The Seventh Direction

PART TWO: Inner Space. Episode 18

             [Wyl narrates —A.A.]

Not my dream . . . the American Dream. (Well, not exactly.)

Still, it's a beautiful world. Always would be—somehow the Earth Mother would always be there, beneath it all. We had simply to unearth those things (within ourselves) rendering us blind to that fact, then change those things, and we would all be the better for it, through our travels from here to there. Everyone is really a good Soul. I think so. Most are, doing the best with what they've got. Not so very much it seems sometimes what they've got. And we each have our own lessons, but In God we Trust? Nationwide? worldwide? and through our individuality how we each choose to see God? It seems we all have a common lesson here. It seems we've stamped it on a medium that's everywhere. A reminder? Maybe our greatest lesson? In God we trust? Would even just a little seeking that out give us more? (These questions rang through me, then still silence, and The Voice followed up in turn:)

~~~How much of one's life can be attributed to Direct Inspiration: that which comes from the Ever Present. How much of one's life comes from indirect inspiration: that being God's Truth touched up by man?~~~

My thoughts suddenly turned toward nature, to my attraction to her—to The Wood, to the place I called My Place. Nature (now that I thought about) was always like a new beginning to me, a place where I could always find direction and inspiration. Direct Inspiration! Just like The Voice said, and I agree, the everyday world was pretty much being run by indirect inspiration, and I felt as though I were moving further away from it. I wanted change. Big-time change! And The Voice had big-time powerful-affect on me—to such a degree that my desire for change rang truer now, and my radical nature (as Pa often termed it!) didn't seem to be so bad after all.

But Pa, I knew, was still my biggest obstacle. Which rankled me some.

"Enough for today," he said. Thank God, I'd had enough, and felt awfully tired. I let the spade fall to the ground . . . looked at my hand, and gnawed off a fusty callous growing round my gold band. One more gross thing sure to get in my way! But, let's never mind that now. I had some me-time now. Dinner wouldn't be ready for a few hours. So I looked at Pa, he gave me the nod: I found some new energy, second-wind, I guess, and took off through the apple orchard, beeline for a small stand of . . . of oak trees out back the house a ways, where I could unwind, rest, eat an apple along the way (maybe two), and dream of The Wood and bigger and better adventure I could work through, down in—in . . . yes, yes, down in Valley Forest.

....................

Sitting with my back propped against old burly oak tree, I could relax my way, with a few deep-breaths beyond any rising concerns (wouldn't you be concerned?) and move into the larger moment where the natural flow of things would really take me places. Good places. But . . . sitting here at this moment . . . well, I just can't help BUT feel concerned about my life, and my reality, because I keep having doubts off and on about this something familiar inside me that's leading me on. I mean—not The Voice. I love The Voice! And . . . and I need The Voice. The Voice is helping me and this something familiar inside. No, what I mean is these doubts I'm having off and on, like those moments of hesitation (dot-dot-dot) when I realize I have no open or accessible memory of, for instance . . . old burly oak tree, or of . . . Valley Forest, or when I stop to search myself thinking I'm making this all up! True enough! Still, that being said, when I AM focused and upholding my awareness of the Larger Moment, I clearly DO know the old oak tree, and I know it very well, and I have for a long, long time. Okay?

Okay. I took a few deep breaths. I knew what a few could do for me (though I still haven't that memory, just the knowing) and, moving further along, nearer to . . . to my place, I dwindled back, felt the support of the tree, and caught a glimpse of afternoon Sun through the clouds. Bright Sun. Warm Sun. Familiar. Mmm. I relaxed, closed my eyes, and............seemed to coast the last few paces to the Whitestone and sat down.