The Rejoining

by Jojo Brown

  “Are you sure that you are truly ready for the answers?”

  It was ‘The Lady in White’. She was hovering about two feet off the floor in front of me, smiling down at me, with her arms spread.

  Thirty-six

  "How did you get here? I thought you were just a ghost that resided at the institute. How is it possible for you to be here?” I whispered, in sudden blinding fear.

  She drifted down, until she was standing as firmly as I was, on the strange floor. “You do not need to be afraid, my dear. I am not here to harm or scare you. I am simply here to help you. We are all here to help you.”

  Her hand came to rest, gently on my upper-arm. The warmth radiating from that slight contact washed over me, calming me, infusing me with a feeling of contentment, the likes of which I have never experienced.

  “No one here will be harmed. Look around, they are all quite happy.”

  Tearing my eyes from her, I looked around at the rest of the rooms and I was amazed!

  * * * *

  The room beside my grandmother’s was a section of a dancehall. I could see the festive decorations draped across the walls and suspended from the ceiling. On a small table near the far wall, there stood a three-tiered white cake. Delicate yellow roses decorated the smooth icing. Two white taper candles held in silver candlesticks, stood sentry on either side of the cake.

  There must have been numerous candles throughout the room, which I could not see. The wonderfully soft glow that they cast moved with a liquid quality over the walls as well as the couple at the center of my sight. They moved together, swaying slowly to the rhythm of unheard music.

  The man, resplendent in his charcoal grey suit, was holding his partner with such loving tenderness. I felt that I was intruding upon a very private moment.

  The floor-length white satin gown that his partner wore glimmered in the soft glow of the candles. Tiny crystals came to life along her sleeve as she lifted her hand to gently stroke his cheek in total adoration.

  Their impassioned love for one another was blatantly clear with every movement. The slow, sultry dance brought them closer to the filmy wall and they came clearly into focus.

  My breath caught in my throat as my father’s profile appeared, above the starched white shirt. He was staring deeply, lovingly into the eyes of his bride. Happiness, love and the promise of a future, shone in my mother’s eyes.

  I dearly wanted to go to them. I wanted to share in their bliss, to know that version of my parents. The couple dancing before my eyes was not the people I had come to know. They were in love and looking forward to a life filled with happiness. They were the exact opposite of the angry, lonely people, looking back on a life filled with hardship—that I knew.

  The music must have ended; the happy couple stood perfectly still, holding each other. Arthur held Sandra tightly to his chest. His hands moved against her back, causing the satin to slide across her skin.

  As his head lowered to hers, I saw him say, “I love you”.

  At the very moment that their lips came together, the oily rainbow once again filled the wall between us.

  I was left standing there, still rooted to my spot, with tears tracing slowly down my cheeks. Their love had been so profound. They had so many plans for the future—before any of this had started.

  A love that deep should have been able to withstand anything that the world threw at it. The world had nothing to do with any of this, though. How could anyone be expected to be the same, after all of this?

  * * * *

  Turning farther, I was able to see into the next room. At first, I thought that someone had made a mistake. While the other rooms had contained places that I could recognize, the scene held within that room, was completely foreign to me.

  The lush green undergrowth of a jungle very nearly filled the space to capacity. Upon closer inspection, I was able to see through the foliage. It seemed to part in front of me, so that I might see the primitive village, hidden in its midst.

  Round huts haphazardly surrounded a central fire pit. Naked, ebony children ran free, loving life with abandon. The adults, male as well as female, wore nothing more than thongs around their waists with flaps hanging down in the front and back.

  Everyone that I saw had close-cropped hair and intricate tattoos covered their heads. In the middle of these happy villagers, standing out in stark contrast, was my brother. Adam, dressed the same way as the members of the tribe, was sitting on a well-used log, in front of one of the huts.

  Adolescents gathered at his feet as he regaled them with a story. He was busily telling them of his journeys, through hand gestures and an array of languages. A beautiful woman stood at his side, interpreting.

  He looked up to her, as he paused in the telling of the tale. A look of pure love, fresh and new, passed between the two of them. That simple glance caused all those gathered around to break out in raucous laughter.

  Adam was so happy. He had become a world traveler and teacher. He was in love—with life—with the world —and most importantly, with the tribal beauty at his side.

  My heart cheered for him. “Congratulations my dear, sweet Adam,” I found myself whispering, my hands clasped to my breast. “You walked out the front door of that house and said that you would find your own way home.

  “You did it, Adam. You found your place… your home! You are free, Adam. Embrace all of that love, live your life to its fullest.”

  The jungle closed in and my glimpse of his happiness was once again cut off. Instead, my attention shifted to the next room.

  * * * *

  Aunt Rachel was standing in the largest kitchen I have ever seen. She was surrounded with steaming pots, as well as a small army. Everyone was clearly following her every direction with rigid precision.

  She slowly made her way between them all, stopping briefly at each pot to dip the offered spoon in and taste the contents. Into some, she added a dash of this or a splash of that. Others, she would stand over, kissing the tips of her fingers, indicating its perfection.

  As Rachel made her way over to a counter along one wall, I saw a half-dozen other men and women. They were carefully preparing a mountain of sandwiches. Satisfied with their progress, she moved on to join a group at yet another counter.

  Soup was being ladled in Styrofoam bowls, with tight-fitting lids. These were placed into shoe-boxed containers, joined by plastic cutlery, paper napkins, fruit juice, and cellophane wrapped sandwiches.

  As each lunchbox was filled, it was added to others, stacked in larger boxes. These were then carried out to a waiting truck and delivered throughout the city.

  At some unseen, unheard signal, Aunt Rachel clapped her hands together, lifted one of the large soup pots from the heat, and headed out the door. With that day’s offering in her hands, she led the others, a look of sweet contentment on her face.

  Aunt Rachel, the supreme soup aficionado, was running one of the country’s largest shelters. She was making sure that everyone had a full stomach, a warm safe place to sleep and a feeling of self-worth. She was clearly in her element. That was precisely the life that she had always been meant to live. It was obvious that her happiness knew no bounds.

  * * * *

  “So far, these rooms are all showing my family, happier than I have ever seen them in my life. Please tell me—are these shadows of what their lives should have been? What could have been, if it were not for me?”

  “You have only taken the time to look into five of the rooms, Ella. There are three more on this level. One of them is mine, it is for me to fill as I see fit. Another shall remain empty; it is more of a doorway than a room. This leaves, only one.”

  “Chris’ room,” I whispered. “But, what about me? Do I not get a room? Do I not deserve the kind of happiness that the rest of my family enjoys within those walls?”

  Thirty-seven

  "This is your room Ella,” the Lady explained softly. “You see each of these others as a room that you are peering into. F
or the occupants of each of those rooms though, it is the same as it is for you. Each is held within their own squared circle. They are the ones who are looking in at you.

  “Each person is surrounded by rooms filled with those whom they love. They all stand upon their own star, looking about them, watching lives unfold. They count their blessings and give thanks for all the happy moments that have touched their lives.

  “None of them is alone. Each one has a guide. Just as I am here with you, they are all being helped to understand what it is that they are experiencing.”

  Trying desperately to understand, I had to ask. “When they are looking in at me… what do they see? I am standing here, doing nothing more than looking into rooms, that now you are telling me are not actually rooms; and talking to someone, who no one else seems to be able to see. Is that what they can see of me?”

  “No, not at all,” she reassured, “they see you as you are truly meant to be, Ella. These walls do not show the simple casings that your mother’s mother spoke of. These walls allow us to view the truth, the love and happiness, the life that each and every person holds within them. These are not visions of dreams, nor are they shadows of the past. Rather, what you see before you, are possibilities for the future.”

  “That is not possible,” I cried. “First of all, both my sister and my grandmother are dead. How can you stand there and say that this is their future? They have no future!”

  “Not upon your realm—that is true.” Just as calm as ever, she carried on her explanation. In the face of my emotional turmoil, her constant calm was becoming an irritation.

  “But life, the true essence of life, does not end when your body has come to the end of its usefulness. Everyone carries on. Either they return to the earthly realm, in order to experience another life, or they continue within their own essence.

  “All of those spheres that you witnessed, after you set the symbol free, they each contained the essence of life. They were the free-flowing forms of that which is held inside the earth-bound casings.

  “They were the truth, which is hidden beneath your coverings.”

  “Then why do I see Nanny and Amy with their earth-bound casings firmly intact?”

  “Simply because that is how you need to see them in order to recognize them. I know that you have many other questions, but it is necessary for you to look into the remaining room, before we can continue. You must look into Chris’ room, Ella.”

  I began to tremble. My heart was pounding so hard I was afraid it was about to leap from my chest.

  “I am not sure that I can,” I confessed, with a choked voice. “Everyone else’s room shows them enjoying a happiness that does not include me. If I were to look into Chris’ vision and see him looking upon someone else with the adoration that I have seen reflected in the faces of the others, my heart would surely shatter into a million pieces.”

  “He does look upon a face, with unwavering love, my dear Ella. It is not the face that you see reflected in the mirror—it is indeed the face of another.” She told me, as she softly placed her arm about my waist, turning me to face the feared wall.

  “Lift your eyes, Ella, and look upon Chris’ ultimate happiness. See what he truly holds most dear.”

  * * * *

  In a sturdy wooden rocking chair, at the center of a pastel, airy nursery, sat a grey-haired man. He was slowly rocking back and forth, lovingly cradling a tiny infant in the crook of his arm. As a soft breeze through the open window caused the sheer curtains to billow, the baby squirmed. The old man tenderly ran a gnarled finger down its soft cheek, cooing to the child, soothing it.

  * * * *

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered. “Is this room a look into the past? Was Chris never happier than when he was a newborn, held in the protective arms of his grandfather?”

  ‘The Lady’ softly laughed, “Stop looking so hard with your eyes, Ella, look instead, with your heart.”

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and re-opened them to look once again at the tender scene playing out before me. Tears cascaded down my cheeks as the truth of what I was witnessing, became apparent to me. It was not Chris and his grandfather in the room. Instead, I was looking at Chris, holding his own grandchild.

  “Eli,” I breathed. “He is the child of my child!”

  I was so overcome with love for the two of them, rocking slowly in that room that I felt my knees going weak.

  “His happiness… Chris’ happiness… is me!” I stammered. “Not just me … the memory of our life together. Our love, our children, and Eli, our first-born grandson.”

  A rush of memories, not yet made, bombarded me. Memories of a lifetime spent with Chris at my side. A life, not always spent in absolute blissful happiness, but one that made us strong and sure of each other.

  Turning to look into the eyes of my guide, I saw my happiness mirrored there. “The only thing I don’t understand now is my parents’ room. The scene is of their wedding—that is from many years ago, everything else is the future, but their happiness is in the past. Does that mean that they will never be happy again?”

  Once again smiling, she helped me understand what I had actually seen. The decorations in the hall, were not yellow, as I had at first thought, they were in fact gold. The candlesticks, which held the white tapers, beside the cake, were also gold.

  My parents were not sharing a dance at their wedding party. They were in fact celebrating their marriage, but it was the fiftieth anniversary of their union. It was the celebration of a half-century, spent supporting and loving each other.

  While they may have spent thirty years separated by the fear of a situation, which they had no control over, they had continued to hold faithfully to the vows that they made, years before.

  * * * *

  Feeling that all was right with my world, I willingly followed ‘The Lady’ as she led me to the room, which was not a room.

  Thirty-eight

  Moving between the two rooms was an experience unlike any I had ever had before. As we approached the wall, it looked to be much too solid for anyone to be able to just pass through. Although this wall consisted of the same oily film as the rest of them, the knowledge that I was expected to pass through it, made me a little concerned.

  ‘The Lady’ stepped close to the wall, lifted her hand, and traced her fingertips across the surface in a gentle arch. The rainbow kaleidoscope swirled in beautiful trails, following her hand. As she lowered her arm, the swirling colors continued their dance, spiraling in ever expanding circles. After a few moments, all of the colors gathered at the outer edges of the wall, leaving the center clear.

  Reaching out to take my hand, ‘The Lady’ stepped through the clear area, pulling me in after her. Being careful to lift my feet high enough to step over the filmy colors, I crossed into a completely different world.

  We stood just on the other side of the wall, in a corridor of sorts. The opening we had passed through disappeared the instant that I was all the way through. In its place was a continuation of the corridor. Wherever I was, the only way out, was now gone.

  Sensing my need for a few minutes to get my bearings, ‘The Lady’ stood patiently at my side. I took this time to look around me. The walls, ceiling, and floor all seemed to be alive. It was all moving as one, undulating as the floor of the library had earlier. Everything had a slick, moist appearance. As I cautiously reached a finger out to touch the wall, I was shocked to find that it was warm and dry. There was a very strange quality to it all.

  The soft silver color that now surrounded us was interspersed with faint lines of soft hues. It reminded me of watercolors on a wet, silver canvas, or the interior of a massive rare opal. For some reason, the constant slow motion, which encased us, made me think of a snake’s throat.

  It was long and close, pulsating with a constant rhythm, much like the muscle contractions, as the serpent works to swallow its prey. Looking back on it, I wonder why I had not tried to run in terror. Being manipulated
through the opalescent throat of a giant anaconda is not something a sane person would, willingly, take part in.

  At the time that it was happening though, it never once crossed my mind that I could be in any sort of danger. I had the sensation of utter peace and tranquility. I felt I was being held gently, within the arms of love, being coaxed deeper into the tunnel, with patience and nurturing.

  At the slightest of nods from me, my shining guide had resumed her lead. The throbbing shaft, through which we passed, was not as long as it had at first appeared. Before long, we were beyond its grasp. Standing at the edge of a breathtakingly, massive room, I stood in awe. It was much larger than any auditorium I had ever seen.

  The enormous circular room glowed with the same opalescence of the tunnel we had just exited. This space was very still though. Its stillness, making it seem even more a place of reverence.

  As I stood there with ‘The Lady’ at the opening of the tunnel, my eyes scanned the area in front of me. I tried to find something that would give me a clue as to where I was. There was nothing, no furnishings, no markings on the walls, and no columns holding the lofty ceiling, just empty space. Looking to my guide for an explanation, got me nothing more than a smile and a nod.

  Clearly, I was expected to venture further into the void on my own. Whatever lay ahead, was for me to discover, without any more assistance. After taking a few furtive steps away from the relative security that she represented, I turned. Half expecting ‘The Lady in White’ to be gone, I was startled to find that she was still there. In fact, she now had company.