by Greg Kincaid
Angel gently massaged the fingers of Ted’s right hand. He felt rather dreamy, so he was not sure how much time elapsed before he next heard her voice. “I want you to concentrate on one thing and one thing only.” Starting at the root of his fingernail and working down to the knuckles and into the palm, she gently massaged his ring finger. “I want you to think about nothing but the sensation that arises when my fingers touch yours. Is the sensation soft or firm? Does it tickle or scratch? Is my touch cold and dry or warm and clammy? Imagine that your entire essence, everything that is Ted Day, is encapsulated and concentrated into this one space where our hands are coming into contact. There is a lot going on in this tubular corridor; try to imagine it: blood, muscle, bone, nerves, and skin. Billions of cells are interacting; try to focus all of your awareness on this seemingly small aspect of yourself. Try, if you can, to visualize and sense all of your life’s energy focused in this one stamp-size speck in your infinite field of awareness. Think about nothing else, Ted, but your finger and how it feels.”
As she spoke to him, in what Ted could only describe as a vaguely hypnotic tone, she continued to rub his right ring finger.
Ted had never been invited to pay such close attention to a single aspect of his physical being, and the effect was immediate—as if he had been released from a terrific burden, like a heavy backpack slipping off after a long day’s hike. His leg twitched involuntarily, and Angel knew that he was almost asleep.
Once he was fully asleep, Angel tried to tidy Bertha. She then dug into her tool closet, pulled out her portable field welder, and went outside.
When Ted woke from his little midmorning nap, he felt simultaneously comfortable and somewhat shocked to be resting inside Angel’s strange vehicle. He looked around, confused, and it took him a few seconds to put it all back together.
He had not only fallen asleep but also experienced a vivid, almost Technicolor dream. The voices had been crisp and clear—but now the dream was gone. Argo was resting quietly beside him as if nothing had happened, but something clearly had happened. And while it had obviously been a dream, it had had a very different feel to it. Before they slipped away, Ted put words to the images.
Ted was young and sitting on his grandfather’s lap while the old man read to him from The Lion, the Witch and Wardrobe. In the dream, young Teddy became agitated and pleaded, “Stop, Grandpa. Stop reading.”
“What’s wrong?” Grandpa Raines asked.
“Don’t let Lucy go through that door at the back of the wardrobe! She doesn’t know what’s on the other side.”
Grandpa Raines, fully alive and in good humor, laughed, “Lucy wants to go through the door.”
The images were so real that Ted wondered if instead of a dream it had actually been some ancient memory from his childhood that had broken loose from its moorings and floated to the surface of his consciousness.
Ted sat up and looked around for Angel. Not seeing her, he stretched and got up. “Come on Argo, let’s go find Angel. I have no idea why I’m taking a nap in the middle of the morning.”
Once outside, Ted looked around the campsite. When he didn’t see Angel, he walked toward the Chieftain. When he got closer, he saw No Barks sitting at the rear of the vehicle next to a gray box that looked like a piece of well-worn carry-on luggage. Extending from beneath the RV was a pair of long brown legs capped with black combat boots. Ted heard a crackling noise that carried on for few moments and then stopped. He peered under the RV and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Don’t worry. When it comes to welding, I’m an artist. Come look.”
Ted scooted under the chassis and nestled in beside Angel. Lying on his back, he looked around. The sagging back half of the water tank had been reattached to the frame with the skill of a plastic surgeon. It was a beautiful weld. There were also two brand-new bolts securing the busted metal strap that kept the water tank in place. Two rusted and sheered bolts rested on the ground nearby. Ted rapped the tank with his knuckles. It seemed secure. “I’m impressed.” He knew enough about welding to know that it was a lot harder than it looked. “I’m thinking you should add ‘field welder’ to your spiritual consultant sign.”
Angel’s neck was tired, so she inched over closer to Ted and rested her head against him. She stared at the welds as if they were Rembrandts. “I do damn fine work, don’t I? My father lets me create art by welding old auto parts together. That’s how I got interested in welded sculpture.”
“You have lots of talents.”
“Most pay poorly or not at all.”
Angel scooted out from under the chassis and brushed the dust and small pieces of gravel from her shorts. When Ted also emerged, she gave him a casual hug and said, “You’re roadworthy. Good luck.”
Ted, very grateful to have met Angel and feeling a little guilty for thinking that she was trying to con him, smiled. “It was really nice crashing into you.”
“Come on, No Barks.” Without another word, Angel Two Sparrow walked away.
Ted wondered why there weren’t women like Angel in Crossing Trails. She was interesting. He sat down at the picnic table with Argo and waited until he heard Bertha’s engine start and the gravel crunch as Angel pulled out onto the highway and headed west. He imagined her driving with her drum music blaring. He had the urge to yell out and tell her to wait. Maybe he’d made a mistake. A pilgrimage wasn’t such a bad idea, but he also suspected that on some level it was an awful idea. Angel was just a pretty palm reader, a traveling tarot card reader. Not for him. He’d made the right decision. Stick to what was safe. However great Angel might be, she was on a very different path. Ted closed his eyes and suddenly recalled the second part of the strange dreaming episode.
The four of them—Angel, Ted, and the two dogs—were around a campfire in the woods, by a gurgling creek surrounded by mountains that were small by the standards of the Rockies. Still, the geological formations were primitive and beautiful—different from anything he had ever seen. Vivid red embers floated up into the sky like parachutes in reverse and dissipated into the black nothingness of the night. The moon was nearly full. They were dancing in the dark. Moon dancing.
Ted smiled to himself. Dogs don’t tango on their two hind legs, and neither did Ted Day. It was a crazy dream. What did it mean? Tangoing with Angel and their dogs under the full moon in a strange forest was definitely not a normal dream for Ted Day. He wanted only normal dreams. Ted resolved that this one meant nothing. That’s what it meant. Since when did dreams communicate to Ted or anyone else? Believing in dream communication was dangerous. It had landed Aunt Lilly in jail. He wondered if spiritual consultants knew anything about dreams.
Ted shook the dream off like water from a dog’s back. He pulled out his phone and checked for messages. There were none. He saw Angel’s text from the night before, and for some reason he found himself missing her. Willing to bet that Angel would know about dreams, and with every shred of self-confidence he could muster, he decided to call her, thank her again for welding his tank, and ask about the dream.
He waited for her to answer. On the third ring, she did.
“Hey?”
“Angel, Ted Day. I wanted to thank you again for welding the tank. You did a great job. Also, I wanted to say … I enjoyed our little time together.” Ted paused, wondering if he sounded professional, and then asked, “By the way, what do you know about dreams?”
“I’m a Lakota. Dreams are very important for us. I know a lot. Just ask me,” Angel responded, turning down her drum music.
“While I was on the floor of your bookmobile, I had two very strange dreams. They were dreams like I never had before.”
“This does not surprise me. Bertha is a dream catcher. Significant dreaming events occur under her roof. Also, powerful dreamers—like myself and Aunt Lilly—can further widen these dream spaces. Would you like to tell me about your dreams?”
Ted sighed and tried his best to describe the dreams. She interrupted for details as she saw
fit, and when Ted was finished, she asked, “Before I say anything, Ted, it’s important that you tell me what you think these dreams were trying to tell you.”
It suddenly became very clear to Ted exactly what his dreams meant. He did not need Angel to tell him. It was obvious. It was the same thing his grandfather had told him. The same thing his ex-wife had told him. He didn’t want to hear it, but now even his dreams were telling him the same thing. His attraction to Angel was the final nudge Ted needed. He stammered, “I understand what the dreams meant. Angel, is that offer of yours still open? Argo and I could join you and No Barks. You could be my teacher.” While not sure it was possible, he wanted the arrangement to be fair. “I’ll do my best to help your aunt Lilly, but no promises. If that doesn’t work, I can afford to pay you. I’ll help with gas and food too. That’s no problem.”
Angel was excited to have her very first client, her first soul to heal. Still, she wanted to make sure Ted was sincere in his interest. “This work is not easy. Are you sure?”
“This is what my grandfather was trying to tell me. That’s what you’re trying to tell me. I think that’s what my dreams were saying too. Maybe it’s time for me to listen. I am willing to try it.”
“I agree. The dreams are auspicious signs of your willingness to engage in the work we do. If you’re ready, we can start.”
“Someone is filling in for me for about two weeks. Is that long enough?”
“I’ve been working on this material for more than ten years. Two weeks is really just an outrageously short period of time, but if you’re willing to work hard, you can make considerable progress.”
Angel had been driving around in Bertha for a month hoping someone would call her. Now that she finally had a client, she realized that she needed to develop a curriculum, fast. She thought of Father Chuck, one of her favorites from her little spiritual group. He was always so organized. She hoped it would rub off on her. “Ted, meet me at five o’clock at the Benedictine monastery in Pecos, New Mexico. We’ll talk more then.” This would give her an hour or two to meet with Father Chuck before Ted arrived.
Ted hesitated. He wanted to tell her that he needed answers first—before he drove halfway across New Mexico. He also knew that if she was going to be the teacher, her pupil needed to trust her.
“Say that again? Where do you want me to meet you?” asked Ted, searching for the address in his GPS.
“The Benedictine monastery just outside of Pecos. My friend Chuck—he’s a priest—he’s on a retreat there. He’s part of my group and I wanted to visit him anyway. I’ll be waiting. And Ted …”
“Yes?”
“Nothing personal, but please drive carefully.”
After he hung up, he battened down the hatches on the Chieftain and prepared to get back on the road. Why should Spirit Tech with Angel be different from any other academic study? There was no need to worry. Was there? He hesitated again. Was he choosing the course work because it was of interest or because the teacher had very nice legs? Perhaps, for now, it didn’t matter. Some attraction was pulling at him.
Turning the key in the ignition, Ted brought to life the 420-cubic-inch engine and said aloud, “Grandpa, here we go! Just like you told me. Adventure on the open road!”
A few hours later he found Angel standing next to Bertha in the monastery parking lot. She was talking to a priest. It had been a hurried discussion. Father Chuck encouraged Angel to find a structure but to allow the instruction to unfurl in an intuitive way. They also discussed three possible obstructions that might impede Ted’s progress: lack of intellectual ability, lack of desire, and fear of change. When she waved to Ted, the priest turned and walked away, apparently busy with his own matters. Angel waited for Ted to join her and wondered if the two of them were up to the task before them.
8
Ted sat on the meditation pillow—a brown corduroy cushion that felt like Velcro on wolf fur—and waited for further instructions. Getting comfortable in his new surroundings was a tall task. Bertha’s interior was a rather strange hodgepodge of steel, animal skins, incense, candle sconces, calendars from the last century, bones from some archeological dig, old bookshelves, a metal librarian’s desk—still anchored to the driver’s side wall—blankets, pillows, clothing, tools, towels, and items that generally appeared to be broken, discarded, and evidently of no further value to the civilized world. Most of the bookshelves had been removed from the walls, but some of the mounting brackets remained. Also on the wall of the driver’s side was one remaining set of floor-to-ceiling shelving. On the shelves were just under a hundred of Angel’s favorite books. Between the driver’s seat and the passenger seat was an open space where No Barks liked to perch.
Angel began her first lesson by pulling from the shelves and tossing in Ted’s direction paperback copies of what she considered to be classic spiritual texts. He glanced quickly at the first three titles that rained down at his feet—Stephen Batchelor’s Buddhism Without Beliefs, Richard Rohr’s The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics See, and John Neihardt’s Black Elk Speaks. Editorializing on her selections, Angel said, “These books may seem inconsistent, and yet, in their own way, each finds the same truths about why we are here on this planet and our life purpose.” She finally stopped tossing books and concluded, “Reading may not be a substitute for doing, but it’s a start.”
Angel walked away from her bookshelf and began to shove some of her belongings into a pile toward the front of Bertha. “For now, you take the back and I’ll take the front. We’ll do some work here together at the monastery first. Later today we can drive up into the mountains. Father Chuck and I have an exercise in mind for you. You’ll love it.”
When Ted tried to inventory his surroundings, what struck him as most strange about Bertha was not what was there but what was missing: there was no bed, no proper kitchen, a very inadequate bathroom, no microwave, no dishwasher, no refrigerator, no sound system, no flat screen, no iPhone docking station, and only one electrical outlet. Ted sighed. If he’d paid for this school, a tuition refund would be in the works. This vehicle was ready for salvage.
Once Angel finished dealing texts to Ted like playing cards and reshuffling her belongings, she grabbed a pillow of her own and sat down close to Ted in the open area of Bertha, just behind the driver’s seat. “Ready for your first class at Spirit Tech?” she asked.
“Let’s start.”
“Father Chuck and I believe that there are some preliminary lessons you should complete before you’ll be able to do any serious work. Each of the three preliminary lessons—we call them realizations—will have two parts: instruction and practice. I could try to introduce all three realizations to you today, but it’s a great deal of work and it’ll take at least several hours. Are you up to this much work after a long drive?” Angel gazed at her student intently.
Ted looked around the bookmobile, still having major misgivings about Spirit Tech on Wheels. His dog, however, had no such problems. Argo, nestled in by No Barks, gently licked the wolf’s ears. If Argo was comfortable with the wolf, Ted decided that he could get comfortable with a Lakota spiritual consultant teaching from a dilapidated bookmobile. “Let’s push ahead.”
After a few moments of stillness, Angel began. “Let’s start where we left off earlier this morning. You passed out before I could finish the instructions for the first realization.” She leaned closer to Ted and again took his hand in hers. “Do you remember what happened when I did this earlier today?”
Ted was starting to get nervous and hoped he would not lose consciousness again. He more asked than answered, “I fell asleep?”
She put her other hand on his wrist and gave him her condolences. “I’m afraid that it is more serious than that, Ted.” She pulled both of her hands away from him and placed them back on her own lap. She sighed a little louder than she intended to and looked at No Barks as if seeking guidance from a wolf. When the wolf said nothing, she finally asked aloud, “How can I best say
this?”
Ted wondered what humiliating things he might have done while in his trance. An embarrassing list of possibilities raced through his mind before he asked, “Was it that bad?”
“Like most people, Ted, the bulk of your available consciousness has been asleep on the Tarmac. It’s time for you to take off—so you can be truly alive, alert, healthy, and whole.”
There was something rather condescending in her tone that put Ted on the defensive. “I might be more awake than you think.”
“To be clear, Ted, by ‘awake,’ I don’t mean your eyes are open. I mean something quite different.”
“Like awaken to the possibilities?” he asked.
“No. That’s not it, either. For most of us, only a small fraction of our mind is actually conscious. So by ‘asleep,’ what I mean is that your unconscious mind is in control and your true self has not yet actualized. It’s sitting quietly at the back of the auditorium with no voice.” Angel’s voice became more excited. “Now is the time to get it front and center, at the podium and in control. That’ll be the essence of our work together. This can be very exciting for you.”
Ted shrugged, not yet clear why waking up would be such a good thing, and wondered how Angel could sit so naturally and comfortably in that awkward cross-legged pose. If he sat like that, he would surely come crashing down like a poorly stacked pile of stones. “All right, then, sound the alarm and wake me up!”
“Some of the things I am about to say might not quite make logical sense at this point in your journey. Don’t worry about that. You’re a smart guy; it will sink in with time.” She again took his wrist as if she were offering him her condolences. “Just listen for now. Do you mind doing that?”
Ted took another long look at her, and while he found the proposition of listening without trying to understand both strange and implausible, he tried to be agreeable. “Sure. I’ll try.”
