THE LAWS OF LIFE
“And while I stood there I saw more than I can tell and I understood more than I saw; for I was seeing in a sacred manner the shapes of all things in the spirit, and the shape of all shapes as they must live together like one being.”
— JOHN G. NEIHARDT,
BLACK ELK SPEAKS: THE COMPLETE EDITION
A FTER WHAT SEEMED like an eternity in each other’s arms, we stretched like lazy kitties and stood up. “Oh, my back feels tight,” said Chor.
“I could guide you through a few yoga poses that might help,” I offered, expecting his familiar, blunt “no.” I couldn’t help but to try and help, even if it was rarely received.
“Yeah, please. I should listen to you more,” Chor said as he jumped onto my yoga mat. My eyes widened, and my lips curled into a silly smile.
“What’s so funny?” he said.
“Wow,” I said. “It’s a miracle.” We laughed as he stretched and twisted. His simple act of receiving was revolutionary.
I went to the bathroom and discovered crimson. I had been a couple days late for my menstrual cycle, and I knew, my body had waited for the medicine.
Mopunga had mentioned that a woman should not take medicine on the first few days of her moon time, because her moon time was medicine enough. This made sense and reflected the customs of so many other nature-based cultures. I thanked my body for its patience.
“Oh, baby,” I said on my way out. “I just started my moon.” We shared a sigh and silent gratitude for our shared flights.
We teetered downstairs for brunch. It must have been early afternoon already. I fetched a plate of fruit and followed Chor into the dining room. As I entered, I beheld an astonishing sight: Chor sat with this head bowed over his plate and his palms together at his heart.
“Wow, love. You are praying over your food!” He looked up, surprised. The act had been so natural that he hadn’t even thought about it.
“Yeah. I am praying over my food!” We both laughed, for he never prayed over his food. He had always wolfed down his grub like a starving wild animal, usually while standing in the kitchen, hunched over a takeout box, or in front of the TV. I’d always prayed over my food, but he had never showed much interest in joining me. I loved taking that moment to savor the gratitude and transform the molecules of the food into magic. Plus, pausing to pray made everything taste even more delicious.
“Yeah, the laws of life!” Chor affirmed.
Michael joined us at the table, curious and vivacious as usual. “So, how are you guys doin’? You went through that door, didn’t ya?” Wink wink.
“Oh yeah, we went way in.” I answered, returning the smile.
We spent the day in each other’s arms again, talking, laughing, kissing, strolling, stroking, laying in the sun. Another day with no to-do lists. We relished each moment of luscious peace.
We meandered between the hammock, the outdoor sofa, and the bed. I filled my journal with fresh pages, turning every moment of our experience into a diamond in my mind. Chor looked at trees again for long, lackadaisical epochs, studying them with the same attention that he once reserved only for his smartphone. Between my chapters, I studied this new Chor.
I felt so clean, even cleaner than the day I was born. Clean body. Clean mind. Clean soul. Content. Blissful. Beautiful. No poisonous intoxicant with its fleeting buzz could ever compare to this supremely intelligent medicine. And I was so grateful that Chor had been able to get a taste of it.
I sensed that this superlative state was just the beginning. The medicine had planted seeds of change within us that whispered of many more miracles and blooms of beauty to come.
A couple times, fearful thoughts flickered by at the speed of light. How long will this last? It’s so good. Too good. These thoughts would almost instantly fade. I saw them for what they were: mental mosquitos, just staying busy.
There’s not a moment to waste on such banter, I reminded myself. I needed every drop of my attention to behold beauty and nurture love.
Dinnertime came, and I remembered Chor’s last odd vision, the straggler. “Hey, Mopunga, Chor had a vision of aliens in spaceships. I was saying that sometimes the vision is just a vision.”
Mopunga chucked. “Yeah, lots of colorful stuff will come through. You gotta watch your mind,” he pointed to his head. “An African will never have aliens in their visions, because they have never seen one anywhere. Aliens are in American movies, so Americans see aliens sometimes!” Mopunga’s laugh spread like wildfire. I understood: the medicine speaks through familiar images.
“Frankly,” said Mopunga, “I don’t think that aliens exist. There might be secret government stuff, but aliens are a human invention.” He tapped the table with both his palms as if to close a case. “Humans can create anything.”
Nighttime returned with its mysterious show of charming creatures. We slipped into our box seats on the deck. “Oh my, we have fireworks tonight,” I said. A jungle forest fire raged in the distance, too close for comfort. The fire devoured a generous bite of our little mountain next door. At least half of a square mile lit up the deep indigo sky with glittering smoke signals.
My vision still shimmered a little. I felt a wave of fear wash over me. Then my panic subsided as swift and smooth as an ocean wave returns to the mother. I remembered the fire spirit in my vision, eating my fears until only embers remained.
Chor came over to the railing to get a better view. “Whoah. That’s crazy,” he said.
“Can you go let Michael know?” I asked. Chor went to check in with Michael. I faced the fire alone for a time. There was no frequency of fear left in my body, yet discernment remained. Redwood steady.
I kept my eye on the fire. My cautious gaze morphed into fascination. The sparkling flames seduced me into the present moment.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” Chor said, walking up behind me. “Michael said it happens all the time here. Sometimes lightning strikes, and sometimes they do a controlled burn. It never spreads too much because it’s too moist.”
“Good to know.” Nature had provided an initiation of her own, an opportunity to transmute fear and practice what iboga preached. Medicine ceremonies simply created a boot camp for the grander journey of life itself.
We curled up to watch the ballet of fireflies and diving bats, accompanied by the concert of nocturnal tropical life. After a timeless time, we nestled in bed. My body still didn’t seem to need much sleep, yet I was replenished by the stillness. Chor purred lightly next to me, and I savored the wondrous, simple gift of his presence.