It had travelled the planet for 195 million years.
Born in the Jurassic period.
Its power a source of legend.
It had lived and breathed. Been buried for epochs.
Had empowered shamans and emboldened warlords.
Had passed through many hands.
Could rest with none.
It came into his possession through a modern witch. She was dying and didn’t know it. More of a child really. She was good enough in the spiritual sense to almost see through the fog.
Her efforts cost her plenty. She never saw the truth clearly.
Despite all, she had a gift with crystals. Crystals liked her. Were drawn to her.
She gave it thinking it was one thing. He accepted it like the others, thinking it was “just” a crystal. They both got it wrong.
As a crystal it was impressive. As a tool it was interesting and fun. As a weapon it was deadly.
In many ways it was simply frightening.
She had been sending him crystals to recharge. He would carry them in his pocket. Place them around his home. Sleep with them and place them at the mouth of the gate.
He was then an aware keeper of a transient gate. The gate would only be open for a short while. And he was there to both protect and assist.
The crystals were all part of the job. They made sense. As did his life as a keeper.
She and he were thrust together. The gate and the crystal were the purpose.
He saw the Truth in Her. The death. The charlatanism. The childish power.
She fed on his power and affirmed his unspoken understandings. They learned one from the other.
And the crystal passed to him.
He tried to return it but it frightened the witch. She sent it back. Her fright was palatable. She never trusted him after that.
Nor he, she. The misunderstanding ran deep. Of an energetic origin. It could not be emoted. Nor understood through words.
Misunderstanding the only possible result.
He learned to know the crystal. The gate and the crystal were meant to be.
He, alone in his awareness, managed to both fulfill and to grow. As a child becomes fulfilled and grows. With simple awareness and a semi-known purpose. To keep the gate was sufficient.
Others came. Contributed and received. Interacted and learned.
A few with understanding.
Many shared in the lessons and danced near the gate. He tried once to pass the crystal on. It was not meant to be. It was a false truth he perused. Knowing quickly was better than being wrong.
And the years passed. The gate. The crystal. He, keeper of both.
Then it happened.
Cataclysm and loss.
The gate closed. The crystal disappeared.
He moved on.
His duty complete. An honorable discharge of sorts.
He moved on.
A tangent with much meaning and learning. Karmic twists. Energetic wobbles. Spiritual stumbling.
The years passed.
The crystal reappeared.
It had reappeared but he was no longer there. Others wondered of its ilk. Its use. Its kin and ken.
It was tossed in a pile of rusty tools.
Where he found it.
Where it found him.
A propitious time with evident purpose.
A new acquaintance. A modern man of ancient blood. Well aware and well equipped. Sharing lessons and life.
The crystal passed from one to the other. With little ceremony. With less instruction.
With full awareness on the part of both.
The circle and the purpose.
The cause and the effect.
Both recognized and honored.
As legends foretold and myths recounted.
The circle and the purpose both recognized and honored.
5 years later, another meant-to-be meeting. Another modern man of ancient blood. A Healer.
The ex-Keeper, the Witch, and the Men of Ancient Blood come together on energetic planes. and the circle is complete.
And the Spirit smiles… A huge, huge, huge smile.
and under the furniture. All scattered memories of times past…
As I pack for yet another journey, another round in the ring. As I tidy up my messes accumulated, and shift and prepare. The two big steamer trunks I travel between here and the Solomons with patiently waiting. Both easily loaded to the requisite 32 kgs. I have some towels and sheets to take back to the Honiara house. Some tools and gear for Gizo. All now being stacked in prep for the packing.
And as I pack, like an archeologist uncovering my own past, I find evidence of life in this time and place…
The wad of hair, the scrap of wrapping. In the linen closet. I disturbed it as I moved, again, some clothes I don’t wear but refuse to throw out. The scrap of wrapping from Mendozza’s birthday in June. The hair is an artifact of a balding old guy.
A deflated balloon with a MacDonalds-soccer logo, a leftover from one of the many sporting events we’ve attended this year. Looking like a used condom (and of course it is red) is appears to have been left to deflate in a corner in the guest room closet. Lord knows how long it has been there. I struggle to convince myself it’s safe to pick up.
A stack of documents and pictures and old note books, all in manila envelopes, needs to be treated with respect… My first communion picture (with sister Richardene and father Alberts). A travel note-book filled to over flowing with oneliners, small sketches, and pages of verse and commentary from my tramp steamer days in the early 80s. So much here of value. I take the time to clean a messy drawer so these lie safe.
A fat, blue crayon in the furthest reaches of the deepest corner under my sprawling countertop in the office. Even deeper, in the shadows next to the crayon I find a “nerf bullet”.
All are treasures. All make me smile. Life is indeed guuud…
more later
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