Are We the Answers to Our Prayers?

This poem is republished from Spirit Walk: Journey of a Soul Embodied.

Another night of Kundalini energy.

  Woke me in the dark of the night 

  when it exploded out of my head.

  It carried a dream and a message.

'Create an intentional community of love.'

Over and again, I heard the message.  

  I immediately started examining it, 

  reviewing the many times we have 

  built community, and the myriad

  ways we destroyed our creations.  

Despite our highest intentions, 

  we can’t escape our humanness, 

  the fears that capture us, and the

  illusions we label rational thought.

But perhaps despite, or even

  because of our shortcomings,

  we can create community now.

This community is not defined

  by geography, culture or religion.

  It is bound by a singular commitment

  to shine light and love on darkness. 

Imagine light and love emanating

  from trillions of people, shining

  on the darkness we have created.

Imagine…WE are the answer.

But...

  Spirit stepped aside, gifting the people precious moments to ponder.  The people disbursed, caught up by the juxtaposition of an impossible, lethal predicament with the hint of an equally inconceivable, yet potentially extraordinary solution.

  However, there was one left standing, his facility to consider any solution held in abeyance by his inability to grasp reality.  The gravity of the impending situation challenged even that most optimistic and visionary part of him.  

  This one was born, as Hazel, with a tender heart, a soul filled with love and compassion.  He was born into life laughing and singing, lifting the hearts of all who met him.  All his young life he gifted himself to the care of others.

  A soul born of light and love, he was literally unable to comprehend the nightmare described by spirit. So as others pondered spirit’s word, he was flooded with emotions…fear, foreboding, denial, anger, the exasperating inability to understand what was happening…all at once.  

  He recognized that the feelings are natural to the grieving process.  He knew that allowing grief to run its course is necessary for profound healing.  

  But he also gathered from spirit’s words that grief would be stirred many times as the assaults against humanity rained down all around us.  And each bout of grief may not find closure before others are layered upon it, creating a torrent of unresolved, terrible, undulating grief.  

  A society awash in grief and agony.  

  He felt himself marshaled into a dark corner, denial the warden.  Hearing the truth of it all was unbearable.  He literally couldn’t imagine the world they were to create…in just days.  

  Crying, he called out to spirit, ‘How do I move from this impossible place to a place wherein I can even start to consider solutions, and finally to imagine what I might possibly do about it all?’

  Spirit listened lovingly to this angel embodied.  ‘I was doing the work I was born for,’ the young man cried.  I was loving with my all, gifting myself to life.  I had just started, you know!  It all is overwhelming!  It frightens me so.  It makes me question why I came here.  It makes me want to leave.’

  Falling into quiet, the young man contemplated, ‘This dark corner in which I hide… At least I can see the boundaries of the corner.  I understand how far I can step, what will happen if I venture too far, when it will be light and dark.  I know this dark corner, retched as it is.  And though I fade into a memory of life in this corner, at least I still live.’

Beings of Light & Love

This morning, I awoke to the realization that it is just days before life changes into an unfathomable and horrifying reality.

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In these, the final moments, 
  the lambs dine with the wolf.   

The sneer upon the wolf’s countenance 
  as it anticipates the taste of its first kill
  is surprisingly unrecognizable to its prey.

Spirit counsels that we answer its question
  without ado for the meal is nearly finished.

‘What blinds the lambs to their certain peril?’

Without pause, lest we turn aside, Spirit adds,
  ‘You are the lambs led now to your slaughter.
  ‘Open your eyes now, see the reality unfurling!’

‘Unfeasible, we are an advanced, learned society.’
  ‘Immaterial, the sight needed is from the heart.’

‘What you herald, impossible in the United States!’
  ‘America is no longer united.  Look now and see.’

‘But we have a system designed to fend off dictators.’
  ‘To be dismantled without delay when he takes reign.’

‘The reality you prophesy is horrendous, preposterous!
  When we try to hold this unbearable vision, it vanishes
  into the corners of our hearts and souls.  It is too much!’

‘Why would you ask us to step willingly into this nightmare?
  We endeavor so to not fall into fear, to walk instead in love.
  What could possibly be the purpose of plunging us into fear?’

‘Because, if you view the world as it is, you can create solutions.’ 

‘But how can we create solutions when we are consumed by fear?
  The fear destroys our ability to think, provokes us to run or fight.’

‘Yes, if you succumb to your fear, it will compromise your abilities.
  Rather, honor the lessons it offers, then choose your path forward.
  Use the knowledge to find the gifts unique to you that you can offer.’

‘Every one of you was born with distinctive gifts to offer in this moment.
  The gifts will come to the fore when you see opportunities to offer them.
  You were born for this moment because your unique gifting is imperative.’

No more, lambs led to slaughter.  Now arise powerful beings of light and love.

Spirit, Ever Present

The young man, finally ready to talk, challenged spirit,

‘So, tell me spirit, why should I leave this corner?

  The future you depict foretells agony and death.

  Here, I can disappear from it, wait for it to pass.’

Spirit consoled, ‘I hear what you say, I understand.

  You accurately describe this impossible quandary.

  And I understand that you may select your corner.’

Lost to the horror of it all, the young man withdrew.

  ‘Might you stay with me this moment?’ spirit queried.

  The young man quaked as he saw it all in living color.

Stunned by the rising awareness that the choice was his,

  such an awful choice, to live in terror or simply survive.

  It seemed a contemptible choice, or was it really a choice?

‘OK, whatever,’ he conceded, positive his demise was certain.

  He felt himself plummeting into the vacuum of hopelessness.

  ‘What does it matter?’ he asked. ‘It’s over, just a matter of time.’

Spirit touched him, held his soul as he wept, brokenhearted, bereft.

  ‘My child,’ spirit lovingly counseled, ‘look, see who embraces you.’

  And he felt the familiar warmth and kindness of his mother’s arms.

‘Look around you,’ spirit advised. There was his husband, life partner.

  Family, friends, community, families who entrusted their care to him.

  ‘They,’ prompted spirit, ‘are your reason to live, why your light shines.’

‘Remember child,’ it said, ‘that you were born a gift to the world, to life.

  Your work has just begun, and while you have no idea how to proceed,

  you have all that you require to contribute everything you came to offer.’

Spirit proclaimed, ‘The love of which you are made is sacred and eternal.’

  You came to this life to gift yourself. Know also that I endowed you the

  chance to discover how to accept and flourish in the love of your family.’

Spirit clarified, ‘You cannot walk this passage alone. Only together can you

  cross the threshold of this moment to create a tomorrow of love and light.’

The People Return

The people returned, having mulled over spirit’s words.

  Some were devoured by fear; some hunted the culpable.

  Others, as the young man, were wholly unable to fathom

  the nightmare into which they seemed destined to awaken.

One gift that spirit holds, which eludes the whole of humanity

  is perception forged by time eternal, creations past and future.

  From this omniscient sight is borne wisdom, equanimity, grace,

  but most extraordinarily, an everlasting love for every living soul.

Their hearts torn asunder, the people collapsed before spirit, crying.

  They wept, ‘We glimpsed in our dreams the terror you prophesied!

  Fear contorted into horrific action perpetrated against one another.

  As we beheld it, we fell into chaos and created the hell you foretold!’

Alarmed, they appealed to spirit, ‘It is we who create this horrid future?’

  Spirit shared, ‘You are borne as creators, bequeathed self-sovereignty.’

  Incredulous, they challenged spirit, ‘What do you suggest, sovereignty?’

  ‘I mean,’ spirit explained, ‘you are gifted the inviolable right to choose.’

‘Yet, this vision proves that we are utterly incapable of wielding this gift!’

  ‘No,’ countered spirit, ‘your vision demonstrates your capacity to create.’

  ‘And’ persisted spirit, ‘it bares indisputable evidence of your sovereignty.’

  ‘Hence, the question,’ ventured the young man, ‘is how we wield this gift.’

The Ineffable Force

This is not a fairytale of leaders, nor titans, nor giants towering o’er humanity.

  No, this is a story of you and me, simple, pedestrian, dispirited though we be.

  We each carry within us a light, bound to the eternal, that shimmers with life.

  

Only we, no other person, hold power to kindle, shine and extinguish our light.

  We know the truth of the terror that one human can perpetrate upon another.

  But for time without end, we alone bear the light gifted us by the eternal light.

Though we know it not; though we hide it behind layers of suffering and pain,

  the light blazes in our souls, pulling chi into our lungs, animating us into life.

  This is the ineffable force to which I call, stirring it to arise, shine within you.

For this sacred light, this ineffable force is you, is who and what you really are.

  Through your light emanates the wisdom of the universe, agape love, infinity.

  It is you we need, your strengths and gifts, your flaws and faults, your doubts.

When you awaken to the treasure living inside you, you will find the way ahead.

  You will find gifts, uniquely yours, forged through your life, that are essential.

  You will be gifted sight and discernment about their use for the benefit of all.

Step into Your Birthright, Creators All

  The people fell to silence once again, ruminating on spirit’s words, considering the possibility.  But one among them arose, I believe a direct descendant of Estelle.

  Standing tall and noble as her grandmother, she declared, ‘Your words are fanciful, I’ll give you that, even a little inspiring.  But this is a pipe dream you describe, for it can’t possibly define this lot!’ she said, waving to all the people.

  Abashed, the people recoiled from their imaginings of the possible and settled back into the familiar albeit self-effacing position of powerlessness.  It was true, they thought, this spirit hasn’t suffered as have we, doesn’t toil endlessly just to survive.

  ‘Well,’ demanded the young woman, squaring off with spirit, ‘what have you to say to that?’

  Spirit, loving the young woman’s courage and power, smiled, infuriating the young woman.  ‘Stop making sport of me!’ she yelled, desperate to maintain her standing within the group.  ‘I express the words they are frightened to speak.’  And some gathered the courage to nod their agreement.

  ‘You are a woman of remarkable power,’ spirit said.  ‘Do you see how the people look to you?’  And the people waved encouragingly at her.  ‘Tell me please,’ spirit asked, ‘what is it in you that inspires the people to entrust you to speak for them?’

  Embarrassed, the young woman, started, ‘You are…’  But she was interrupted by an elder man who stood to speak.  ‘I wish to share my idea,’ he said, looking to her.  Hastily, she declared, ‘You don’t need my approval to speak!  We are all free to speak our minds.’

  Smiling at her, he looked to the people.  ‘I knew Estelle,’ he started.  ‘She was irascible, for sure!’  And the elders among them smiled, remembering.  ‘But she was wise beyond belief, and she had an incredible way with words.’  Turning now back to the young woman, ‘You carry her spirit, dear child.  You are wise, outspoken and courageous.  We all recognize that gift in you and we adore you for it.’  With that, he sat again among the people.  

  The young woman stood silent.  She felt awkward with the attention and elated by the fact that she was seen and honored by her people.  She held her grandmother in high esteem and felt small at the very mention of her name.

  As if hearing her thoughts, spirit ventured, ‘Dear child, hear the words of your people.  You are gifted with wisdom and the ability to express your thoughts.  And it takes courage to stand up and give voice to your feelings.’  The young woman listened, aware that the conversation had moved to an entirely different place than she had intended.

  Spirit continued, ‘Thank you for shining the remarkable light within you for all to see.’  An elder woman now stood, ‘And thank you, child, for sharing your gifts with us all.’  The people stirred to venerate the young woman.

  But the elder woman knew of their propensity to raise others on pedestals and in so doing to relegate themselves to insignificance and subservience.  So, she waved for them to sit.  Puzzled, they sat once again, the young woman now joining them.

  She cautioned them, ‘Yes, we all agree she has wonderful gifts.’  The people applauded, still excited to celebrate their new leader. ‘But,’ she continued, ‘so do you,’ she said pointing to a woman, ‘and you,’ pointing now to a young man, ‘and you,' pointing to a child.

  Soon she was waving her arms across the entire people.  She called to them, ‘You all have gifts.  I have seen them.  I have witnessed you each offering your gifts, so many times!’  ‘But,’ started a middle-aged woman, ‘we don’t have her gifts.  Her gifts are special.  All I do is cook and care for my children.’

  And another stood, ‘But had you not cooked for me, I wouldn’t have grown up strong and able to help our people.  That gift you gave me, and all of us kids, is incredible!’  And now multiple children stood up and applauded, both her own and the neighbor kids who knew her cooking well.  The woman, awash in love and appreciation, sat with the dawning realization that she, too, had gifts, important gifts.

  The elder woman now looked to spirit, who moved to her.  ‘You say,’ the elder stated, 'that we are all gifted.’  ‘Yes,’ affirmed spirit.  ‘And you say,’ the elder continued, ‘that all our gifts are essential.’  ‘Absolutely,’ spirit declared.  Whispering now, for this idea tested even her sagacity, ‘And, you say that each of us carries a light, is a light.’ 

  ‘Yes, I say it for it is the truth,’ spirit affirmed.  The elder woman, mystified by this idea, hugged spirit and took her place among the people to learn.  And spirit said, ‘Please come with me on a journey.  Close your eyes and see with your heart.’  The people closed their eyes and waited in silence.

  ‘Breathe deeply and slowly.  With each breath, feel white light and love flow through your body to your hands and feet.  Feel it filling every organ, every cell.  Feel your body transform into white light.  Feel the love flood your entire being. Exhale your concerns through your heart.  Continue this rich, divine, healing breathing.  Feel each breath healing and opening your heart, mind and body.’

  Spirit watched as the people relaxed into the healing breath, their bodies releasing pain and suffering.  ‘Now, send the white light to the heavens and behold your soul, a divine and eternal presence.  Feel your soul’s connection to your blessed body.  You are a soul-embodied.  Feel your soul shining like a star through your body.’

  ‘As a soul-embodied, you walk in both the earthly and spiritual realms.  You have chosen a noble and sacred earth walk.  Send the white light into the earth.  See the light fusing with the magnificence of Gaia and radiating back to you.’  

  ‘You are a being of light.’

  After a long pause, spirit continued, ‘Open your eyes now, slowly.  See with your heart.  See the light shining from each of you.’  The people opened their eyes and saw, for the first time, the light that emanated from every soul.  They sat in reverent silence, seeing light and love embodied in their own.

  ‘You are born of the light.  You are the light.  You carry within you all possibilities, every prospective future.  You are creators,’ spirit affirmed.

  ‘My question to you,’ Spirit posed, ‘is what you will do with this remarkable gift.  Who will you be?  How will you walk in this world?  What will you create?’  

  And with that, spirit faded from their view, but never from their side.

The Extra in the Ordinary

The people rose to attend to their routine yet compulsory doings of daily life. 

  But their vision had changed, enabling them to see the extra in the ordinary.

  Each action, and the donation of it to the community, was a remarkable gift.

  And they came to recognize that gifts could be both ordinary and remarkable.

The woman who cooked and cared for her children shared her gifts exuberantly.

  She delighted in the value of her contributions to the community, her gifting.

  She touted others’ gifts, finding the extra in the ordinary, holding all in honor.

  She inspired a communal project to find and acclaim the extra in the ordinary.

The people began to understand spirit’s message about their innate sacredness.

  They started to see themselves as important and valuable exactly as they were.

  They grew to trust their wisdom and gifts, to affirm and own their sovereignty.

  And those who claimed superiority found no devotees to genuflect unto them.

For the people finally knew they were gifted, powerful, sacred, sovereign creators.

The Resilience in Community

There were some steeped in, and unwilling to let go, the ways of the recent past.

  They had profited greatly from those days; prestige, special treatment, riches.

  They were loath to share the wealth or to discharge governance to the people.

They watched with rising trepidation as the people discovered their true nature. 

  Established strategies to mollify the people were now impotent and obsolete.

  However, they executed the strategies, for they worried they could lose it all.

The premier strategy: fracture community by turning people against each other.

  But people united, and their devotion to each other and community deepened.

  All strategies suffered the same fate, for the people possessed their true selves.

And the people reveled in their newfound gift to create a life of love and light.

  They saw the community’s wellbeing improve as they stepped into their gifts.

  And they realized that the future they desired could only be created together.

Loveworthy

I republish this poem from Spirit Walk: Journey of a Soul Embodied

  because Loveworthy appears in the following story and because

  I mourn for the human diversity this régime intends to destroy.

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The landscape, dreamlike, floated past her motionless body.
  Reliving the events recently past threw her into a vast,
  swirling pool of confusion, revelation and incredulity.

‘Did this really happen?!’ echoed through her mind.

The memories captured her,
  binding her body to the earth,
  opening her mind to the universe.

It started so innocently and gently.
  She saw Loveworthy, felt at once a
  connection, a profound love for her.

She followed eagerly the mystique.
  Loveworthy knew her immediately,
  and without pause, they united as one.

There are those you meet in this life
  with whom you share a soul-contract,
  a covenant to share a hallowed journey.

So, they loved and walked,
  fell deeply one into the other,
  shared exquisite bliss and delight.

Then, a man swaggered out from the mist,

  clad in grays and browns and garnished with
  eyes of steel and a smile contorted into a scowl.

He too knew Loveworthy,
  and approached her with the 
  arrogance born of power and rank.

Sanction and consent, his to confer,
  he wasted not a breath pronouncing
  his opinions and judgment against her.

‘What are you doing?!’  he exclaimed.
  ‘Who do you think you are, parading
  around like this, with another woman?!’

Loveworthy spoke not, but gathered her
  partner’s hand in hers and stood silently,
  resolutely defying his dogmatic judgment.
 
In revulsion, he disappeared back into the mist.
  The women gazed into each other’s souls and
  vowed that nothing would separate them, ever.

But as they walked, more stepped from the mist,
  lambasting them with profanities surpassed only 
  by the hatred and disgust coursing in their hearts.

Acerbic ridicule escalated into physical threats.
  Loveworthy stood fast, devoted to her partner.
  Peacefully, she asserted their right to share vows.

And as her community and family exiled her
  for this profound and singular love, she wept, 
  her heart shattered by their hatred and betrayal.

Her heart grew hard with anger and defiance.
  She would never again kowtow to the doctrine
  of a community defined by ignorance, fear, hate.

She was inspired by the love of her partner
  to find and express the greatness in herself.
  They healed, developed and thrived together.

A love so precious could not be wrong,
  and she,
  she was love worthy.

So she and her partner stayed the course,
  created their lives and journeyed together,
  strengthened by their love and commitment.

But the others, fed by fear and ignorance,
  could not allow such a shameless display
  of love and pleasure between two women.

Nor could they abide deviation from dictums
  that bound tightly that community of believers.
  So, they set out to stop the abhorrent abomination.

Clandestinely, they approached Loveworthy’s partner.
  ‘She is disgraceful.  She can only mean trouble for you.
  Best you stop now, while you still can,’  they admonished.

Frightened by the others, Loveworthy’s partner drew to her.
  ‘I’m confused!’  she cried.  ‘They say our love is not natural?!
  They call us depraved and atrocious!  Is our love worth this?’ 
 
The hate had poisoned her partner’s heart and mind.
  It had made her question her own wisdom, and worse,
  made her doubt her own worthiness to be and feel love.

Loveworthy gazed at the one who made her heart sing,
  the woman with whom she shared a soul contract.
  And, she wept.

Brokenhearted, Loveworthy turned away.
  Their journey and their love had been
  desecrated by ignorance and fear.

They caught Loveworthy that day,
  walking alone by a stream.
  There, they took her.

She walks no more by the stream.
  Her light, her love, her life,
  all perished that day.

And here I lie, next to the stream,
  transfixed by the memories of the 
  love that was mine and that I let go.

Through my tears, I see her spirit,
  I feel her touching my heart,
  and I realize, finally, that
  I am love worthy.

Estelle

  Meet Estelle, a cantankerous, outspoken, very old, and secretly very wise, woman.  I first met her in 2016 when she tottered, quite literally, into her 100th year, ablaze with mirth about a young woman she called Loveworthy.  This young woman lost her life to harsh bigotry leveled against her because she loved a woman.

An Old Woman's Scorn

  ‘And did I tell you,’ asked the old woman, ‘there is no need for you to hang on to your hate for Loveworthy, or your contempt for her, or your anger at her?  You see, there is no amount of hate or contempt or anger that you can direct toward her that she did not level in equal and greater measure toward herself.  None!'

  ‘Hopefully, you are satisfied with that,’ declared the old woman, eyes ablaze with mirth.   ‘Or do you need to exact yet more vengeance to heal your own wounds?!  Tell me!’ she shouted.  ‘What more could you possibly want?!  What deep chord of discontent inside you was struck when Loveworthy learned who she was?  And why do you insist on targeting her as blameworthy for your own wounds?'

  'Do you really think this perpetual war against a broken woman will heal you?  Does it satisfy some deep sickness in you to revel in her anguish?!  When will it be enough?!’

  Tears filled the lines that marbled her face.  ‘So old am I, and yet so astonished after all these years, to see the enmity that is humankind.  I hoped, before I go, to witness the love that Loveworthy dreamed was possible.  I wanted to take to my grave stories of human compassion such that the gods would smile.'

  'Yet, I have nothing for the passing except the dry bones of a long-dead child, whispers of dreams unfilled and dark contempt layered thick against my heart.'

  'And you,' the old woman asked, ‘what have you?’

The Story Will Be Told

  ‘Damn you!’ shouted Estelle quaking in her chair.  ‘How dare you steal the life from a young woman!  Who the hell do you think you are, pronouncing judgment on the innocent and guileless who dare to love?!’

   People had driven quite far to visit her, ostensibly to minister to the needs of an aged woman.  But they couldn’t resist asking about Loveworthy.  Guilt mingled with remorse, creating an amalgam of insatiable curiosity and morbid fascination.  They needed to know, sought absolution for the sins of their fathers.  

  ‘You, with your cars and toys and rules!  You know nothing of love! ’ shouted Estelle.  ‘You know nothing of compassion.  You know only your own fear and ignorance. Yes, ignorance!’

  Swiping away the condescending hand of the preacher, Estelle warned, ‘And, don’t you dare tell me to quiet down!  The gods will not smite me!  I am older than most of them!’

  Shaking violently, the old woman endeavored to quiet herself.  ‘Just what they would want,’ she scoffed, ‘for me to die right here so the truth won’t be told!  They can’t kill me that easily!’  She laughed and then chided herself, ‘But Estelle, you will stop this old heart if you don’t calm down!’

  Smiling, she set again to the gentle rock that soothed her soul...and sometimes put her to sleep.  She was, after all, near 100 and she deserved to sleep when she damn well pleased!

Martha

  Meet Martha, another elder woman, venerated among her people, a Shaman who soared with grace through life and between worlds.  I met Martha just weeks ago, dancing at a campfire in the dark of night.  She wore a long shawl adorned with beads and shells.  A beautiful headdress wrapped around her head and draped onto her shoulders.  She drummed and rattled as she danced, eyes closed, lost in reverie.

  Her people, shrouded by the dark, sat around the campfire, watching silently as she danced.

  She turned as I approached, and seeing me, her countenance transformed into the elation of expectation fulfilled and a profound love beyond my comprehension.  I felt I was meeting someone I had always known.

  An epochal secret splashed lightly across her face as she gazed lovingly at me.  Having made her acquaintance, I departed to continue my walk, mystified and not a little curious.  Not a minute had passed when I was drawn back to the fireside.

  Martha pointed to the people gathered around, ‘They would like to meet you.’  

  Even as the words formed on her lips, the people rose in silence, their faces emerging from the shadows.  They seemed to be captivated by me, excited by something about which I had no clue.  And again, I felt a keen sense of familiarity with them, as if I had returned home.  They stood quietly and gazed at me, and I felt love embracing my entire being.  

  Finally, awestruck and dazed by the entire experience, I thanked them and excused myself.  Martha, profound love shining in her eyes, whispered, 'We shall see each other again.'  Walking on, I realized she was to be at my side for all the remaining days of this earth Walk.  

  Had she always been there?

Ina Barefoot

  Step with caution into Ina’s kitchen.  You are likely to be accosted with a spoonful of something and the glower of a large woman, arms crossed about her ample bosom, tapping her foot impatiently.

  It doesn’t matter that you just wanted a snack.  You did step into her kitchen, her court, and no matter your lineage, you are now assimilated into her entourage of lady taste-testers (only women in this kitchen…and story).  

  And since you usually don’t know the something she shoved into your mouth, you are at a distinct disadvantage when venturing your humble opinion.

  ‘Well?’ Ina asks and without pause, ‘I know you are going to love it!  It’s my best yet!’  Again, the questioning glower that excites fear in your stomach.  Searching for the nearest exit and committed to wait for lunch, you whisper, ‘Yes, it was great!  Thanks so much!’  And you are running, in your mind anyway, to the door.

  ‘Tell me more,’  Ina’s huge body blocking the door and your escape.  Glancing furtively into her past, ‘I first made it in Wentworth.  The women loved it!  You know, everyone always seems to love my cooking?!  Not that I’m bragging, of course.  But even so…’

  The mention of Wentworth sends shivers down your spine.  You’ve heard the stories, more times than you care to remember.  Ina spent fifteen years there after she bashed in her abusive husband’s head.  Oh, he lived, alright, but only as a shadow of his evil self, no longer able to hurt Ina or, god-forbid, her kids.

  Her gaze leaving the cells of Wentworth, returning now to you, you take a deep breath.  ‘I always love your cooking, Ina!’  Edging your way past her toward escape, ‘This is very good!  Thank you!  I really don’t have any idea how you could improve it!’

  Ebullient from your lavish praise, Ina steps back from the door.  And you finally understand.  All she really wants is to be recognized and loved.  It doesn’t matter the food she serves.  And you remember why you love this brash, unkempt, somewhat crazy woman so dearly.

Rita

  ‘You know, that walker is still squeaky,’ Ina declared without turning.  Mustering her courage, throwing back her shoulders, then thinking better and slumping ever so slightly, she turned to face the only person who ever scared her.

  Two titans of the feminine spirit squared off over the stove.  Standing a foot shorter (at least), Estelle leveled Ina in her sights and announced, ‘I need coffee.’

  Appearing out of nowhere, a hand cradling a cup of hot java beckoned Estelle to the table.  Every inch of her five feet towering over Ina who had noticeably diminished in stature, Estelle squeaked her way to the table and took her java without a word.

  Owner of the hand?  That was Rita, master sleuth, who slipped in unbeknownst to the women, made coffee and withdrew into the background, quietly amused.

  'Rita,' you ask, 'Who is she?'  I start with the caveat; I have a dear friend Rita.  With the exception of the sweet smile barely masking a quiet amusement with life, these two Rita’s are not one and the same.  I met the Rita in this story nine years ago, when she was a babe of 86.  

  Rita learned in life to walk unnoticed in the world, thereby creating space for her to live safely inside her self.  Last we met, she determined to finally share with her friends that her interests were, had always been, in women.  Loveworthy had finally convinced her that she would be safe with them.  I have yet to learn whether she shared, or carried, that secret forward in time.

  And some would say they are plagued by Rita’s mischievous spirit, namely Hazel, for Rita finds humor in everything, including the daily standoff between Ina and Estelle.  Rita is unflappable and amiable, even more frustrating for Hazel who can't not love her, despite her antics!

Hazel

  If ever there were a new soul, she would be Hazel.  Her entire existence, perpetually confounded by the complexities of life.

  Time after time, her naiveté crashed headlong into situations that were incomprehensible to her young mind.  The minutiae, the niceties that cloak the real, the subtleties and switchbacks of this dance of life, always just out of reach.

  Guileless, she searched always for the unpretentious, the straightforward, the simple.  Yet as if a ploy by some outside force, she was continually tossed into evermore perplexing circumstances.  

  So, sad to say, Hazel’s life was peppered with confusion.  And, her gullibility made her an irresistible mark for Rita, who was naught to pass up an opportunity to send Hazel on another journey to nowhere.

  Just the other day…

  ‘Would you please stop yammering?!’ snapped Estelle.  ‘None of us can make a move without you telling everyone what we’re doing!  Who the hell are you anyway?’

  Startled that she heard me, I confessed, ‘My name is Zoe.  I’m the author of this story.’

  ‘Like hell you are, Zoe...whoever!’ she blustered, scanning her bedroom for evidence of me.  ‘I’m the author of my own damn story and I’ll tell it however I want, thank you!’  And with that, she drifted back into a deep slumber as I hightailed it out of her room.

  Moving back to the living room to continue my story, I came upon Rita and Hazel sitting by the fire.

Hanging Out With Martha

  Coffee in hand, Rita shared, ‘I saw Martha last night.’  

  ‘Me too!’ exclaimed Hazel, barely able to contain her excitement.  ‘What did she say to you?’

  ‘Oh nothing consequential,’ Rita replied.  She’s always hounding me to be myself.  As if?!’

  ‘You’re lucky, Rita’ Hazel sighed.  ‘She never talks to me.  I’m just supposed to follow her around.’

  ‘So where did you go?’

  Her eyes lighting up, Hazel smiled, ‘She took me to the carnival!’

  ‘I didn’t know it was still in town.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ confusion momentarily clouding Hazel's eyes.  Then, ‘But there it was!  We had so much fun, Rita!  Cotton candy, rides and the clowns!  They were hilarious, trying to catch all the balls!  I threw three at once just to see if they could catch them!  Of course, the balls were soft, so the clowns didn’t get hurt.’  Dreamily, ‘It was the perfect night.’

  Rita mused, ‘She just comes and goes.’  

  ‘Yah, I never know when she is going to show up.’  

  Ina’s voice resounded from the kitchen, ‘I swear, she’s like an apparition!’

The Purpose of This Story

There are so many possibilities,

  multiple, overlapping layers.

  That may well be the case.

  I actually don't know yet.

But, as far as I can tell, 

  I believe sometimes we

  simply need to feel joyful,

  laugh in spite of ourselves, 

  and love those on our paths.

Perhaps that is Hazel's wisdom... simple joy.

Another Visitation

Creaking in the hallway.  ‘Oh, gawd!’

  Ina stepped out back for a smoke.

  Truth be told, it was invigorating

  to evade her morning adversary.

Coffee was black and steaming,

  so no problem there, breathe.

  Cigarette fondled aimlessly

  between stained fingertips.

‘Humph!!’ Estelle grumbled,

  her morning sport thwarted.

  Nothing to complain about!

  Coffee was perfect, ‘Humph!’

Now to the table, she scooted.

  Martha sat sipping on a cuppa.

  Estelle, ‘Gifting me a visitation?’

  Martha smiled, raised her cuppa.

‘Seriously, why did you come today?’

  ‘I brought tidings from Loveworthy.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she just come herself?’

  ‘I know you miss her, love. I’m sorry.’

‘Well?’ Estelle impatient now, worried.

  ‘Loveworthy wishes you to call on her.’

  ‘Absurd!  Am I to ride my walker, fly?’

  ‘Just say the word.  We will take wing.’

Last luscious drag on the cigarette stub,

  itching to provoke that irascible woman

  win today’s match and revel in her coup,

  Ina marched back into an empty kitchen.

Ina Meets Her Match

Deprived of her rightful triumph, Ina stewed.

  Hazel was easy pickings but cried at anything.

  Rita, shifty and dodgy, regularly outfoxed her.

  The kitchen was her kingdom!  She must reign!

‘Why is fighting and winning so critical to you?’

  Vexed, ‘You really don’t get it, do you, Martha?’

  ‘Who you yakking at?’ Rita asked looking about.

  Seeing no one, amused, ‘Slow day in the kitchen?’

‘What a beautiful morning, friends!’ Hazel glistened.

  Rita clarified, ‘Hazel and Martha went to a carnival.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ Ina chortled.  ‘It’s snowing outside!’

  Unshaken, Hazel told the entire tale, with the clowns.

As Ina glowered incredulously, Rita surveyed the kitchen.

  ‘What’s cooking?’ she hinted, pouring a hot cup of coffee.

  ‘Oh, forget it! Let’s get breakfast, I’m buying!’ she grinned.

  ‘Where’s Estelle?’ asked Hazel, getting her coat and mittens.

‘She was here. I heard Martha. And then, they were both gone.’

  Ina continued, ‘Martha told her Loveworthy wanted something.’

  Her interest piqued, Rita raced, ‘Let’s go, Ina! Grab your coat!’

  Hazel pulling at her arm, ‘We love you, Ina. Please come with us!’

 

Hearing the words ‘We love you’ for the first and only time. ‘Me?’

  Tears threatening, Ina took up her coat, accepted Hazel’s hand.

  As they stepped into the snow, Ina pondered Martha’s question.

  Snow transformed into the café and they ate breakfast, together.

Busted Again

‘You again?!  Why must you keep on with us?  Don’t you have a life?'

  'I can’t, for the life of me, see what you find so fascinating about us!’

  Busted again!  I’m baffled that Estelle hears, now sees me, the author.

  ‘Speak up, Zoe!  What do you have to say for yourself?  Have you no life?’

The pregnant pause is broken by Rita’s laughter and I retreat into the mist.

  Estelle turns to the unexpected visitors, ire transforming into curiosity.

  The three jubilant women, hand in hand, seem to float o'er the earth. 

  Mesmerized, Estelle finds herself speechless, able only to observe.

Then Hazel touches the mist, dissolving it into radiant, white light.

  Martha smiles at me, steps forth and appears in front of them.

  Laughing, they set out to find Loveworthy, to hear her story.

  And I realize that I switched to poetry, back now to prose.

Interlude for Author Meltdown

  This story suddenly became hard to tell.  I lost the plot, assuming there ever was one?!  Or maybe rather, it was appropriated by the women, all of whom now seem to be onto me.  Quite a peculiar quandary I find myself in, hijacked by my own characters who appear determined to craft their own storyline.

  So be it.  That IS what I keep saying in this blog.  'So be it.'  'Allow.'  'Accept.'  'Become quiet so that you can see that which alludes you.'  blah, blah, blah…

  You laugh, pleased that I must abide my own words!  I’ll give you that.  

  Perhaps a little drumming will help me catch up with them.  Who knows?  Maybe they’ll even let me join them in creating, or at least telling, this story!

  Interrupting my meltdown, ‘The way I see it, you took too much control,’ says Ina.  ‘You put us places without asking if we wanted to be there.  Like, who decided I wanted to always be in the kitchen?  You did!  I like other parts of the house too, you know?!’

  Yanked from my reverie, ‘Wait.  I thought you were off on an adventure.’

  Rita laughs, ‘You don’t know it, but your voice rings in our heads!  We can’t escape you!’

  ‘I say we cut her off right now!’ Estelle demands, piercing my pride with her thought daggers.  ‘We don’t need her!  We can tell our own story.’

  Hazel, ‘Do you think?  Weren’t we born in her mind?  Do we exist outside her imagination?’

  ‘Ok, let's not fall into Schrödinger's cat box!’ laughs Rita.  ‘How about this,’ she says, turning to me, ‘you can come with us, but you can’t talk behind our backs or make stuff up about us.’

  ‘Yah,’ Ina agrees, ‘and you have to make yourself visible to us all.  No more lurking in the shadows!’

  'Okay,' I'm thinking, 'so this couldn’t get any more bizarre.'

  ‘See!’ Estelle exclaims, ‘that’s what I’m talking about!’

  Facing her squarely, I ask, ‘How am I supposed to tell the story then?’

  ‘You don’t,’ says Martha, appearing out of nowhere.  ‘You let the women tell their story.  All you have to do is write it.  I know you can do that.  You do it all the time.’

  Submitting to defeat at the hands of my creations, I agree to the terms.  ‘This is really f…d up!’

  ‘I heard that!’ Estelle snorts, and they fly off, me chasing behind.  Yes, I can fly too.

Hope Embodied

  ‘So, who wants so speak first?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Ina says.

  

  Curious, ‘What then, is it like?’

  Leveling me in her sights, Estelle's glare stops me short.  I hold my breath and wait.

  ‘Now you know what I feel like,’ Ina whispers to me.

  ‘Come on, Estelle.  Give her a break,’ says Hazel, a little surprised by her chutzpah.

  ‘So much rancor,’ states Rita, undaunted by Estelle.  ‘Let’s tone it down a bit.  Tell me, Estelle, what do you want to say?’

  Pausing, surprised to be asked her thoughts, Estelle slips momentarily into reverie.  We wait.

  ‘I was once a child, you know, a hundred years ago,’ she starts.

  Martha now standing next to Estelle, ‘What happened dear?’

  A tear fills the deep furrows in her cheek, Estelle says quietly, ‘Loveworthy.  Loveworthy happened.’ 

  

  Puzzled, Hazel asks, ‘But weren’t you an old woman when you knew her?  I’m confused.’

  Estelle now far away, ‘Yes, I was a child and an old woman.  You see, Loveworthy possessed a wisdom far surpassing any I have ever seen.  No matter how old I get, I always feel as a child in her presence.’

  And before us appeared a young woman, dressed in jeans and tank top, crossing a stream.  On the other side stood Estelle, now an old woman, now a child.  We all knew the young woman to be Loveworthy and our hearts jumped with joy.  We hadn’t seen her in so long.

  ‘She wanted me to cross the stream with her, barefoot.  But it was freezing cold, and the rocks were slippery,’ Estelle reminisced.  

  ‘Come on, Stell!’ coaxed Loveworthy.  ‘You can do it!’

  ‘She reached to me, waiting.  So, I took off my shoes, took her hand and stepped into the stream.  The water was moving so fast!  But she held me fast and pulled me gently toward her.’

  The scene unfolded in front of us as Estelle recounted the story.  The little girl now holding Loveworthy’s hand, stepping cautiously from one rock to the other.  Loveworthy beaming with pride, excited to have a mate explore the stream with her.

  As the little girl gained confidence, Loveworthy stepped deeper into the stream, taking on stronger, more rapidly flowing currents.  

  ‘I felt the current against my legs.  It was exhilarating and scary all at once,’ Estelle said, shivering involuntarily.  ‘But Loveworthy didn’t care.  In fact, she was thrilled by the challenge.’

  Interrupting, Hazel quietly asked, ‘You know Estelle, I’ve always wondered…who was Loveworthy to you?’

  ‘Loveworthy,’ Estelle stopped.  ‘Loveworthy was everything to me, all that I imagined a young woman could be.  She was hope and promise.  She was courage and vision.  She was an irrepressible force.  She was life.’

  The small girl and young woman danced across the water.

  Silence befell us all, transported into the dream, captivated by the hope that was Loveworthy.  And the scene faded into the rising mist.

Lollipops & Pigtails

  The women sighed as one, reluctantly yielding to the story’s end as they watched the dream fade.  Opening their eyes, smiling at one another.  

  ‘Hey,’ Hazel sat up.  ‘Where’s Ina?’  

  ‘She was here just a moment ago…or so I thought,’ said Rita, unsure of her memory.  Looking around, Ina was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Where could she have gone?’ asked Hazel.

  ‘And why did she leave without telling us?’ followed Rita.

  ‘No matter, we need to find her.  Let’s go,’ commanded Estelle.  

  The women strode into the forest, headed toward their home, calling for her.

  ‘Maybe she went home to get dinner,’ suggested Hazel, always hopeful for the best.  The others regarded her warily, unwilling to speak their hearts.

  After what seemed like hours of searching, Estelle came upon Ina, who was carrying wood into a cave.  Without a word, Ina walked past Estelle into the cave.  In the center of the cave a small fire burned, casting shadows of the women onto the walls as they entered.  Despite the fire, a chill filled the air.

  ‘It’s not all lollipops and pigtails,’ Ina stated flatly.

  Concerned, the women gathered quietly by the fire, watching Ina stack the wood against the wall.  They had seen her in this state before and worried for her.

  A draft blew in from cave’s bowels, replacing the chill with a bitter cold that penetrated the women’s winter coats and chilled their hearts.  Ina turned slowly, looking into the heart of the cave.  A reddish black miasma cleaved to the breeze, its mass weighing down the breeze and so that it crept just above the ground.

And before their eyes, it materialized into a phantasma of terrible mien, its gaping mouth spewing a putrescent yellow cloud.  Indifferent to the women, it set its sights on Ina. 

  Terror danced in Ina’s eyes, her breath shallow, her body immobile.  The phantasma enveloped her in its crushing grip.  Hazel screamed and leapt toward Ina, only to be caught securely in Rita’s arms.  Struggling, Hazel screamed, ‘Let me go!  Can’t you…’   Estelle, staring at the horror, silently raised her hand warning Hazel to stop.

  The apparition had hoisted Ina ten feet in the air, smirking wickedly as her head, arms and legs, flaccid, dangled from her inert body.  Then, it hurled her against the wall and her body slumped to the ground.

  The concussive force knocked all the women cold.

  The women awakened into a nightmare.  Ina lay motionless on the ground, the phantasma mutating into a monster, then a man, then pure evil.  Its silent laugh filled the air with a shriek that tore at the women’s ear drums.  It’s mouth opened and the screech formed into words.

 

‘You didn’t tell them your real name!’ it wailed.  ‘Tell them! Tell them!’ it taunted.  Ina lay motionless.  ‘Okay, I’ll tell them you filthy, smelly b…h!  Yes, that’s it!  Remember?!  Filthy, smelly bi…h!  Filty, smelly bi…h!’  Over and again, a chorus composed in hell.

 

  Now all the women, mortified, called to Ina, but their voices stuck in their throats.  They strained to stand, run to her aid.  But they couldn’t move, their bodies plastered to the ground, held by the same force that stole their voices.

  Helpless and horrified, they were forced to witness the cruelty, the shrill laughter, the malevolence, and the hysterical delight as the phantasm inflicted untold torment on Ina.  A bloody shard appeared, and the phantasm laughed.  Slashing, ripping, tearing at her, it screamed in delight.

  Suddenly, the wind caught its hand, knocking the shard to the ground.  Shrieking, it lurched to the source, but crashed to the ground, bound tightly by an energetic chord.  Then a hand materialized and covered its mouth, silencing it.  Hysterical, it twisted and turned to no avail, loathing filling the hollows where eyes might have been.  

  A brilliant white light radiated from the hand and danced in front of the phantasm.  It shone on Ina, then the women, finally returning to hover above the phantasm.  Gently the light settled over the monster, love layered onto hate, dissolving, transforming hot red fear into white light.  Martha appeared, gathered the light into her arms and disappeared into the night.

  

  Thunderstruck but able to move once again, the women hurried to Ina who lay motionless on the ground.  Hazel, trembling and tearful, kneeled by her side, touched her face tenderly, held her hand, crying, ‘Come back, Ina.  Please come back!’  The others gathered around Ina and Hazel, holding, touching, praying, weeping.

  Then the light reappeared and shone on Ina.  The women stepped back, pulling Hazel alongside.  The light shimmered, transformed, and Martha reappeared. 

  Taking Ina in her arms, Martha enfolded her in pure love, filled her with white light, breathed chi into her lungs.  Slowly Ina opened her eyes, and a single tear streamed down her face.  Martha gathered up the tear and held it to the light.  A rainbow swept across the dome of the cave.

 Ina's story is gifted to honor all those souls 

who have suffered at the hand of evil incarnate.