“Yes, just a little disoriented.”
“Do you need to sit for a while?”
“No, I’m fine.”
But I did sit, with my head down and my eyes closed. I massaged my neck, took a deep breath. “Where’d you go?”
“Just beyond the trees. Didn’t want to leave you alone.”
When I indicated I was ready, he guided me up and supported me until I’d regained my balance, then gathered the stones and picked up my journal, notes, and pen. “Looks like you did some writing.”
“Can’t remember.”
Ben slipped the notes into the journal and handed it to me.
I unzipped the pouch, dropped the stones inside. “What about the smudging tools?”
“I’ll carry the rest,” he said. “Let’s go, I’m hungry.”
“Ben . . .”
“First we eat. Then we talk.”
By the time we reached our parked vehicles, I felt stronger. Ben grabbed a cooler from the back of his truck, and we sat on the tailgate. He pulled out sandwiches, chips, and bottled water. Then he offered me a pocket-sized antibacterial wipe to clean my hands.
I stared at him, drop-jawed. “Wow, Ben, you’re amazing.”
“Just a quick stop at our local bakery café for chicken sandwiches on broche buns with avocado and bacon,” he said.
Silence took over as we dug into our meal.
“The journey never goes according to one’s expectations,” Ben said after I’d downed my sandwich like a starved teen. “Your path reveals itself slowly, so you need to explore it slowly.”
“Out here each time?”
“You can set up your Medicine Wheel anywhere, but before you move on to the southern direction, I want you to explore the East some more. The East is where you put out your questions and wait for answers.” Ben reached into his pocket and handed me a folded scrap of paper. “Writing is a manifestation of the East. Through writing, messages hidden deep inside come to the surface.”
“I heard a woman crying,” I said, “and I don’t think it was Margarita. Any idea what that might mean?”
“It could mean that you unconsciously invited someone else’s spirit into your sacred space, someone who may have died before she had a chance to go through the process of seeking, learning, and experiencing. You may be reaching for enlightenment together.”
This all sounded as improbable as Dr. Mendez’s talk about the holographic universe and collective consciousness, but the idea of linking to someone in need and helping out in some way brought a pleasant, warm sensation to my stomach and chest.
“Remember, this is only a guess and, even if correct, just part of the answer. Only time will tell.”
“Or, I’ll never know.”
“A risk we all take.” Ben dropped our empty water bottles and discarded lunch wrappings into the cooler. “We better head back. It looks like rain.”
“I’ll do my best to honor what you’re teaching me,” I said, after a quick glance at the notes Ben had given me.
“Couldn’t ask for more,” he said.
🗲🗲🗲
The East is the place of sunrise, where you awaken and start a new day. The sun symbolizes your inner light. In the East, this inner light can grow brilliant and strong enough to guide you on your intended path. Access to the light can give you the courage to extend your horizons and consider the big picture—possibly even understand how everything fits together.
Would the puzzle pieces fall into place during my stay here? Would my path become clear? I found this hard to believe. Sure, I had extended my horizons by coming to Carmel Valley but only by such a wee bit.
In the East, the Great Spirit reveals Himself to you if you learn to look. His face appears everywhere and in everything, be it man, rock, or tree.
“Please let this be true,” I whispered.
The element of the East is fire. Fire penetrates, purifies, and consumes.
True enough. I’d seen signs of fire’s penetrating and purifying qualities in the Los Padres forest, the way it had cleared away underbrush and caused seeds lying dormant within the earth to burst forth into new life. But fire had also brought pain and death, making it not only creative but also destructive, its physical form only possible by consuming something else.
Yellow is the color of the East and the color of sunlight, cheerful, inspiring, able to expand the mind’s ability to understand. The season of the East is spring, when the earth awakens and new life bursts forth. Don’t fear life. Rather, embrace the chaos.
The color yellow reminded me of the dandelion Morgan had so playfully pointed out to me. Only after inspecting the weed closely, had I realized the true value of his gift. He had opened my eyes to the ordinary.
The message about not fearing life echoed Morgan’s words: “There’s so much in life to be enjoyed, Marjorie. You’ve been surrounded by educated and sophisticated people and removed from the closeness of nature.”
I had so much to learn.
🗲🗲🗲
“Hey, stranger. What’s up?” he said.
Skipping the not-much-how-are-you, I plunged right in with a message I knew he wouldn’t like. “Dr. Mendez and I are taking Joshua on a horseback excursion into the Ventana Wilderness. Our tour leaves Saturday and comes back Thursday.”
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, his words clipped. “You know how I currently feel about that area and how I worry about your safety.”
“And you should know by now that I can take care of myself.”
“Since when do they conduct tours during the off season?”
“Ben arranged a private tour.”
Morgan’s sigh signaled that surrender did not come easily for him. “You won’t let me stop you.”
“Joshua and I need to take this trip and it has to be now.”
“I won’t ask how you know that.”
“Good, because I couldn’t give you a satisfying answer.”
“What else can I say, besides have a safe trip?”
“Thanks, Morgan.” I pressed my fist against the ache in my chest in hopes that the outside pressure would make it easier to breathe. “See you when we get back.”
Why had I called him? Had I secretly hoped he’d stop me? Was I still that weak?
The phone rang. I wanted it to be Morgan, calling back to say that I was doing the right thing and had his full support, instead of suppressing my feelings, aspirations, and dreams with disapproving sighs. I wanted Morgan to love me unconditionally, not hold me accountable to his own paradigms and expectations to qualify for his affection.
As Cliff had.
“Marjorie, this is Heather. I think I found out who your mother was.”
The ache in my chest gave way to weakness in my knees. I lowered myself onto the bed.
“I accessed eight generations of Margarita’s genealogy, which, as I told you, is also my mother’s genealogy. The year you were born, an Antonia Flores gave birth to twin girls and died soon after. There was no mention of a husband, so she probably wasn’t married. If Antonia was your mother, guess what that means?”
“That Veronica and I are bastards?”
“No, silly, that we’re family. Many times removed, but family. Just think. We could be passing relatives every day without knowing it.”
Had my mother’s name been Antonia? Was her voice the one I’d been hearing since Ash Wednesday? If so, that would explain why Veronica was hearing a voice, too. Oh God, I’d been ignoring the Voice. What if I’d been ignoring my mother?
“Where do we go from here?”
“I’ll continue researching. That’s, like, how I get my kicks, remember?”
I blew out my breath. “You’re a good friend.”
“Hey, girl, I could be wrong here. Right now, all’s just theory.”
“I started my journey on the Medicine Wheel,” I said.
“I’ve always meant to, like, give it a try,” Heather said. “I’ve heard you’ve got to, you know, want it very much.”
The Medicine Wheel wasn’t the path for everyone. In fact, a year ago I would have been horrified at the very thought of being out in the wilderness alone communing with nature. Before I started hearing the Voice, I’d been more or less conditioned to my world and would never have rocked the boat as I was doing now. Many of my acquaintances were happy and well-adjusted without venturing on such a journey. They were finding themselves and contacting the Great Spirit via more mainstream methods.
“You’re reaching a higher level of understanding in your own special way, Heather.”
“Thanks, my friend. Even so, I’m open if and when the time comes.”