Waiting for Autumn (8 page)

“Hi, Scott. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you. Did Robert tell you what happened in Yreka?”

“Yes, he did. I’m sorry you had to go through that. But it’s sort of a rite of passage, as they say.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“It just means you’re on the right path.”

“That’s what Robert says.”

“He’s a great teacher. I’ve known him for many lifetimes.”

“Do you believe in evil?” I was still coming to terms with what had happened in Yreka.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I know Robert has very strong opinions about such things, but my experience has shown me that negative energy can usually be reversed with healing.”

“So being mean is just a sickness?”

“I guess you could say that,” she laughed. “I’m not saying there isn’t dark energy, but I’ve seen some pretty horrific souls heal and become harmless once their core issues have been dealt with.”

I hadn’t told Robert about the face I’d seen on the drunk driver, but I felt I really needed to share what had happened. I told Martika all I could remember and asked her what she thought.

“When you saw your face on the drunk driver, what did you feel?” she asked after a long silence.

“I don’t know—I passed out.”

“What do you feel about it now?”

“Anger. I don’t know. Guilt?”

“What do you mean by ‘shadow’?” I felt like I should probably already know what Martika was talking about, but she made me feel comfortable about asking questions that Robert would find annoying.

“Within everyone is both our dark side and our light side. We can’t be fully integrated and balanced without accepting that both are important aspects of being human. People who ignore or try to hide their dark side from themselves or others become quite depressed, or in some cases, much worse. When their darkness finally bubbles up to the surface after it can no longer be contained, some very extreme things can happen.”

“Like when people yell at you for no reason?”

“Yes, that—and unfortunately, much, much worse.”

I let my mind reflect on the nightly news, and I wondered how many tragedies could be averted if people weren’t trying to subvert their shadows.

“And the gift you’ve been given,” Martika continued, “is to realize that humanity has a collective light side and a collective shadow side that we are all a part of. We are all connected, and you were shown a literal example of this. Yes, your love of Cheryl is a given. But you are also the drunk driver who killed her. And so am I. We are all love, and we are all hate. We are one, with all of our colors.”

“That’s a bit hard to take.” I was attempting to be as diplomatic as possible while trying to distinguish between my feelings of anger and confusion. There was no way I could imagine taking responsibility for being the drunk driver that took Cheryl away from me.

“So you’re saying that everyone is inherently good?” I asked with a sense of indignation that was difficult to hide. “That seems at odds with Robert’s view.”

“We are all connected.”

“Yes, we are.” She paused. “I’m sorry to change the subject, but a friend of mine needs to use the car tomorrow . . .”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll bring it right over.”

“I don’t need it until tonight. And if you’re up for it, I’m having a small gathering—you could bring the car over tonight and meet some new people.”

“That sounds fantastic . . . I’ll be there.”

Martika gave me the details, and I began to get ready to reenter the world for the first time since my Yrekan vision quest.

“You look good,” Martika said as she gave me a big hug. “Are you fully recovered?”

“I think so—thanks for asking.” Martika always seemed to have the right thing to say.

The inside of the house was decorated with an unusual blend of contemporary and countryfarmhouse sensibilities. The floors looked like the original hardwood planks that had the charm and history of many years of living. And the original wood finishings were accented with dramatic contemporary and Asian-inspired artwork that filled the walls. In the entryway, an imposing creamcolored Buddha greeted the guests. There was something mysterious about the large collage, and as I neared it to get a better look, I was shocked by what I saw.

“Is this made of cigarettes?”

“Yes,” Martika said. “A local artist unrolls used cigarettes he gathers from bars around town and collages them to make the most amazing pieces.”

“Do you smoke?” I was finding it difficult to resolve the disparity between Martika’s image and a wall full of used cigarettes. As I looked closer, I recoiled in disgust when I realized that Buddha’s crimson mouth was composed of lipstick-stained papers.

“Oh, heavens no. But this piece repulses me so much that I just had to have it. And I promised myself I would hang it in a prominent place until I am able to accept it completely and fully. I guess I’m sort of addicted to healing. I’m immediately drawn to anything that makes me uncomfortable because I know there’s something underneath that I need to work on.”

Martika gestured for me to follow her, and as we moved through the hallway into her beautiful home, she had one last thing to say on the subject: “My father used to smoke.”

When we entered the kitchen, there were several people I recognized from the constellation group and a few more who didn’t look familiar. They were of all ages, but once again, mostly female. It seemed like the large country-style kitchen was the heart of the party, and many guests were gathered near the bright blue and red pots that were bubbling on the restaurant-style stainlesssteel stove.

“There are a bunch of great people here for you to meet,” Martika said. “Can I get you some water or tea?”

“Tea would be great.”

“I hope you like rooibos,” she said as she handed me a cup of steaming red liquid.

“This tastes amazing.” I loved the tart, nutty flavor that was unlike any other tea I’d had before. “Where can you get it?”

“It’s from Africa, but you can get it at the Co-op, of course.”

“Of course,” I smiled.

“Oh, Scott, I want you to meet Lisa from the group. She was in the constellation with you, and I think you have a lot in common.” Martika introduced me to a short perky brunette with curly hair and bright red lipstick. After making sure we were properly acquainted, Martika brought the teapot into the other room and left the two of us to talk in the kitchen.

“Wow, your constellation was so intense,” said Lisa, speaking much faster than I was used to listening. “I know we’re not supposed to talk about it, but I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“Have you seen a lot of them?” I finally remembered her sitting next to the “mustache” at the constellation.

“I’m in the yearlong intensive, so I go to a three-day weekend every month and sometimes a few other times, like the one you were in.”

“That’s a lot. I don’t know if I could handle doing that every month, let alone three days in a row.”

“You get used to it, but I think your session was a bit more intense than most.”

That made me feel a bit better. I couldn’t imagine it getting more intense than that!

“I was shocked when Hans said you were supposed to be dead,” Lisa continued. “I totally got truth bumps when he said that.”

“‘Truth bumps’?”

“You know, goose pimples, goose flesh, chills—whatever you call it. When the hair stands up on the back of your neck.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know why truth bumps happen?”

“Nope.”

“They happen when the connection to your spirit is stronger than the connection to your body. And that’s why I knew that what Hans said was true. How did you feel when he said you were supposed to be dead?”

“At first I was angry, but then I felt relieved.” I was surprised at myself for being so open with someone I barely knew, but being in Martika’s house made me feel safe. “I’m relieved because now I know I wasn’t imagining it. I’d always felt I was supposed to be dead, but it didn’t make any sense until he explained it.”

“Wow, that’s so intense.”

Martika reappeared, clinking her glass with the handle of a fork. “Everyone, please move into the dining room. Dinner is ready!”

We proceeded into the dining room, which had two large dining tables butted up against each other. On the long wall hanging above the tables was a horizontal cigarette-paper collage of the Last Supper that seemed to ominously supervise all that would be consumed in the room. There were nearly twenty place settings, and everyone took their positions behind their chairs and intuitively held hands with one another. I wasn’t used to holding hands with people I didn’t know, but there was a genuine innocence about it that seemed to make the evening more charming.

I was positioned between two gray-topped ladies I hadn’t met before. One was wearing a red velvet dress and had shoulder-length hair; the other was in green velvet, with her curly locks cropped close. The longer-haired lady loosely held my left hand, her cold, clammy palm barely pressing against mine; and the other gripped my fingers tightly, smiling a wide, toothy grin. She made me feel uncomfortable with her presumed intimacy, but I tried to be friendly and smiled back as warmly as I could.

“Thank you all for coming,” said Martika, raising her glass. “You are all very dear to me, and I’m happy to be able to bring you together on this special night. Since many of you haven’t met before, please take a moment and introduce yourselves before we eat.”

Everyone took their turn introducing themselves, and mostly they all sounded the same. “Hi, I’m so-and-so, and I’m in the
X
-year intensive,” or “I’m who’s-her-face, and I’m going to go to my first constellation next week.” However, one person stood out from the crowd during the introductions—a well-dressed young lady with long curly blonde hair who looked like she could be Martika’s younger sister. She was wearing a simple white blouse and a flowing powder blue cotton skirt that scalloped to the floor in the shape of a three-layer cake.

“Hi, I’m Madisyn with a
y
—
S-Y-N
, not
S-O-N
,” she whispered softly. “I just moved here from Seattle, and Martika has taken me under her wing. I don’t know if I’m up for the constellation work, though; it sounds too intense for me.”

Finally, someone who was honest about it! I wished I’d been told what was going to happen so I could’ve at least had the sense to run away. I guess it ended up being a good thing, although I wasn’t sure if I could ever do it again.

I didn’t hear most of the other introductions because I was trying so hard to think of the perfect thing to say when it was my turn, and I kept running through all the options in my head. I was deathly afraid of public speaking, and I probably wouldn’t have agreed to come to dinner if I’d known that I had to make a speech. As my turn approached, I became even more nervous, and when the person next to me stopped speaking, all eyes turned to me, and everyone patiently waited for me to begin.

“Hello, my name is Scott,” I finally said after a long silence. “Hans told me I’m supposed to be dead.”

Nearly everyone in the room burst into laughter, and I too caught myself smiling, while quickly checking to make sure Hans wasn’t in the room. I wasn’t upset because I could feel that they were all using their laughter and warmth to cradle and support me, as they genuinely seemed to care.

I hadn’t been sure if people would understand what I meant, but as I looked at the smiling faces, I recognized many from the constellation, and they seemed to remember what had happened. “And thank you, Martika,” I continued, “for being so supportive since I’ve moved to Ashland, and for including me tonight with your family and friends.”

The dinner was delicious, and it was the first time I’d been able to eat a full meal since the soul retrieval. I had been eating mostly bread and raw vegetables after the disappointing turkey-and-Swiss incident, and this meal of fresh angel-hair pasta with tomatoes and basil was an absolute feast. The food embodied love and happiness, and my soul felt nourished and rejuvenated. It was one of the most satisfying meals I’d ever had, and I could feel Martika’s love and support with every bite. When the dessert of fresh blueberries arrived, everyone switched places and I was fortunate enough to end up across from Madisyn with a
y.
With the benefit of proximity, I could see that she had light blue eyes and a small white flower in her hair that complemented Martika’s.

“This food feels amazing,” Madisyn said as she sat down.

“Did you say
feels?
” I asked.

“Yes, the energy here is so beautiful, and this food is filled with good intention.”

“I agree. I didn’t know anyone else could feel energy in food. I just discovered it myself recently—I tried to eat in a restaurant and couldn’t, because it felt like I was eating someone else’s anger.”

She nodded. “I don’t understand why more restaurants aren’t into conscious cooking. That’s the main reason I can’t eat out anymore.”