One Great Year (35 page)

With thanks and gratitude in their hearts, Borte and Chilger honored every stone monument, conscious that someone had built each one in great joy, sorrow, celebration, or need. They opened up to the energy, and they shared the overwhelming power of the vast, stippled meadow. Their wolf guide left them, likely to find a meal, but returned later and sat patiently waiting at the outer edge of the field.

“Last one,” Borte smiled. There had been one hundred and seven in all, and the sun had moved significantly across the sky.

Chilger came to her and took her arm. “One more,” he said, placing a large rock in her hand, and immediately she understood.

Together they bent down and began to build the one hundred and eighth stupa, encasing all of their own dreams, wishes, and fears within. They were grateful during every moment of its creation that they were there together, they were healthy and able to build, and they were able to pray for guidance on their continued journey. When it was completed, they walked clockwise three times around the shoulder-height mound and Chilger emptied the last of their rice onto it. He would have to hunt to provide their night's dinner, but he did not resent the offering.

They mounted their horses to move on, but they did not get far before it was time to set camp for the night. They came upon a beautiful spot that had a sweet freshwater creek running through it, allowing them to drink and bathe themselves, truly clean for the first time in weeks. Though he expected many animals near the water, Chilger saw no trails and not a single beast came. He had watched the landscape carefully but was unable to snare a rabbit or a marmot, and for the first time they went to sleep hungry. Borte held Chilger close and assured him she was all right, but he felt shame that she and his child should sleep unfed.

When Borte and Chilger rose in the morning, they were stunned to find that the creek had disappeared. What they did not understand was that the fabled Stream of Purification
²⁷
had appeared and served its purpose. Not a drop of water remained, no puddle, no evidence it had ever existed.

In its place stood a formidable stupa, twice Chilger's height and twenty paces around. How could it be? They could not have missed it the night before. Its many strips of silk and cloth waved greetings in the wind, and its stones were piled and balanced precariously all around its ancient base, where their wolf companion now sat waiting for them. It was not an illusion. They ran their hands admiringly along its bumpy stone exterior. They began to pray and walked clockwise around the miraculous temple, having only flower buds to lay in offering.

As they completed their third turn, Borte gasped. The southern wall of the sacred monument had transformed into an archway, and standing in the opening, resplendently reflecting the sunlight in multicolored prisms as if he were made of crystal, was a fat, robed man. A glorious crown glowed like a halo on his smooth, dark hair. Beside him stood a tall, willowy male companion. The wolf rose and found a place at the right hand of the cherubic man, who happily placed his multiringed fingers on the animal's head. Particles of light and silver sparkled all around them like tiny swarming lightning bugs.

“Thanks to Father Sky and to our glorious Mother Earth. We give them thanks and hope that they are pleased, for they have brought us here. We humbly request passage to this world's sacred heart, where the truest of truths will be revealed,” Chilger said, dropping to his knees and helping Borte to kneel beside him. They raised their arms and hands together and bowed. From a distance many animals watched the magical scene.

“I am the King of Shambhala. You seek the higher dimension, which allows for the soul's full expression. You are a spiritual pair. Shaman, you understand that there is a world above, and in the middle, and below. You seek the realm that allows for the expression of all of these to ascend into higher understanding. This is where spirit and matter are at one,” the king said.

Borte huddled next to Chilger and listened in awe. The vibrations of the holy king made her teeth chatter, and she placed her palms flat on the ground to steady her tremors.

“We know why you have come. You have proven yourselves worthy and devout and we have called you. Many are called, but so few are listening. Before you enter, you must be clear that only the will of the Great Spirit exists within. We exist not for ourselves or for mankind. There is no argument or action great enough to alter one's destined path.”

“We understand. We are honored,” Borte and Chilger chimed, unpracticed but in unison. Chilger's Marcus-brain exploded with joyful anticipation.

“There is a cost to everything … for each high an equal low … for each blessing a burden,” the king warned lastly, his rainbows cast so far and wide now that all manner of bird and beast gathered in abundance nearby, peacefully observing the spectacle and paying their respects. Chilger quickly scanned the sky and, as always, his companion eagle and her mate were within view, playfully soaring in apparent celebration.

The king stepped aside, exposing the dark opening of the stupa, which reasonably should have led nowhere, and motioned for them to enter. Borte and Chilger rose, and he held her hand as she awkwardly climbed the high first step into the doorway. As they passed the king closely, the silver rain that swirled around him enveloped them like a cool mist and smelled of sweet lotus petals. Borte reached out and stroked their wolf guide, projecting her thanks as she passed, and her hand momentarily touched the hand of the king. She felt bliss, pure and loving.

As they moved into the complete darkness of the stupa, expecting to butt against hard stone at any moment, the king and his companion moved in behind them and the archway disappeared like water running into a drain. And then, suddenly, it was gone.

The king continued glowing, without the reflection of the sun. Once the portal was sealed he held up his hand, illuminating a single bright, vibrant crystal that Borte assumed they would use like a torch. She could tell the stupa was obviously much larger than it appeared, but she was unprepared for what would come next. The king placed the crystal in a small notch carefully carved into the solid stone wall. Borte noticed the beautiful flower symbol carved behind it.

As the crystal was placed, a chain reaction occurred. The light from the first crystal traveled like a laser down into a deep chamber and ricocheted magically time after time and from wall to wall, illuminating an enormous curving tunnel at least fifty feet in width and height and of unknown length.

For the first time in months, Borte was light of foot and felt as though air blew up beneath her, helping her to hover, barely touching the earth at all. Chilger held her hand, overwhelmed with the spirit of the place, and they both succumbed to tears of happiness and relief, embracing one another before they moved on.

As they followed the king, all around them balconies, alcoves, and precipices magically appeared in the cavern walls. The people of Shambhala were illuminated, emerging from the surroundings like chameleons changing color. Each one of them was as different and varied as the people of the world can be, but they all raised their right hands to their hearts and bowed, smiling, as the honored guests passed by.

“Surely this display is for the king,” Borte whispered to Chilger. But her supposition was rebutted immediately, by way of thought, from every direction.

It is for you, good Emissaries of Atitala
, all of the citizens answered, without words. Their multitude of voices were like music, a symphony in the minds of the couple, and again Borte and Chilger were staggered. He had told her that they were Emissaries, but before that moment it was just a word. To witness this reverence and to be so venerated filled Borte and Chilger with a sense of humility and responsibility greater than they had ever known.

The beautiful music that filled them continued, and as they moved on, they, too, placed their right hands on their hearts and nodded respectfully to the thousands who welcomed them.

The grand tunnel opened up into an enormous arching cathedral, and Chilger saw that there were five other caverns that led to this central spot, like the petals of a flower. The flower of life radiated in every direction from this place.

Everything was illuminated and glistened as if liquid, and sunbeams burst from the ceiling high above as if the sun was peeking through and casting spotlights onto its own private menagerie.

All around them the people of Shambhala emerged. Their soul-songs echoed like the deliberate beat of a shaman's sacred drum, and rainbows of energy and auras floated and danced, happily interconnecting the many as One.

A platform materialized at the center of the spectacular room and on each side of it, seven stairs appeared. The King of Shambhala stood on the platform, patiently waiting for his astounded guests to join him. A large green, sparkling tablet floated in front of him, and Borte stared at it like a child as she easily made her way up the left-side stairway unassisted. Chilger was directed to the other side, and the two stood looking anxiously across the glistening stone at one another. The king rested a tender plump hand on the head of each of them, and his touch buzzed like an electric current that was pleasantly ticklish.

“These good Emissaries come from Atitala, and though to them time seems long and arduous, we know that one cycle, ten cycles, a thousand cycles on Earth are but a flash in space and time and are a tiny part of the larger cycle. The Emissaries are the world's Light in this time of the Great Darkness, and we have called them here to replenish their energy and recharge their souls.”

The buzz in the room was electric. The king directed Chilger and Borte to place their right hands on their hearts and their left hands on the slab of green atlantium crystal. All around them, white-robed people of every race prayed, sang, and projected their loving support to them.

Immediately, as their hands touched the blessed stone, a warm current surged through them, through every vein, artery, and cell of their bodies. Brilliant, healing white light of the connecting spirit radiated from their eyes, ears, mouths, and noses. They felt a jolt, and then their bodies moved as if in slow motion, at one-quarter normal speed, as their sleeping shells fell softly like discarded garments and rested gently in a heap. They had been left behind, useless in this moment. The glowing soul of Borte's baby rested, protectively cocooned, within her body below.

Marcus and Theron's spirits had shed their corporeal forms, and in the pure, bright light they floated, emancipated, above their empty vessels, connected only by thin shimmering threads. They felt no concern, no fear, no sense of loss, only joy, love, and glory, as they joined the larger band of light above them.

Theron's spirit took on an ethereal, smoky appearance resembling closely the lanky girl that she had once been. All around her she saw images and energy swirling and telling her stories of what had been so long ago. Her vibrant purple aura hugged her, and she luxuriated in it, letting it rain over her like a warm waterfall.

There was no sense of time, or purpose, or urgency, but she felt a pull to open up, and there in front of her she saw Marcus. Marcus was in the pulsing, rushing band of light with her! Her joy was compounded, and in that moment she knew him! Her love, her Marcus … and she remembered being kept from him on the deck of the ship on the night of the exodus, but she felt no pain. She stared at him, glowing purple and silver, his shape dark and muscular and glistening in the light of eternal energy around them. She remembered saying goodbye to her dear friend Plato, her Marcus. He had been her mother, her child, her lover, her friend, and so much more. She remembered that he knew her … he always knew her.

Marcus watched Theron and was overcome by the sight of her discovering herself, her energy so pure and strong. He too felt no sadness, no anxiety, and no bitterness at the wasted years they had lost. He felt the same euphoric recollection and connection that she did, and all of the memories that had lain dormant or muted blossomed, vibrant and alive, and they were each surrounded by a garden of their own making.

Only when Marcus sought to join his spirit with Theron's and to flow freely with her, through her, did he realize that they could not cross the stone beneath them. An invisible barrier made it impossible for them to touch, but he knew that she knew him, and they watched each other and they joined the Grid, the band of light which flowed with the healing, loving energy, and they were One with each other and with all creation. There was no illusion of separation and they understood the truth. There was no longing, memory, or sadness. They were renewed.

How much time passed? Perhaps it was seconds or days or years, but the moment came when the King of Shambhala called them back to their bodies, as he was meant to do, and they came immediately, changed but the same.

They entered themselves like a thread through the head of a pin, through the crown chakras in the tops of their skulls. Their spirits traveled down, occupying each subsequent chakra, ballooning and becoming full and upright until their feet puffed and filled. Borte's baby kicked and rolled happily in her belly. Their eyes opened dreamily, they smiled and swayed as if they had ingested a powerfully euphoric drug.

They stood face to face and were led down the left staircase. The people of Shambhala—red, white, black, brown, and yellow, and of all ages—waited to greet them and embrace them. They were human … flesh and bone people who had overcome the limitations of the suits of armor that they had inhabited and reached enlightenment.

Chilger and Borte were taken to a sparse white chamber to rest. There was a wide, soft bed on one wall with fluffy pillows and light silk sheets. On the opposite side of the room there was a small fountain that flowed from the outer wall and continually filled a beautiful crystal bowl with clear, jasmine-scented water. There were glass doors that opened to a wild garden, and every plant thrived and burst with fruit and blooms. It was alive with the sounds of a million thriving creatures. There were no fences or gates or pathways; the entire garden looked as though it had been planted a century before and never groomed.