A MilesVisions Spirit Journey
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"A Visit to My Ancestors"
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I leap upon the stag and fly to the mountain of dreams.
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As I approach the mountain I feel the mixed sensation of cold-hot air. The
stones are hot from the mid-day sun, the air cold from the high altitude. The day is clear
and bright. The stones are red-brown. Tufts of dry grass cling between cracks. A well-worn
path winds among the boulders, yet I feel it has been little used in recent times. I turn
a corner and see my destination, a rough-hewn temple made of ancient wood. It is odd to
find a wood-built structure on this high plateau which is itself without trees. I wonder
how many trips were needed to carry such large beams this far? How many? How many people
were needed to carry such heaviness up to this light air?
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The temple is Eastern in feel, and shows age. Blue and rose colored paint
still clings to the cracks in the wood, much like the grass still clings to the rocks
along the path. Though I have not visited for a very long time, I know this place. It is
home for me, a refuge and shelter. I enter. I feel that I am welcome. There are monks
praying in a circle, about twelve I count. In the center of the circle a fire burns in a
large metal basket. The wood facade covers the opening to a deep cave in the solid stone
mountain top.
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Slowly, my eyes adjust to the dim light from the fire. There is also some
softly filtered light from a small hole high above the cave floor. I stand rooted and
undisturbed at the entrance. The gentle rhythm of the monk's chant is soothing and I let
it sink in. When the chant ends, all the monks remain quiet. Stillness embraces their deep
meditation. A young monk enters from the far side of the room and passes hot tea around
the circle. There is a place ready for me. The pillow is well worn and my shape fits
neatly into the cushion.
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I speak to the monks:
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"My journey seems always at the point of some new departure and I
travel much. It is good to stop here and rest. Your songs sustain me during the long
stretches through bleak lands. They warm me in the cold; cool me in the heat. I thank
you."
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"Now I have come here to ask you to join me in the world, to
assist me, to walk with me. The time has come to leave this holy place and walk among
people."
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I look around the circle. I look into their eyes. I cannot read their
response to my call. I start to repeat my message, but stop. I sit a while longer in
silence, sip my tea, watch the fire, feel the heat. I remember the other reason I have
come to visit and I speak to them:
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"I must excuse myself now a moment to visit my father and
grandfather. I will return to see you before I leave."
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I rise; walk to an inner door and move through a great hall. There are
many statues, banners and flags. It is a place once used for large gatherings and
ceremonies. Now, all is quiet. Dust gathers over everything and mice move among the ruins.
I cross over to another door. It leads to grandfather's room. His room is warm, cheerful
and very clean inside. I feel his love surround me as I enter the room.
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I sit with him at a small table. Tea is brought. We do not speak, yet I
feel his loveliness. I am warmed by his eyes. He reaches out, touches my hand; gently rubs
my fingers; lifts my hand to his face; holds it close to his check. A tear falls. I am
bathed in his care. He looks at me closely. I feel he is full of questions and wonders
about my adventures.
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I speak: "I fear grandfather, that my adventures appear rather
modest. I work, sleep. I make art. I walk, share stories and again return to this cycle.
The adventure is a bit humdrum. But this much I feel. I long to jump and run, but my
course is held steady in a strong countervailing tide. I am trying to move, but I seem
always to stay at the same spot. Perhaps I should let go and move with the tide.
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"Indeed, you are made to move.
You were born to lead."
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"I hear you grandfather. But I don't seem to know how to
move?"
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"Rise above the tide. Sail not IN the water, but
ON the air."
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"Thank you grandfather. I will reflect upon your words and
wisdom. I do feel heavy. I feel like I am IN the water and weighed down.
Grandfather, I have brought you a small present from my work. It is a vision of the land
and sea where I now live.
My love is also in this vision."
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"Now, grandson, I thank you for your gift, but the time comes for
you to return and move on. Listen to your dreams and hear our voice. We comfort and guide
you. Trust yourself more each day. Rise upon the wind and sail upon the wings of your
love. Go now, speak to your father."
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I return the tear shed. Now it is I who hold his hand and caress it to my
lips. I rise, bow and leave. It is but a short passage to my father's room. He is hard a
work in a large chamber full of maps, charts and jewels.
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"Hello father. I have returned for a visit. I have come to ask
your blessing and assistance."
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"Sit and let us speak one to the other.
Would you like tea?"
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"Thank you father, I have been blessed with much tea and would
welcome something stronger."
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He laughs, reaches into a cabinet and returns with a flask of liquor. It
is a strange mixture of two liquids, one silver-gray, the other red-orange. They swirl
together in the flask, but do not mix. They float not one over the other, but swirl freely
on all levels of the flask.
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"Now, my son, here is the drink of life. It is, as you know, a
taste of life itself. It can intoxicate as well as clarify. Come, let us share a dram or
two."
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He pours the liquid into two small pure white cups. The oceans and the
mountains flow from the liquid. He hands me a cup. I watch the liquid swirl on the lip of
the cup. He raises his cup, salutes, sips. I too salute and sip. It is sweet. It is
strong. It roars through my throat and bounds into my blood. I am like fire. I am like
ice. I am gold and round and strong. I am who is the mountain and the ocean. I am the bear
of the mountain. I look up. He too is a bear; he too is the mountain and the ocean, the
stars and the light.
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Everything is light. I float. I follow him. He takes me to the sea where
he lived when he was on Earth. He shows me the shop where he worked. He shows me the
treasures and the dank place where he dwelt. He shows me his heart. It is raw and tender
and torn.
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He speaks to me. "I do not abandon you. Rather, I come, not as I
am, but through another. I send you the benefits of my work. It was for you that I worked,
you who I did not yet know. I have watched you, watched over you. Now, I send a messenger
to assist you. Receive him. Know he is my messenger. He is my voice. Now let us return, I
have work to do, you have travels to make. Close your eyes."
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I awaken in his arms. He holds me as a child. He rocks me, comforts me,
welcomes me to his home again. He closes my eyes gently and carries me out to the monks.
They lift me as if I am a corpse. I am cold and stiff but I am not dead, I am alive.
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They carry me around the fire. They chant. I am warmed. I am made supple.
Father and grandfather stand by the door. I am stood upright. They toss me out. I fly and
I am home.
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| I am here. |