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.

Retrieving Souls

  Beckoning the women once again to Ina’s side, Martha shared, ‘Ina has lost many pieces of her soul to evil.  I’m going now to retrieve them for her.  Stay by her side and minister to her as only her beloved friends can.’  With that, she disappeared into the night.

  In silence, Estelle held Ina as Hazel ministered to her wounds.  Rita tended to the fire.  At length, Hazel could bear it no more and collapsed into tears.  ‘Hazel!’ Rita called running to her side.  ‘Hazel, dear sweet woman!’  Hazel fell into Rita’s arms, weeping uncontrollably, Rita gently rocking and whispering love to her.  Estelle sat holding Ina and watching, then spoke.

  ‘Hazel, darling girl.’  she said.  ‘Look at me.’

  Hazel peaked out from Rita’s arms, fearful of the woman with the intimidating, commanding presence.  Taken aback, she saw a tender, graceful crone, eyes filled with grace, radiating love.  ‘Hazel,’ Estelle repeated.  Overwhelmed by the love, Hazel fell again into Rita’s arms.

  ‘I don’t understand!’ she cried.  ‘How could there be such evil?  Why would it hurt Ina?  What did she ever do to deserve that?!’  Her sorrow growing into anger, ‘It is wrong!  It is so wrong!’ she cried uncontrollably.  Estelle moved to her side and held the sobbing woman closely.  Hazel snuggled into her arms while Rita ministered to Ina.

  When finally the tears subsided and Hazel nestled exhausted in Estelle’s arms, Estelle ventured, ‘You have never seen evil before, have you child?’  Shuddering, Hazel cried, ‘No!  I never imagined such a horrible thing?!  How can it be?  It can’t be real; but I saw it with my own eyes!  I saw it try to kill Ina!’

  Weighing her words, Estelle responded, ‘Yes child, evil can dwell in the hearts of humankind.  And it can befall even the innocent.  I have seen it, many times.  It took my dear Loveworthy.’

  ‘But why?!  I don’t understand!  Why?  What is this thing, evil?  Where does it come from?  Why does it exist?’  The unfathomable scene played over and again in Hazel’s mind and questions streamed from her shattered heart into the silence of the cave.

  ‘I don’t have the answers, child,’ Estelle stated.  ‘But I have some ideas.’  ‘Please tell me!’ Hazel cried.  

  Quietly, ‘I believe that fear can strike a person’s soul so profoundly that it gets lodged there.  Then, it becomes the lens through which the person views life.  But the lens twists everything, creating more and more fear.  The person, caught up in the fear, moves to protect themselves…and that is where blame, hate, greed…all of it, is born.  They are all ways that the soul tries to protect itself.’

  Rita, holding Ina, added, ‘It’s like a pot of food left out in the heat.  What was once nutritious putrefies into a rancid, toxic mush.’  ‘Yes,’ Estelle agreed.  ‘And that toxic mush poisons the heart and soul.’

  ‘That’s horrible!’ cried Hazel, pulling ever more deeply into Estelle’s arms.  

  Just then, the light reappeared in the cave and transformed into Martha.  She was holding a crystal close to her heart.  Kneeling next to Ina, she placed the crystal over Ina’s heart.  Light shone around them, and Martha blew through the crystal into Ina’s heart.  Light flowed into Ina’s body.  

  Moving now to her head, Martha blew again through the crystal into the Crown Chakra.  White light filled Ina’s head and flowed through her body.  The cave warmed.  Then Martha was shaking a rattle around Ina’s body, head bowed reverently.  And once again, she was gone.

  Ina stirred in Rita’s arms, her breath regular and soft.  The light moving through the broken body healed it from the inside out.  Estelle and Hazel watched, mystified.

  ‘And that,’ noted Estelle, ‘is the breath of life.’  Hazel held her breath, watching Ina’s chest rise and fall.  Rita smiled and hugged Ina gently.  ‘You see, Hazel,’ Estelle continued, ‘it actually is very simple.  There is love and there is fear, one gifts life, the other steals life.  All else flows from those two emotions.’

  ‘Hate flows from fear,’ Rita added.  ‘Yes,’ Estelle agreed.  ‘Hate moves with haste, decimating everything in its path.  It is pernicious and lethal.’

  ‘But,’ Hazel offered timidly, ‘look what happened when it encountered light and love.’ 

  Estelle smiled, encouraging Hazel to follow her thoughts.  ‘Could it be,’ asked Hazel, ‘that fear cannot stand up to love?’  Pausing momentarily, ‘It almost killed Ina.  I get that it is lethal and we should never underestimate it.’  Pausing again to witness the epiphany settling into her soul, ‘But, eventually it succumbed to the light.’  Looking to the women, light bursting from her eyes, she exclaimed, ‘We all saw it!  Love and light can overcome the fear!!’

  Estelle was overcome with pride watching Hazel’s spirit grow.  Yet an age-old grief tugged at her heart...Loveworthy.  A tear of happiness and sorrow trickled to her chin.  Hazel blew onto the tear and another rainbow swept across the cave.

  Thrice Martha returned with soul parts and blew them into Ina, who received them as a mother welcomes a lost child.  With each new soul part, Ina’s lifeforce grew stronger until she sat again next to her friends and sisters, Rita, Estelle and Hazel.

It Is Time

  Rita stood looking out from the cave into their future, ‘Don’t you feel it’s time to go now?’ she asked.  Estelle raised her weary bones from the rock, grateful to move beyond this experience.

  

  Hazel too, felt the need to go home.  ‘Has anyone seen Martha lately?’ she asked, looking into the cave.

  Ina smiled, ‘She’ll come.  She has the uncanny knack of showing up just when she’s needed.  I would love to go home.  I’m so tired from this journey.’  Taking Rita’s hand, she moved toward the cave’s entrance.  Hazel hesitated, the day’s events melding into the recent epiphany that expanded in her soul.  She felt drawn by a force that defied her comprehension, a force that was ubiquitous and eternal.   

  ‘Ina, why don’t you walk with Hazel?’ Estelle prompted.  And she took Rita’s arm.  Together they stepped into the forest and their future.  ‘Rita,’ Estelle started.  ‘Yes, old friend?’

  ‘It’s time.  After a lifetime, it’s time.  You are safe with us.’ Estelle stopped, looked deeply into Rita’s soul.  Tears filled Rita’s eyes, foretelling her acceptance, finally, of the truth.  Estelle stood expectantly, holding Rita’s arm.  Rita dropped her head, hiding from Estelle’s gaze.  But Estelle gently lifted it to gaze into her eyes.

  ‘I know, sweetheart,’ she disclosed.  Rita stepped back in surprise, but Estelle held her tightly.  ‘I’ve always known.  I’ve been waiting all these years for you.  And Loveworthy has been waiting as well.  It’s time…’

  Not ready to give voice to the truth trapped inside her for what seemed an eternity, Rita asked, ‘Where did you go with Martha earlier today?  Ina said she overheard something about Loveworthy and then you were gone.’

  ‘I went to see Loveworthy.  She wanted to tell me something.’ Estelle shared.

  ‘And…what did she have to say?’  Rita asked, barely able to hide her anticipation.

  Estelle took Rita’s hands in hers, stood silently for a moment, then said, ‘Rita, she is going home.  She grew weary of waiting.  You know, she has waited for so very long.  She said there is more to life, the next adventure awaits.  Her soul wants to fly.’

  Tears flowing, Rita opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.  Estelle spoke again, ‘It’s time dear Rita.  All you need do is say the words and it will all be over.  Then you can step out of your private nightmare and over the threshold.’

  Hazel and Ina were now holding Rita and Estelle.  ‘We know too, Rita,’ Hazel whispered.  ‘It is okay.’

  

  ‘Will I be able to see her?’ Rita whispered.  ‘Yes, she is waiting,’ Estelle assured her.

  Finally releasing her breath, Rita whispered, ‘It was me.  It was me all along, always.’

  ‘Yes,’ Estelle smiled.  ‘It was you she loved, still loves, will always love.’

  ‘But I betrayed her!’ Rita cried.

  ‘No,’ Estelle firmly countered.  ‘Fear captured others’ hearts and mutated into hatred of two women who were blessed with a simple and sacred love.’  Waiting a moment, then, ‘You are safe, loved.’

  Rita held her head high, took a deep breath and said simply, ‘I am in love with Loveworthy.’  As she uttered those simple words, Loveworthy appeared and reached to her.  Rita took her hand and they embraced, the whole of eternity passing between them.

  ‘Look,’ Ina whispered to Hazel.  Martha was approaching the lovers, clad in brilliant white light.  They turned to her, and she whispered to them.  Nodding to her, they looked to the other women, placed their hands on their hearts sending their love, and turned back to Martha.  And they were gone.

Crossing Over From the Place Where They Lay

  The only sound, the twigs breaking beneath their shoes, the wind in the trees and the quiet chatter of the forest animals.  

  Hazel stopped short, ‘Hey, I think we took a wrong turn.  Does anyone else remember a cemetery by our house?’  The women gathered at her side, equally confused.  

  Martha opened the gate and invited them inside.  ‘Martha!  I was wondering what happened to you!’ smiled Hazel.  ‘What are you doing here?  And by the way, do you know where we are?’  Martha walked in silence alongside Hazel, looking at the headstones scattered among the trees.

 

  Suddenly, Hazel stopped, mouth agape, ‘What the…?  Look!’ she called incredulously.  Martha stood back as Ina and Estelle came to Hazel’s side.  Ina was shocked, Estelle quietly amused.  ‘What is going on?!’ Ina yelled.  ‘Is this some kind of joke?!’

  Martha moved near Ina, took her hand and said quietly, ‘No, this isn’t a joke, Ina.  That is your gravestone.  It holds your body.’  Ina fell back in shock, Hazel stood motionless, Estelle gathering it all in, everything finally making sense.

  ‘But that would  mean…’ Ina stammered, ‘something isn’t real here.  What is real?  We’ve been living in that house forever.  We did take that walk.  I was attacked…and you saved me!  That’s all true, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, you did have an experience in the cave, but it was a memory of something horrible that happened in your life,’ Martha explained.  Ina blanched, the memories flooding back.  ‘And’ continued Martha, ‘I did bring back parts of your soul that have been hiding since you were hurt.  You are whole now, complete.  You can feel it, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ina said softly.  ‘I feel more like myself than I have in so long.  I don’t feel empty anymore.  I feel like my life is finally complete.  But…there’s my body.  How can that be?  I feel so alive.’ 

  Hazel, turning her hand over and over, said, ‘Look Ina.  Look closely at your hand.  You can see through it.’  Pausing, ‘I can see through yours…and mine.  And there is my gravestone, and Estelles, and Rita’s next to Loveworthy’s…’  

  The women turned to Martha, who stood quietly, bathed in white light.  Estelle, ‘Who are you, Martha?  You appear and disappear.  You find soul parts.  You took Rita and Loveworthy somewhere.  Who are you?’

  Martha smiled gently, ‘I am a shaman.  I live many generations in the past.  I am an ancestor to one among you and came to walk with her.’  The women exchanged glances, quickly deducing they weren’t the one Martha mentioned.  Then, they all turned to me, seeing me once again.  Martha stepped to my side, saying, ‘Zoë found you.  She has carried you in her heart for many years.  She asked me to help you to heal and find your way home.  So, I came.’

  ‘What did you say to Rita and Loveworthy?  And where did they go?’ Estelle asked, hope gleaming in her eyes.  

  ‘You know the answer, Estelle, don’t you?’  Estelle smiled.  

  Martha looked at the women, ‘You are souls.  You are eternal.  Yes, your bodies passed.  Actually, Estelle’s passed a good long while ago.’

  Ina, ‘But then, why are we still here?  Why did we think we were still alive?’

  ‘You weren’t ready yet to move on.  You each had something holding you back. Ina, it was the pain of the abuse you suffered in life.  Estelle, it was Loveworthy’s death and Rita’s inexorable, unspoken remorse.’

  ‘And, what about me?’ asked Hazel.  ‘What am I still doing here?’

  Stepping up, Estelle ventured, ‘I believe you needed to discover your strength, because it is needed right now on the earth.’  

  ‘Yes,’ Martha agreed.  ‘You have so much to offer to a world that is in dire need right now, Hazel.’

  Hazel looked at them all quizzically, ‘But you all know me!  I’m the naïve one, the hopeless optimist.  I had no idea evil existed until today!  How could I possibly be of any assistance?!’

  ‘That is exactly the point, Hazel!’ Martha laughed.  ‘Love, pure love is strength!  That is the only thing that will get the people through the grueling challenges they face.'

  Fear caught in Hazel's throat, her entire body quaking.  'You don't understand!  What happened to Ina scared me so bad, I couldn't move!  I have no idea how to stand up to such horror, much less actually help!'

  Tranquility pervaded Martha's countenance, 'You don't need to know what to do, Hazel.  You carry the treasure of love in every cell of your being!  It radiates around you, touches everyone you pass.  You are light, Hazel.  You are love.  All you need do is walk in that love and you will be given what you need when the time comes.’

  The women all nodded in agreement, holding their breath as Hazel pondered.  Finally, she looked at them.  ‘I love you all.  I don’t understand what is happening there.  I don't understand why there is so much hate and fear.  I don't know what I can do, but I want to help.  I trust what you say, Martha.  I want to go back.  Can you take me back, Martha?’

  Martha smiled, ‘No, I can’t.  But I can take you to one who can.’  With that, Hazel hugged the women, took Martha’s hand and stepped into her future.

  Ina sighed, ‘I am tired.  It was a rough life.  I don’t think I want to go back, at least not yet.  I could use a rest…and a hot bath.’  

  Estelle laughed, 'If you go, who will I have to banter with over coffee in the morning?'

  Ina smiled, 'You were a worthy adversary, Estelle.  But you know I would have won in the end.  You are a terrible cook!'

  Laughing, they hugged, dear friends always.  Martha appeared by Ina's side, smiling.  Ina took her by the hand, and they were gone.

  Estelle looked at me.  ‘So, you’ve been around the whole time?’ Estelle asked.  

 ‘Yes, since before Loveworthy and Rita met,’ I shared.  

  ‘And you’ve seen my life?’  she asked.  

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I have Estelle.  You have been a part of my heart for many years.’

  ‘I’ll be going too, when Martha gets back.’

  ‘Yes, I know.  Will you find Loveworthy and Rita?’

  ‘Oh yes!  We have so much to celebrate!  And what about you, Zoë?  You are still in the material world, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I am.  I have more work to do.’

  ‘Well, I speak for all the women when I say, you can share our story, for whatever it’s worth.  I trust you.  After all, I am a part of you, am I not?’  Estelle smiled, revealing the profound wisdom of a crone.  ‘Someday, you may step into my wisdom…but you have work to do to get there!’ she teased.

As we hugged, Martha arrived.  And together, they disappeared into the future.  

Grieving Our Broken Hearts

I awoke this morning to melancholy, confusion and mourning.

  My story matters no more than the stories carried by all souls.

  Its role is to act as a vessel to transmit truths universal to us all.

Hazel lives in me, the naïve child full of unsullied optimism and joy.

  Her horror in witnessing the evil unleashed against Ina is also mine.

  Her failure to grasp such depravity and deliberate cruelty, also mine.

What doesn’t come so easily is Hazel’s readiness to live fully in this day.

  I can step into the memories, relive the pain as if it were occurring now.

  It matters not the lifetimes that have issued since the memory breathed.

The horror, the despair, the agony, the bitterness…all of it…come alive now.

  And here I sit, in the world of today, living the world of yesterday, destroyed.

  All that I need is a dream, an occasion, a sound, and it reappears in living color.

I understand too her consummate failure to comprehend depravity and cruelty.

  How can such evil and malice lurk in a person, keen to inflict torment on others?

  And for what reason, because they are different than us, individual, exceptional?

What is it about difference that frightens us so, that transforms us into monsters?

  What primal fear does it incite in us that we hastily deign to kill rather than accept?

  And, given the right circumstances, we all readily trade roles of victim and predator.

Here, I break from my upbringing which decreed our inborn hopelessness and impiety.

  Such a reality opportunely bodes well for those who covet control of our every breath.

  Rather, I believe with all my heart that, just as Hazel, we can choose to create our lives.

And I will not abide the actions of those intent on creating hell on this earth for their gain.

  We are all different, by nature and design, and our differences promise to enrich our lives.

  We do have the ability to choose, just like Hazel, the future we would create for ourselves.

And I, for one, say we do that, despite and because of our beautiful, broken hearts and souls.

OK, Let's Go There

So you believe I am disengaged from this reality,

  living in a dream realm while the world explodes.

  ‘Fear is a sensible feeling!  Just look!’  you exclaim.  

Okay, let’s go there.

The threat has mutated into groundwork for execution.

  The day they take power, they will start the destruction.

  Deadly acts orchestrated in tandem on countless fronts.

This the strategy; unleash instant, complete, perfect chaos.

  Mutate our minds and world into a grotesque replica of life.

  90 days in, the régime of chaos will rule, people will be dying.

And no person shall be safe; witness the necropolis of loyalists.

Everything you ever worked for, loved, took for granted is at risk.

  Presumptions of education for our children, safety for our elders,

  fresh food, clean water, shelter, medicine, safety to speak, all gone.

And we haven’t yet considered those whom this régime has othered.

  Those othered are targeted at the outset, but they are just warmup!  

  All whilst the earth that bequests us life is desecrated beyond repair.

Yes, there is reason to fear, likely far more than we can even conceive.

  Do you feel your stomach twisted and boiling, your heart constricted?

  Is it hard to pull in a breath, more challenging to make your mind work?

So easily consumed by justifiable fear, terror rising as bile in our throats.

  Fear always conceives its progeny, malice, desolation, anguish, prejudice.

  Feelings of hopelessness, powerlessness, panic compel wrath, bloodshed. 

The question is not whether we should disengage from the reality we face.

  The question is if we choose to allow fear to consume us, for it is ravenous.

  It steals your lifeforce, power, leaves you without agency, purpose, resolve.

Might there be another way to live in these times in which we find ourselves?

  That is my question, now my quest, to find the space wherein we can create

  our lives, our future, remember how to be love, light, hope, peace in the dark.

Allow yourself to feel hope, love, peace; feel your vitality, strength once again.

  Inside this place, native to us all, we can contend with this perverse reality and

  bring to the fore all required to recast it into freedom, safety, reverence for all.

Concrete, Dictators and Fire

Breathing through the fear, embracing it with love, reassurance; releasing it.

  Lungs filled with chi, muscles taught and strong, mind clear, ready to create.

  Journey with me into the story now unfolding of concrete, dictators and fire.

Once upon a time, in a faraway place, a child frolicked amongst flowers aplenty.

  Sun lifted her off Gaia; stars drew her into their orbit, spun her on pulsing waves.

  Transfiguring into the light from which she was born, she melted into the cosmos.

  

Waves and particles pranced, wove in and out of form and promise; infinite creation.

  And a force greater than any she had known pulled her, formidable and indomitable.

  Her power, agency, facility inconsequential in the wake of the force; she succumbed.

Engulfed by the gaping maw of a black hole, she collapsed in on herself, riven, crushed.

  Million shards, swept farther and farther back in time, space; flung throughout the void.

  Still the fierce, unrelenting force of gravity; at length cast into the sun, consumed by fire.

And there arose on earth one who lusted power at any and all costs, would stop at nought

  to seize and hoard the power, seal his dominion over it, finally to exploit and exercise it

  to unleash hell at his behest on whomever he selected for as long as he took pleasure.

Those living untold years in misery under the yoke of capitalism, frantic simply to  live,

  demanded an end to the crushing struggle to survive, fell prey to his vile treachery.

  When the country lies barren, their lives destroyed, the truth; dictators only slay.

Concrete poured over America; nature apportioned, controlled; humanity alone.

  Temperatures rising, reflecting off the monolithic, desolate concrete, burning.

  Trees heaving from toxins, unable to offset the burgeoning poison, asphyxia.

Concrete, dictators and fire; devouring, laying waste; ferocious assault on life.

  Yet, seeds break their shells with fire; tiny seedlings burst through cement;

  the human spirit always rises to meet dictators, to reclaim our sovereignty.