by Scott Blum
Seeing my family surrounding me was extremely powerful. I felt loved and supported for the first time in years. With my ancestors flanking me like wings, I could imagine flying anywhere with their help.
Hans remained uncharacteristically quiet, and everyone within the circle looked nearly as wornout as I felt. Faces were streaked with mascara, and wads of crumpled tissue littered the floor.
“Good,” Hans finally said after a long silence. “Everyone in the field can return to their seats.”
The representatives inside the circle wandered back to their chairs and gradually returned to being a group of people I didn’t know. As they reclaimed their seats, pairs of concerned eyes turned to me as if to silently ask how I was doing.
Hans looked around as he addressed the entire group: “Everyone, close your eyes and once again breathe into your heart and exhale any energy from the field that remains inside you. It’s important to release the energy from inside your body before you leave this room.”
I followed his instructions and began to feel much lighter and more grounded than I had during the previous hour. It was finally over, and I felt an enormous sense of relief.
“What happened today in this constellation is a sacred bond between everyone who is here,” Hans continued, “and it’s important not to speak about it outside of this room. In fact, it will be most helpful for everyone”—and he looked right at me—“including you, Scott, if you try to forget what happened and allow the energy to work through you without letting your mind get in the way. I know it’s difficult, but we moved a lot of energy today, and it will be many years from now before it all settles.”
I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with that information, but I did feel a lot better and was grateful. If he meant that I would gradually heal over the course of the following years, then I was all for it.
“Okay, we’re done for now,” said Hans abruptly. “Let’s take a brief break and give Scott some time to settle in with his new support system.”
Martika handed me a glass of water and asked if I was okay. Everything was still in a fog, but I felt much better. And definitely more interested in living than I had since Cheryl had passed. I knew she was finally gone, and for the first time in years I was ready to live again.
“Come on,” said Martika. “Let me give you a ride home. I think you need to rest.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
During the days following the soul retrieval and constellation, my senses were extremely heightened and my spirit was filled with a level of energy I hadn’t felt in years. It was as if my soul finally had feelings of its own and was highly sensitive. Almost everything reminded me that my soul was there, and it was still tender to the touch. When I opened the window in my apartment, a happy person, a bird flying—even the wind—all seemed to poke my spirit and say, You’re finally alive.
Since I was feeling so sensitive, I didn’t leave my apartment for more than a week in order to recuperate. When I finally decided to get some fresh air, I had barely walked a block when I saw a girl in her early twenties with bright pink hair, a short skirt, and black-and-white striped socks skipping down the hill.
“Hello,” I greeted her, feeling more friendly than I usually did.
“Hi there, I’m Om,” she said in chipper voice while doing a little curtsy.
I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. “M? Does that stand for something?”
“No, Om. O-M. You know, like Ommmm.” She pressed her thumbs to her middle fingers and cocked her head into an instant meditation pose. I counted eight earrings on one ear and only two on the other and worried that she’d tip over if she didn’t straighten up quickly.
“I’m Scott,” I finally said. “Nice to meet you, Ommmm.”
She laughed. “I’m so happy! It’s a beautiful day, and I’m going to kirtan, which always lifts my spirits.”
I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but her energy was infectious. I could see it emanate from her body and enter mine, where my soul eagerly received her happiness. It was an incredible demonstration of the power of good intentions, and who better to be around than someone like Om, who was utterly filled with positive energy.
“Are you going to kirtan, also?” she asked.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Oh, then you absolutely must come and meet my boyfriend, Garuda. Kirtan is the most beautiful experience in the world. You get a deep sense of inner peace and connectedness with the universe while you chant together with your fellow Earth spirits. Today it’s in the park, and a beautiful flute player from Nepal will be there. I met him at a party last night, and he has the purest soul you’ll ever meet. He can heal himself and others simply by playing his bamboo flute. It’s so magical.”
I didn’t have any plans for the day, and although I wasn’t familiar with what she was talking about, I could feel the excitement with her every breath. I also hadn’t seen any live music in a while, and a concert in the park seemed like a great idea.
“Let’s go,” I said, and we made our way down the hill.
We walked on the sidewalk that bordered the park, and after passing two wooden bridges that spanned the creek, the Japanese garden came into view on the opposite side of the street. We crossed, and walked by the narrow garden, which was filled with bamboo, red-leaf miniature oak trees, and a trickling stream that meandered down the hill through the rock work.
We then came to a large sloping expanse of lawn flanked by three giant sequoias. The trees were enormously majestic and seemed delighted with the crowd of people quietly setting up blankets at the bases of their trunks. I hadn’t seen so many people in the park before and was taken by the silence and peacefulness that accompanied their movements. Several were dressed in colorful, flowing fabrics; and a few were clad in nothing but white robes and turbans.
We found Om’s boyfriend, Garuda, after a few minutes of wandering through the crowd, and he seemed genuinely happy to meet me. His head was shaved, and he was wearing a long white robe and a strand of large wrinkled seeds around his neck. Om introduced me in a soft voice, and after our whispered pleasantries, we all sat down to share a large white blanket. They both continued to talk in whispers, and although I couldn’t hear everything they were saying, I could feel their energy welcoming me as a new friend. It was a sense of belonging I hadn’t felt before with people I’d just met, and I enjoyed the unconditional feeling of community.
Garuda had reserved a spot in the center of the lawn, and we had a great view of the stage, which was covered in a large gilded rectangle of handwoven fabric, with unusual-looking instruments situated among velvet pillows. The setting sun glistened on the instruments as the musicians emerged from the audience and took their positions.
The first sound came from a narrow cello-like instrument that sounded like a droning sitar floating through the air in a long, graceful ribbon. Garuda whispered the names of all the exotic instruments in my ear and explained that the first one was a tampura from India. After a few moments, an older-looking gentleman began to key the accordion-like instrument, called a harmonium. Then came the small silver tabla, a pair of drums that moved the audience to sway together in rhythm. And finally, a young Asian boy picked up an unassuming bamboo flute and began to make the most beautiful music I had ever heard. The notes flowed out of his hollowed instrument and floated over the audience right into my heart. I got chills with every long, drawn-out note that danced in and around a scale that was both foreign and familiar.
I had never heard music like that before, but it released something deep inside that had always been within me. His flute told a story of love and devotion, and tears of pure joy began to stream down my face. I had never cried for happiness before, but it felt so right that I decided it must be the best use of my tears.
The musicians let the flutist take the lead until an exotic-looking woman in a white robe and turban gracefully emerged from the audience and took her place in the center of the blanketed stage. She began t
o sing in a foreign language I didn’t recognize, and intuitively the entire audience repeated the verse with a single grand and powerful voice. The first time it happened, there was a wave of energy that swirled among the audience members before dissipating into the sky above. She repeated the verse, and again the audience followed, even more powerful than before.
Initially I was reluctant to lend my voice to the collective, but as I listened closely and realized that many were not technically in tune, I discovered that the voices all blended together in a beautiful fabric not unlike nature itself. As I became more familiar with the chants, I started mouthing the lyrics first and then sang them aloud with everyone else.
“Govinda Jaya Jaya, Gopala Jaya Jaya”
Govinda Jaya Jaya, Gopala Jaya Jaya
“Radha Ramana Hari, Govinda Jaya Jaya”
Radha Ramana Hari, Govinda Jaya Jaya
“Govinda Jaya Jaya, Gopala Jaya Jaya”
Govinda Jaya Jaya, Gopala Jaya Jaya
“Radha Ramana Hari, Govinda Jaya Jaya”
Radha Ramana Hari, Govinda Jaya Jaya
The simple lyrics were repeated with little variation for nearly a half hour before the first song was complete. Once it was over, the audience fell into silence and let the stillness wash over them until the musicians began to weave their melodic yarn once again. By the middle of the second song, I stood and closed my eyes and sang from the bottom of my soul, and with each verse, I felt gradually more connected with everyone in the park. The lines between our bodies began to blur; and we became one moving, breathing mass of energy. I felt that I was literally transcending time and space with every verse, and after a number of songs, I couldn’t feel my feet touching the grass anymore. My eyes could see that gravity was still employed, but my other senses weren’t convinced.
The kirtan lasted nearly four hours, and when it came to a close, I was in a daze and could barely make my way home with Om and Garuda. After a few blocks of walking in silence, Om looked up to the sky while hugging herself and said, “I am so blissed out.”
I followed her gaze, and although the stars were all shining, the moon was dark.
“It must be the new moon,” I said.
“A time for rebirth,” said Om as we turned onto my street.
“It certainly is.” I smiled at both of them and glided up the walkway to my apartment. “Thank you.”
“Namaste,” they said in unison while pressing their palms together in a prayer position and gently bowing their heads.
That night I had the first of what was to become another recurring dream. I hadn’t dreamed about Cheryl’s accident since the constellation and was finally having restful nights for the first time in years. The new dream wasn’t as frightening, but it was no less intense.
The dream took place in a small-town park I recognized as the one in Yreka where Cheryl and I used to spend a lot of time. It was a very special place for us, and we’d often walk through it at dusk during the height of summer when we first began dating. In the dream, I would begin by swinging on one particular swing on the far end of the swing set. It felt like I was waiting for someone or something, and after swinging for a short while, I would sense what seemed to be an energy portal that revealed itself immediately behind me. I never got close enough to touch it, but it began to grow until it was larger than the swing set itself.
At first I thought it was a symbolic dream that was allowing me to finally deal with Cheryl’s death, but with every night, it became more and more powerful, and the feeling I had during it began to permeate my waking hours. After the dream had occurred every night for several days in a row, it began to consume me, and I could barely distinguish whether I was awake or asleep. I was obsessed with the portal above the swing set, and it felt as if Yreka held the key to another dimension of my spiritual awakening.
After what seemed to be nearly two weeks from when I started having the dream, it became clear to me that the portal would only be at the park on the following Friday. It didn’t make sense logically, but it was as if time and space would intersect at a precise moment and reveal an “eclipse” to another dimension that only I seemed to know about. I was both drawn to and scared of what it represented, but I felt that I didn’t have a choice. I had to find out what it was. I knew that my spiritual journey had just begun, but somehow I felt that the portal would transport me to another place spiritually and accelerate my journey.
I still hadn’t seen Robert since my soul retrieval, and it seemed like a good idea to check in with him while I was considering following my dreams to Yreka. The anger I felt toward him for abandoning me had dissipated, and I’d begun to come to terms with the fact that he was a free spirit who would float in and out of my life whenever the time was right. And on this day I sensed that the time was indeed right to see him again, and I was pretty sure I knew exactly where he would be.
I made my way to the Co-op and saw him sitting cross-legged with his back against his favorite tree, Puppy Don at his feet and a smaller-than-normal cardboard sign resting on his lap:
Listen to your heart.
“Hi, Robert!”
“Wow, you look different,” Robert said while scanning me up and down. “How have your dreams been?”
“Funny you ask, that’s why I’m here.” His intuitive ability was remarkable.
“I figured as much. What do your dreams say?”
“They’ve been telling me to go to Yreka and swing on a swing set.” I tried to make light of it.
“And what’s at the swing set?”
“It seems like a portal to another dimension.” I had never said it out loud before, and it sounded kind of corny. “Is that possible?”
“Of course it’s possible.”
“Why would I be dreaming that?”
“When people dream, a portion of their soul is free to leave the body and mingle with the collective unconscious. Sometimes it’s just for fun, like flying dreams. Other times it’s to retrieve ancient wisdom or power. Now that you have the guidance of your ancestors, they are helping you become stronger.”
“So do you think I should go?”
“What do you think?”
“I think so.”
“Did the dream give you a time?”
“Yes—this Friday.”
“Hmm, it sounds like the real deal. It’s probably some sort of vision quest for you.”
“What’s a vision quest?”
“It’s a Native American coming-of-age journey where adolescents are sent into the wilderness to overcome obstacles and glimpse a view of their future. And it sounds like Yreka might be your ‘wilderness.’ Does it scare you?”
“A little bit.”
“Good, it should. If you choose to do it, you need to go with an open heart and mind and not have any preconceived thoughts about what you’ll discover. Vision quests can be one of the most powerful experiences of a spiritual journey, and there’s no point in going unless you are completely present.”
“Okay.”
“It seems like your heart is now much more open than it has been. When we first met, you were closed up like a clamshell, and nothing could get in. Do you understand?”
I did feel a lot more open than before, and I never wanted to be closed off from the world again. “I think so,” I finally said aloud.
“I think you should go,” he said after a long pause. “How are you going to get there? Isn’t your car dead?”
I had been so caught up in the dream that I’d forgotten about the practical. “Oh yeah. A car.”
“I think Martika has an extra one she lets people from the constellation group use on occasion. Why don’t you see if you can borrow it.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“Good luck, Scott. I hope you find what you’re looking for. You are at a very special place in your journey.”
“Thank you, Robert. I’ll let you know what I find.”
“I’m counting on it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
I left Ashland early Friday morning and excitedly scaled the Siskiyous in Martika’s spare car, which thankfully handled the ascent with much more grace than my old Volvo had. As I neared the California border, the optimistic hues of the Oregonian evergreens were replaced with the muted tones of death and dying, as if Mother Nature drew an imaginary line to divide the greens from golds.
When I crossed the border, it felt as if my spirit, my life force, began to seep out the back of my neck, as if it were attached to a string and secured to the Oregon side. The longer I continued to drive away from that imaginary line, the more I felt empty inside, until nearly all the sharpness had dulled from every one of my senses. Everything smelled and tasted like dust. Even sipping from the bottle of springwater I’d brought for the drive tasted dusty. The feeling in my fingertips became numb, and all of a sudden it felt like I was wearing knitted gloves. The sound of the car’s wheels on the pavement was far in the distance, as if my hearing were muffled by imaginary cotton balls. And nearly all the brightest hues outside had faded from my vision, and everything I could see was tinted with warm sepia tones, as though I were looking at an old-fashioned photograph.
Luckily my muscle memory seemed to take over, and I began driving on autopilot, without my brain and hands needing to communicate any longer. At first I started to panic, but I began to breathe deeply and even caught myself closing my eyes. I was lucid enough to realize that even driving on autopilot required my eyelids to stay open, which took a remarkable amount of will to maintain. Once, after catching myself dozing off, I shook myself awake, and the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the majestic Mount Shasta. It appeared to glow with a bright white halo, which contrasted with the muted tones surrounding it. I’d always felt a connection with Mount Shasta when I was growing up, and although I had no plans to reach the summit that day, I made a mental note to revisit the mountain as soon as I could.