Confessions
the Smashwords Edition of
an ALUR publication
Copyright@2011 RULA
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Disclaimer
This is a work of a personal journey and the author's inspiration from recent travels. Any resemblance or similarity to any actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All images, essays and poems are property of ALUR
Credits
Editing by Holly
Russell and Bijan Bayne
Cover design by Holly Russell, holly@ylloh.com
Vatika: There Are No Coincidences
Affirmations for a Better Today
Confessions
This collection of essays, short stories and poetry is dedicated to the apparition that graced me with her presence in the circle of a decayed agave plant high on the mountains of the Red rocks of Sedona, Arizona.
Earlier this year, I set out on a mission for the purpose of self healing. I had a “calling” if you will, to immerse myself in the desert land of Sedona to rekindle a dying flame that had long burned out: my intent was to bury the debris and furor of the scorching wounds, inflicting harm on myself and others.
It is she that came forward with silk words of comfort, giving me the confidence and the fluidity to write and speak of ancestor’s past and those present that all have a story to tell or retell. It is evident in every word that I write whether in fiction, poetry or other prose that the gifts of my muses will follow me where I go; with wisdom she parted her lips that day on the mountains of a vortex unknown:
“Are you not aware of the grandeur of the gifts bestowed on you? You are a woman of spirit and sensuality, the prowess of a panther. The moon serves you as its lure opens your true essence: the seduction of a woman that dares to dream. You are of desert blood past and a golden lineage present. You are broken and have died to resurrect the authenticity of your true voice, giving honor to stories that will provoke thought and insight. This gift is rare and it is yours to share. I am with you always, my child. We all are.”
Call it what you want, but I went on a mission to find magic and mysticism within myself, and with her as my guide I believe…
Ends
Dear Shaman,
I have just begun my return to the place I once called “home”, yet I feel the place I am venturing back to is no longer my domain. I did not sleep again last night. I have lost count of the number of times the eyes shut, desperate for a moment’s peace, only to be haunted by the teasing mind. I fear this journey is incomplete without your shadow as my guide. The apprehensions are rising to the surface threatening to suffocate the breath of possibility I have just found.
There is a looming presence of doubt that will surely engage my soul, dismissing the mysticism as mere “coincidence”. I struggle now in hurried script, to capture the beauty of the experience before it dissipates into the faint mercury of the sky. I am weary of being entrenched in the tides of conformity upon my return. It is far too easy to melt into the status quo, than to stand against the waves of criticism. But life has never been easy for me; I suppose I will carry the stories and exchanges of the land I left behind regardless of what others will make of me.
How will I walk without my Shaman by my side? How selfish of me to call you “mine”, when you are a healer of the Earth and belong to all. How inane to imagine that I knew you in another life and was meant to dance in your circle at just the right time: where grief, loss and pain mirror our recent past.
But I am not ashamed.
It was you that taught me to shed the inhibitions of man’s dogma, accepting my inner light: illuminating a path for the unjust and the suffering. And so I don’t mind to claim you in spirit as part of my life. It is the way it is.
Simple. Beautiful. Pure.
In the short period of time we merged, a transformation occurred confirming all that I had innately known but feared to express was true. Who will I speak this foreign language to when I return?
There are few that will understand the lyricism of the melody that the winds sang for me. I heard them clearly whisper your name as I turned to greet you. All discourse disappeared for a moment when our eyes met. I would say I was insane, but I have been proven less feeble minded as of late, simply by watching those that walk as corpses of routine. Their placid smiles painted on with a fine brush of tradition.
Had it been another place or another time, I would surely not have met your eyes. I have trained the vessel that holds the truth to avoid giving permission for anyone to stare into my soul. Other than a glance, I have not vested my fragility in the arms of another. I am grateful for the presence of the red rocks of ancestors divine surrounding me these past few days so that I knew you.
I had known prior to my visit conjuring in my mind a warrior to come for me. Call it a premonition if you like, but I am complete, content and thankful to have not dismissed you.
Dear Shaman,
Is it true that you believe in all of your disciples? Of course I am calling them that, for you are too humble to post labels on anyone including yourself. I like that about you: an open window for fluid interpretation. I imagine you now standing on the mountain tops poised for the rampant energies from strangers, lovers, mourners and followers, all seeking your guidance as you commence yet another cleansing ceremony. Are they worthy of the ascent to the divine tops where the Native Indians still reside? All of them wanting to receive the message of a new dimension. Or perhaps, they carry with them the contaminants of the old paradigms, tainting sacred space. It is not for me to judge. I suppose I was one of those that followed behind, snapping photographs in a desperate attempt to capture the stillness of nature. I was gifted many secrets of the other dimensions on my journey. I suppose if I am worthy, than they are too.
I am simply inquiring- an inquisitive nature of a priestess that has resided high on a pedestal in another lifetime, only to fall from the grace of God. I prefer this life, and the flat surface of the soil- standing among those that are not aware of my prowess. They- descendants of Adam, misinterpreted my stand above them as a hierarchy. They failed in the past life as well as in this one to understand that I only stood above the masses, distinctly apparent so that the first arrow of accusation would injure none other than me. It was always in my nature to protect: the Goddess of fertility and Mother to all.
Oh, how I am learning to forgive them that misconstrued my role; as well as forgive myself for allowing their words to take away from my course. In the deserts of Sedona, I realized the original calling to visit this part of the States originated from a cry to return to my bloodlines: a Sahara princess. Though I am a mixture of gypsy and priestess I am a nomad nonetheless. No home is mine.
Please know I only ask these questions because the fertile role of protector within me fears for you. Certainly, you are confident and competent in your rituals and the healing of yourself. I fear in the course of delivering faith, you may not remember to protect yourself. It sounds absurd that a woman that simply grazed your spirit should worry about you. It is not like you are incapable. Maybe I’m giving myself more merit than I deserve, nonetheless I no longer speak in riddles. I simply speak.
“Will you protect yourself on the mountains of Red Rock and imagine my presence within the circle of light? Will you take time to reside in the shade against the root of my foundation as it brings through its life circles the wishes of mankind? Allow yourself the grace of falling at times: it is a humbling experience to submit to the Earth and then rise again.”
Dear Shaman,
I hardly recognize my surroundings. I entered my house to the uplifting modern décor (sparse but filled with the hues of uplifting colors) and touched each object to resurrect memories of the life prior. Had it not been for the small laughing Buddha sitting at the base of my entrance or the flowers I’d planted as gifts to Mother Earth prior to my departure, I may not have claimed this was my home. But slowly the haze lifted and in pictures: trapped moments in time, I was able to remember my present life.
I am able to see the woman warrior sitting on her throne of this life meant to direct and lead her three seedlings. They are my grounding stones as I continue on my journey. Had it not been for them, I may have been swallowed with regret and shame all of my life. Though self -imposed interpretations mocked my life and the cries of a wounded child resonate through the halls, my children are my healers.
I will attempt to sooth her-the child buried under the debris: one that resides still in the dark.
Unpacking my heavy bag (how is it that after a few days, I brought with me more than I’d intended?) I found yet again your signature: two red rocks picked by your agile hands. I’m sure I’m not the only one to receive these sorts of gifts. However, I see them as precious and distinct reminder of the spiritual walk that you led.
Yes, that is the cursed poet in me: to make the mundane alive with possibility. Is that a bad thing- to aspire to give meaning to the ordinary? It is embedded in my nature. I choose not ignore beauty of the things- any thing, these days whereas many will often walk by or dismiss. It is not my nature to abandon the abundant signs of life. I enjoy saluting the sun and bowing to the moon. I cannot pass by a tree that greets me or a flower wilting as its saying goodbye to the warmth of life.
Okay, back to reality.
Dear Shaman:
Friends are hungry to capture the enigma that is glowing. I think you noticed this calm around me prior to my leaving. The shuttle driver remembered me upon arrival and claimed the same, greedy to know the source of my exterior glow. It’s resonating from an illumination within.
I don’t believe its simply the place that brought me freedom. It is that in the force field of the dessert, I was forced into submission by the stillness of time, reconciling the wounded child and nursing her. I cannot seem to put words together or capture the experience in simple text. I only know that I was invited into a dimension of time where I saw my true nature: a powerful force of white light with the ability to heal others.
“Your
are loved.”
It is a simple statement I have gifted many over the years. This time it was this precious statement that filled me with delicious warmth. I once believed to be loved was meant for someone else: but I granted myself permission to abandon the wicked fingers of blame.
Indeed, I am loved and worthy of loving. I will try to awaken the inhibitions that are dying for release. It seems that I have been too wrapped in the “alpha” nature in my life that fought for survival, fighting against the current rather than flowing on the one way street of adventure. I am now more content to yield to the feminine mystique of abandonment.
Is it selfish that I keep you to myself? It’s as though if I speak of my sacred moments they will fade faster. I mean to keep the image of my own experience in that part of the world as a solid form of protection; somehow if I speak of it incessantly and gave it away to others, they will only laugh or dismiss me as the sultry woman of hope; it will become an apparition. I suppose I will humor them with the wit they are accustomed to for they need healing as well. But I learned early on, “you cannot want better for anyone that does not want or imagine it for themselves”.
I will grace my special friends that I have allowed to be infused with my aura with some of the beauty that I have claimed. The truth I experienced in that moment in time, will remain however for my inner child. I owe no one any longer. The debts of time and self-flagellation are no longer my emblem. The mission is to instill the breath of unadulterated love to those in my circle. I hope my new enigma will serve as the crystals underneath the Earth serve to hold the foundation of this planet. I saw their glimmer and the beauty of their presence, relating to them in every way: silent domes of luster buried beneath time.
I’m laughing at how ridiculous it all seems. I’ve sent you an email a while back in an attempt to sound disengaged, thanking you formally on many levels for opening a heart that had molten hate for so long. It is not hate that I claim, it claimed me for sometime. Now the decision is mine. I choose love: an infinite prism of opportunity. I can’t help that the heart simply opened for you. It was right for you. I wish you would have claimed me then, but we both might have spared ourselves from a bitter goodbye: one foot forward does not make for graceful imprints. Somewhere in time, we danced the sultry dance of two souls, our ballad a harmony of equal confessions.