What patience you must have
Sitting above my head
As the steam rises
from my shower
Day after day after day
Do you sleep the long hours away
Dreaming of the meals
That might come your way
as you wait
Perched there on the ceiling
Is it dreams that make your legs twitch
Or some invisible vibration
That blows upon your web
A movement
Barely seen
Do you traverse my house when I'm not there
Hunting and eating and exploring
Returning to your place
In the shower
Above my head?
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Speakeasy #160: Rock My World
"Tell me if you're game?"
The question was asked so furtively it aroused Esau's curiosity.
"I'm game," came the whispered response.
"Yes! Good. Get Petr and meet me back here at sundown".
As Esau came out of the passage he saw the two men, a conspiratorial look about them. It was not unusual for these two to spend time together, for Ronan often consulted with Allan while working in the mine, and they frequently visited together during meals. But this furtive whispering was different than the easy banter Esau normally observed, and Esau wondered why.
He'd not spent much time with either men; though Esau and Ronan were both from the Kuran tribe and Esau had been at Elbrus now for a full season. He’d found it difficult to make friends and thought it was because he was so much younger than the others, Ronan and Allan were at least five summers older, and they usually ignored him.
Ronan acknowledged Esua now, and headed for the exit passageway, while Allan turned up a different corridor. Ordinarily, Allan would eat and sleep with the workers, but yesterday visitors had arrived from the Rioni and Arak tribes, and Esau knew that Allan, as the Elbrus Heir, would be expected to attend meals and other functions with his tribe.
Esau couldn't help but wonder what Allan and Ronan were planning, for it seemed highly suspicious that they would be planning to sneak off together when such important guests were on site.
Later that night, after dinner was over and the sun almost set, Esau unobtrusively followed Ronan and another man out of camp and into the mine entrance, where Ronan had agreed to rendezvous with Allan.
Esau noted that someone had recently replaced the crystals set in strategic locations throughout the cave; they emitted a low light that illuminated the otherwise dark interior of the place. Esau stayed well back in the passageway as the men he followed met and greeted Allan; creeping forward quietly as they made their way into the most recently excavated mineshaft.
This new mineshaft had just been opened two days before, as the miners quarried a newly discovered vein of crystal for which Elbrus was so famous, and in the process had discovered a huge, cavernous chamber whose very walls shimmered with immeasurable wealth. The Elbrus leader had immediately stopped further excavation in order to decide what to do with this fantastic space, for it seemed the setting was much more valuable than the crystals it contained. As Esau faced into that chamber now, he estimated it would be large enough for all the people of Elbrus and Kura to gather within and still have room for more.
Esau watched as the men made their way to the far edge of the chamber and found places to perch.
When Ronan pulled out the flute he'd been given as a child, Esau began to smile.
Allan was setting a large, hollow, wooden base upon a flat surface, carefully placing varying sizes of stone slabs upon the base, while Petr uncovered a handheld drum fashioned from a hollowed tree trunk, over which he'd stretched some sort of animal skin.
"Ready?" Allan asked, his quiet voice easily resonating across the distance.
And then they began to play.
Esau had heard music before, although only rarely and usually only on ritualistic, solemn occasions.
This was different.
This was like nothing he had heard before.
The flute was old and had been handed down through generations, deer bone hollowed and pierced just so; it produced a high, sweet note that rose and fell with Ronan's breath in a playful crescendo of trills and tones.
After a moment, Petr struck a rhythmic staccato upon his drum, while Allan created a mellifluous tempo upon an instrument that would be known one day as a lithophone, playing a melody of chiming notes that harmonized in accordance and consonance with the other instruments.
Obviously these men had played together before, the music flowed and danced upon the air, vibrating and reverberating within the chamber and beyond. As the music continued, Esau became aware of others filing in around him, including the Leaders and their Heirs; men and women drawn to the music and the resonance and the pulse, stimulated by the intensifying cadence as the composition repeated and built. And as they came, Esau noticed how Allan's smile widened and grew, and Esau knew then that this was exactly what Allan had set out to achieve.
The question was asked so furtively it aroused Esau's curiosity.
"I'm game," came the whispered response.
"Yes! Good. Get Petr and meet me back here at sundown".
As Esau came out of the passage he saw the two men, a conspiratorial look about them. It was not unusual for these two to spend time together, for Ronan often consulted with Allan while working in the mine, and they frequently visited together during meals. But this furtive whispering was different than the easy banter Esau normally observed, and Esau wondered why.
He'd not spent much time with either men; though Esau and Ronan were both from the Kuran tribe and Esau had been at Elbrus now for a full season. He’d found it difficult to make friends and thought it was because he was so much younger than the others, Ronan and Allan were at least five summers older, and they usually ignored him.
Ronan acknowledged Esua now, and headed for the exit passageway, while Allan turned up a different corridor. Ordinarily, Allan would eat and sleep with the workers, but yesterday visitors had arrived from the Rioni and Arak tribes, and Esau knew that Allan, as the Elbrus Heir, would be expected to attend meals and other functions with his tribe.
Esau couldn't help but wonder what Allan and Ronan were planning, for it seemed highly suspicious that they would be planning to sneak off together when such important guests were on site.
Later that night, after dinner was over and the sun almost set, Esau unobtrusively followed Ronan and another man out of camp and into the mine entrance, where Ronan had agreed to rendezvous with Allan.
Esau noted that someone had recently replaced the crystals set in strategic locations throughout the cave; they emitted a low light that illuminated the otherwise dark interior of the place. Esau stayed well back in the passageway as the men he followed met and greeted Allan; creeping forward quietly as they made their way into the most recently excavated mineshaft.
This new mineshaft had just been opened two days before, as the miners quarried a newly discovered vein of crystal for which Elbrus was so famous, and in the process had discovered a huge, cavernous chamber whose very walls shimmered with immeasurable wealth. The Elbrus leader had immediately stopped further excavation in order to decide what to do with this fantastic space, for it seemed the setting was much more valuable than the crystals it contained. As Esau faced into that chamber now, he estimated it would be large enough for all the people of Elbrus and Kura to gather within and still have room for more.
Esau watched as the men made their way to the far edge of the chamber and found places to perch.
When Ronan pulled out the flute he'd been given as a child, Esau began to smile.
Allan was setting a large, hollow, wooden base upon a flat surface, carefully placing varying sizes of stone slabs upon the base, while Petr uncovered a handheld drum fashioned from a hollowed tree trunk, over which he'd stretched some sort of animal skin.
"Ready?" Allan asked, his quiet voice easily resonating across the distance.
And then they began to play.
Esau had heard music before, although only rarely and usually only on ritualistic, solemn occasions.
This was different.
This was like nothing he had heard before.
The flute was old and had been handed down through generations, deer bone hollowed and pierced just so; it produced a high, sweet note that rose and fell with Ronan's breath in a playful crescendo of trills and tones.
After a moment, Petr struck a rhythmic staccato upon his drum, while Allan created a mellifluous tempo upon an instrument that would be known one day as a lithophone, playing a melody of chiming notes that harmonized in accordance and consonance with the other instruments.
Obviously these men had played together before, the music flowed and danced upon the air, vibrating and reverberating within the chamber and beyond. As the music continued, Esau became aware of others filing in around him, including the Leaders and their Heirs; men and women drawn to the music and the resonance and the pulse, stimulated by the intensifying cadence as the composition repeated and built. And as they came, Esau noticed how Allan's smile widened and grew, and Esau knew then that this was exactly what Allan had set out to achieve.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Speak Easy #159 - Pyre
Pyre sat cross-legged on the ledge outside the cave at Eagle Peak, trimming the leopard skin that his cousin, Tulie, had gifted him recently in celebration of his last name-day. The fur was thick and the skin supple; Tulie had done a superb job curing the hide. Pyre felt certain he would look very striking draped in the cloak this would make.
Pyre set his flint knife aside, laying the hide in his lap and stared, unseeing, as thoughts of his cousin filled his mind. He thought of Tulie, out in the forest with her band of women, learning survival skills and exulting in a freedom that Pyre could only long for. It hardly seemed fair to him, that Tulie, as Heir to the Rioni tribe, could be free to roam the wilderness for days on end, while he, Heir to the Kuran tribe, must remain ever confined, needed for one task or another; this time to aid his father in planning and storing winter inventories.
"Where are you?" he wondered idly, sending the thought out into the morning air, imagining her lovely face in his mind and forming a connection just like that.
"I'm at the fork of the Tilik river," came the reply, silent except within his mind, "Janna is teaching us how to spear fish." And suddenly Pyre’s mind was filled with images that Tulie must be projecting to him; of four women perched somewhat precariously on rocks jutting out over the river, thrusting and stabbing long spears into the dark, swirling water.
Pyre closed his eyes to allow the images to continue undisturbed; vicariously enjoying the impressions Tulie sent of her friends, unfettered by responsibility and duty. Tulie sent a whoop of joy through the mind-link as one of the younger women struck true; muscling her spear up out of the water with a large, glistening, wriggling fish dangling from the end. Suddenly losing her balance, Breean fell off the rock and into the water. But the river was shallow and she managed to keep the fish on the spear as she splashed her way to the shore, laughing and heedless of the shocking cold. The girl lay the spear down amidst the sand and the rocks, the fish still firmly attached, and they watched, collectively, as it fluttered for a moment, magnificent in its struggle, then wilted and lay still.
"I've got to go, Pyre. I'll need to get Breean out of these wet clothes and you should not be here for that."
"Wait," Pyre sent a thought back through the link, "I can help. Show me your location again." He studied the details she sent into his mind, until he found what he was seeking."There, stop. Hold your sight; yes, just there." He fixed his attention on a small pile of driftwood leaning against an outcropping of stone some distance from the shore.
He opened his mind to the power that lay dormant within his spirit, shaping flame from the spark of his imagination; casting fire through the link he held with his cousin, where it flared into existence and suddenly the driftwood caught and burned brightly with an unnatural intensity.
"Yeah, Pyre!” Tulie exclaimed. “I knew you could call fire, but I didn’t know you could project it like that!"
“I didn’t know you could project images either; it’s what gave me the idea.”
“Well, thanks! This was a big help. I never asked; what are you doing?”
“I’m working on the leopard hide you gave me and wondering what I ever did to deserve such a gift?”
“You gave me that cloak of silver fox fur last summer, don’t you remember?”
Of course he remembered. It had taken three seasons to hunt enough silver foxes to make the cloak. “Nothing but the best between cousins, right?”
“Right! I have to go, cousin. Maybe I’ll see you soon?”
“Probably not before winter sets in. But, you never know.” He felt the link fade as he opened his eyes and became aware of the weight of the fur in his lap, “Thanks again for the hide, Tulie.”
But she was already gone.
He sighed, and picked up his flint knife again, wishing he could be spear fishing, or hunting silver foxes, instead of waiting for his father to call him to task.
“Pyre!” As if on cue, Aron popped his head out of the cave, “What are you doing? There’s no time for daydreaming. We’re waiting on you in the storeroom. Let’s go”
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
SpeakEasy #158: Embers
Embers burn slowly
Like underlying resentment
Ready to burst into flame
At the slightest stirring
Of angry winds
For a time it seems
the embers might die
The spark snuffed out
With rain like tears
Or sorrow
But then the embers
reignite and thrive
Smoldering by the fuel
and intensity
Of our Passion
Finally the embers
Merge and flame on
The rightness eclipsed
every mistake
made along the way
Like underlying resentment
Ready to burst into flame
At the slightest stirring
Of angry winds
For a time it seems
the embers might die
The spark snuffed out
With rain like tears
Or sorrow
But then the embers
reignite and thrive
Smoldering by the fuel
and intensity
Of our Passion
Finally the embers
Merge and flame on
The rightness eclipsed
every mistake
made along the way
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Speakeasy #157 Viva la Resistance
Winter seemed reluctant to release its hold. The night was bitterly cold, as bitter as the hunger and the heartache that plagued most of Paris during this winter of 1943.
She was being followed. Giselle could feel it in her bones just as surely as she felt the cold. She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and head, her hand gripped around the note in the pocket as if her very life depended on it. She knew it would cost her life, if the Gestapo caught her with it.
The click of her heels echoed loudly, so as she rounded the corner, Giselle took off her shoes despite the cold, running as fast as she could, barefoot and silent. Zigzagging down streets and alleys in a path meant to confuse; cutting through another alley just ahead and finally into an unlit shopfront where Jean-Pierre met her and closed the door behind them.
"You were followed?" Her brother asked, concern written on his gaunt, brave face, as he led her into the dim interior of the unused shop.
She nodded, catching her breath after the long run. "I can't be sure, but I think I lost him. I never saw who it was." She took the paper from her pocket and handed it to him. "You must wait until morning to deliver this. Don't go out tonight, Jean-Pierre; promise me you will wait." The gaze she fixed on the young man was stern, because she knew he would rather have joined a resistance group that hunted and killed Nazi's rather than this subversive group that seemed only to pass on information.
"There is a doctor," Giselle whispered, "He lives at 11 Avenue Foch. There is a picture in his window, for you to know you are at the right place. It is an unusual drawing, of a baby in a womb. Knock at the door of the apartment where you see this picture and give the note to the boy who answers. His name is Phillip, he is the doctor's son. He will know what to do with this message. I don't know what it is; it's in code. The man who gave it to me thought it best not to know, so that if you are captured and tortured, you can't give anything away."
She shuddered with foreboding and Jean-Pierre's eyes widened as he looked at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand, though they were both young and naive and had no real idea of the danger their involvement would bring.
They sat down in a darkened corner, and she unbuttoned her coat, removing a worn satchel and extracting a stale baguette and a round of cheese, which they shared eagerly.
After a time she stood, retrieving her satchel and covering her auburn hair with the scarf, buttoning her coat over her too thin torso, while Jean-Pierre stuffed the note into an inner pocket and stood with her.
He hugged her fiercely, fearing to be alone again when she left, but too proud to admit it. He was fourteen, after all; too old to be hanging on to the skirts of his older sister.
"Stay here until morning," Giselle warned him again, as he followed her to the shopfront. "Don't go home; don't go find any of your friends. Don't come to the club." She gave him that look again, and he nodded. There was too much fear to allow them to smile, but the look they shared, and the love it embodied, eased their spirits somewhat.
"You'll be safe here," she assured him, though she hugged her brother as though it might be the last she ever gave him. "Promise?"
He nodded again, locking the door behind her as she left, lingering at the window and watching until she disappeared from sight.
The nightclub was quiet tonight, just a few patrons drinking quietly at the bar. There was a fire burning in the stove near the piano, so it was warm as she took off her coat and sat, striking a low, lonely key before signaling the owner for a drink.
She was just finishing a slow love song when the door opened and the enemy in Gestapo uniform entered. Her heart constricted when he sat, menacingly, at the table directly in front of her, blocking her only exit. Giselle launched into the national anthem, La Marseillaise.
Viva la Resistance, she thought, determined to be brave and defiant to the end.
She was being followed. Giselle could feel it in her bones just as surely as she felt the cold. She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and head, her hand gripped around the note in the pocket as if her very life depended on it. She knew it would cost her life, if the Gestapo caught her with it.
The click of her heels echoed loudly, so as she rounded the corner, Giselle took off her shoes despite the cold, running as fast as she could, barefoot and silent. Zigzagging down streets and alleys in a path meant to confuse; cutting through another alley just ahead and finally into an unlit shopfront where Jean-Pierre met her and closed the door behind them.
"You were followed?" Her brother asked, concern written on his gaunt, brave face, as he led her into the dim interior of the unused shop.
She nodded, catching her breath after the long run. "I can't be sure, but I think I lost him. I never saw who it was." She took the paper from her pocket and handed it to him. "You must wait until morning to deliver this. Don't go out tonight, Jean-Pierre; promise me you will wait." The gaze she fixed on the young man was stern, because she knew he would rather have joined a resistance group that hunted and killed Nazi's rather than this subversive group that seemed only to pass on information.
"There is a doctor," Giselle whispered, "He lives at 11 Avenue Foch. There is a picture in his window, for you to know you are at the right place. It is an unusual drawing, of a baby in a womb. Knock at the door of the apartment where you see this picture and give the note to the boy who answers. His name is Phillip, he is the doctor's son. He will know what to do with this message. I don't know what it is; it's in code. The man who gave it to me thought it best not to know, so that if you are captured and tortured, you can't give anything away."
She shuddered with foreboding and Jean-Pierre's eyes widened as he looked at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand, though they were both young and naive and had no real idea of the danger their involvement would bring.
They sat down in a darkened corner, and she unbuttoned her coat, removing a worn satchel and extracting a stale baguette and a round of cheese, which they shared eagerly.
After a time she stood, retrieving her satchel and covering her auburn hair with the scarf, buttoning her coat over her too thin torso, while Jean-Pierre stuffed the note into an inner pocket and stood with her.
He hugged her fiercely, fearing to be alone again when she left, but too proud to admit it. He was fourteen, after all; too old to be hanging on to the skirts of his older sister.
"Stay here until morning," Giselle warned him again, as he followed her to the shopfront. "Don't go home; don't go find any of your friends. Don't come to the club." She gave him that look again, and he nodded. There was too much fear to allow them to smile, but the look they shared, and the love it embodied, eased their spirits somewhat.
"You'll be safe here," she assured him, though she hugged her brother as though it might be the last she ever gave him. "Promise?"
He nodded again, locking the door behind her as she left, lingering at the window and watching until she disappeared from sight.
The nightclub was quiet tonight, just a few patrons drinking quietly at the bar. There was a fire burning in the stove near the piano, so it was warm as she took off her coat and sat, striking a low, lonely key before signaling the owner for a drink.
She was just finishing a slow love song when the door opened and the enemy in Gestapo uniform entered. Her heart constricted when he sat, menacingly, at the table directly in front of her, blocking her only exit. Giselle launched into the national anthem, La Marseillaise.
Viva la Resistance, she thought, determined to be brave and defiant to the end.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Speakeasy #156: A garden by the lake
"When are you going to let me take you away from this life and make an honest woman out of you?" Sebastian asked Mathilda sulkily, pulling on his pants and removing an uncounted sum of money from his pocket.
"Just as soon as you're ready to bring me home to that nice ranch of yours out by the lake," Mattie answered him as she always did; lazing on the bed half draped with sweat stained sheets and the other half bathed in sunlight streaming in through a high, narrow window.
"Ah, Mattie. Why can't you just agree to be my mistress and let me set you up in a nice little cottage outside of town?"
"And just what do you suppose I would do with myself when you aren't there?" She pouted, wondering why he didn't know how much his proposal tempted her, and how it hurt her even more.
"You could plant a garden and learn how to sew and cook and do other useful things," he suggested.
She laughed in disbelief, hooking the buttons of her dress and looking at her reflection in the faded mirror to make sure the bustle hung just right over her bottom. "Sure, I could just see myself, pullin' weeds and shooin' away the rabbits when they get too close to my vegetables!"
Sebastian's throaty laugh thrilled Mathilda, "That would be a sight to see! Two young hares, rump to rump like dueling pistols, crouched by the gate."
"You would have to teach me to shoot," Mattie suggested, wistfully thinking that maybe then she could challenge his wife to a duel. Mattie didn't speak that last thought out loud, but Sebastian read it in her face and he pulled her into his arms for a long, lingering embrace.
"Someday," he fisted his fingers into her thick, blond hair, whispering the unspoken promise in her ear; and she tried not to let her heart believe him, though it had been lost so very long ago.
She smiled her best unassuming smile and pushed him out the door. She was still dreaming about a garden overlooking the lake, blooming with a thousand flowers, when the next knock came at her door.
"Just as soon as you're ready to bring me home to that nice ranch of yours out by the lake," Mattie answered him as she always did; lazing on the bed half draped with sweat stained sheets and the other half bathed in sunlight streaming in through a high, narrow window.
"Ah, Mattie. Why can't you just agree to be my mistress and let me set you up in a nice little cottage outside of town?"
"And just what do you suppose I would do with myself when you aren't there?" She pouted, wondering why he didn't know how much his proposal tempted her, and how it hurt her even more.
"You could plant a garden and learn how to sew and cook and do other useful things," he suggested.
She laughed in disbelief, hooking the buttons of her dress and looking at her reflection in the faded mirror to make sure the bustle hung just right over her bottom. "Sure, I could just see myself, pullin' weeds and shooin' away the rabbits when they get too close to my vegetables!"
Sebastian's throaty laugh thrilled Mathilda, "That would be a sight to see! Two young hares, rump to rump like dueling pistols, crouched by the gate."
"You would have to teach me to shoot," Mattie suggested, wistfully thinking that maybe then she could challenge his wife to a duel. Mattie didn't speak that last thought out loud, but Sebastian read it in her face and he pulled her into his arms for a long, lingering embrace.
"Someday," he fisted his fingers into her thick, blond hair, whispering the unspoken promise in her ear; and she tried not to let her heart believe him, though it had been lost so very long ago.
She smiled her best unassuming smile and pushed him out the door. She was still dreaming about a garden overlooking the lake, blooming with a thousand flowers, when the next knock came at her door.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Etha
Etha followed Madra and the others into the dimly lit cave, moving slowly, allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkness and giving their senses time to become aware of their surroundings before they could no longer see those surroundings. They traversed down a narrow hallway to a large open area, filing in with Madra in the lead, followed by Etha and the four other novices behind. It was dark, but not so dark that Etha couldn't make out the shapes of the others nearby, or sense the distance to the walls or the opening through which they had come.
As the girls settled to a sitting position, Etha sought to still her nerves; she was slightly irritated at the irreverent whispers of the girls around her, and struggling with feelings of anticipation and fear. Etha was normally very confident and self assured, but now she felt only trepidation and uncertainty.
"Let us begin," Madra spoke quietly, pausing for a moment to ensure she had the girls attention. "I chose you for this lesson because you have all shown an affinity for Gaea, an awareness of the Earth Mother and her many aspects. I brought you to this place to have you try to open yourself to Gaea's senses and hear if she might speak to you."
Madra's voice was soft and muted, as though the very walls tried to absorb and swallow her words. "Lie back with your eyes closed, listen to my words and tune out all other thoughts in your mind. Slow the rhythm of your breathing, and just listen to that rhythm. Breath in... Breath out... Breath in... Breath out. Let the rhythm of your breathing match the rhythm of earth's pulse, and let yourself become aware..."
Madra's words quieted, and Etha opened her senses to her surroundings. She could feel the coldness emanating into the darkness of the room, felt the pressure of the earth weighing down upon her spirit as her consciousness moved beyond the boundaries of the cave until it felt as though she were sinking. Down, down into the depths she sank, becoming aware of the presence and the pulse of Gaea's lifeblood and it seemed as though she were becoming absorbed within the earth. Etha tried not to panic as she became attuned to a pulse outside her own and knew the very moment when her own lifeblood merged with something far bigger and more powerful that she had ever imagined.
Gaea's rhythm was slow and ponderous, and Etha lost all sense of self and time as she traced Gaea’s lifeblood, beating with a rhythm that radiated slowly, sluggishly. It pulsed with a steady beat, pushing, seeking; burrowing outwards through dark heaviness and slowly, slowly reaching upwards, searching, seeking until finally it found and infused a network of roots and tendrils and life.
Etha's consciousness expanded, twisting and twining, pulsing and surging outwards, upwards, further and further until Etha felt herself stretched beyond her capacity to comprehend; as though she might lose herself in the infinite being that was Gaea. She sensed power calling to her, nourishing her lifeblood as surely as it had infused the network of living plants and Etha hungered for this power more surely than she hungered for food. It frightened her, for she didn't understand it. This was so far beyond her scope of understanding, but the more she tried, the more panicked she became. In alarm, Etha began to struggle against the weight and the presence of Gaea, closing her senses to all but her own panic and forcing her thoughts back into the confines of her own body, lying on the cold, hard floor of the cave.
Her eyes snapped open and she sat up. Her heart was racing and her body was covered with a light sweat.
"Where are the others?" She asked Madra, seeing that she was alone with the Spiritual Leader.
"I sent them away," Madra replied, a hint of exasperation in voice. "They were not able to remain still enough to reach a trance state like you did."
Etha nodded, disoriented and unsettled. "How long have we been here?" She asked.
"Quite a while. The meal bell has rung twice since we began. Are you ready to speak of your experience? Did Gaea speak to you?”
"I... No. I’m sorry” Etha shivered as her sense of self slowly returned even as she yearned to return to that state of selflessness; so at odds with the fear of being consumed.
As the girls settled to a sitting position, Etha sought to still her nerves; she was slightly irritated at the irreverent whispers of the girls around her, and struggling with feelings of anticipation and fear. Etha was normally very confident and self assured, but now she felt only trepidation and uncertainty.
"Let us begin," Madra spoke quietly, pausing for a moment to ensure she had the girls attention. "I chose you for this lesson because you have all shown an affinity for Gaea, an awareness of the Earth Mother and her many aspects. I brought you to this place to have you try to open yourself to Gaea's senses and hear if she might speak to you."
Madra's voice was soft and muted, as though the very walls tried to absorb and swallow her words. "Lie back with your eyes closed, listen to my words and tune out all other thoughts in your mind. Slow the rhythm of your breathing, and just listen to that rhythm. Breath in... Breath out... Breath in... Breath out. Let the rhythm of your breathing match the rhythm of earth's pulse, and let yourself become aware..."
Madra's words quieted, and Etha opened her senses to her surroundings. She could feel the coldness emanating into the darkness of the room, felt the pressure of the earth weighing down upon her spirit as her consciousness moved beyond the boundaries of the cave until it felt as though she were sinking. Down, down into the depths she sank, becoming aware of the presence and the pulse of Gaea's lifeblood and it seemed as though she were becoming absorbed within the earth. Etha tried not to panic as she became attuned to a pulse outside her own and knew the very moment when her own lifeblood merged with something far bigger and more powerful that she had ever imagined.
Gaea's rhythm was slow and ponderous, and Etha lost all sense of self and time as she traced Gaea’s lifeblood, beating with a rhythm that radiated slowly, sluggishly. It pulsed with a steady beat, pushing, seeking; burrowing outwards through dark heaviness and slowly, slowly reaching upwards, searching, seeking until finally it found and infused a network of roots and tendrils and life.
Etha's consciousness expanded, twisting and twining, pulsing and surging outwards, upwards, further and further until Etha felt herself stretched beyond her capacity to comprehend; as though she might lose herself in the infinite being that was Gaea. She sensed power calling to her, nourishing her lifeblood as surely as it had infused the network of living plants and Etha hungered for this power more surely than she hungered for food. It frightened her, for she didn't understand it. This was so far beyond her scope of understanding, but the more she tried, the more panicked she became. In alarm, Etha began to struggle against the weight and the presence of Gaea, closing her senses to all but her own panic and forcing her thoughts back into the confines of her own body, lying on the cold, hard floor of the cave.
Her eyes snapped open and she sat up. Her heart was racing and her body was covered with a light sweat.
"Where are the others?" She asked Madra, seeing that she was alone with the Spiritual Leader.
"I sent them away," Madra replied, a hint of exasperation in voice. "They were not able to remain still enough to reach a trance state like you did."
Etha nodded, disoriented and unsettled. "How long have we been here?" She asked.
"Quite a while. The meal bell has rung twice since we began. Are you ready to speak of your experience? Did Gaea speak to you?”
"I... No. I’m sorry” Etha shivered as her sense of self slowly returned even as she yearned to return to that state of selflessness; so at odds with the fear of being consumed.
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