Alora Factor: Invasion of the Realm Jumpers

Strangest Things

I hate being the third wheel. I was also this close to answering Alora's question truthfully, so I was quick to dip once Jordan asked about going for a walk. Maybe he just saved me from myself. It wouldn't be right for me to profess my feelings while she's seeing Jordan and while I've been spending time with Sydney. I'm not a jerk, at least I try not to be one. That conversation is gonna have to wait for later.

Plus, I'm still trying to process what we saw this morning. That symbiote seemed to come out of nowhere, but after we talked about it, maybe that's not the case. What am I missing?

Mom is sitting in the living room, watching a documentary about some Black men who pretty much invented punk rock when I open the door. I could stand to be distracted for a moment, so I collapse onto the sofa and scoot next to her. She loops an arm around me and kisses my forehead, but doesn't say anything. When the credits start rolling, she kisses my head again.

"Hey, heard you had a rough morning," she says and stands to stretch.

"Yeah."

"Tell me about it." Mom comes back to the sofa and plants her knee near me, folding her body and angling herself to face me.

I'm sure she's heard the whole thing from Julia, but I tell her everything, including that I now agree with Alora — we were being tested in the fight and watched in general.

"Let's see if I can help you get some clarity," she says. "Follow me."

Dad converted our garage into a workspace for Mom a few years ago. Mom's a mixed-media artist who specializes in making hand-painted pottery and makes it almost exclusively these days. She's become really popular within the last year. Her pieces now sell for hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars. She keeps most of her religious relics in the garage too, but she doesn't have a shrine.

We're sessǔmu, which means that we're shamans by heredity who practice communicating with the gods through song and dance and also kangshinmu, which means we are shamans who can practice spirit possession. Usually, you're only one or the other, but what I've learned through reading the family texts is that during prehistoric times, one of my ancestors was born with all shamanic abilities. Ever since at least one person in our bloodline has been born with the ability to embody both types of practice in every generation.

Mom's relics are on a small desk in the corner of the room. Alongside the different colored flags and incense are a pitcher of water and a small bowl. She sits down and I pull a stool from her workstation over.

"This isn't traditional for us. I actually learned this from a Tibetan woman. It's called a water offering." She takes out the bowl and starts pouring water from the pitcher into it slowly. "As the water fills the bowl, you reflect on all of the things in your life over which you need to gain clarity. Essentially, you are putting all of those things into the bowl."

The water fills the bowl almost to the brim as she speaks. She picks it up and walks slowly to the other side of the room, placing it gently in the sunlight. I follow her to see what's next.

"You have to be careful not to spill a single drop of water. If you do, you have to start all over. Once you've taken it to a place you care about, you dedicate the contents."

She turns back to the bowl and says, "I dedicate this to love and service." She takes a brief pause before continuing, "I find that, in the process of pouring whatever's on my mind into the bowl, the thing becomes abundantly clear, like the water. I gain clarity not only on what may be bothering me, but on how I might turn that into an act of love or service."

She walks over to one of the many shelves along the wall where her work is at different stages of curing. Pottery is incredibly fragile, but if properly cured and carefully handled, it can last for a long time. "I thought you might need this soon, so I made you a bowl and pitcher a few days ago."