The Seventh Direction

PART FOUR: Force and Form. Episode 108

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

Down to the lake I went, Cane in hand, pondering my most-recent moments spent recollecting. Wyl (dear God), and his too sad eyes. His sorrowful eyes, last night, due that he hadn't some awareness of a part of himself. A part, according to Master J', of which he would need—and it only makes sense. Spirit, in Its mysterious way, had helped Wyl and I to find that awareness, that consciousness he had need of and was now ready to revive. Knowledge, the wee fieldmouse returned to mind, as did the eagle, and I walked on, wondering still about their part in all of this.

Cane, as we descended the plateau (Gnarly Tree further to the west), tingled my hand. A rush coursed through me. A moment, then gentler, a feeling of Master J' and Wyl near . . . circling roundabout me. Gentler, and the feeling felt like Love. And more, it felt like Doe; and I thought more of Doe and shifted mindfully into her Love-elemental. Gentler, and the lake, trees, ridges, the sunny day and all, all became brighter. We shared together, resonant, walking as One.

On down the path, we neared the lake, shimmering in sunlight. Wind-assisted ripples topped the surface. From across the lake came sounds of rapid-waters falling over rock, frothing the rocky shore and misting the air. A rainbow magically hovered; while through the froth and mist, a broadening band of golden rings appeared, ever ringing outward. The rings themselves floated atop scrabbling wind-assisted ripples. The rings stretched across the center, beckoning me. (Hawk screamed from somewhere nearby.)

Reaching the lake, the thought to dissolve my frock and jump in the water, gave way to the physical alternative. I optioned the frock over my head . . . shook it off, left it with Cane, dawdled on down, delayed, took a long look at my wrinkled reflection, nice, and dove, head first, into the water and into my reflection. No splash, no sound; and indescribable it was, for I had never experienced the water quite like this. The water was without temperature (Doe, of course, also the time Dorothy and I were in the tub and had wanted the water cool and had thought about telling Gertrude Crabtree why), but it was pure and clear, with a refreshing familiar movement that bathed every breathing-cell of my . . . body. 

I looked up from beneath. 

Grandfather Sun played tricks atop the surface. Tiny bubbles rose round me from below. They tickled. Rolling and slithering down through the bubbles, I saw other signs of life—colorful. Near the bottom, peculiar flowering-plants and other shrubberies seemed stretched to the heavens in search of the light that gave them life. A school of tiny fish approached. I was one with the lake, expecting the fish to pass right through me. But, drunk as I was with the Spirit of Water, I soon came to my senses as the ripples I was magically (awkwardly) creating scattered the fish every which way . . . weird. 

No splash or sound? But magically (awkwardly) ripples? I surfaced for air. Jay had said so, though. He'd said much about "magically awkward and The Dreamer," but I never DID ask Dorothy. "Dorothy, how would you like to play the dreamer?"

'Way ahead of you. Already there. Been there a while, and learning how.'

"I know, Doe. It just feels better when I ask. You mind sharing parentheses?" What?

'Inside paragraphs? For sure!'

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

That magical experience would never be the same. Not quite, I thought as I lay drying, soaking up the sun. Knowing its magic now, though, I hoped I'd have a chance to experience it again, to a greater degree. It's special (in our mind it is) bringing something new into awareness for the first time, in the moment, or baby-step by baby-step. Always new—for that experience and the beauty of that experience (and the truth of that experience), soon becomes the foundation for further growth along that timeline.