The Secret World of Maya Alexander

Chapter 58

Flowers bloomed in spite of the snow that had provided a temporary carpet of white in the land where anything was possible. They invited Maya to breathe in deeply and connect with their scent. To experience a world beyond the ease of vision. To feel beauty and belonging through all of her senses. No need for thought or thinking and contemplating. Just a deep sense of being within. It was peaceful. It was full. It was freedom.

The little sparrow who had nourished its young until they had been ready to fly free, continued to greet her new neighbour each day, bringing Maya berries or encouraging her to explore their endless land. It revealed to her flowers and trees and fruits she had never seen in the world outside of herself. Maya was unsure whether this meant that they did not exist beyond her paradise, or if it simply meant they had never been brought to her attention by her senses, her consciousness too distracted amidst all of her years of endeavour.

The mind's desire to categorise and label was unnecessary now. Petals of pink and yellow hung without a care and with no need for a name. Maya held them in her fingers, brought them to her lips and let the petals gently stroke her mouth before inhaling their flora. Nameless birds as small as her thumb balanced on branches of silver and red and green, which had sprung to life from the bodies of unnamed trees. Beauty without definition. There to be breathed in through all of the senses, the sum of their parts so much more than what a human imagines when the mind mulls over words like rose, or daisy or even four barrelled titles like Lily of the Valley. The knowing without a need to define opened Maya's senses to an intensely vibrant experience of smells and sound and colour, as though she was being awoken for the first time with each new day.

It seemed as though rest might come easily within this Utopian land for its solitary human inhabitant. Solitary yet not alone. Even the trees seemed to greet her with a wave of  joy as she wandered through the tall grasses which caressed her legs to remind her they had noticed her being and were welcoming her passing. The raindrops would land like a song on the river bed and play its guest a magical melody. Days turned to night, whenever seemed to be just the right moment, and a different bird would come to Maya as each day drew to a close, to take a moment to talk through the wonders of the world, before singing her a sweet lullaby and watching on, as exhausted from being, Maya would drift to sleep.

Yet as her eyes closed for sleep in her willful nirvana, the visions they brought to her were far from easy to escape. Flashes of white and shadow would creep into her mind. She watched as a nightmare replayed in her head during which each of the flowers she had caressed in her adventure were pulled from their glory and squeezed into a vase with just enough water to ensure a slow and inevitable death. She felt her hand being squeezed. She heard cries. Her name was being called.

'Maya, Maya'

She would wake suddenly to find whichever bird had sung her to sleep, had remained watching over her, calling her from her nightmares. Telling her it would be okay. There were short soft feathered dumpy birds, who would chatter the night away, telling her about all the parts of the world she had yet to see. Promising to show her these things the next morning and always keeping their promises. Then there were purple feathered sleek and slender companions, who would talk to her about  peace, pointing to her chest as though she contained something inside of her heart with all the answers.

The feathered friends came every night without failure from every corner of the land and in every shape and size to watch over their neighbour, and to listen to her as she cried out with all the visions she did not understand. They passed no judgment. But simply remained relentless in their efforts as they showed Maya the treasures of her world and prodded her chest with their beaks to remind her that they believed in a beauty beyond the cage of her skin. It was a message without words, a message which no one had ever spoken before.

Everything. The birds would sing with melodious harmony. Sometimes they would sing a sweet ballad and sometimes a vibrant choir would wake her from her uneasy slumber.

'Everything.'

And as she woke, she would feel as though she was returning from emptiness back to all that was full. She did not yet have the vision to understand the origins of her land. In fact, she might never wake with that knowing. But the birds would not end their morning call. They would not give up on her. They would not fade. In fact each day the strength of their hymn would only grow stronger.

Seeing the land anew each day through her friends and guides would leave Maya exhausted. She would find herself, tucked beneath a sand dune, or peering at an unseen night sky from a cosy cavern, fighting sleep and the nightmares. But the birds would come and sing her to sleep. And sleep would come in the end, in spite of the nightmares. At first Maya woke often, as she sought to escape the empty dreams that she did not understand. Yet night after night the birds would come and sing their homage of belief. Delivering a faith. Knowing that soon Maya would be strong enough to accept the flashes brought to her each time she closed her eyes to rest. Strong enough to finally see her journey home.

In time, Maya found that she could linger awhile amidst the shadowy land that came to her in sleep. She would stare into the umbra delivered to her unseeing eyes. All the time listening to the soundtrack playing in her mind from her internal world, where the birds would sing without end. Reminding her they would not leave her. And as she became content with this compromise. As it became part of a daily routine, which she accepted without question. Just like she once accepted the necessity of brewing a hot mug of tea at the start of each day, so she came to accept that sleep would come and that she must accept the shadows that danced across her face. She would accept the touch of a hand on hers and the voices talking to her in her sleep. Whispers were intertwined by the composer in her mind until they made a drumming heartbeat of a sound, which once heard seemed to make the never-ending birdsong more complete.

Routine had set in.

Waking. Exploring. Sensing. Talking. Listening. Birdsong. Rest.

The birds had laid forth a rhythm where the rhythm had been lost.

They had not told her what she needed to do. They had not cast judgement when she could not sleep, nor did they show disappointment when she had not managed to reach the top of a mountain they had shown her one day. They had simply kept on with being there and delivering their faithful song.

Everything

Everything echoing
Travels the Sea
Everything unending
Everything be

'Maya,
We are
Happy
To see
You have
Opened
Your eyes
Today'

Everything exploring
Inside of you
Everything enlightening
Everything true

'Maya,
Do you
Think you
Might like
Us to
Take you
Outside
Today?'

Everything here
But where have you been?
Everything near
But never been seen?

'Maya,
Doctor
Jenkins
Has come
To see
How you
Have been
Today'

Everything inside
Wrapped up so tight
Everything outside
Still shadows and light

'Maya,
Look, your
Friends have
Come to
Visit
Awhile
With you
Today'

Everything here
Just what you need
Everything clear
Everything freed

'Maya
When will
You wake
Up and
See'

'Everything'