[A few months ago]. “You need to make another trip to that place,” I thought to myself as I awoke, bleary-eyed and desperate for a cup of hot coffee. I could feel my left arm regaining sensation after salvaging it from an awkward position beneath my pillow.
The reality of morning gently pulled the dream vestiges out of my subconscious as my arm tingled itself awake. These insistent thoughts, like cryptic monographs, had begun to filter into my mind like insidious roots from some exotic plant. Cryptanthus sinuosus.
“There is something waiting for you there,” the insistent voice murmured.
“You can feel it, can’t you?” the intonation of the voice was imminent, organic and layered like soft earth. These messages, like metaphorical signposts, refused my ignorance. They wafted into my waiting ear like white noise vibrations. They would command my attention and I could no longer feign a childlike plea of innocence along the cobbled stone of my life’s journey. Now I was being asked, as a warrior, a bearer of light, to stand resolute and accept this spiritual correspondence.
As I lumbered towards the coffee pot, I knew and sensed only one thing. The horseman was riding today. The gilded parchment was tucked inside of his leather satchel and I was to extend my faithful hand and mind as he strode by and accept that papered note. I knew of that role from previous experience. I accepted that task. I poured my coffee slowly. I pondered these thoughts.
After challenging my faintly anemic bloodstream with a jolting dose of caffeine, I prepared myself for the moderate journey to “that place.” “That place” was a surreal landscape. If Tesla were still alive, the fine hairs on his arms would dance and his neurons would buzz to the electrical harmonics emitted from “that place.” He would find himself magnetised to the invisible illusory realm that existed there.
Drawn to “this place”, he would settle his myopic vision atop a hilltop and construct a shop in which to invent his finely tinkered devices there. With his ingenuity and vision, he could release the energies that lay coiled and waiting behind phantom trap doors. He would pull the invisible dangling wires and magical suspended lights would appear. These lights would illuminate the craggy rock surfaces and choruses of angels would sing from openings among the Nimbus.
“Hold on here,” I mused to myself as I sat perched atop the staircase looking out to the mountain peaks of “that place.” My focus shifted from a dreamlike state to convulsive reality.
“What is it this time?” whispering rather surreptitiously as I strained against two failing eyes. “What could I possibly have to see there?” I queried, only to remain sitting and pondering. I blinked, thought, blinked, thought and blinked some more.
“Alright then….I’ll go,” I stammered as I rose and moved towards the bedroom. The laborious work of choosing appropriate attire would ensue, along with the task of capturing my four-legged companion for a “walk-ie.”
With dog in tow, a proverbial question mark pasted to my forehead and an iPod loaded with music, I made my journey towards “that place.” As my voice rose and fell to the trilling notes of my favourite tunes, my eyes were never failing in their attempt to note the colour of each passing tree, the number on each signpost, or the sign of hoof-prints in the sand.
I knew the horseman and I knew his horse. Together, this charging duo made an indomitable team as they coursed through the sands of time in search of listeners. Much to my chagrin, the duo never accepted encores and they did not wait for applause.
My voice pitted itself against my courage as I sang. “Don’t waiver or tremble,” I whispered to myself. “The message will appear to you.”
“Don’t fear the reaper,….baby take my hand,” I sang to myself. The corners of my lips slowly upturned into a smile as the song wafted through the car. Humour is a courageous alibi when one is frightened and weary.
As I rounded a bend in the road, my eyes were suddenly aware of shifting grasses on the side of an adjacent roadside hill. Slowing the car, I proceeded carefully along the highway, and turned my tires onto the wide gravel shoulder. As I did so, a big black nose, then two black eyes appeared in my field of view. Like a mirage, three, four-legged creatures elegantly paraded themselves onto the dangerous curve in the road from the grassy hillock to the north.
“Oh my!” I sighed softly. My eyes were diverted to each side of the highway in search of more buck-skinned eye candy. “Only three.” I muttered to myself as I watched six glossy eyes inspect me carefully. At that instant, a soft brush was felt against the palm of my hand. The feeling was of waxy softness, like that of handmade paper. A shiver trickled down my spine. I became acutely connected to these creatures as this soft touch enveloped my quivering flesh.
“Thank you” I sighed a soft breath as I rested my chin on the steering wheel. As if relaxing in Savasana, my body, no longer trembling with fear, became limp and relaxed. Pliant.
I sat and stared at the deer for what seemed like minutes. In fact, as time would have it, the episode lasted for all of thirty seconds. A few grains of sand blew in through the driver’s side window, carried by a small fragrant gust of wind. The deer, as if cued by an invisible shepherd, filed away, singly. They disappeared down the bank alongside the highway. The tapping of hooved feet were all that could be heard as they clattered against tiny cobbles. I watched intently as the deer merged almost imperceptibly within their grassy bower, their organic purlieu, at the base of Shambala.