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I had always enjoyed Sam's company, but found myself wincing under his touch. "I'm in trouble, Sam. I hope I can 'work' this morning." "What's wrong? You don't seem to be your usual perky self." I kept my head down, unable to look at him as I replied. "I don't know. Whatever it is, it feels pretty crazy." We went through the open door into the small living room where students were gathering in a circle on dining room chairs, couches, and davenports. Ron, a slender man with graying hair, asked, "How many people want to work today?" Six of the twelve raised their hands. Usually the time allowed for three workers, never more than four. Ron stroked his beard, puckered his lips. "Hmm, I guess we'll have to do some negotiating." Sam said, "Luce really has to work." I felt heat flash over my face. Wiggling my toes, I looked at Sam, then at Ron. "Is that true, Luce? You don't take the hot seat very often." Ron paused to look around the circle, then back at me. I nodded. "Well, c'mon then. I guess it's your turn," Ron said. I crawled onto a pillow in front of him. "So, tell us what's going on," Ron urged. I talked about the man in the Chiricahuas, my nightmares, and the strange physical sensations I had been experiencing. Discussing them exaggerated the trembling. Ron uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "How does your body feel?" "Shaky." I tried to smile and grasped my elbows to control the shivering. "I think I need to talk to the man who's chasing me." "Okay. What do you want to call him?" Ron's voice sounded as if it had come through a stove pipe. I held my jaw stiff to stop my teeth from chattering. "I don't know-'Chaser.'" I clutched my knees to my chest. Ron stroked his beard. "Would you like someone to sit next to you while you work? To help you if you need it?" I nodded and swallowed, licking my parched lips. "Maybe Sam." Sam tiptoed over in his bare feet and sat close, without touching me. "When you're ready, when you feel like you can see him clearly, go ahead and tell Chaser how you feel," Ron instructed. I looked at the empty space in front of me and imagined Chaser sitting there. My mind went blank. I'd better relax. I'm not going to see him if I try too hard. Eventually, the man with a pistol from my dream slipped into my brain, causing me to quiver once again. To get past the fear, I knew I had to say something. "I don't like you chasing me," I asserted, glancing at Ron for reassurance. "Keep looking at Chaser. Tell him what he looks like," said Ron. Staring at Chaser, my hands shaking, I whispered, "You look dark . . . scary." I bent forward, covering my eyes with my palms. After a long pause Ron asked, "Tell Chaser who he is for you." Rocking back and forth, I searched my mind while images of him kept shifting-from figures in childhood nightmares to the man in the Chiricahuas to present-day dream characters. "I don't know. He's awful. His face keeps changing." Then I broke into sobs. When I had quieted down, Ron said, "If it seems right, ask him who he is." I could feel my fingers clenching against my palms as I slowly I turned to Chaser. "Who are you?" Ron pointed for me to move to Chaser's place. Already familiar with this method of working, I crawled to the pillow in front of me. Something about being in Chaser's seat calmed me. I closed my eyes and waited. All at once I felt an energy that was not my own. Words assembled in my mind, and slowly I spoke them: "I am the faceless dark pursuing you. I am your nightmares, your age-old fears, everything in you that is filled with terror of the unknown." With that I returned to my pillow, fascinated by the peculiar strength I'd felt while sitting in Chaser's place. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ron settle onto the back of his chair to watch what I would do next. As I looked at Chaser's seat again, a race down the dark alley of my dreams began to filter into my brain. My limbs started to quiver and again I felt I must run for my life. Folding my arms, I held my stomach and rocked back and forth. "How can I make him go away?" Ron spoke slowly, deliberately. "Is that what you want?" "I can't have this thing following me around all my life!" Leaning forward in his chair and stroking his beard, Ron asked, "Will it work for you to tell him to go?" I groped inwardly for the strength to order the dark form to leave, but could find no words to express the strange mixture of fear and grandeur I felt. "Every time I think of something to say, it gets lost or seems trite." "Speak directly to him. See if it works to tell him to go." I took a deep breath and somehow managed to blurt out, "Stop . . . chasing me." My head swam; the room vanished into a haze. I bent over and rested my head on my knees, breathing hard. I soon felt the tips of Sam's fingers on my back, like a cat stepping gingerly onto fresh snow. As I sank into his touch, he let his palm rest on my spine, warm and strong. I leaned against his chest and felt his arms enfold me. At that point I started crying freely, sucking in quick breaths between the sobs. Finally, I blew out one long sigh, and my body went limp. Gradually, my courage came back, and I sat upright again. "Is Chaser still there?" asked Ron. I nodded. "What do you want to tell him?" "Go away," I growled, like an animal. "Stop chasing me." "Louder," said Ron. "Stop it." Ron raised his voice. "Go on. Louder." "Stop chasing me!" All at once I felt an uncommon strength come over me. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" I shouted again and again. Then I took a deep breath. Sitting tall and straight to savor the energy radiating from my body, I felt my face beaming. "He's gone," I announced. The room gradually came back into focus, and everyone in it remained still for several minutes. Then Ron asked, "How does your body feel?" I twisted around to test it out. "The shaking's gone-for the moment, anyway. Emotionally, I'm worn out, and at the same time I feel clear and free." "Your eyes look really bright." Sam commented. I looked at his face and touched him on the shoulder. "Thanks." "What're you going to do for homework?" Ron asked. "Oh, I don't know-go to a movie, maybe take the long way home on my bike, watch the stars, not think too much, enjoy the comfort I'm feeling right now." I slipped out of class without staying to chat, and pedaled down quiet streets lined with palo verdes and mesquites. My pores opened wide to receive the warmth. The shaking had eased into a rather pleasant pulsing of life blood throughout my body. Sounds still seemed unusually loud, however, especially the pebbles crackling under my bicycle tires, the wheet-wheet! of the cactus wren, the soft whirling of swamp coolers on top of flat-roofed houses. Yet rather than upsetting me, as they had before, they invited me into their chorus, weaving in and out of my brain in musical patterns. At home, I rested in the chaise lounge on my cement porch, where the ocotillo fence enclosed a sparse plot of sand spotted with creosote bushes and one mesquite tree. A roadrunner pushed through a space in the fence and ran across the sand, grabbing an insect with its beak, then uttering a staccato eah-eah! before disappearing again. Delilah and Shaman scratched to come outside, where they played their perpetual game of Shaman pulling Delilah's raglike ears and Delilah giving the husky a tumble. The smell of charcoal and barbecuing chicken mingled with the hot evening breeze while shadows crept up the mountain and slipped into twilight. The sky then shifted its display of pastels into a black-blue, unveiling the Bright Star of the East. Even though the Gestalt session had brought relief and a new perspective, I felt uneasy about the dark corner of my brain that had given life to the dream stalker. What was the strange voice that claimed to be the source of my fear? Shuddering, I began to suspect that my experience of Chaser was beyond the reach of therapy. What is the use of therapy for me-or anyone else for that matter? I dreaded the possibility of sounds shattering my nerves once again, of the shakiness returning, or the nightmares. I was convinced that my only source of solace was the Mother. Later, at my altar, I lit the candle and gazed at the photograph of the coyote. A throbbing emptiness deadened my heart. Images of the chaser sent fear rippling though my veins. Delilah poked her nose into my hands, then rested her head on my lap. The little husky uttered a soft howl, crouched down, and inched forward to nuzzle between Delilah and me. "Your eyes are just like his. See?" I told Shaman, turning his face toward the coyote poster. Then I stroked the black dog's bangs. "What's happening to me, Delilah?" Under the mop of hair that made her look like a gentle clown, she rolled her eyes, showing the whites. I stared at the cloth in the oak frame. Mother, why can't life be simple, like it is for these sweet dogs? I don't know how to do what you said. How can I not be worried about my thoughts or about what happens to me? I curled up with Delilah and Shaman, and sang, "Down yonder, green valleys where streamlets meander, where twilight is fading, I pensively roam . . ." I repeated the campfire song until I drifted off to sleep. A light touch on my shoulder and the sound of bubbling laughter woke me in the night. I lurched upright. "You came!" I covered my mouth with my hands, my heart dissolving into the Mother's love. The smell of rose petals drifted through the air as my temple room expanded into a sea of luminescence. The Mother whispered words I couldn't understand, something like "Shi, shi, shi," as she sat down and took me into her arms. She wiped my tears with the filmy white cloth she always wore, saying, "My daughter, my daughter." I clasped my arms around her torso, buried my head in her round belly, curled up like a baby bear against its mother. "I don't know what to do." As the Mother stroked my back, my thoughts melted like icicles in the warmth of a long-awaited spring day. Then she lifted me into a seated position, and I looked deep into her eyes as they penetrated beyond the darkness of the night sky. My lower lip quivered. "What's wrong, child?" "What am I going to do? I can't study counseling anymore." The Mother stroked my arm and chuckled. "Child, you must finish your training without giving thought to the future or the difficulties it may present." "You're all that matters to me. Isn't there a place where I can be with you forever?" The Mother's body rippled with giggling. She smiled and rubbed my chest. "Child, you are here for a purpose. You must do the task you came to earth to do. Only in that way can you come to me." I looked down and fiddled with my bare feet. "Counseling no longer means anything to me." "A mother doesn't stop nursing her baby because she has lost interest. Suckling is her job, and so she does it with love and devotion until the child is ready to eat on its own. Even after that, she cooks and cares for the child until it is grown. Counseling is the gift you were created to do at this time. You mustn't stop your schooling just because you are disheartened." I looked at her. "How can anyone but you help people?" "Just as your professor helped you today, so will you do the same for others. Every living thing serves the world in its own special way. That is the nature of creation. Trees give fruit, cows offer milk, bees make honey, rivers supply water, and the sun provides light. Everything on earth has a purpose." "But, Mother, is counseling the only way for me to be useful?" "For now that is your task. Yet you must always remember not to have concern for the outcome. If you worry about the results of your work, or get too enmeshed in people's problems, you may cause harm to yourself and others. You must recognize that it is not you who does the work, but rather the divine nectar moving through you. Therefore, make no claims to your successes or failures. Try to see yourself as only one of many colors in a rainbow." I hung my head. "Daughter, just imagine that your clients are me. When you show them kindness and understanding, know that you are doing it for me." "That would be silly, Mother. How could you ever need my help?" There was a long silence. The Mother looked at me, her eyes a bottomless well reflecting millions of drowning souls crying to be saved. "I am in everyone who will come to you. By serving them, you will also serve me." She put her hands to her chest, then reached out with palms up, singing in a language I could not understand. When she finished, she wiped her moist cheeks and put her hands together in prayer. "Child, as you perform your tasks, remember that you are no different from the street cleaner who shovels garbage from the gutter s, or the vagabond who picks through that garbage for sustenance. To me, all are equal." The Mother closed her eyes and I closed mine. Reflecting on her description of the divine nectar, I realized she'd given me a clue to its meaning: it was intangible, like a spirit that would enter into me. Perhaps I am tasting that nectar now, in her presence. Then my mind went blank, forming a measureless screen on which I floated in infinite space. Lights from a vast milky labyrinth seemed to envelop my head, then my torso, arms, legs, and hands, until I was coated in a womblike warmth. I opened my eyes. Delilah was nudging her wet nose into my palm. The room flickered with the gentle glow of dawn. |
Offer Me a Flower, Chapter Four, will continue.
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