Pillars of the Moon

by French, B. J. ;

  "What you are about to partake in is a ceremony that we give to our young men as they come of age. Nothing fearful will happen to you, as the only person you will face is yourself. Take some tea before it gets cold."

  I put the cup to my lips and took a sip. "Not bad!"

  "Just herbs, spices and a little honey." he replied. "Our ancestors have offered us a great gift, of which you have been a part. A gift, that in itself has no power, except from that which men wish to give."

  With that he reached from behind the rock and pulled the leather bag that housed the bowl and placed it between his feet on the ground.

  "You have seen this," he nodded, "but you have also seen many other things."

  I nodded not sure of what to say; I took another sip, the teas warmth filling my belly.

  "The bowl is just an object, like this stone or this pot, and has no value to anyone else apart from the person who created it through craft. It is human desire that has brought such false value to material possessions that man is so incensed to acquire and take from those who have always been so willing to give. It is your own heart that you will test tonight."

  An uneasy feeling started to rise within me until his smile and warm gaze brought reassurance and a wholesome feeling back to the meeting.

  "You will do well," and he got up to leave. He unraveled the bag exposing the bowl and placed it on the opposite side of the fire. A shaft of light from the setting sun caught the edge of the bowl at such an angle that the bowl appeared to illuminate from within.

  "Where are you going?" I asked, slightly bewildered.

  "No where. This circle was created for you. No one else can be a part of the intimacy that you will experience. You will see others, but they will only come at your beckoning."

  "Experience!"

  "I will be right here." He pointed to the cleft of two large boulders just beyond the circle. "I will place wood on the fire from time to time to keep you warm, and you have a blanket.

  I looked down to the woven mat that seemed much too thin to be of any value. Picking it up, I clasped it to my chest and inhaled the scent of cedar boughs. Exhaling, I felt a fresh ticklish sensation in my lungs as if I had taken a breath of mint for the first time. 'It had begun'!

  As the sun set over the watery horizon, the canopy of stars began to sparkle and crackle from the eastern sky. The bands of electrified light danced and chattered as if to mock the distant setting sun. The fire was slowly burning and I had placed several small logs on it myself, more out of boredom than necessity. It was almost dark, and I had been within the circle for over an hour. I wondered what I was supposed to do, and tried to think of how I was to meet myself. I knew nothing of the custom or what this ceremony was about. I had heard of sacred ceremonies of honor, where braves hung themselves from hooks, by their skin, until they went into a trance. 'Thank God there were no hooks dangling about'. My mind wandered to another ceremony of which I had heard with the circle of rocks, not unlike this circle, but there were no poisonous snakes that I could see, to bite me and put me into a trance. 'At least I hope not'. Scanning the perimeter of the rocks in anticipation, I grabbed the fire poking stick just in case. Beyond the edge of the firelight, I saw the elder’s feet tucked beneath his outspread knees; his face was obscure in the shadows. Having him there was an assurance, but I had my doubts as to anything happening apart from a lousy night’s sleep. Feeling a little more at ease with the predicament, I leaned back and began to reflect on the dreams and visions of late. The popping of the coals in the fire drew my concentration to the scarlet molten core. This experience, I decided now relaxed, was worth a go. Finishing off the pot of tea, I snuggled down on the mat and covered myself as best I could. The hum of machinery in the background, and the buzz of the crickets, kept me conscious of activity surrounding this desolate place. It was soothing being close to the fire with the radiating heat absorbed by the woven mat wrapped tightly around me. I drifted off into a light sleep, but after a short while found the ground uncomfortable and the noise of the crickets getting louder to the point of annoyance. Rolling on my back, I tried to get comfortable again only to notice the elder had disappeared. Not being all that concerned, I closed my eyes and covered my ears while the warmth of sleep began to overtake me again.

  Drifting for a short while, I was aroused by a buzzing noise so loud that I could feel the effects on my face. Uncomfortable with the intensity, I became aware the buzzing was inside my head. A slight shock wave of fear gripped my body as my comprehension of reality was beginning to change. The fear then began a wave motion within my nervous system from my toes that ran the length of my body to the top of my head. Not wishing to fight the fear, but to go with it, I let go and tried to relax with the sensations permeating my system. Wave after wave intensified till after only a few moments, they became one steady stream of energy. Fear slowly disappeared as I allowed my consciousness to drift with the sensation. The waves became pleasurable intervals of light that ran up my body like one steady stream of electricity along my nervous system. Within moments, the stream was so intense that my whole body glowed, and I found I was no longer contained within my body. With every wave of electricity came a flash of light before my eyes till it appeared as a strobe. My inner being moved upward, and after what seemed an eternity of lights and sounds, I was out of my body standing in a fertile field of grass with a faint breeze blowing in my face. The short grass swayed in a wave motion, like a gentle sea that was touched by the breeze. Warmth caressed my skin as the air's motion enveloped me.

  The buzzing in my head had subsided and was replaced by the mild hum of the machinery I had heard earlier. The softness of the audio tone seemed to permeate my being and somehow, visually, be a part of all that surrounded me. The environment was soft, greenish in color and not with out form and substance. There were various colors, but all seemed to be translucent, less vibrant. I did not feel doubt or fear, only a sense of belonging.

  The stars were above me, as they had been before, sparkling and bright. Below me, at the bottom of a huge grass-covered funnel was my body as it appeared in silhouette. Wondering where I was, I looked down at my hands and noticed the veins and their bluish color. A tug came to my consciousness, and I felt jolts of pleasure bolt through my body once again; flashes of light, like leafy-pages of a book, fluttered before my eyes.

  After what felt like an eternity, a strong jolt brought me back to consciousness and I found myself alone, atop a high four-tiered stone building. Many stone steps led down a centered staircase to a courtyard. Many people surrounded me with torches fluttering mystically in the haze of the smoky plateau. The air felt moist and warm, while the full moonlight reflected off the treetops above the stratum of smoke. On the next landing, immediately below me, a group of people was seated looking up to where I was standing. I sensed a familiarity and a kinship, but was not overly concerned. A warm, excited numb feeling surged through me, as I stood high above the large courtyard. The people milled about and shouted, as if witness to a game about to begin. Behind me in the shadows stood a man I did not know, but sensed a coldness and authority. As I turned to look to the shadows, a man stepped forward. He was adorned with a colorful headdress of feathers, while his face was covered with the mask of a cat. Others, naked to the waist, also with headdress, danced and sang, as if to celebrate the coming sport. A flash of light caught my eye as two men grabbed my arms and led me to a stone table fashioned in the likeness of a seated man with his knees and hands facing the sky. A last glimpse of the people below brought my eyes in contact with a youthful woman decorated with feathers and paint. Tears ran down her cheeks, and my heart gave a tug at seeing her face. The first pangs of fear of what was about to transpire raced through my body. Forcibly, they laid me down backwards across the flat-topped statue. The stars began to sing, as I looked up recognizing them from the few precious moments before. Waves of electricity and light began to flood my body once again, as my consciousness began to ebb away. The p
riest lifted a green bowl that I strangely recognized. From the contents, he sprinkled white sand from between his fingers. Watching as it slowly blew away in the wind, he paused for a moment to reflect on the crowd below. Turning my head to the left, with the cold stone against my cheek, I watched as the moon reflected blue light on the particles that had landed on my outstretched arm. He replaced the lid on the now visible small, blue-green jade bowl, and gave it to another standing off to the side. He approached me again, with a large golden carved bowl and black obsidian knife. As the fear mounted within me, unbearably loud buzzing in my ears became overwhelming and I found myself surrounded by light; the word, 'Chocmol' echoed in my ears.

  Once again, on the hard ground, back at the fire at Ozette, I began trying to orient myself. My face felt swollen, as if the blood were trying to force itself out of the pores in my skin. Unable to grasp my predicament entirely, I saw a strange-looking individual sitting just in front of where the old Chief had tucked himself away. Unable to move, or take my eyes from him, I lay still and watched as he watched me. Motionless on the rock, with hands resting on his knees, he sat like a king, foreboding and gruesome. Upon his head two large, curling horns protruded from his forehead, like those of a buck antelope. Long, dark hair hung loose down the sides of his temples, cascading over his shoulders. His skin was very dark and shiny, almost black. An animal-skin cloak draped his shoulders, and from what I could see, he wore a loincloth of some sort. From his large toes and up the front of his shins, white dots ran the length and ended just below his knees where a leather thong was tied with feathers dangling loose. He was motionless except for his eyes that, from time to time, sparkled in the firelight. I got the impression of Pueblo Indian decent.

  Helpless, I lay and watched. My heart pounded a steady relentless beat in my chest, echoing to my ears. Looking about the fire to see what might have caused him to be there, my eyes came to rest on three round-faced, flat-nosed individuals. They were as dark as he, but felt they were no threat. They were naked with fat tummies and lean legs. Their eyes flashed in the firelight and somehow that strangely gave me comfort to know they were there, their fluffy, curly, white hair blowing in the breeze. All adorned long beards except for one who sported braids down the front mingling with his chest hairs. A younger man and a woman, seated to his right, were almost motionless. A gentle tapping sound began echoing in my ears; the woman held two sticks in her hands tucked between her knees, which she periodically struck together. The young man responded, and got to his feet to kick the ground and dance to the rhythm of the tapping. His dance became more heated as he spun circles and stomped the ground stirring what little dust was there atop the rocky clearing. His body was now dusted, with accents of white dots and lines along his arms and legs. Feathers, tied to his upper arms and ankles, danced up and down with his jerky, almost erratic movement. The old man’s attire had changed as well. He too was now adorned in the same attire, with dots and lines painted on his face along with his body dusted white. A low, deep and hollow sound could be heard, in the background, just audible above the crackling of the fire. The tapping and the barrage of sound they made became more frenzied and amplified the buzzing and wave motion within my body. I found myself overwhelmed and eased myself over on to my back hoping to resist the drawing away sensation from this surrealism. Closing my eyes from all that was encompassing me, I tried to concentrate on strong and vivid scenes of my childhood to gain control of my thoughts. It was an impossible task, and I began to slip as the buzzing and waves of light overtook me again. I had no idea how much time was passing, or what was happening to me, but I was at the dreams mercy.

  Drifting down a tunnel toward a flicker of light, within seconds I was back into the world, seated in a car looking out the passenger side window to the lush roadside scenery beyond. In the reflection of the glass, a face stared back at me that was not unlike my own, only younger. Beside it, in the near distance came the familiar face of Vincent, only younger. Turning quickly, I came to face him and smiled as his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel.

  "Hello! Did you have a good sleep?"

  "Yes." I replied startled at his presence. "Thank you!"

  We spoke very little, and when we did, it was light conversation of no consequence. We proceeded up the valley on a windy highway toward the interior away from the ocean. A great river was off to my left that I recognized as the Columbia. We drove past a great huge natural stone overpass that the river had carved centuries before.

  "The bridge of the Gods," I shouted to Vincent, as we passed the monumental stone overpass. He was intent on driving, commenting on nothing.

  As I thought of the wonderment of the formation, it came to me that it had collapsed many years previous and that all that remained were legends and drawings of the great bridge. Wondering at how that had come be, a loud audible snap in my head brought me walking, following Vincent up a narrow, shadowed riverbed with high walls either side. A crystal clear trickle of water washed over the smooth rocks and moss that covered the creek’s bed. Moisture dripped from my nose and puffs of mist billowed with every breath as I panted after him. A gallery of ferns and plant life clung to the cliff face, as delicate as I had seen anywhere. Beneath their roost, water dripped from cracks in the layers of sedimentary rock, slowly making its way down to mingle with the waters that flowed beneath our feet.

  Vincent stopped before a large boulder outcropping, staring at it without saying a word. As I approached the spot, an excited feeling began to well up within me. Before me were petroglyphs of a stick man and the likeness of a dog jumping at his side. The headdress of the man was high and gave the impression of horns and feathers. It could have been the headdress of a hundred or so native cultures from Peru to southern New Mexico, and it was here! What was it doing so far north, thousands of miles from its southern kin? Vincent turned to me and smiled, then looked away to several men approaching along the path from whence we’d come.

  “We must go,” he suggested quickly with no elevation to his voice. He gave me a reassuring nod as he disappeared into the nothingness we had emerged from.

  With the familiarity of the petroglyph resonating in my mind, another loud snap brought me back to Ossette.

  Lifting myself to one elbow to view the fire, I could see that new logs had been placed on the embers, but no one-else was to be seen. The surroundings looked equally as surrealistic only furry, as if all had a coating of clear, liquid goo. The hum, that I had heard earlier, was barely audible over the pounding of my heart in my ears. I reached for the stick by the fire in slow motion as if time itself had slowed to a near standstill. Lying back down, I closed my eyes trying to get self-control. My tongue was thick and dry making it impossible to swallow. Struggling desperately to hold onto the prospective reality, I lay with the only thing anchoring me to it firm, my heartbeat.

  Looking up to the stars again, a intense flash shot across the sky leaving a brilliant trail behind it. Following its arching path, my attention was drawn to the other side of the circle. Just beyond the stones, to my dismay, the little scruff of a boy I recognized from earlier stood looking at me. Surprised by his appearance at the fire, I tried to raise myself to speak with him. He was still half-naked as I had seen him before, but now he had a blanket, not unlike mine, draped around his shoulders. His face was dark with a band of soot across his eyes like a raccoon. In his hands was the leather bag and bowl that had been left by the fire in the safekeeping of the circle. A toothless grin came to his face as he watched me from outside the circle, struggling to get to my feet. Staggering, half stooped, I skirted the fire to go after the boy and reclaim the precious bag. He turned to face me, and with a taunting, whistled laugh, disappeared into the darkness of the surrounding forest.

  "No!" I shouted after him.

  Without thought, I left the perimeter of the circle and bounded after him into the blackness of the Olympic rain forest. The rest was darkness.

  Coming to again, the sun was just
rising above the line of hills on the horizon. The scenery had changed dramatically and I was no longer at the fire or in the lush rain forest of the Pacific Northwest. It was cold and dusty, and I was lying in a heap on the hard ground. My legs felt cramped as I straightened from the fetal position and remained prone on the ground. How did I get here, and what had happened that had caused Vincent to leave me in a place like this? Had Vincent just dumped me off here? All were good questions, but there were no answers.

  Fortunately, the sun was on the rise and I could tell by its warmth on my face that I would not be cold for long. My mouth was dry, my tongue felt thick as I ran it across the cracked surface of my lips. Resting on one elbow, I began looking for relief from the dryness. Nothing was available. No flask of water, no overnight bag, just, to my thankful dismay, the little, leather bag that housed the bowl. Frustrated by the cold and my situation, I sat up, wrapping my arms around my knees. Facing the sun, I pondered my options and what my responses should be. The countryside looked somewhat familiar and it made good sense to head east and find a settlement. Thinking that the sun rose in the east, I looked toward the south and an expansive plain between two humps on the horizon. Making an effort to get up, I noticed my leather boots were different than I had last remembered, well worn, and more of a riding boot than the hikers. My jean jacket was a favorite I had worn years ago, as a teen. My hands were well tanned and I still recognized them vaguely as my own; a small turquoise ring adorned my middle finger. As I ran my fingers through my hair, it felt long, matted and wind-blown, something I was not used to. My jeans were bleached and dusty, caked with debris and remnants of the trip.

  "When did I last eat?" I asked the sky as my stomach groaned. "What did I eat?"

  Getting to my feet, I dusted my legs and continued to look about, trying to find clues that might enlighten me to my circumstance. I searched the area for my knapsack and camera, but they were nowhere to be found. It appeared all I had was the leather bag, the clothes on my back, and a felt cowboy hat that was as weathered as I. The brown leather bag sat conspicuously in the center of my vision on the ground. Taking stock of my pockets, I found nothing more than my wallet and a book of half used matches. In my upper pocket I found a pocketknife and a piece of paper with the names, Moon Rising and Flagstaff scribbled in pencil. A light wind coming from the south pushed aside the strands of hair from my eyes. As I raised my head to take note, the sun broke the horizon over the low ridge of distant mountains. A slight band of green could be seen at the base of one of the distant hills, just this side of the range. A canyon promised a chance of water, and with water, a river; and with the river, a farm; and with a farm, people. I was all right for now, but knew if I did not get water soon, I would be in trouble. My natural instinct was to dig for roots, but all that were available were the prickly tumbleweeds and a few cacti, a typical scene straight out of the old west. After a short walk, I found a small, round cactus-like plant tucked by the side of a boulder sticking up from the parched ground. Plucking it up with my knife, I peeled back the leathery, spinney skin to expose the fleshy moist heart of the plant, I sucked and chewed the moisture from the core, spitting out the remaining fiber like a wad of spent gum. The taste was slightly bitter, but all that was being offered a-la-carte; unless a snake or lizard came my way, it was all that I would be eating for some time.