Now Is the Time to Open Your Heart

by Alice Walker

  Kate smiled at Yolo, and wiped a tear from her eye.

  The buck stops here, she said.

  You are Grandmother, said Yolo.

  Yes, said Kate. I thought I could avoid it, I guess.

  There were hours of instruction like this, she continued, with pictures to illustrate everything; this is the only one I recall so fully. But in a way, this is the only one I need to recall. What she showed me was, Yes, I am Grandmother as she is; there is no separation, really, between us. And that, on this planet, Grandmother Earth, there is no higher authority. That our inseparability is why the planet will be steered to safety by Grandmother/Grandmothers or it will not be steered to safety at all.

  Raging Grannies, said Yolo, Gray Panthers.

  No, said Kate. Grand Mothers. We must acknowledge and reclaim our true size. Dignity is important. Self-respect. We cannot lead by pretending to be powerless. We’re not. Age is power. Or it can be if it isn’t distracted by shopping and cooking and trying to look nineteen.

  Or tripped up by Alzheimer’s, said Yolo.

  Or buried in nursing homes, said Kate.

  Don’t Go Anywhere

  Don’t go anywhere, Grandmother had said. You are already out in space. If you go to another planet you will by your presence contribute to its loss of integrity. You will spend all of earth’s resources trying to change a place that worked very well without you. Because you are vain, you will think you are bringing something useful. You are not. Look to your history on this planet; you have never brought a greater good, no matter where you traveled. That is because what is good is integral to itself. That is also why it is not worthwhile to change yourself, your hair or skin or eyes. What is integral to you will always be surperior to what is tacked on, simply because it is yours.

  There are space kin, beings from other planets, already on earth. They have been mistreated, or murdered, or hidden away. Earth has been visited by beings from other realms for a very long time. It isn’t simply a fantasy that a few earthlings have conjured.

  In fact, the first beings who came to earth were fleeing catastrophe on their own planet. They were running for their lives. They came to earth to hide. They hid in everything. Rocks, rivers, humans—when they appeared—animals and plants of all kinds. They are that which we say is the same in all things. They were very small, of course, invisible to the naked eye, not that there was a naked eye to see them at the time of their arrival, and they looked like very small snakes.

  It had taken Kate a week or more, when she was in the Amazon, to notice the visitor to her hut every few days, a serpent whose coloring blended perfectly with the damp umber of her dirt yard. It was small and, according to Cosmi, who pointed it out to her, harmless. It still scared her.

  Don’t worry, he’d said. This kind of serpent will not come inside. Unless, he said, smiling, you are keeping small rodents or tasty large bugs.

  It also followed a ritual: In the morning, after Kate had washed herself in the green water Armando gave her, and after she’d had a moment sitting quietly by the river, she could count on seeing the little serpent as she came back up the hill, just at the edge of the yard. It lay partly in shade, the jungle huge behind and above it. It seemed to be testing her.

  Will she throw a rock at me? it seemed to ask.

  Will she take up a stick and chase me away?

  Well, no. She was not permitted to harm anything on this journey. Nor was she inclined to do so. She did keep her distance, though. And she did begin to carry a stick, though she never so much as pointed it in the snake’s direction.

  What does it mean to be completely outside the circle of goodwill? That was the question that came as she contemplated the snake.

  Because of religious indoctrination, almost everyone feared and loathed the serpent. What damage had such hatred done to it; a magical expression of Creation? Was this, the banning of the serpent from the circle, the beginning of separation? Was this the model for all the other banishments? Hunted and killed, or killed instantly, on sight, forced to hide at all times, what did the serpent think of humanity?

  Why had women, long ago, befriended the serpent, loved it? Why had Cleopatra had asps as pets?

  Kate tried to imagine the lack of revulsion. It was surprisingly hard. She thought of the priestesses who had danced with snakes, sculptures of whom she’d seen in museums.

  Maybe ancient woman thought the feel of the serpent’s body was enchanting; cool and sleek and undeniably beautiful, as it was. And it could drop an old skin when it was outgrown! Maybe to her the feel of the serpent’s body was like that of a cat to woman today. And Kate tried to imagine the cat being placed outside the circle as the snake had been, and the dread of cats humans would feel.

  Black people had been cast outside the circle of goodwill for hundreds of years. This was perhaps the root of her feeling of kinship with her visitor. She saw how, as Africans rejoined the circle of humanity, so many carried scars too horrific to bear. Many of them, like women who lived in cultures that despised and willfully obliterated the feminine, would never experience the connection to earth and to humanity that was their birthright. Pain had driven them to separate from their very selves.

  One Day, Standing in Her Garden

  One day, standing in her garden, Kate was surprised to see Armando coming through her gate. As soon as he saw her his face lit up in a smile.

  Armando! said Kate, rushing to embrace him. What are you doing here?

  Behind him there were others, two women and seven men.

  I have come to see you, he said with a shrug, laughing.

  He was wearing faded khakis, a black T-shirt, a burgundy polyester jacket, and a green baseball cap. On his feet were new tan sneakers.

  The other men were dressed similarly, even the white man whom Armando introduced as Charlie. Charlie’s wife, Rela, was not white; she and the other woman, Lila, looked very much alike. They had dark hair and brown skin and bright, if somewhat sleepy, eyes. As introductions were being made, Yolo came from the shed behind the house that he’d been using as a studio, and Kate invited him to join them.

  We’ve been traveling a long time, said Armando, after Kate had brought chairs for everyone and settled them on the porch. Sipping the water and juice she brought out on a tray, her visitors began to relax. She noticed that the men, every single one of them, except Charlie, kept looking up into the trees.

  That’s a fat one, one of them said in Spanish.

  Um-hmm, said another.

  Charlie explained to Kate that gathered on her front porch were eight of the most powerful shamans of South America. They had come out of various jungles and mountains and plains of their countries and were on their way to Washington, D.C.

  We tried to call you, he said, but your number isn’t listed and Armando lost the paper you gave him when you were visiting him. He remembered the name of your street because it is the name of his brother. He also remembered you told him your house was blue. It is the only blue house in the neighborhood. Once we found the street, it was easy to spot.

  Kate laughed. My neighbors hate it, she said.

  Ah, vecinos, said Armando. They never understand that the medicina they are needing is always arriving, and moving in next door to them. It looks strange to them and they are afraid to take it.

  Grandmother told me I needed to live in space for a few years. Yolo, my partner, painted the house. My neighbors think it is not earth-colored.

  It is blue, planet earth, said Armando, surprised, and as if this should be obvious. Do you realize this probably helps us avoid assaults from space neighbors who are warlike? Because we are blue, like space is blue, we have disappeared from their screen. Anyway, he said, the truth is that at a certain point in one’s spiritual development living in a blue house is imperative, whether Grandmother suggests it or not. It is a color that suggests the infinite, and the soul wants to live there because it is the most free place to live.

  There are in fact three colors that the ev
olving soul encounters and must eat: the color of earth, literally dirt, which includes all the browns and tans and yellows; the color of menstrual blood, which includes the reds, oranges, and maroons; the color of water and space and eternity, which is blue.

  You will see when you travel, said Armando, that in every community someone will be living in a blue house. That person you will find is somehow different.

  Among Buddhists, blue is the color of healing, said Rela, speaking for the first time.

  What does it mean to “eat” a color? asked Kate.

  Oh, said Armando, think of how you feel when you enter your gate and feast your eyes on this color. There is a joy that you feel, no? A lifting of your spirit?

  Yes, said Kate. I certainly do feel that way.

  Well, said Armando, it is as if your blue house is a big cake and your soul, seeing it, takes a big delicious bite. It must be awake to eat the color; when it is awake enough to eat the color, it is a healthy soul. Many people cannot eat the color blue; and they haven’t digested their reds and yellows either.

  A pharmaceutical company is trying to patent yagé, said Charlie, when Armando finished speaking.

  Patent Grandmother? said Kate, incredulous.

  Yes. Well, said Charlie, they have stolen everything else indigenous people have developed for healing.

  But to patent Grandmother, said Kate. It would be like patenting a human being. Or life.

  They’d like to do that, said Armando. But we are optimistic. We will go to Washington and talk to your leaders. We will make them understand yagé is a sacred substance. It is inseparable from spirit. It is also inseparable from us, the people who are its neighbors, who have lived and interacted with it for thousands of years.

  By now the other male shamans who did not speak any English, and very little Spanish, had moved off the porch and were walking about the yard. Looking up the whole time. The woman shaman sat quite still, watching them.

  Yolo looked at Kate and raised an eyebrow.

  Then it occurred to her: These were men who spent most of their time in the jungle, hunting. To them her large oak and fir trees were canopy; they were watching her squirrels.

  One of them said something; all the men, including Armando and Charlie, laughed.

  What did he say? asked Yolo.

  He said, said Armando: Where is that blowgun when I need it!

  Kate and Yolo joined the laughter. It was hilarious to think of eight serious shamans/hunters fantasizing about her plump city squirrels.

  Armando and Charlie and Rela explained they hoped Kate would write a letter saying she knew Armando and also knew the value of yagé to its people. They would take this letter with them to Washington, D.C. Kate said she’d be happy to do it and went immediately to her study.

  While she wrote the letter, Yolo invited everyone inside, and Charlie, who had worked with the shamans for many years, helping to preserve their medicinal treasures, showed a video of a meeting of all the shamans and South American elders that had taken place a few months before. In this video, some of the wisest people on the planet shared their views on the ethical use of such a powerful human ally as Grandmother. After Kate finished her letter she came to watch the film. Her TV monitor was in the guest bedroom, which was small. All eight shamans, plus Charlie, Yolo, and Rela, had crammed inside, five of them on the bed. It was a sight that moved her to tears.

  She remembered sitting with Armando one morning in the Amazon and almost being afraid to tell him the yagé had ceased to work. But he had not seemed perturbed. Sometimes Grandmother is like that, he had said. Maybe she has other work for you to do.

  Kate had sat looking toward the river. She had come all this way, she thought, and like the guru of Ram Dass, who had taken a ton of acid, the medicina, in this setting, right where it was born, did absolutely nothing.

  Armando was looking at her with shrewd eyes.

  I think you have an idea of what you are to do, he said.

  Oddly enough, she did.

  Well, she said slowly, as you know, during my first visit with Grandmother, I was given seven hours of astonishing instruction. In a way it is greedy of me to ask for anything more. I think I’m here to meet her; to understand where she’s from. To see her living body before it is cut; to see the people whose health often depends on her. I am meant, I believe, to be her friend. And to be yours.

  Armando did not reply, but merely nodded his head.

  Squeezing into the room now, Kate found the only available space to sit was on the bed. As they watched the native elders of the Americas gather to protect the inheritance of all who can be taught and healed by the plant magic of earth, Kate savored being in bed with so much wisdom. She marveled at the unwavering dedication of the shamans. That they had come so far, dressed so thinly, to defend Grandmother’s medicina and its curing of the sick.

  Yolo and I are calling a circle to celebrate sharing our life together, Kate said to Armando as the shamans were leaving. We’d really love it if you could come.

  I would be honored to come, said Armando. But, la vida being what it is, who can say? If I do not make it, I will send a spirit to take my place.

  Not a jaguar, said Kate, laughing.

  No, said Armando, I will send something small, something that loves humans, something trying hard not to be afraid.

  After shaking hands and embracing, everyone left, Yolo and Kate waving from the gate.

  It Will Be a Long Time

  It will be a long time before humans lose their terror of me, said the serpent. Though this serpent shape, this slithery form, is buried deep in every cell of every person on earth. It is the fundamental shape that is common to all. It is the shape of your DNA.

  In the dream, Kate had just sprayed poison on a toiling pile of ants that seemed to be living in one corner of her house. It had not seemed the right thing to do, yet the infestation unnerved her. As she looked, however, she saw each individual ant growing larger.

  How are we to deal with fear? she asked.

  How else? said the snake, smiling benignly, like Mr. Clean from the Buddhist retreat she’d left an eternity ago. Make friends with it.

  That’s what the Buddha taught! said Kate, shocked to hear the same instruction coming from a snake.

  Yesssss, said the snake. He was in alignment.

  It Was a Warm Sunny Day

  It was a warm sunny day in autumn. In two days Kate and Yolo would join their friends beside the clear, beautiful river they’d found in the north. Everyone was coming; the women from Kate’s women’s council; the men from Yolo’s Sangha. Their friends from Hawaii and the Amazon. Avoa and Sue and Margery from the run of the Colorado. Anunu and Enoba. Even Rick had called and said he’d be coming. That he had experienced a breakthrough. He was so excited he kept repeating: I’ll be on American, Flight 911, even after Kate told him that no one would be there to meet him, that he’d have to arrange transportation himself.

  Yolo cleaned up his studio and swept the yard, and Kate swept out and saged the house. When she finished she went into her altar room. Everything was just as she’d left it more than a year ago. Buddha was still under the purple cloth. Her parents’ pictures were turned to the wall. Che and the Virgen de Guadalupe were in a corner. The rolled-up poster of Quan Yin had a spider nesting inside. She uncovered Buddha. Very carefully she began to dust each photograph and to put it back, just where it was before. Soon her altar, with its pregnant, barefoot Third World woman, Bessie Smith and Lester Young, its candles and a pair of baby shoes, a red clay pipe and fresh flowers from her garden, looked just the same as always. She studied it carefully. What was missing?

  Yolo came in and Kate handed him a box of matches. He began to light the candles until they illuminated the room. They sat on cushions facing the altar, enjoying the scent of sage and the candles’ golden glow. Feeling connected and at peace, they fell into meditation without signal or plan. When they came out of it, half an hour later, Yolo went into the kitchen and returned
with a small bowl of water into which he’d poured salt. This he placed on the altar near the flowers. Kate went to the refrigerator and took out the half bottle of yagé Armando had given her, which, at the river, she would use to paint the faces of her friends. She placed it between Che and the pregnant woman. Next she went into the living room and dragged the tall potted ficus close enough for its branches to gracefully shelter them as they sat. Finally she went to her bedroom and got the anaconda clock. Giving the anaconda a kiss and not looking at the time, she placed it in Buddha’s lap.

  Afterword

  There is a magic intoxicant in northwesternmost South America which the Indians believe can free the soul from corporeal confinement, allowing it to wander free and return to the body at will. The soul, thus untrammeled, liberates its owner from the realities of everyday life and introduces him to wondrous realms of what he considers reality and permits him to communicate with his ancestors. The Kechua term for this inebriating drink—Ayahuasca (“vine of the soul”)—refers to this freeing of the spirit. The plants involved are truly plants of the gods, for their power is laid to supernatural forces residing in their tissues, and they were divine gifts to the earliest Indians on earth.