The Seventh Direction

PART THREE: Stalking Violet. Episode 57

                                        ["D/A" narrates —A.A.]

                                                                     8

                                                      Polar Reflection

___Wall of illusion

The Sun streamed low through my window. Early evening. A high-pressure system had displaced the low. Night would soon be falling through clearer skies. And just like the atmosphere, I too felt clearer now—some natural, inborn resonance to Mother Earth, I think so, as She spins along, changing season by season, front by front, day by day, hour by hour. The phone rang . . . moment by moment.

Aces phoned early to remind me she was out to dinner tonight, wouldn't be around at 7 pm to call. We'd only talked briefly; I'd heard her mom in the background hurrying her up. Ours was standard conversation: "So, how are you . . . ?" "A little tired, a little burnt out . . ." "Yeah, me too . . ." "Blah . . . blah . . . blah." "Get some rest . . ." "See you soon . . ." kind of thing; and we said our "Goodbyes." I was just about to hang up, when Aces thought to tell me her scheduled picnic had been snowed out. It had been too windy and blustery a day—"squallish," she'd said—to venture out into the country.

"Oh?" I'd said.

"Yeah," she'd said. "Gotta go. Bye."

. . . CLICK . . .

Snowy? I got out of bed, wobbled over to the window. Yep, wintertime all right. Down in the streets there were many signs of Mr. Frost. Okay, so somehow I'd forgotten it was winter. I must be losing it. My hands started shaking. Somehow I'd forgotten about the seasons here, here in this part of the world, and just assumed it was near midsummer, same as in Valley Forest. "Dear me, Dorothy. Are we robbing Peter to pay Paul?" Somehow I had done a six month, 180 degree turnabout on the yearly wheel! "But it's just cobwebs, isn't it, Dorothy? Cobwebs. Not senility. No worries there—right, Doe?" I picked a sleepy-man from the corner of my eye (a sleepy-man?). It began to lightly snow.

Realizing winter and Mr. Frost to be totally true (and that we'd have soon remembered the season), inspired an adjustment, and my hands ceased shaking, and the mental and emotional burnout that I was harboring felt okay. It was in fact okay to feel a bit "whacked" in wintertime—though I think in Dorothy's and my case, winter could hardly be blamed. Still, each season had (—has) its own, unique form of energy; and winter was a melancholy, sleepy, regenerative sort of vibration. All of the kingdoms (—except we in our kingdom forgot) respected this part of the cycle of growth; and if I (—if we) didn't attune to the vibration of winter, I (—we!) would be pitting our energy against Earth's.

"Yes, Dorothy, we."

'Thank you,'

An urge to move away from the window, away from the fear and the pain (—and that dread memory!) of another timeline, which might still be resonant here, drew over me. "Dorothy," I reassured her, myself too: "that's over and done with. Besides, look!" Little bluebird had landed and was scuffling the snow on the sill. We stayed put, staring through the glass. I felt better now.

Much better now, knowing it was winter and that Master J' was nearby. A little out of whack still (—not senility!), that hadn't changed; I was just okay with it now. Nevertheless, I could feel the crossroads I was at, and knew I should take inventory of all accessible and relevant to the process I/we were going through. Now felt like the right time for introspection—for Dorothy was wide awake now, and her dark, past hidden-tendencies could NOT be passed into the next generation of body and mind that Alaya was becoming. (—But?)