Without a word, he sits next to me, places the crystal on the ground, and pulls me into a hug.
I let him.
For the first time in years, I allow another person to comfort me.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?” I look up at him from the comfort of his chest.
“Trust me.” He leans down and kisses my lips, chastely.
“Are you up for a walk?” he asks as we step on the street bordering the park, his hand holding mine.
“Sure.”
His free hand cradles my face, his thumb brushing my pink cheek. I feel as if the particles inside my body are pulsing erratically. His lips graze my forehead. “Let’s go on an adventure.”
I smile, feeling the anger from earlier slowly leaving me. I need to work through it, but right now I don’t want the past and the ghosts of the dead to haunt the present moment and my time with Matthias.
“Where are we going?” The scent of rain floats in the wind as he guides us down the road, away from the center. “Are we going to the Tor?” My eyes widen.
“Seems fitting for a day like today. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Thank you for showing up.”
He shakes his head. “I saw you sitting there, eyes filled with some kind of memory. I didn’t want to interrupt you. Not until you were ready.”
“I had a dream last night, or early this morning. It shifted my entire mood. I thought if I’d go for a walk and have breakfast, I’d feel better. It was working until I tried to meditate with the quartz. Emotions I’ve buried are fighting to be released. They’re fighting for my attention.”
“Give it to them, give them the attention. Feel it and let it go,” he advises.
“It’s not that easy,” I whisper.
Matthias stops walking and faces me. “I know it’s not, but you’re strong. You chose this path because you’re capable of walking it.”
He tugs my hand and begins walking again. I know he’s right, but my mind is trained to punish by not forgiving. Realistically, that’s only hurting me.
The closer we get to the Tor, the more visible the tower becomes, like a powerful giant standing above the town, watching.
I watch as Matthias guides us with certainty. “How often have you come?”
“Thousands of times. It’s where I go when I need to disconnect.”
“It’s your happy place,” I confirm. Matthias nods. “I have a place like that in Spain. Celtic homes. Well, what’s left of them. The site brings me inexplicable peace. It puts my life into perspective. It gives me a purpose.”
“Is that what you’re writing the book about?”
“Yes, except lately I’m questioning if that’s what I should be writing it about,” I confess.
“What do you mean?”
I stop and look at him. “Maybe I’m going about the purpose of the message all wrong. Maybe the message isn’t supposed to be about reaching enlightenment, but about shadows we face on the path to enlightenment. Because really, if we were all enlightened, we wouldn’t be on Earth.”
Matthias chuckles. “Forget expectations. Forget the idea you had for this book. Write what you’re feeling. Write the truth.” He places his hand over my heart.
My breath catches on an inhale. We’re now at the base of the hill, but my attention is all on him. “What if the truth hurts the people I care about?”
“Holding the truth for yourself will hurt you.”
I blink back tears and nod. The truth.
“Let’s climb,” he demands. We begin to ascend up the stone path that leads to the tower above. The mystical Isle of Avalon, as it’s believed to be.
I stop mid-climb to take in the view, admiring the town below, and catch my breath. I take out my phone and snap a picture of what’s below and of the emerging tower above. Matthias waits with a gentle smile as I look around. We’ve been quiet on the climb, each of us sorting through our thoughts.
He was right, this is helping my mood and state of mind. I continue to walk, the baa of a couple of sheep a few feet below putting a smile on my face.
As soon as we hit the top, I pause and admire the stonework of the only standing tower left from the past. I slowly turn, taking in the panoramic view.
“On a clear day, the view extends miles all around.”
“It’s gorgeous.” The wind swooshes around me at this altitude. I walk into the tower, feeling the rough stone chilling my hand and look up at the opening above. I allow my body to feel the calm sensation as I walk out of the other side and stare at the view, misty from the weather.
“The view of the sky at night must be incredible. Have you ever come at night?” I turn to look at Matthias, staring at me.
“It’s beautiful. On a clear night when you can see the stars.”
“I can just imagine. There is nothing more peaceful than stargazing. It’s one of the things I missed in Miami. The stars are limited to a few specks in the half-lit sky because of all the lights.”
“I’m glad you moved here.” He grabs my hand and stands next to me, looking out at the world spread out before us.
“I am, too. I knew I’d meet you here,” I confess on a silent whisper. His head turns to look at me. “I just didn’t realize how deep the connection would be. I could imagine, but this isn’t something you can concretely make up in your mind.” I blink back tears that well in my eyes. Matthias gives my hand a squeeze as he takes in my secret.
My heart pounds in my chest, knowing I have emotional baggage to clear and release if I want our relationship to withstand time. He doesn’t speak. Instead, he leans down, his lips brushing against mine, his hands holding my face close to his. I grip the back of his shirt, pulling him closer to me, as he swallows my doubts.
“Let’s take the other path down to get that view as well,” Matthias suggests once we’re ready to head down from the top of the Tor. “How do you feel?”
How do I feel? Good. Confused. Angry. Which answer do I give him? I don’t want to hide from this anymore. I morphed into something I wasn’t long ago to deal with my experiences. To numb the obvious truth that I’m not like the people who were in my life. I always felt misplaced, misguided. I was holding so much inside, protecting others, but no one was protecting me. Where do I belong?
I belong with myself, accepting myself. Until I do, I’ll continue to float in a world that is strange and judgmental, because the reflection I’m receiving is that of my own.
I go for honesty. “I’m not sure how I feel. Up here, in this space, I feel peace. Emotions have been surfacing. Well, you saw how well I’m dealing with that when you spotted me meditating.”
“It’s all part of life. We get hurt. We dwell in pain. We take action to release it. We heal. We learn. We grow. It feels like bloody torture at times, but if we resist it, it will only deepen the scar.”
“I know.”
“For a long time, I wanted nothing to do with spirituality. My family has always been open and free when it comes to beliefs. We aren’t religious, but we believe in a higher power, God, Allah, use the name you like. When I was younger, I rebelled. I wanted nothing to do with it because I couldn’t accept that something so divine would allow people to act like savages.
“I stopped going around my parents’ house for a while. I did everything in my power to exclude myself. I turned to technology, science. Things I could work out and experiment with a concrete result. Science gave me evidence and proof that spirituality did not. It also made me face everything I was avoiding.” I’m enthralled in his story.
“How?” My wide eyes stare at him.
“Someone who had hurt me when I was a child reached out to me to help him with the computer system he used for his business. I turned him down, but it pierced through me. All the reminders.”
I step closer, hugging him. Silent tears drip down my face as I hold him to me. He runs a hand down my back, soothing me when it should be the other way. I look up at him.
“Do you ever let
someone comfort you?”
His throat bobs as he swallows. “I’m not used to it.”
“Me either. It’s weird to let someone else take care of you. Let me comfort you now, though. I want to.” His patterns on my back stop, both hands holding on to me as he buries his face in the crook of my neck. I brush my fingers through the ends of his hair on the back of his head, the slight curls there rolling between my fingers.
Soft lips peck at the base of my neck before dark blue eyes search my face. “Thank you,” he whispers.
I move my fingers over his face and smile. “You’re welcome.”
“Do you want to have lunch?”
“Yeah.” We continue our trek down the giant hill and back into town.
“Tell me about the book now.” Matthias leans back on his chair, both of our plates empty.
“I started with an idea I had. The process came to me one day, to use the photographs I took the last time I was in Spain. Hear what the pictures were saying. I thought it was insane, but figured I had nothing to lose when it came to seeking inspiration.”
“And they haven't inspired you?” He purses his lips.
“Somewhat. Mostly, I stare at them and then at my document. I know expectations kill us, but I had expectations for this book. Writing romance is much easier for me.”
“Why?” he insists.
“We’ve talked about this. It’s easier for me to make up pretty stories with just enough pain that the characters can overcome. Real life isn’t as simple as a linear plot with one climax to overcome. Glastonbury Tor reminded me of a plot’s formula. You start at the base and begin to climb, pausing to live and breathe your surroundings. It’s a bit of a struggle, the incline. It’s new and takes a bit of adjustment. Then you reach the top, the unknown. You may feel as if you can fall off the edge of the mountain with the brush of the wind. But you overcome it, walking through the dimness of the tower and out to a new view, a new perspective. You figure out life at the top of the hill, and everything is clear once the fog diminishes. Then, you begin the walk down, much faster and easier, until you reach the bottom of your journey.”
Matthias stares at me, his eyebrows slightly creased and the hint of a smirk on his mouth. “Did you just compare the mythical island of Avalon to the plot of a novel?”
“Yes.”
“And you struggle to find inspiration for what you’re working on?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve just used a blend of fiction and reality to create a metaphor. You’ve just got to write. Forget the bloody expectations. Let go and write. Forget the pretty stories and write the story you’re carrying inside of you. The one you were meant to write.” His eyes widen with meaning. I simply nod.
“Sometimes writing too many truths makes my heart heavy, so I write lies.” It’s a day full of confessions.
“It’s time to write truths. You’re strong enough to hold the weight of your heart. And I’m right here in case you need help.” He squeezes my hand as if I need a physical confirmation of his presence. Maybe I do.
Matthias is right. I’ve been carrying this story. Maybe people need to know about darkness before they learn about the beauty of the light. If we can’t identify our shadow, how can we conquer it?
Maybe reading about my experiences will allow others to open and not feel so lonely in this world. I really don’t know, but I can incorporate my wisdom into it. I can still use the photographs.
Most importantly, maybe it will help me finally heal all the scars I’ve picked myself. For choosing to carry other people’s pain. While some are my pain, most aren’t. I’m angry at people that didn’t directly hurt me, but their actions were a snowball effect that led to my own traumas. I’ve learned too much about how past generations affect future ones to turn a blind eye and call it a coincidence. Besides, the things I’ve learned turn my stomach. Some things are unforgivable. Except we’re supposed to have the amount of compassion and understanding that can forgive anything. I wish I had that amount of compassion uncovered in my heart. Maybe one day.
Just when we think we’ve overcome all the bullshit; the universe throws us another layer of the work we have to do. I needed to feel complete to move here, to make a choice. I should’ve known that once here, more would be uncovered.
Away from my family and influences, I can deal with things the way I need to. Not the way others around me expect me to. Not being the fort of strength people have come to see me as. Here, in this beautiful land with cool weather and gray skies, I am finding my place. I am finding people who serve my purpose. I can connect to a truer part of myself that has always been too shy to expose herself.
In this land full of myths about King Arthur, Avalon, and neolithic energy, I can write my truths without the expectations that I’d keep those secrets for others. I’m loyal to a fault. I’ll take anything you want to my grave. But at what expense? At the expense of keeping our family in the same cycle? No. I won’t be responsible for another child’s pain and disappointment. If I have the power to, I’m breaking the patterns that have held us all hostage. I’m rebuilding the backbone that was hit down with the force of Thor’s hammer from the one person who held us all up. He failed us.
The Saint in Red.
I swallow back the bile trying to travel up my throat.
“Breathe,” I hear a distant voice and gasp for air through my mouth. “Navia.”
My dazed eyes find Matthias’s blurry face.
“Inhale again.” I do as he says and close my eyes. When they reopen, his face comes into focus.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I lost you for a moment. Are you all right?” His hand cups my cheek across the table.
I nod. “I think so. Just got lost in some thoughts.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Can we walk around town for a bit?” I suggest.
“Of course.” He pays for our meals and stands, reaching his hand out to me. I look at it and then up at him. Smiling, I take his hand and walk out into the afternoon rain.
“Do you mind that it’s raining?” I ask him.
“Not at all,” I smirk, lift the hood of my coat over my head and prepare to feel something else besides the past.
After walking in mostly silence for a long time, we return to my apartment. My feet are begging to be released of the confinement of my shoes. If I could walk barefoot everywhere, I would.
Matthias stands in the middle of the living room, looking around, as I walk to the bookshelf and place my new pink quartz next to my other crystals.
“Are those your books?” Matthias is now beside me, looking at the shelves. I nod as I watch him reach for one, frozen as he opens to a random page and reads to himself. I wait, body tense, as he finishes and looks up at me.
“This doesn’t sound much like romance,” he states.
“It’s the one book that isn’t romance. It does have a love story.”
“I gathered that.” He makes his way to the couch, black and red cover still in hand.
“What are you doing?” my voice rises a bit.
“I’m going to read it.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Would you fancy I take it home instead?” I shake my head and stare at him. What will he think? What will run through his mind as he reads the words I penned, the only ones that are closest to my truth.
“Do you want anything to drink?” my voice cracks. “I’m going to make tea.”
“Tea would be great. Thank you.” He looks up at me briefly, with a smile, before turning the page in the book.
Reading my writing is the only way to get to know the depth of me.
I linger in the kitchen, watching the steam rise from the kettle as the whistling announces it’s reached the level of heat I need. I stay hidden in the kitchen as the tea steeps for the appropriate amount of time, not ready to meet Matthias’s gaze after reading parts of me. When I can’t hide any longer, I take the mugs and honey to the living room and
sit next to Matthias.
“I don’t know if you like honey or not, so I brought it just in case. Also, do you like milk? I didn’t bring any, but I have some in the fridge if you want. I know some people drink their tea with milk. I don’t unless it’s a chai latte.” I’m rambling.
He puts his hand on my knee to still its bouncing. “Honey is perfect. Thank you.”
“Okay.”
He puts the book face down on the coffee table, keeping it open on the current page he’s reading. He waits for me to fix my tea before he adds honey to his and takes a sip. I do the same, the usually comfortable silence now a piercing in my calm.
Reading my mind, he speaks. “This story is good so far. I can read so much of your wisdom in it. Have you ever visited Amsterdam?”
“Yeah. I went a few years ago with my brother and cousins while I was living in Spain. It’s beautiful.”
“I’ve never been.”
“No?” I automatically assumed Europeans travel all over Europe.
“I’ve not, but I’m sure it’s beautiful.”
“It is. I’d love to go back. Visit it in a different light, if that makes any sense,” I share.
“It does. The more we grow, the more we see places with new eyes. A different perspective.” I appreciate his understanding.
“We do. It’s happened to me. The last time I was in Spain, I understood it differently. I understood myself differently, so I was able to feel the magic of nature. Something I didn’t have a lot of in Miami.”
“But you have beaches,” he points out.
“Our beaches are polluted with tourists. It feels artificial.”
He nods, pensive.
“And I’m more of a mountain and forest person anyway,” I offer.
“We’ve got lovely woods to visit not too far away. We can go some time.” I nod and eye the book on the table. “Does it bother you I read it?”
“No. I wouldn’t have let you if it did. It makes me nervous. I keep questioning if you’ll know which parts are fiction, and which parts are not.”
All My Truths & One Lie Page 5