“I live in a physical world dealing with harsh realities and the consequences of foolish decisions! I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want this madness to stop!” There was no response. The Voice seemed to have vanished. Haruto immediately regretted her anger.
The Miko walked out of the temple, down the exterior stone steps, following an ancient path that lead to the garden. She came to her favorite spot and stood in the center of the roses. Their gentle fragrance was carried by a breeze that caressed her face. She clasped her hands and bowed her head for a moment, then methodically began moving her arms and legs, as if following an inner guidance. The gestures quickened into martial arts—jumping, kicking and chopping. As the energy intensified, her motions took on the appearance of floating midair, transcending the boundaries of physics. She ran up the garden wall, reaching the top, breathing in the mountain air. She felt alive in the moment, the earth’s heartbeat resonating beneath her feet. She viewed the picturesque countryside, feeling at peace until she caught a glimpse of the nuclear plant in the distance. The steam from the boiling sea taunted her, causing her peace to sink like a rock. Her mind screamed, I must do something! She expertly jumped off the wall, hurrying through the garden, returning to the temple. A wooden lion-dog head, which protected the grounds from evil spirits, was perched on the corner of the roofline, watching her pass below with its glowing blue eyes.
She rushed up three flights of stone stairs, entering her room where she sat on a mat and beckoned the spirits, “I humbly request your guidance.” A vision appeared. Haruto saw herself walking through a fog, passing barren trees while wearing a scarlet cape.
A fire-breathing dragon slithered from the mist. His body was covered with iridescent green scales. On his head were horns that curved over his furry mane. He had multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth and topaz eyes that stared at her while his forked tongue flicked in and out. Haruto contained her fear. “Who dares approach the great deities?” he hissed. His tongue flicked again.
“It is I, Haruto,” she answered, holding her head high.
“Who are you to enter?” the dragon challenged.
“Is not everyone worthy?”
A puff of smoke wafted from the dragon’s nose as he moved his head from side to side sizing her up. “We’ll see what the council says,” he snapped, curving his long body to guide the way.
Haruto followed the dragon as he lumbered through the fog swishing his long, spiny tail. An iron gate appeared. Its ornate doors swung open. They proceeded through the gateway. The fog gave way to a forest.
The dragon led Haruto to a clearing where five spirits sat on logs around a fire, announcing, “Haruto has requested to meet you.”
Three samurai soldiers stood to bow, holding their helmets by their sides. Each was fitted with a different color of armor—one green, one red and one black—with a long, sheathed sword tucked inside the waistband.
A crone with wild gray hair remained seated, cackling with delight at Haruto’s presence. She wore a plain, black dress.
A young priestess in a graceful cream-colored gown approached Haruto, greeting her with a soft voice, “I am glad you came. Please sit with us.”
Everyone sat by the fire, except for the dragon. He lay outside the group with his tail curled around his body, promptly falling asleep.
The priestess implored, “Tell us why you’ve come.”
Haruto explained, “Where I live there is a nuclear power plant spilling radioactive waste. I would like your help fixing it.”
The priestess picked up a delicate, white porcelain smoking pipe with cherry blossoms painted on its bowl. She plucked a twig from the fire and lit the aromatic tobacco. After a few puffs, she passed it to Haruto, who smoked it, then passed it to the samurai sitting next to her. As the pipe made its rounds, the crone spoke in a hoarse voice, “I believe you received an answer earlier today, one which you ignored.”
“You mean when I was told the disaster was a reflection of my mind?” Haruto asked.
The crone chortled, “You do remember!”
Slightly offended, Haruto appealed to the samurai soldiers, “You must understand the need to fight! You made warfare a sacred calling.”
The samurai in black armor answered, “In a sense, everything is spiritual. However, attack is always against yourself. Oft times, we must fight a battle, if only to learn to lay down our arms.”
The red-armored samurai piped in, “When you understand that fighting’s sole purpose is to preserve your own illusions, you will stop fighting.”
“What’s the point?” Haruto asked, exasperated.
“There is no point, except to learn there is no point,” the samurai in green offered.
“Well, I disagree,” Haruto said.
“We agree with your right to disagree,” they said in unison. Haruto felt mocked.
From out of nowhere, a blue door appeared with a thud, resting on the forest floor. Haruto studied it, then asked, “Where does that lead?”
“A place we will not go,” answered the priestess.
“Will something bad happen there?”
“That depends on you.”
The door swung open, releasing a blue mist that rolled along the ground beckoning Haruto. She walked to the door, glancing back at the council. No one paid any attention to her, except for the dragon who drowsily peered at her as she stepped through the opening, disappearing into the mist. The dragon roused to follow her, slithering past the door before it swung shut, barely missing the tip of his tail.
Bear Claw Council Meeting
AN HOUR AFTER the oil spill explosion, the Bear Claw First Nation elders and leaders began arriving in the community center that had been built in the 1980s. Its walls were lined with outdated wood paneling. Folding chairs were scattered about the dimly lit room. Grandmother Hausis hobbled across the threshold wearing a plain cotton dress. Her salt-and-pepper braids were pinned to the back of her head. Chief Keme walked in wearing his favorite white, buttoned shirt with feathers embroidered on each shoulder. Some of the tribe members debated his ability to lead the tribe fairly, arguing he was too connected to outside leaders and businessmen, but his defenders claimed he had a heart of gold. The remaining elders and council members entered. A few of them had embellished their wardrobes with turquoise and silver jewelry. Tom Running Deer wore a t-shirt that read, “If You’re Not Indigenous, You’re Illegal!”
Altogether there were six elders, 12 council members and the chief who announced, “Let’s get started!” Everyone quieted down and took a seat. Chief Keme began the meeting. “Thank you for coming. As you know, we’re here to discuss the oil spill at Bear Claw Lake. It’s been over a year, and, as the recent explosion proves, it’s still out of control.” The chief’s statement stirred up deep-rooted anger. Nearly everyone grumbled under his or her breath.
Sixty years earlier, the tribe had leased 10,000 square kilometers of their land to the Canadian government for a weapons range during the Cold War, but when the lease expired 20 years later, the government refused to budge. A lengthy legal battle ensued that resulted in the tribe being compensated with millions of dollars, but the government gained legal ownership. Soon after, oil companies occupied the military base. Now the tribe was left to deal with army trainees shooting bombs over their old burial ground while the oil companies decimated the land. Every time a military plane flew overhead, it was a grim reminder that the tribe had been swindled out of their hunting grounds.
“We want our land back!” shouted a councilman.
Councilwoman Cecile Two Feathers accusingly said to the chief, “I heard rumors you’re trying to sell more of our land. It’s not for sale!”
A shouting match began, growing louder and more heated as it went along. Grandma Hausis and the other elders listened quietly until one of them began singing in their native tongue. One by one, each elder joined in and the volume increased. The younger council members became ashamed when they saw the old ones gently rising above the con
flict. The arguing died out.
Chief Keme respectfully waited until the elders finished singing, then said, “We need the guidance of our elders. We are fighting among ourselves…selfishly. We must remember that we’re here to offer wisdom to make better decisions as a tribe.”
“Why don’t we spell out the problems?” a councilman suggested. “Write them down. Perhaps it will help us to see clearly what needs to be done.”
Cecile got up, walking to the board. She wrote, “Oil spill.”
“Oil companies!” someone shouted. It was added to the board.
“Military base on our territory!”
“Land stolen by the government!”
“We never should have bargained with our land,” Tom solemnly stated.
Everyone stared at the board. The problems seemed insurmountable.
Grandma Hausis finally broke the silence. “It is time to ask the Great Spirit for guidance.”
Chief Keme nodded in agreement. “Let’s reconvene tomorrow afternoon at the old ceremonial place. We’ll ask for a vision.”
The next day, the Bear Claw elders and council members headed toward the sacred gathering ground wearing ceremonial clothing adorned with beads, fringe and feathers. Although trees camouflaged the location, it was just a short walk from the community center. Even Grandma Hausis managed to plod along the winding path.
Everyone sat on the logs surrounding the fire pit that was filled with ashes, except for Chief Keme who stood, saying, “We have important decisions to make regarding what’s best for the tribe and land. Divine guidance is key to making the best decisions, so I’ll be using peyote during our vision quest. You are free to join me.” The chief was referring to the “buttons” of the peyote cactus, which had been ritually consumed by the North American indigenous people for over 5,000 years. The sacred plant helped them to more vividly experience the spirit realm where they asked spirit guides for guidance and healing.
To start the ceremony, the chief said a prayer, “Plant Spirit, we call on you to help us understand the ways of this world. Please offer us your wisdom and visions. Help us to break through our selfish minds and remember our divine selves.” He nodded at Cecile, who pulled out a glass jar filled with soft nougats of the chewy cactus. She took a few before giving it to Tom. He did the same, passing it to Grandma Hausis who handed it to the person sitting next to her and so on until each member held the buttons in their hands. The chief put the peyote buttons in his mouth. Everyone followed his example, then sat quietly waiting for the effects to begin.
Clouds began rolling through the trees, drifting through the clearing. Sounds from the forest intensified. The people heard spiders building their webs, butterflies flapping their wings and caterpillars munching on leaves. The volume escalated, consuming the council members as the noises combined into one harmonious song that reverberated like a choir of angels, singing higher and higher, reaching a pinnacle note whose vibration was on the verge of shattering the gate to heaven. Suddenly the song ceased, mentally letting them free fall.
“I’m gonna be sick,” Cecile uttered. She stumbled a few feet away to throw up, immediately feeling better. When she lifted her head, everything was radiating brilliant colors.
Tom saw the colors as well, exclaiming, “It’s all so beautiful!” He tried to touch the glowing particles swirling near his face, but couldn’t tell where his hand ended and the universal palette began.
Several members chanted, inviting the ancestors to join them. Chief Keme danced around the fire pit to a phantom drumbeat. The others joyfully crouched like wild animals or flapped their arms like birds, shapeshifting from one consciousness to another, losing themselves in the Oneness.
In the midst of this, vibrant particles swirled together, becoming denser, until they resembled the shape of a stag. The energy strengthened, causing the buck to appear lifelike with gentle eyes and a massive set of antlers that he proudly displayed. His arrival captured the attention of the group.
The stag totem animal proclaimed, “You have asked for an answer, but the answer is not out there, it’s within you.”
“We didn’t destroy our land. They did!” Tom cried out.
The stag patiently responded, “Your medicine men have repeatedly told you, ‘Life is a dream.’ You must decide whether you are the dream or the dreamer.”
Tom became angry. He interpreted two meanings from the stag’s message and felt both were offensive, however, out of respect, he kept his thoughts to himself, but the stag knew.
Thud! A blue door dropped from the sky, landing on the forest floor. Everyone stared at it.
Cecile was the first to ask, “Where does that lead?”
The stag answered, “To a different realm with a different answer.”
Tom replied, “Well, I’m ready for some real answers to our problems. We’ve sat idle for too long. It’s time to act!”
The door unlatched, slowly swinging open. All of the members stared at the blue mist flowing out of the doorway.
Tom stepped closer to the door, but was hesitant to go alone. He turned toward the others and said, “What are you waiting for?” The others stood still, undecided. “If you could solve this problem, wouldn’t you?” he prodded, trying to build support. He glanced at the black void past the doorway. “It’s part of the spirit realm. How bad could it be?”
One of the councilmen became convinced, shouting, “Let’s take back our land!” as he marched toward the door.
Chief Keme took the lead. The others followed him, except for Grandma Hausis who remained sitting.
“Are you going?” the stag asked her.
“I’m too old to fight,” she replied matter-of-factly.
The stag nodded, then picked up his hooves, moving through the mist, following the tribe members beyond the blue door.
Journey to the Spirit Realm
THE SKY WAS clear and the morning temperature still mild as Zachary drove on the dirt road carved out of a forest. A white, rusted mailbox with hand-painted numbers came into view. He slowed down, pulling into the makeshift driveway that meandered through the trees, coming to a silver bullet trailer set on a small plot of land. An old, well-kept motorcycle and battered pickup truck were stationed out front. Zachary parked behind them. He walked across the yard, viewing the well-tended garden and fire pit, then knocked on the shiny door, prompting a dog to bark inside.
A voice behind him shouted, “Hey!”
Zachary spun around. Billy stood there grinning. The young man let out a deep sigh of relief. “God, you scared me! How’d you sneak up on me like that!?”
“Old Indian trick!” Billy chuckled. “Have any trouble finding the place?”
“No, just further out than I expected.”
“Well, glad you made it. Still interested in learning to journey?”
“Yep!”
“Okay, just give me a sec’ and we’ll head out.” Billy went into his trailer. A minute later, he came out carrying a buffalo drum that he strapped over his shoulder. “Let’s go!”
The two men ambled through the woods until they found a dry, sturdy log to sit on. Billy rested the drum on his knee, then paused, silently beckoning the ancestors, asking them to bless the lesson. When he felt loving energy enter his heart, he knew the spirits approved of him sharing the sacred wisdom.
Billy began by saying, “First, let me explain the basics of journeying. The way I was taught, you start by calling for your totem animal, who’ll act as your guide through the spirit realm.”
Zachary interrupted, “What’s my body do when I’m in the spirit realm?”
“Same thing it does when you’re sleeping…not much.”
“Is it possible I won’t come back?”
“Anything’s possible, but it’s not likely. Although, I’ve heard stories of great shamans who went up mountains and never returned…no one ever found their bodies either.” Zachary’s eyes grew big. Billy slapped him on the back and laughed. “You worry too much, kid!”
Zachary felt like a rookie.
“When you’re ready, I’ll guide you through the process. Okay?”
“Okay, I’m ready.”
Billy pounded the drum with an elk skin beater. The rhythmic beat hypnotized Zachary, who sat with his eyes closed. Billy spoke with deep reverence, “Try to imagine what I’m saying. Clouds are appearing...let them surround you. Let the mist engulf you. Lose yourself in the loving energy. Now walk forward, trusting you will find firm footing with each step. Walk until the mist fades away, showing you the land of your dreams spread out before you. Explore the surroundings. Here you’ll find your totem animal, who has waited a long time to meet you. Your totem animal can be a reptile, insect, fish, mammal, bird or mystical creature. Look around…see what appears. I’ll be quiet now.”
Billy closed his eyes, losing himself in the drumbeat while Zachary wandered through the mist in the spirit realm, which soon faded away to reveal a magical forest filled with rabbits nibbling on vegetation, butterflies fluttering and birds singing. Billy’s voice echoed, “Explore your surroundings…find your totem animal who has waited a long time to meet you.”
Zachary enjoyed the scenery as he walked through the ancient forest, coming to a giant oak tree. It was here that he heard horse hooves pounding and metal clanking. A black stallion, wearing heavy armor, galloped past him. Zachary jumped out of the way. The horse caught a glimpse of him and slowed down, turning around. The massive equine’s muscles rippled beneath his shiny, sweaty coat as he majestically trotted toward the young man. The horse stood in front of him, bowing his head. “Hello, Zachary. I am Cheva. Pleased to finally meet you.”
“Hello…um…nice to meet you too.”
Cheva raised his head and the armor clanked. He flicked his ears with irritation. “Could you do me a favor and get this off me?”
“Sure!”
The stallion kneeled, resting on the lush moss growing in the cool shade beneath the tree’s massive canopy. His body armor pressed against the spongy, green carpet.
Earth Sentinels Collection Page 4
