By Dark

by T Thorn Coyle

  “So, what’s this revelation you just had?”

  “I’ve been flailing and, you’re right, pushing you away, and that’s because whatever this initiation is that both of us now seem to be going through? It’s about ripping away another layer of protection, getting closer to the core. Closer to reality. Closer to the truth.”

  He felt her body grow still, heard her breathing, slow and even, rising and falling along with the music.

  “Well,” she whispered. “Damn.” She moved then, scooting up, grabbing an extra pillow, and propping herself against the gray padded headboard. He followed suit, though it hurt, he had to admit. He wanted nothing more than to soak in the tub. But this conversation needed to be had.

  “I’m scared of needing you as much as I do,” Alejandro said. And his heart was racing, and it was hard to even take a breath. Raising his hands to his face, he cupped his palms over his eyes and pressed, trying to keep the panic at bay.

  “Lover, you don't have to…”

  “But I do.” Alejandro swallowed. All of a sudden, he felt as if he had no access to any of his practices. No access to centering, deep breathing, to opening the energy centers in his hands and feet… All of it had fled. There was just this sense of naked panic, Shekinah lying at his side, waiting. And then there were the ancestors. Those fuckers were pressing at the base of his skull, buzzing and clacking and making themselves known.

  This isn’t going to get any easier, he thought.

  “I’m so scared that it’s all going to overwhelm me,” he said. “I’m scared it’s going to smother me.”

  “This need?”

  Finally, Alejandro lowered his hands and blinked, only to see her beautiful face gazing down at his. That helped, but only a little.

  “It’s that, but it’s not just that. It’s everything. It’s the fact that I’m not only having these horrific visions, but that I might actually be my ancestor. That’s just something I never thought of. I’ve always been an agnostic about the afterlife, you know? And to have this… It’s too much. Add in the fact that I’m having a crisis about work, and a crisis with us, and with me acting out, feeling like I want to go back to when I was in my twenties or thirties—which is ridiculous! Because I don’t want that!”

  “You just want Thomas,” Shekinah quipped.

  He laughed at that, a dry chuckle, without too much actual laughter in it. She knew him too well.

  “Yeah, I want Thomas, but the thing I just realized? Part of what I find so hot about Thomas right now is, not only does he want me, but I don’t have to be vulnerable with him like I do with you. I don’t have to bare my soul, or, you know, let him know who I really am. I can just be his handsome daddy and have some fun.”

  He looked into her amazing, liquid blue eyes. “I’ve been avoiding you, and I’m so sorry. I’ve just…I’ve just felt lost. And I think that pissed me off. And, I didn’t want to take that out on you, but I also…”

  Goddess, this was hard.

  Shekinah ran a hand across his forehead and through his hair, trailing her fingers across his scalp. It felt good. Comforting. Funny, it was nice to feel fingers in his hair after having shaved his scalp for so long. That felt vulnerable, too, though. Exposed. As if he were a little boy needing comfort. Thing was, he supposed that was true.

  “I want to do better,” he said. “I want to try harder. With you, with the coven, with everything. But I’m so fucking afraid. I’m afraid I’m going to lose it. I’m afraid I’m going to lose it all.”

  “Come here,” she replied, and gathered him into her arms. She held him, gently, so, so gently. Alejandro shifted his head, tilting his face toward her.

  She brought her own face down for a kiss that started out as gentle, but quickly grew in heat.

  “You’re not going to lose this,” she said, after breaking their kiss. And then she began to unbutton his shirt, eyes never leaving his.

  “Goddess, you’re beautiful.”

  She smiled, a radiant thing. “Don’t ever forget it.”

  As he moved to help her, stealing hot kisses in between each article of clothing, he vowed to himself that he never would.

  Alejandro allowed his aching body and battered spirit to sink into motion and sensation, pleasure, and a love so strong it took his breath away.

  36

  Shekinah

  Shekinah sat next to Tish on a bench in Lownsdale Park, one of the three South Park Blocks in downtown Portland. This one sat across from the main courthouse, one block from City Hall. People wandered through the park, heading out to lunch or back to the office, walking in pairs and trios or scurrying along alone. A few houseless people sat in a circle on the grass on a carpet of fallen leaves.

  The air was chilly, and she was grateful for her sweater and jacket. She and Tish were waiting. For what, Shekinah wasn’t certain. All she knew was that Tish had asked to meet her there. Said that it was important. At least her morning practice had been good and Shekinah had gotten some work done that morning, which would make her clients happy. Her stomach grumbled. She really should have eaten some lunch before coming here.

  A small group held signs near the edge of the park closest to the courthouse, clustered around three African American women. She couldn’t read their signs, but Shekinah recognized one of the women from the street protest.

  “They look so sad,” Tish said, her gaze trained on the group. “They’re the reason I wanted you to come here. To stand with them. Or talk to them. Or…”

  She looked at Shekinah, her own eyes damp with tears, mouth set tight, Shekinah couldn’t tell whether it was from grief or anger. “Frankly, I’m not sure why I brought us here. I just knew, after last night, that we had to come. They’re the ones this bullshit is affecting. They’re the ones this magic or whatever it is keeps jerking around.”

  Tish looked back at the group, Shekinah’s eyes followed. One or two people paused to read their signs, and one spoke with a person on the edge of the small cluster. Most people, though? They walked on by.

  “That woman there?” Tish pointed to a woman sitting on her walker chair, sign facing toward the sidewalk. “Her grandson was killed by the Portland police two years ago. She’s been organizing ever since. Most of the people there? Family members killed.”

  Shekinah’s eyes filled with tears, and she touched Tish’s arm. Tish turned to her and shook her head.

  “Makes me want to cry, too, but they don’t need your tears, Shekinah. We don’t need your tears. We need your action.”

  Tish turned her head away again.

  Shekinah exhaled, mind awhirl. She didn’t speak, because what the hell could she even say? She felt so out of her depth here.

  “I’m thinking of quitting the Center,” Tish said.

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t see how it’s helping anything. These visions…they have me questioning everything, you know? Like, if yoga helped anything, I wouldn’t be having these visions. Wouldn’t need to.”

  “Doesn’t practice help you, though?”

  “I thought it did, but now I wonder…”

  Looking at the bereft and angry families, standing in the small park, holding signs, Shekinah wondered what she could do. What would help.

  “Conviction and iron volition,” she said.

  “What?” Tish replied.

  “From the Rig Veda. That’s what we need here, to help with the magic. To turn the stars back on the police. To help these families. We need conviction and iron volition. The power to use our will. Our holy power. All of the kundalini we’ve been raising all these years, but harnessed toward something.”

  “Sounds great,” Tish replied, “but how?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Shekinah said. “But we’re going to figure it out. Meanwhile, should we join them?”

  “Yeah,” Tish said, standing up. “Let’s go.”

  As they walked toward the group, Shekinah felt a sense of purpose, rekindled inside her belly.

 
; She just hoped it would be enough to help.

  37

  Alejandro

  It was early evening, and twilight was falling, along with the temperatures. Alejandro walked into the indoor space at the Mercado, holding the door for his sister and her kids. Music hit him. The sounds of accordion and twelve string guitar filled the air.

  The Mercado was busy, with the after-work crowd coming by for dinner or to visit the ofrendas. Alejandro and his family were doing the same. The kiddos had already consumed their burritos from one of the food trucks outside, eating at the long tables under strings of party lights. He and his sister had shared a plate of grilled meat, beans, rice, and salad with a side of fried yuca. Bellies comfortably full, they now wandered the indoor marketplace, visiting the large, vibrant ofrendas.

  The subtle, spicy scent of marigolds mixed with the food smells rising from the few small inside tables where folks were eating.

  His sister looked beautiful but tired as usual. He worried about her. They argued about her working too hard, but she was proud and wouldn’t allow him to give her and the boys any steady income. Stubbornness ran in the family. So he did what he could.

  He’d suggested this trip because two nights from now, on Dia de Los Muertes, he knew he would be busy. That was the evening the ancestors had decreed. It was the night Arrow and Crescent Coven and their allies would work their magic against the egregore of la policía. He’d meet with the coven later on but didn’t want to miss this traditional visit to the Mercado with his sobrinos.

  How was it already Samhain? He’d spent the day getting the sigils ready. He, Thomas, and Moss had met with Shekinah, who had turned the hand drawn symbols into vector files on her computer. That way they could easily scale the images up and down for large fliers or small, unobtrusive squares. Moss had complained that he wished they had time to make stickers, until Thomas reminded him that once the sigils themselves were charged up, they would work for as long as they needed them to. Stickers could come later, even after the current action they had planned.

  An action Alejandro was still uncertain of, and which made him feel increasingly nervous. He hated flying by the seat of his pants. That had never been his way. Not in business. Not in relationships. Not in his magic. Even the actions the coven had done in the past all had some external event to center themselves around, to anchor to.

  Right now? There was nothing in his life that had the sort of structure that made him feel as if everything was going to be all right. His only anchor right now was the longevity of his relationships with Shekinah and the coven. He hoped that would be enough, and that he’d find the inner strength to make it through.

  “Tío, look!” His nephew Joey pointed to a floor to ceiling ofrenda, brimming with marigolds, paper flags, and folk art skeletons. It was four tiered, and jar candles flickered in front of old photos. These were Oregon ancestors. Farm workers and vaqueros. Men and women who worked on the railroads. All the people who had been brought here, or traveled on their own, who had settled and then fought to remain here. The more recent photos were of activists from the 1960s on up through the 1990s. Joey was pointing to an old photo, a sepia image of a man with sad, dark brown eyes, a full mustache, and hair as thick as Alejandro’s. Sudden heat ran across Alejandro’s skin, stopping him in his tracks. The base of his skull buzzed with activity. The man wore the clothing of a cowboy, though it was clear he had dressed in his best for the photo.

  “He looks like you! Is he part of our familia?”

  Alejandro cleared his throat. “I believe so, sobrino. He certainly looks like it.”

  Well, shit. People talked about what to do if you met your doppelgänger, but what in Goddess’s name were you supposed to do if you were looking at your past self? How was this even possible? Staring at Alejandro Juan’s image—it had to be him, didn’t it?—made his stomach lurch, as if time had suddenly shifted, leaving him half in and half out of his body in this place and time. His hands reached out as if to grab the photo from the shelf. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to smash it or steal it away.

  “Alejandro, are you okay? You don’t look so hot. Did you eat too much?” Catarina asked.

  “I’m not sure what’s wrong,” he lied, “but you’re right, I don’t feel so well.”

  She made a flicking motion with both hands. “Go. Go.”

  “But…”

  “It’s okay, Tío, if you feel sick, you shouldn’t be around people anyway. That’s what Mom always says,” Henry chimed in.

  He gave his family what he hoped looked like a smile instead of a grimace.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you next week.”

  Dropping kisses on the tops of their dark heads, he made his way through the long tables filled with ofrendas, heading toward the door.

  It was probably just his imagination, but it felt as if that photo of Alejandro Juan stared at his back the whole way.

  38

  Shekinah

  “I want to take kundalini practice to the streets,” she said.

  It took all she had in her to remain seated in the chair in front of Yogi Basu’s desk. Her practice that morning had left her the most energized she’d been in months. She practically vibrated with the energy flowing through her body and across her skin. If she hadn't been seated, Shekinah swore her feet would levitate off the wooden floor. The portrait of Shiva looked down upon her. Shiva—who destroyed so things could be created anew—was the reason she was here now, the reason she practiced. The reason she felt this sudden urgency to do something. Maybe this was what being a warrior felt like.

  Her teacher stroked his beard thoughtfully, his gaze steady.

  “This is the moment I have been waiting for, Shekinah. I have waited for the serpents to open you to the fulfillment of your cause.”

  “I don't… I have no idea what you mean,” she said.

  “I think you do know. I think you will find that you know, if you look inside your heart. This opening is what you've been so frightened of. And it is why the excuses have filled up your heart and mind. Being so full like that has meant you cannot listen clearly. You have not been listening to me, or to your practice, or to yourself.”

  Words pushed at the back of Shekinah’s lips, trying to break through the fortress of her teeth. But she held them in. Forced herself to feel her feet on the floor, her butt muscles in the chair, and her spine rising up from her pelvis. She could feel them now, two serpents where before there had been only one. How had she not recognized that before? That there were two serpents twining their way through her? Oh, she knew the teachings. She had seen the illustrations. Shiva and Shakti. And when both were fully present, the possibility of Sushumna, which was beyond all concepts of duality.

  But nonetheless, in her practice, she had always felt the kundalini rising up her chakras as only one force, not two. She had been focused on Shakti, but after all these years, Shiva had awakened inside of her.

  That energy, a second stream of life force, flowed through her now.

  She touched the tip of her tongue to the roof of her mouth and spread her toes out on the floor.

  “Do not try to control this,” her teacher said. “Rather than trying to slow down the flow, imagine that your energy field can expand to accommodate it. To accommodate the powers as they rise.”

  How did he do that? Even after all these years, it was still spooky, the way he could read her so accurately.

  Shekinah breathed in, and as she exhaled, she imagined her breath pushing itself outward, all around the edges of her skin. Then she imagined it spreading itself, layer upon layer, all around her. Above and below her. In front and behind her. Side to side.

  What would it be like to feel bigger? she thought.

  And so, she did imagine it. She imagined herself taller and broader, larger all around. Big as a mountain. An ocean. A sun. The energy rose inside her, from feet, to pelvis, and up. As soon as it reached her heart, something clicked inside of her with an almost audible snap.
All the facets of her self—body, mind, and soul—aligned. And all the tension she’d been feeling was simply gone. The vibration that had threatened to overwhelm her steadied into a gentle, powerful thrum.

  The center of her forehead tingled, and she felt something open wide, like a beautiful flower. Joy filled her, and a new sense of her power.

  She looked into the bottomless pools of Yogi Basu’s brown eyes, and in a steady voice she said, “I think I understand now.”

  He simply nodded, as if of course this would have happened, this thing that she was certain had just changed her entire life.

  “To answer the question you asked earlier,” he said, “the kundalini is already in the streets, though not in all places. The kundalini flows everywhere that creation is unblocked. Practice, as you know, is one way to release these blocks, and practice is what the universe does. We practice with everything that practices.”

  She could taste the truth of his words in her mouth, feel the rightness of them, though her brain could not have explained in a million years what exactly he meant.

  So, she just nodded.

  “But the people need our help. Now. These visions…”

  “We will find a way,” he said. “Thus far, it has not been my practice to do more than teach and pray.” He waved a hand in the air. “Oh, yes, we do the langar every month, but that is simple duty, to feed people in need. And I believe you are asking for something more. Let me pray upon this, let me ponder.”

  “Thank you, teacher. I will pray and ponder, too.”

  She rose and bowed slightly but couldn’t make herself turn toward the door. Praying and pondering weren’t enough. Not right now. There had to be something more… Something simple. Something the Center was already doing.

  “Was there something else, Shekinah?”

  His voice startled her, and she realized she’d been staring at the painting of Shiva, as if he had an answer for her. And perhaps he did.