I called my dad that night—told him what had happened, between sobs. No matter how that gentle father of mine tried to explain how some people are… I simply couldn’t understand it, couldn’t comprehend it.
Didn’t these people go to church? Ever? Had they never read the Bible? Not a single word? Didn’t they even have a drop of just plain old commonsense? The soul doesn’t have a color, doesn’t claim a race or a nationality. How can a person not know this? How could seemingly intelligent people who had made it all the way to college not know something as important as that? We aren’t our skin. We wear our skin, same as we wear our clothes. It can’t define us any more than our socks can. Who are these people? What’s wrong with them?
As I said, that rancid scene has never left me. Perhaps because I did not understand it, could not comprehend it… still can’t.
If you are reading this now and you cannot understand my take on the whole soul–body thing, I would say you should walk a day in my shoes. Alas, I would not wish my current fate on any other human. I have learned to live with my task. It’s what I know. It’s who I am. It’s how I live. I wouldn’t suggest it, no… not unless you are one who can walk a tedious dark line, without falling into the abyss. There are scarce few who can, and even less who want to. Yet, it is not a choice. It is what it is. It is my life. The same way you wake up every morning and walk into your office building, or your classroom, or your workplace… I walk into the Nether, and reemerge only God knows where.
Tonight, well… tonight I sit within the darkened cavernous tomb of France’s many dead. Why? I am waiting. Waiting for Paltiel to stroll through these tainted catacombs. I know he has been here recently. I can still smell him. His unmistakable scent turns my stomach, yes. Yet I smell him, all the same.
What is it that I do? Well… I guess you could say I’m a record-keeper, of sorts. A bit of a historian, a dash of a seer, and just a smidgeon of a writer all rolled into one. I witness, interrupt, and try my adequate best to explain. Alas, I fall far short of my peers.
You may not know it but, this world is old, older than we had first imagined. It stands not as a solid sphere. Not by a long shot. There are multiple layers to it, crests upon crests. There is a layer—not too far down from the surface we now know—where the Grey Ones live. Ugh… I shudder just thinking about them. That’s all I’m going to say about that layer. As you get closer to the planet’s core, there live things far older than memory, far older than when time first started being kept. Does that make them evil, bad, terrifying? No… just ancient, ancient and tired. They are as we are—good and bad, light and dark. The main difference? Their time has long since passed. We are the creatures now walking in the sun.
I am definitely not special, not chosen or any such nonsense. I am as you are, just an average human. I possess no special talent that you yourself do not possess. Anyone can do what I do. If they allow it to be so. My mission comes from within. If you choose to ignore your inner voice, then so be it. Alas, I cannot.
I love to read. I am a voracious reader, always have been. My home boasts more books than my local library. I am a hoarder of knowledge, little known facts, and all things ancient. My journey through life has been a historical one. Meaning, I was a History Professor. It just sounds so bland when you say it that way, I like to add a bit of color and excitement.
Now, if you have ever studied ancient history, delved headfirst into the heart of it, then you have most certainly found yourself in some dark and dusty rooms surrounded by books and scrolls filled with dead languages and cultural superstitions. And that’s where I was when my new path was laid out before me.
My sinuses were packed with ages old dust, and who knows what else. My eyes were burning from the constant strain and inadequate light. My poor old shoulders were fast becoming acquainted to the hunched-over position I had been in for hours, and I would have killed for an icy cold cola—in a frosted glass.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I squeezed my eyes shut and just let my mind go numb with silence… a few quiet moments away from the words swirling around in my head. As I released a long breath and slowly opened my weary eyes, something caught my attention. It didn’t register at first, just a dark place beside my hand on the pages of that ancient, human skin-bound book. Then, it moved. It was only a tiny movement, just enough to pull my full attention. A spider—big as my palm—just sitting there staring at me. I slammed that giant book shut, barely getting my hand out of the way. Whatever knowledge yet remained within that aged tome, will not be discovered by me. In truth, the spider probably wasn’t as big as I made it out to be. But at the time, it was as terrifyingly large as you can possibly imagine. At least it seemed that way to my poor old racing heart. I felt like it was ready to burst within me.
Needless to say, I ran out of that Temple and all the way down the front steps before I ever quit screaming. When Brother Gopal realized I wasn’t actually injured, only terrified, he had a good laugh at my expense. I didn’t mind. I was away from the giant spider from hell, that’s all that mattered.
After I’d gotten a cool drink of water and calmed myself down, Brother Gopal led me out into the massive courtyard. He didn’t say a word, only smiled as he sat down and started meditating. I took a deep breath before plopping down beside him, smiling at the gentle sound of his relaxing hums. Being around the monks calmed me, always. I popped the bones in my neck and took another deep breath, trying to wash the world from my mind.
In that bliss-filled moment, I had no idea how much my life was about to change.
I’m still not certain if it was the ebbing rush of adrenaline—or simply the fact that I was already mentally exhausted—but a sudden calming silence fell over me… drained everything else away.
I lay there atop the soft grass, staring up at the passing clouds, listening to this gentle monk’s calming chant. I didn’t even realize I’d closed my eyes, had no idea I’d drifted off to sleep… until I heard the lamenting moans all around me.
At first, I thought I was dreaming. Then… I realized even my worst nightmares were never this terrifying.
The sky around me was orange—glowing and strange. Much the way it looks when a hailstorm blows through the Tennessee Mountains—unsettling, eerie. You know something wicked is coming, you just don’t know how wicked. Not until it hits.
The dry wind blew hot, smoothing out the painful little goosebumps covering my arms. The air was as harsh and biting as I remember Tucson being that forgotten summer so many years ago. It parched my throat, dried out my flaring nostrils. The temperature rose with the breeze, but there was no sun. No, this wasn’t Arizona. I was fast beginning to understand… it was no place upon this Earth.
I tried to call out, but I had no voice. I turned to Brother Gopal, but he was nowhere to be found. I was alone… lost and alone and beyond terrified. My only company was the disembodied wails echoing loudly within my throbbing head, sending tremors down to the depths of my quivering soul.
I would have cried—buckets full, I tell you. Yet, I could not. The heated air robbed me of all moisture, dried me up like a brittle autumn leaf.
When panic took me to the precipice of sanity, when my racing heart sped to bursting in my chest, I felt a sharp tug upon my wrist.
My next breath was filling and cold and blessedly moist. I was sitting in the middle of an empty pasture. Rain was falling soft and cold, soaking through my clothes, dripping from my curls.
I couldn’t see the animals, but I could smell them—wet wool, urinated mud, sodden fresh manure.
“This way.”
A gentle voice beckoned me.
I turned to see only a departing cloak—long enough to sweep across the clover grass—disappearing over the crest of the hill. I slowly followed, scanning the fertile outlay. Yet, I knew not this place. It looked much like my childhood home, yes, but the smells— Ahh, the smells were completely different. This wasn’t Tennessee, no. Nor was it Tibet—where I had only just been sitting a few mo
ments ago—but it was definitely Earth. I took great comfort in that. I had no idea where I’d just been, but I was positive I never wanted to go back. I shivered at the very thought.
I’d walked quite a ways before my hooded guide came back into view. Although I couldn’t always see him, I knew which way to go. I could smell him.
Isn’t it strange? —the gift of scent. I have forgotten a thousand faces I’ve passed on the street, mentally deleted hundreds of names I had once known, but a tiny whiff of strong coffee and fresh bread will always wing my mind back to the cobbled streets of Paris. The same way clay mud and pine needles brought childhood fishing trips to mind. Smell—it is the most powerful memory I have.
I knew we were close to wherever I was being led. The unmistakable scent of a burning wood fire and people-sweat wafted on the breeze. I couldn’t help but crinkle up my nose. The smell reminded me of hot August vacations in Disneyland. Florida is never hotter or muggier than it is that time of the year. You can almost set your watch to the daily 4:00pm torrential downpour. Spending all day in the burning sun, running from one ride to the next. All it took was that fifteen-minute mini cloudburst to wet all the happy park-goers’ clothes just enough to make them reek of the sickening sweet sweat their event-filled day had blessed them with. It still makes me gag.
I knew wherever this man was leading me now, there was a big fireplace and lots of working men who’d been caught out in the rain. Still… I followed him. What else could I do? At the very least, I needed to know where I was and just exactly how I’d come to be there.
My silent guide had already made it inside the Inn by the time I trudged up to the entrance. I slowly open the creaky wooden door, just enough to get a good peek inside. The man behind the bar never even looked up at me, he simply pointed toward the far left corner of the large room. I pushed the door open a little further, just in time to see the bottom of that dark cloak and wet leather boots disappearing up the barrow wooden stairs.
I cautiously followed him. No one seemed to care. Not a single patron turned to look my way. For that, I was strangely thankful.
I didn’t have to guess which door I was supposed to enter. The oddly familiar scent of my mysterious rescuer lingered thick around the second one on the right. It wasn’t fully closed, so I didn’t bother with the tarnished old knob—just placed my hands against the splintering wood and gave it a tiny push.
The room was empty. I stepped back and looked down the length of the unpainted corridor, and then back the way I’d come.
It was deserted, save me.
That instinctual gut-feeling was gnawing at me, screaming clearly… This is it. This is where you are meant to be.
I stepped inside.
The place was old, but clean. The antique poster bed boasted crisp white linens, and the velvety green upholstered couch took on the faint glow of the dimly lit fireplace.
I smiled. I couldn’t help myself. This empty old room didn’t feel empty at all. It held a comforting warmness—lingering joy from days gone by. The genuine laughter of the many travelers who had slept within these four walls had soaked into the bare wood, seeped inside every grain, every splinter. This place felt like a home, a happy home.
I caught his enchanting scent only a heartbeat before the door closed behind me, the latch popping loudly when the tarnished old metal slid inside the lock.
“Warm yourself by the fire,” was all he said.
I turned toward him, but was met with a ruffling of billowing dark material floating on the air… as he elegantly spun his sodden cloak from his shoulders and then left it on a hook beside the door. The sight left a smile upon my face. It pulled to mind stories of olden times, long since forgotten.
The sudden warmth of his large hands upon my shoulders was gentle and comforting.
“May I?”
I didn’t even catch his meaning until I felt the heavy material draped across my shoulders slowly slide away.
A cloak? But… when did I…
Glancing down at my drenched form, I only just realized I was dressed much as the stranger was—knee boots, black pants, a grey t-shirt tucked in neatly at the waist, and a long black scarf.
“When did I come by these clothes?”
I asked the question aloud, yes, but it was only truly meant for myself.
“You would have chilled to the bone—had I left you as you were. A short cotton dress and bare feet would have drawn a bit too much attention in Kilcoole. Especially in this weather.”
I turned to look at him then. “So… you chose to dress me exactly like you?”
He glanced down and then back up, confusion creasing his handsome brow. “What? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“Nothing. It suits you perfectly. Not my normal style, though.”
“Like I said before, you would freeze to death here… in that skimpy little dress.” He mumbled that last part.
“It wasn’t skimpy. It was just a regular dress, came nearly to my knees.”
“Pfft.” Was the only response I got.
“And where is here?”
“Like I told you, Kilcoole.”
“Yes… and just where is Kilcoole?”
“Just above Wicklow.”
I almost rolled my eyes. “Well, that’s nice to know. And Wicklow is?”
He furrowed his brow again. “What do you mean?”
I sighed, loudly. “How about this. What’s the nearest major city?”
“Eh… I guess we’re about twenty-five, twenty-six kilometers south of Dublin. If you don’t stand closer to the fire, you’ll never dry out.”
But how could I move? I believe I had been going along with this whole bizarre thing like it was a dream, but the shock of this unbelievable madness was fast wearing off. I did start to chill then, tremble even.
“Du-Dublin? As in… Ireland?”
“Do you know of another Dublin?”
“B-but I was only… only just in Tibet… talking to Brother Gopal.”
“You weren’t in Tibet. You were in Bhutan. Brother Gopal is at Taktsang, the Tiger’s Nest Monastery. Remember?”
When I didn’t immediately answer, the man smiled and said, “I know how much you like history. Let’s see if I can steady that racing mind of yours. Hmm… Where did Buddhism get its start?”
“Buddhism? Umm… In Bhutan.”
“Where in Bhutan?”
“In Rinpoche’s cave… the Tiger’s Nest Monastery.”
When he smiled again, I started to relax a little.
“Yeah… That’s right.” I stumbled over to the pretty green couch. My knees felt weak. “I’d already left Tibet,” I mumbled softly. “How did I forget that?”
The stranger began to stoke the little fire, bringing real warmth into the room. Soon, I felt the welcome flames dancing softly across my icy cheeks.
“Hey… How do you know the legend of Guru Rinpoche?”
He sort of snorted out a laugh but didn’t turn to face me as he added more wood to the now cozy fire. “Is that really the next question you should be asking?”
I made a face behind his back. “No.” I rolled my eyes. “How did you dress me without me even knowing it?”
He turned to look at me then, his jaw almost dropping open. “Seriously? You’d rather hear about your new wardrobe? Not the part about how you popped up on the other side of the globe?”
“I popped up here because you snatched my wrist and pulled me here.”
He moved closer, gently touching my knee as he spoke. “Yes, and where did I pull you from?”
His smile grew as my eyes widened.
That’s right. Where was I, anyway? And… how did I get there.
“Have you figured it out yet?”
His soft words pulled my blurry vision back into focus. He smiled. Wow… What a beautiful, gentle smile.
And… so familiar…
“No,” I whispered. “My mind is like a bowl full of scrambled eggs… all jumbled up.”
“That’s just the residual effect of traveling through the Nether. It’ll pass. Soon… you’ll barely even notice it at all.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning… the subsequent trips through won’t mess you up as badly. Pretty soon, you’ll step right through without another thought. First-timers always get a bit messed up—queasy. In truth, I was surprised you didn’t throw-up on me.”
“…Throw-up on you?” My voice sounded soft and distant in my own ears. “Does that usually happen?”
“Pretty much. Well, with the newbies it does. Some get over it quicker than others. But normally everyone coughs and gags and gasps for air.” He lightly yanked on my hair. “Not you.” He chuckled. “One deep inhale and it was all over. How’d you manage that?”
“I don’t know.” I paused, staring into the crackling flames. “The smell… I was holding my breath because of the smell.”
He slowly nodded. “Yeah. I’m afraid you’ll never get used to that part. I haven’t.”
“No,” I whispered. “I can’t imagine anyone who could.”
I felt the weight of the towel before I even realized he had draped it over my sodden curls.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” He motioned with a nod. “You don’t need to go to bed with wet hair.”
The Journey Page 2