to ask what my treasure was. I couldn’t have told
you anyways. You would never understand why I would want what took me months to
find. It wasn’t just the treasure that was bleeding anyway; it had also cost my
own blood to get it and I was still unhealed, leaking through my clothes.
You asked what I had learned, rummaging through my cave.
I said that I knew very little, but that I had acquired
wisdom, and compassion, and insight that did not require eyesight. I told you
that I had met wandering parts of myself and reintegrated them, and that I used
animals to assist me that, while helpful, could not necessarily be described as
fun to work with.
You looked at me, concerned and confused.
“I work with soul,” I explained. “Where you gather what
sits upon the ground sparkling in the sunlight, I dig and hunt. You work in the
light; I, the darkness. You eschew evil. I seek the evil, learn its language, befriend
it and trick it into revealing what it is hiding so I can decide if it lives or
dies. You stay away from fear. I have nothing to fear because I have learned
how to use my gifts to bring my own light into the darkness. I know how to hear
the water whisper to me and I trust the big cats. I have few friends, but we
are a solitary lot, and most of us are insane. A cuddle puddle is not going to
happen. If it did, I sure wouldn’t want to be there.”
You looked taken aback, and then sorry for me. You were
about to speak, but I interrupted you.
“It’s not a problem,” I said, shaking my head with a
smile and raising my hand. “I’ve done what you do and I will again. But for
this lifetime and maybe the next two or three, I am doing the deep work of
soul. Spirit will take care of itself. It will always exist in the sunshine,
guarded by sprites, elves, pixies and fairies – and I know the passwords they
seek. I need to be alone this time. I need to mine, to seek the hard and dark
things. To kill where necessary and to drink the blood of the wounds to process
them for my own benefit.
You smiled, seeming to comprehend and accept. You touched
me gently on the shoulder as a friend would that wanted to give comfort. I felt
your warmth, your acceptance of my solitary path.
Saying nothing, you sighed and continued your journey, walking
slowly to the north.
No comments:
Post a Comment