One book in particular was far more commanding than the others. It was big and heavy. The print on the ornate cover was in a heavy script, so it was difficult to read, but I was able to make out the last line. Ancient Mysteries and Secret Societies.
The book was typeset in small print, as if someone wanted to shove hundreds of years’ worth of Earth-old knowledge within the covers. Spread across the pages of proper English were passages describing Atlantis, sorcery, hidden magic, rituals, symbols and drawings, and old hieroglyphic-type images dotted each page.
My breath caught and fierce tingling ran the length of my spine, burst outward to my arms and neck, and out through my fingers. Something about this book was either very right or very wrong.
Across the yard a young woman was taking cash from another customer. I waved her over.
“Wow!” the woman said, when she got to my side. “Looks like you and my grandmother have something in common.”
“She has a great collection.” I said, being sure to keep my voice low. “Two dollars each, right?” I couldn’t believe they were dumping them for that price.
She nodded.
“Here you go,” I said, handing her two twenty-dollar bills. “Can you lend me a hand with these?” I asked. I couldn’t wait to take a closer look. This was such an amazing find, my entire body still buzzed. Mom was going to flip out. I looked around the yard one more time. As far as I was concerned, I needed nothing more.
CHAPTER TEN
“Fire is your element, Alyx.” Mom carefully set up a candle on the floor between us. “You’ll learn to harness its energy easier than you will the other energies. We’ll tap into it a little today.”
Pouring over my new books had me fired up and ready to get on with the next step, and Mom was more than happy to start teaching me again. As I sat across from her, though, with matches and a candle between us, the memories of Illinois crushed any sense of curiosity and willingness to open up. I was about to face my demon in every sense of the word – and I wasn’t looking forward to it. Not anymore.
Mom pulled a match from the box and slid it shut. She paused with the tip poised over the striking surface and raised her brows.
“Ready?”
I nodded, “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” But even as I said the words, I doubted them. I had enough trouble keeping away the visions of our house burning down without the added fear of having the same situation reenacted in my room. Mom thought it would help with the healing process. I wasn’t so sure about that.
She lit the candle.
My breath and pulse quickened as fast as it did six years ago when I did the same ritual in my room in Illinois, without the slightest idea of what I was doing. All I knew then was that I wanted my parents not to fight.
It was the same ceremony I saw my mom do so many times after they fought. I thought if I did it right, if I said the words to make the flame rise like Mom did, that when Dad came home, everything would be fine. I’d been so careful. Putting the candle on the windowsill seemed like a good idea at the time. And it would have been – had the flame stood still instead of thrashing around, had I been able to control it, had it not expanded the way it did, had the tip not touched the curtains…
“Alyx.” A crease in her brow marred Mom’s usually calm features.
I couldn’t tell if she was angry or concerned. Was she thinking about that night, too? I’d sworn to her that it wasn’t intentional, that I was just trying to help. If only they hadn’t fought so much. If only Dad had stayed away instead of passing out in the den that night. If only he’d driven home instead of walking, then we would have seen his car. But we had no idea he was inside the house. We had escaped, leaving him in the den to die.
“Alyx, come back to me.”
I dragged my gaze from the candle and followed her comforting voice to where the light reflected in her eyes.
“It’ll be okay. You can do this,” she said.
The candle flickered its challenge.
“Yeah.” I wiped my sweaty palms over my skirt. “I can do this.” The small fire extinguisher next to me was my safety net.
Mom reached over and squeezed my hand before holding her palm next to mine. Almost instantaneously a stream of heat connected the center of our palms and bound them together. My fingers curled in response and our hands caged a palpable ball of energy.
The flame between our hands crackled and expanded, but I didn’t back down. I found strength in the force that we held in our palms.
“I’m going to move my fingers over the wick. Let’s keep the ball’s shape… like this.”
Mom rotated her hand over the unwavering tentacle of fire. The tip dipped under each finger, popping up in between, as she slowly turned her wrist. I was afraid to breathe as she repeated the movement the other way, until our hands returned to their original position.
“Your turn,” she said quietly.
“I can do this,” I said again. I didn’t know who I was trying to convince.
“You don’t believe you can, do you?”
“Of course I do,” I said, my eyes never leaving the flame. Of course I do. Those words again. “I can do this,” I whispered. I started the motion of turning my hand and had every intention of going through with it, but when the skin on my pinky finger went from warm to hot, I backed off.
Mom moved her hand with mine, keeping the energy ball firmly between us, making it impossible to break the bond.
“It’s a matter of getting on the same frequency as the element you are trying to manipulate or become one with,” she said. “Each element has its own vibration. If you aren’t connecting on the same level, then, in this case, the fire will scorch you. You need true intent and commitment.” She waited until she was certain I was listening. “Trust that the fire will not burn you. That knowledge is inside you already, Alyx. Reach for it.”
The space behind my right eye pulsed a few beats, sort of like someone tapping on my brain, telling me to focus. There was a presence, or awareness, pushing me from under and behind, swelling up like a wave. I shook it off. If I didn’t have the confidence to back it up, this whole experience would be a total failure and I would definitely get burned.
“Keep trying.” Mom said.
“There’s a conflict somewhere in here.” I pulled my hand away, breaking the connection with Mom. I tapped a finger to my forehead. “Something in here is pushing me to keep going, but I’m definitely fighting it.” I filled my lungs with as much air as they would hold and then let it out. “I need to get through these blocks before I do this again.”
She bit her lip and held her gaze to mine. Then said, “Of course. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
We gathered the candle and matches and placed them in a basket. She leaned over and kissed my forehead and without a word, picked everything up and left me to figure this out on my own.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“May I help you find something?”
My first step inside Inquire Within bookstore was undeniably comfortable. Maybe “familiar” would better describe it. Books lined the wall to my left. Candles and incense to my right infused the air with their sweet and spicy fragrances. In the back of the store a handful of people had their chairs in a circle, where a book discussion was being held. Even with no one else in the shop to disturb them, the readers’ low voices respected the peacefulness this shop seemed to ask for.
The scent of sandalwood, jasmine, and lavender tickled my nose. Crystals hanging in a glass case reflected the tiny lights above them. Past the wind chimes, just beyond a shelf of books, stood a case displaying Native American jewelry made by Earth Magic people – those who trusted the elements and worked with, not against, them.
Everything in this shop touched the chords of my nature. I’m not sure how I’d been able to deny who I was for as long as I did. Powerful chills raked my arms. Rubbing my hands against them seemed to make it worse, as if spirits were angry for being ignored for so long.
&n
bsp; Alma, the owner, walked down the two steps leading to the main shop area. My mom mentioned her many times to me. Alma opened this place because she wanted Sandpoint to have access to books about the metaphysical and spiritual world. People were naturally drawn to the area, seeking answers to their life’s questions. And Alma had them, or she knew someone who did.
“I’m just looking around,” I said.
“Have you been here before?” Alma asked.
“No,” I shook my head.
“Well, if you need anything in particular, let me know. There are more books in the back,” she said gesturing behind her. She turned to the other side of the room and pointed. “We have a few new items in that corner. And here I have some wonderful bundles of sage and lavender from a local woman.”
I breathed it all in. “I’m just going to look around a little.”
Alma smiled again and nodded, walked toward the back room, and disappeared around the corner.
Actually there was something I wanted to learn about. Against the back wall, about halfway down, I found several books on Earth magic. I slid two from their places on the shelf and tucked them under my arm. On the way to the counter, I grabbed a box of oracle cards.
“Excuse me,” I said.
Alma quickly got up and rounded the corner to the counter.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked.
“Yeah, I did.” I pushed the cards and books toward her. “Who can I see about clearing and moving energy?” I asked her.
“Like chakras or attachments?”
“Blocks,” I said. “Life issues. I have some stuff I’m ready to let go, but I don’t know how.”
From beneath the counter she pulled out a Rolodex and flipped through the cards. She found the name she was looking for and wrote it on a piece of paper.
“Call him,” she said, handing me the card. “His name is Shawn. He knows a lot about clearing and healing. That would be a good place to start.” As she rang up the sale, she said, “You know, Solstice is the perfect time to set new intentions for yourself. It’s a day to punctuate closure in some areas of your life, and also to celebrate the awakening of others.” She shrugged. “Just something to think about.”
Solstice. New beginnings. New me. It made a lot of sense. Returning her smile, I paid for the book and cards, then walked away, knowing I was about to do something I should have done a long time ago.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I called Shawn right after I left Alma’s shop. A sense of urgency pushed me to do this on the summer solstice because it was about new beginnings.
Shawn’s house was on the other side of town, close to the Long Bridge and right across from the lake. His backyard, where he’d set up the ceremony, was drenched in sunlight that warmed the damp, green grass. There was an almost magical feel about it, and Chris, with his long, graying hair, and the graceful movements of his tall, lean body, reminded me of a wizard from a mystical world.
I followed him as he walked around the yard, picking up sticks, discarding some and keeping others.
“The fire ceremony,” Shawn explained to me, “connects us with Spirit and helps us release old patterns that hold us back.
“Basically we offer a sacrifice to the flames, and the vehicle for that sacrifice can be something like a letter or an object such as this.”
“A stick?”
“Sure,” he said, picking up another one. “Anything that you can pour your heart or thoughts into. We call this,” he said, holding up the small twig, “a death arrow.”
It sounded serious. But, damn, I was serious about moving on. From the sticks that lay around the yard, I chose a short, thin branch and broke it into a smaller piece, just as Shawn had with his.
“Is this okay?” I asked, holding my slightly tweaked, slightly knobbed choice of vehicle for him to see.
“Whatever works, as long as it feels right to you. The purpose of the death arrow is to carry our limiting thoughts into the fire. From there, the fire will transform and release that energy.
“For example,” he said, kneeling next to the fire pit to begin preparing it for the ceremonial fire. “A very common belief is that we are not worthy of love, abundance, or success, so we put that energy out there and that continues to reflect back in the people around us.”
He couldn’t have hit closer to home. I was not worthy of love. I was not okay. That had been drummed into my head by my dad day after day. He’d told me that I should change who I was so I would fit in and be accepted by him and his church. So what did I do? I changed who I was in order to be loved. And the people I had surrounded myself with? Taylor and her posse.
I looked up and caught Shawn watching me. My face flushed hot. “I’m sorry. I kind of zoned out. What were you saying?”
“No, don’t be sorry. It’s good that you’re giving this some thought. You don’t have to pick only one. Whatever you want to release is okay. When you’re ready, you blow it into the end of the stick, like this.”
Holding the stick like a harmonica in cupped hands, Shawn closed his eyes, seeming to gather his thoughts along with his breath. Then he blew into it a few times.
Then it was my turn. I am not worthy of love. I am not okay the way I am. As I thought the words, I felt the pain. I let my emotions out through my breath, and with it, something more came through. Something much heavier, much more powerful rode the tail of my shame. It took me a few minutes to understand the emotion. My shaking hands could have been mistaken for fear or nerves, I suppose, but an overwhelming need to throw my death arrow, or anything else I could find, had me grinding words through my teeth. It was anger. Anger toward my dad for treating my mom and me like unworthy women, for trying to take our wings, for always being where he wasn’t supposed to be… at the bar when he should have been home… at home when he should have been at the bar.
Damn you, Dad! Damn you! How freeing it felt to blow the top off my Pandora’s box, and guide the thoughts into the stick. I hoped there would be enough room - because there was a lot of anger. My hands got tingly and sweaty, my head got light, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I needed to purge the emotion that twisted a knot inside and held me back. A red hot acid burn welled up in my chest and forged a groove up my throat. I blew all of it into the death arrow. I am not worthy of trust. I am not worthy of my gifts. And now, damn it… I release you.
Shawn sat across from me, eyes closed, lost in his thought, fully engaged in creating his own offering. He seemed like such a happy, content, connected man. What could he possibly have in his life that would be consuming him the way it was? He seemed perfectly comfortable with who he was. I didn’t see him running around town in bright colors with a trained smile on his face. He practiced what he believed in. It didn’t matter who was watching. Like me. Staring. Peeking into his personal space. And it didn’t bother him in the slightest.
A few more seconds passed before he opened his eyes and smiled at me. Not an embarrassed smile, like I would have probably given had he been watching me, but a genuine smile. Pure and simple. There’s so much I could learn from him. Like my mother, he walked the walk and seemed at peace with who he was and what he believed in.
“So now we prepare the fire,” he said, placing his arrow next to him.
“By placing two sticks in a Southern Cross formation in the center of the fire pit, it represents a point of navigation from the fire to spirit.” He handed me some newspaper. “Help me wad up this newspaper and put them around the cross, like this.” Then, using small, thin strips of wood, he arranged them to lean inward to form a teepee to direct the energy skyward.
Shawn lit the match and put flame to paper which turned and fed upon itself without hesitation, creating a mini-inferno within the teepee.
“I’m going to start a chant that will call upon the spirit of the waters beneath the Earth to help us.” He paused, looking past my shoulder, his smile a mix of surprise and welcoming. “You’ve got ancestors here waiting to
help you.”
“Really?” I spun around, expecting to see the ghostly images of American Indians or Pilgrims, or even my grandmother. “Who?”
“I’m not sure.” He cocked his head to one side, listening, his eyes fixed over my shoulder. “Family.” He looked at me. “Can you feel them?”
Closing my eyes, I stilled my breath and mind. A soft breeze kicked up and the pressure behind my eyes intensified.
“I’m not sure what I feel.”
“That’s okay. Just know you have a lot of support.” Out of a cloth bag, he pulled out an orange-sized bulb-kind of thing with engravings that created a band around the center.
“My rattle,” he said, “and spirit water.” He smiled and held up a small vial of liquid. “Spirit water honors the Spirits of the four directions when we call upon them to open the Sacred Space.”
He shook the rattle and recited a beautiful chant in a language I didn’t know, and sipped at the bottle of spirit water, he quickly blew it out in the four directions of South, West, North, and East.
The wooden sides of the teepee could no longer withstand the damage from the flame, and silently collapsed into a mound on top of the burned paper. I leaned closer and watched the exchange of give and take within the circle of fire.
“How often do you practice this ceremony?” I asked.
He used the handle of the rattle to push the burning pile around a bit. “At least once a month. It helps to rid myself of issues that don’t serve my higher self.”
The wood sizzled and the flame jumped to join the olive oil he drizzled across the pile. Shawn didn’t take his gaze away from the fire as it settled itself into the bottom of the fire pit.
“Now we’re waiting for the fire to become friendly.”
Soulstice (The Souled Series) Page 5