Healing Circle Night

Circle of Friends: Healing Circle Night

By Galen Nightwind

After a long, productive day at his job, Chad Smith was ready for healing circle at The Enchanted Forest.  He wanted to get recharged and feeling great again.  Chad is biracial.  His mother is from Seoul, South Korea, and his father is Irish American.  He has two sisters, Ann and Jamie.  He works as an administrative assistant for the county social services agency.

Chad got involved with the healing circle from his friend, Marcus Matthews.  Marcus has been studying the craft for most of his life.  So Chad turns to Marcus for a lot of help, since he is new to the craft.  Marcus introduced Chad to Caitlin Forrest, the owner of the vintage clothing and antique shop, The Enchanted Forest.

As Chad pulled up to The Enchanted Forest, he felt a sense of calmness.  He was wondering who all was going to attend tonight.  He wondered if Bella Taylor would attend.  Chad had heard that Bella started the healing circle group, but had to give it up for a while to take care of her ailing father.  He was fascinated by the thought that someone came up to this kind of group, and he really wanted to meet her.

When Chad entered The Enchanted Forest, he noticed that there was someone new.  He suspected that she might be waiting for the healing circle, since she was sitting there drinking tea.  He remembered how everyone was so nice when he was new to the circle.  So Chad went over to the new woman and introduced himself to her.  “Hi, my name is Chad Smith.”

“Nice to meet you, Chad.  My name is Allysen Owen.  And this is my cat, Mr. Fitch.”

“Nice to meet you, Allysen and Mr. Fitch.”

Caitlin finishes with her customer, and notices Chad talking to Allysen.  Caitlin walks over to them and starts talking to them.  “This is Allysen, Chad,” Caitlin said.

“Hello, Caitlin.  Yes I know we introduced ourselves when you were helping your customer.”

Caitlin responded, “Oh okay.  How is your day going?”

“Pretty busy had a report to type and proof for the director.  It is due in a few days, so it was pretty hectic getting everything from the staff and entering it into the report.  Can’t wait for it to be over!”

“I bet you are glad that it is over.  Chad is an administration assistant, Allysen.  He works for our county social service agency.”

“That must be exciting to help people out, Chad,” Allysen said.

“It has it moments that are exciting, but there are other moments when it is frustrating.  You know?  Marcus is on his way.  He texted me to let you know that he is on his way.”

Caitlin said “Okay, I think Lizzie is coming as well.  We will start after they arrive.”

They continue to talk to each other as they wait for everyone to arrive.  Marcus arrived about ten minutes after Chad; Lizzie Broom arrived about ten minutes after Marcus.

Once everyone arrived, they began the healing circle.  The circle took about an hour and a half to do.  There were a lot of petitions that they were working for.  Each participant at the circle took a category to lead.  Chad got stuck with the “Good Fortune” category.

After the circle, they continued to socialize with each other.  They had some snacks to eat.  Pretty soon, Chad realized that it was getting late and he had to get up tomorrow morning to go to work early to continue his report for the director.  So he said good-bye to everyone.

As Chad walked to his car, he was wondering if he could sleep tonight, because there was so much energy that was charged by the circle.  He got in his car and drove home.  The car trip seemed so short even though it is about a twenty minute drive.  His mind was racing from thought to thought.

When Chad entered his apartment, he noticed that he was not tired at all.  But he forced himself to try to go to sleep, because he had to get up early.  About two hours later, Chad finally fell asleep.  He had a dream about Bella.  Bella told him that he was right where he belonged to be.  She also told him to continue to learn and continue his studying in this path.

The next morning, Chad reflected on his dream with Bella, and decided that he was going to really study the Craft.  Chad thought during his lunch break, he would go to the bookstore and buy a few books about starting to learn the Craft, but he would have to keep this part of him private at work, since his boss is a born-again Christian.

On his way to work, he called Marcus and talked to him about what the next step should be.  Marcus gave him a list of books to read and told Chad if he had any questions, he could ways come to him and talk about things.

Chad decided that it was time to really dedicate himself to the Craft, since other religions did not seem to fit him very well.

Until next time…

Circle of Friends – The Enchanted Forest

Circle of Friends – The Enchanted Forest

By Linda Monsees Stump © 2012

Caitlin Forrest looked up from the vintage 1920’s cloche she was repairing as the antique sleigh bells on the shop door chimed, signaling the entrance of a customer.  “Hello, welcome to the Enchanted Forest,” she said with smile.  The woman who entered was not one of her regulars.  Nor, from the look of her colorful Bohemian ensemble topped with a banana-yellow shawl, was she one of the wealthy residents of the new development on the outskirts of town.  Those ladies were always dressed in the latest fashion trends and carried purses covered with printed initials that screamed their designer origins.  This woman’s purse, if it could be called that, looked as though it had once been a saddlebag for a camel.  It had a distinctly Bedouin look, woven in colors of burnt orange, ochre and raw sienna, with a stripe in a vivid sap green.

The woman paused just inside the doorway, taking in the displays.  “This is just what I hoped it would be,” she breathed.  Her gaze traveled around the front room of the shop, missing nothing – from the apothecary behind the counter, to the collection of teapots and neatly labeled glass jars of lavender, sage, blessed thistle and other herbs displayed in the Welsh cupboard, to the Bridget’s cross of reeds over the door, and on to a wide brimmed hat trimmed with roses on a stand in the bay window, artfully positioned next to a pair of long black gloves draped over an original edition of Lorna Doone.

“Please, take your time and look around.  If there’s anything particular you’re looking for, let me know – as soon as this tacking glue dries I can let go of the hat and show you round.”

The woman looked at Caitlin for a moment.  Her eyes widened.  Caitlin was well aware that her  own appearance was not quite what most people expected.  At fifty, she still wore her auburn hair long and her outfit – Victorian bottle green velvet riding jacket over a lace blouse and long black ruffled skirt, paired with lace-up black suede boots – could hardly be called trendy.  The woman smiled.  “You look as though you stepped out of another time, but it suits you.”

“Thank you. ”  Caitlin studied her visitor unobtrusively from under lowered lashes, ostensibly busy with the cloche.  She had a knack for reading people, which had helped keep her small business going in a tough economy.  And she instinctively knew this woman was going through a major life change.  There was a tiredness in her hazel eyes and yet there was also a spark of something else…an answer received, almost expected, to a very important question.  Caitlin sensed, too, that this was a kindred spirit, a woman who walked her own path in life.

Caitlin let the silence stretch comfortably between them like a skein of yarn.  She never liked rushing people and found visitors enjoyed The Enchanted Forest much more if they were allowed to experience it at their own pace.  The woman was drawn to Caitlin’s latest find, an ethereal tea gown the shade of newly greening leaves trimmed in mocha lace and displayed on an antique dressmaker’s form.  Almost involuntarily she reached to touch it, then stopped, not wanting to risk the delicate fabric.  Her gaze lingered for several moments on a Tiffany lamp with dragonflies in jewel toned colors that lit the corner nook by the fireplace between a Victorian settee and armchair.  Catching sight of the antique tea trolley bearing a Royal Albert tea service, the woman exclaimed almost reverently, “Ohhhh!”

“Would you like some tea?” Caitlin asked easily.  “I usually make some for myself around this time.  I’m Caitlin Forrest, by the way.”  She extended a now glue-free hand, which the woman clasped eagerly.

“That certainly explains the name of the shop – but it truly is enchanted!  I’m Allysen Owen, and  I would love some tea!  I haven’t had anything that could properly be called ‘tea’ since I crossed the Mississippi – unless you count iced tea.  Would you mind if I run out to the car first to check on my cat?  Mr. Fitch was sleeping when I saw the sign for the shop.”

“Goodness, don’t leave him in the car, bring him in!”

“Are you sure?” Allysen asked doubtfully, waving her hand at the antiques.

“Of course.  We’ll have our tea in the conservatory, there’s not quite so much bric-a-brac there.  Besides, he’s probably feeling a bit unsettled since you’re in transit and haven’t got yourself sorted out yet.  Perhaps he’d like a bit of salmon while we have our tea.”

“He’ll think he’s in feline heaven after having only dry kibble the last week,” Allysen said.  “So I take it you’re the resident witch in this town?”  It was almost a throwaway line.

Caitlin slanted a look over her shoulder out of green eyes.  “I’ve been called that more than a few times,” she answered levelly.

“Well, like knows like, my mother always said,” Allysen grinned.  “You’re my first witch friend!  I knew as soon as I walked in here that I’d found my new home town.”  Caitlin, who from childhood had picked up on energy currents, felt the exuberance that emanated from Allysen at finding a kindred spirit.  It was impossible to take offence at her words, spoken joyously in simple honesty…and trust.

Caitlin smiled back.  In that moment, she made her decision.  “This is like any other town, there’s good people and not-so-good, but it’s got a fascinating history.  I’m sure you will find it a good fit.  When you get Mr. Fitch, just bring him straight through that doorway and you can make yourself comfortable.”

Caitlin busied herself with the tea things, filling a plate with dainty cucumber sandwiches that she’d made for this evening’s gathering.  She’d have time to make more before the healing circle she hosted each month in the conservatory of The Enchanted Forest.  Allysen would be a good addition to the group dynamic, Caitlin thought.

Two bone china pots steeping with raspberry tea and Earl Grey, respectively, a plate of scones with strawberry jam and Devonshire clotted cream, and tea was ready.  She added a small plate of salmon for Mr. Fitch.  Judging by the yowls coming from the next room, Allysen’s cat was decidedly unhappy at being confined.  Caitlin wheeled the trolley into the conservatory.  The soft-sided cat carrier gyrated alarmingly at Allysen’s feet as the caterwauling continued.  But Allysen stood transfixed, staring at an oddly-shaped lavender pillow nestled in a corner of the wicker settee.  With seven asymmetrical sides, and an unusual button in the shape of a thistle sewn off-center on the back, it was not the kind of decorative pillow that typically attracted any attention.  It wasn’t even for sale; Caitlin had brought it from her office upstairs when she was mending a frayed seam on the spring-green tea gown earlier in the morning and had forgotten to take it back.  “Allysen?  Are you all right?”

Allysen’s voice was slightly husky as she asked, “Where did you get this?”  She pointed to the pillow.  “And how?”

Caitlin had the feeling that this was important to her new friend.  “The where is easy – in Scotland,” Caitlin answered.  “The how, well, that’s a bit more complicated.” She paused as an emphatic expression of feline frustration sent the carrier wobbling around, finally coming to rest at Caitlin’s feet.  It was clear that they weren’t going to get much of anything done until the cat was taken care of.  “Here, why don’t you give Mr. Fitch his salmon, I’ll pour the tea and I’ll tell you how I found it.”

Allysen placed the plate of salmon on the floor and unzipped the carrier.  Mr. Fitch, however, was having none of it.  He bolted from the carrier, leaping over the plate in a single bound and all Caitlin saw was a caramel and white blur disappearing under the settee.

“Uh-oh.   That was a mistake!” Allysen muttered in embarrassment.  “I should have known he’d run and hide.  At the end of his last car trip, he decided he was so traumatized that he hid under the bed for two days!  Now how am I going to get him out?”

Caitlin moved the plate of salmon under a potted ficus tree festooned with tiny white lights.  “I shouldn’t worry, my Cali did the same thing – she hid behind the china cabinet for simply hours when we moved in.  The only thing that could coax her out was our dog.  She adores Macsen and would come out if he was in the room.”  Caitlin spoke easily, sending calming energy to both the cat and to Allysen.  “Would you prefer raspberry tea or Earl Grey?”

Allysen chose raspberry, as Caitlin had thought she would, and exclaimed over the cucumber sandwiches.  “I skipped lunch – I was hoping to get this far before evening, so I just kept on driving.”

“Eat up, then, and make sure to save room for the scones.  They’re my mother’s recipe.”  When she saw that Allysen was relaxing, she took a sip of her own tea and began, “You wanted to know about the pillow.   It was the strangest thing.  I was in Edinburgh on a buying trip for the shop, and I’d met my cousin there.  We went to an estate sale in Inverness, and I bought some lovely pieces of furniture and a couple of trunks of vintage clothing.  I picked up a lot of small things too that would be easy to ship – gloves, hats, scarves.  I had already completed the paperwork when the estate agent came over and asked me if I would speak to Mrs. MacLeod, the lady who had owned the house.  She was widowed and was moving to Aberdeen to live with her daughter.  Of course, I said yes.”

Caitlin’s voice trailed off for a moment, remembering that afternoon in the Scottish spring.  “There was this little woman sitting in a rocking chair, all bundled up in a woolly cardigan and a tartan traveling rug.  She took my hand and looked me over for a long minute – and I guess I must have passed muster because she nodded and motioned me to sit down beside her.  ‘You picked all the special pieces,’ she told me. ‘I wanted to know who would have my things and what you will do with them.’ From anyone else, I’d have thought it impertinence.  After all, she was selling the things and I paid a fair price for them.  But…there was something about her.  Her eyes were so wise and knowing.  And this mattered to her.  So I told her how I’d started The Enchanted Forest after my husband was wounded in Afghanistan.  He suffered a traumatic brain injury in a mortar attack and came home from hospital with short term memory loss and PTSD.  It was a way for him to rebuild his life after his military career ended, and for us to work together.”

Allysen made a sympathetic sound.  Caitlin went on matter-of-factly, “We manage all right, we’ve had our moments – though some of them have been hysterically funny in hindsight if not when they were happening – but I told Mrs. MacLeod about the shop.  I told her I’d fallen in love with a couple of the pieces and intended to keep them to use in our home because they had such a lovely, comforting feel to them and I thought my husband would enjoy them as much as I would.  And I told her I would find the right homes for the rest.”

“Right homes?” Allysen interjected.  “So you don’t just sell things to anyone who wants them?”

“Well…not always.  I believe that the people who are meant to have certain things just turn up when they are supposed to and are drawn to pieces that will bring them happiness.  On occasion I’ve actually talked someone out of a sale because I knew the piece wasn’t right for them – they wanted the item for all the wrong reasons and it would have just the opposite effect.  Take that green tea gown you were looking at, for example.”

“Who wouldn’t want that exquisite dress?” Allysen exclaimed.  “It’s beautiful – the mocha lace is a perfect complement to the green, and it just feels like spring, all full of promise.”  She flushed at being so obvious about her attraction to the dress.

But Caitlin smiled.  “That’s just it – you see it as a beautiful embodiment of the season, a thing of joy.  The woman I talked out of it wanted it because it reminded her of a dress she wanted very badly as a child, but that her grandmother bought for her sister.  Her voice rose when she told me about it, and she was getting upset all over again at what she saw as her grandmother’s favoritism.  The color was all wrong for her and it wasn’t her style, but she kept insisting that it was perfect and she loved it.  I knew that if she bought it, she wouldn’t be happy with it – every time she wore it she’d feel slighted by her grandmother and resentful of her sister.  She’d end up hating it.”

“So you magicked the dress?” Allysen guessed.

Caitlin shook her head.  “No…I simply put the intent out to the Universe that Spirit would guide her to something that would be right for her and give her joy  – whether she found it in my shop or elsewhere.”

“And what happened?”

“She suddenly wandered over to the mantel and picked up a little Royal Doulton figurine of a cairn terrier.  It was just like her first dog she was given when she was a child and who was her best friend.  She missed him, she said, and finding the little antique dog was like having a part of him back again.  Of course, the little terrier went home with her to have pride of place on her dresser.  Unlike the dress, that was a purchase that she will truly enjoy.”

“You really are a wise woman, aren’t you?”  Allysen murmured.  Caitlin only lifted a shoulder in reply.  Allysen went on, “I got off track – how did you end up with the pillow?”

“Ah, yes, the pillow.  Well, Mrs. MacLeod seemed to be pleased with my answer about the furniture.  We chatted a bit more, and then she said, ‘There’s something I want to show you.’  She pulled the pillow out from behind her back and handed it to me.  It was still warm from her body leaning against it, but…there was something more, an energy, if you will, that drew me.  I’d never seen anything like it and said so.  She asked me what I was thinking, right that minute, and I blurted out that I was thinking about a castle shrouded in mist with the sea all around – which was quite silly because it had nothing to do with an odd shaped pillow with a thistle button on the back and I had no idea why I thought of a castle I’d never seen before.  But all Mrs. MacLeod did was smile, almost as though I’d passed some sort of test.  She nodded and said, ‘Just as I thought…you’re a fey one.’ She then went on to tell me that the castle I was seeing in my mind was Dunvegan Castle on the Isle of Skye, and the home of the famous faerie flag of the MacLeods.  The design for the pillow, she explained, came from the fey in a dream.  Seven sides, like the seven pointed faerie star.  This one, she told me, was meant for me, and that it would bring me the blessing of the Sidh.”

Allysen rubbed her arms as if suddenly chilled.  “Okay, now I have goosebumps – you won’t believe this, but I have to show you something.”  She jumped up and ran out to her car, coming back a few moments later, holding out a similar pillow in a vivid sap green.  Instead of the thistle button on the back, it bore a button in the shape of a rose.

“Ohh …” Caitlin breathed.  It was obvious that the two pillows were connected.  And, evidently, so were she and Allysen in some yet to be understood way.

Bells chimed, like those from a distant bell tower.  “Excuse me one moment,” Caitlin said and picked up her cell phone.  “Hello?” she smiled.  “Oh – hi, Lizzie.  Yes, we’re having healing circle tonight.  At 7:00, right.  Yes, I heard from both Marcus and Chad and they’ll be here.  Just come straight through the shop into the conservatory.  Alan will close up for me once everyone arrives.  I’m glad you can make it – see you then.”  She disconnected, and turned to Allysen, who was gazing intently into her teacup, trying very hard not to seem too interested.  “I host a healing circle here once a month.  You’re welcome to join us if you would like.”

“I’d love to!” Allysen accepted enthusiastically.  “How did you come to start that?”

“I didn’t, actually.  It was started a few years ago by a very dear friend of mine, Bella Taylor.  She gathered an eclectic group of magickal individuals from varying traditions and paths to come together to work for good within the community.   Last year her father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and Bella and her husband had made the life-altering decision to care for him at home rather than put him in a nursing facility.  I took on coordinating it for her when her dad’s condition deteriorated and she could no longer have it at her house.”

Just then the sleigh bells on the shop door jangled and two young men entered.  Caitlin went to meet them and they both greeted her with a hug.  “I’m glad you both could make it – there’s someone I want you to meet.”

The sleigh bells jangled again.  “Sorry I’m late,” Lizzie Broom apologized breathlessly as she hurried in.

“No worries, we haven’t started yet, Lizzie.  I was just telling Chad and Marcus there’s someone I want you all to meet.  This is Allysen Owen – she just arrived in town along with her cat, Mr. Fitch, who’s currently hiding under the settee.  Allysen and I have been chatting and I think you’ll find she’ll be a wonderful addition to our group.” Caitlin performed introductions and gave everyone time to get acquainted before suggesting they sit down to begin the healing circle.

To be continued…

Circle of Friends: One Lump or Two

Caffeine and US 80 East

                                           S.K.Watts © 2012

   Allysen sat cross-legged on a giant Red throw pillow and stared out the living room window now devoid of its thick brocades curtains.  ‘Voila’, she thought.  Seven years of life and memories neatly compartmentalized into fifty-seven six sided geometric volumes known as cardboard packing boxes.  Albeit, they were somewhat less romantic a notion than the packing crates and baskets of the nineteenth century which transported cherished belongs from one life to another instead of just one address to another.  Turning her attention once more to the silent strains of the morning’s coffee turning cold, she sat for a spell envisioning ‘taking tea’ upon a worn wooden crate within an old drawing room of a past life.  Nothing could express the concept of living a proper life than a lovely cup of Earl Grey in a 19^th century drawing room.

Mr. Fitch, as usual, interrupted her train of tranquil thought with a very loud yawn followed by an elongated stretch topped off with the perfect feline posturing across the entire length of the curious little seven sided Green cushion opposite of the one Allysen was sitting upon.  The most unusual throw pillow had been discovered one lazy afternoon at the local antique mall just prior to Winter’s Solstice.  Very peculiarly unattractive, the throw had been one of those swap meet finds one cannot pass by lest unexplainable suffering of its loss haunt your dreams from afar for many nights to come.

Allysen recalled that on the day she first met the oddly shaped throw in its forgotten corner of the local antique mall, that she had been drawn something other than the energy of her favorite color of Sap Green.  She had never come upon a seven sided pillow before, especially one whose sides were totally asymmetrical.  Even stranger was the mystery of the significance of a tiny rose shaped button sewn just off center on the pillow’s backside.  Whatever the reason others had passed it by, it had been deemed quite the find the day it came to live in the Owen household.

Still staring into space, Allysen wondered that perhaps the mysterious little pillow might have been the first of many unexpected turns and discoveries which would find their way to Allysen’s life in the months to come.  Closing up her little corner coffee shop had been numero uno on the list of surprises, and the experience had queerly brewed itself into being something very bittersweet.  It had taken many weeks to realize the franchise that had popped up just across the street would indeed convert all of her regulars amidst the inherent energies of fast tracked caffeine and convenience on the run.  Somehow surreal, her former patrons really had preferred Styrofoam beverage cups over the nostalgia of ceramic mugs offered in a quiet and relaxed atmosphere.  Four months later Allysen had been forced to acknowledgement there had been no legible profit on the Coffee Table’s books since her competition’s Grand Opening.  Everything happens for a reason, right?

“And what city is your final destination?”  The clerk had asked the routine question last evening without even the slightest effort to at least appear to be interested.  Was it so mundane and ordinary, the process of moving one’s entire life from Point A to Point B, that eye contact had become unnecessary or friendly conversation no longer good manners?

“Maybe I can teleport myself to Netherfield for a quick transfusion of respect and courtesy via the life and times of Jane Austen,” Allysen thought.  Deep breath, insert now.  The only protest to apathy Allysen could offer at the time had been interpolated sarcasm…

“I am not sure.”  Allysen retorted quietly.  Although the original plan was to have named a random city to occupy the empty space on the form reserved for ‘destination’, and subsequently blame an outdated Atlas for having arrived someplace else entirely; she would most likely regret not taking the opportunity to be her Father’s daughter and tweak some kind of reaction from the clerk.  After all, it was quite evident he was in need of employment which could excite him to at least feign walking on the same plane as the living.  Who knows, perhaps in some small way she would be his catalyst for change.

“Somewhere in the Northeast, we will know it when we get there.”  Allysen managed a slight left sided grin for the clerk’s benefit.

Queue furrowed brow expression from clerk here <   >, totally expected she thought.  Next will come the cost of the remark, paid in either nervous laughter or apathy.

Note to self in the case of any future moving adventures:  ‘Nebulous Destination’ responses invoke very large rental deposits and a myriad of questions pursuant to the Homeland Security Act!  For a woman of a certain age traveling with a cat and all her worldly processions must be a fearsome sight to behold indeed!

Mr. Fitch took the opportunity to stretch out on the carpet just across the glass coffee table, making the most of a most unexpected patch of sunlight flowing unrestricted through the window that was until yesterday was covered in thick damask curtains.  When a series of well-rehearsed ‘dying feline’ impersonations failed to catch the eye and his mistress’s attention, the very snobbish Caramel and White long haired cat uttered a disgusted ‘meow’ and rolled over to signal boredom and displeasure.

“Okay.  Fine.  I hear you Mr. Fitch.”  Allysen lowered her head to return his glance over the top of her glasses, attempting to not laugh aloud at the cat’s predictable behavior.

The cat rose, having expected the desired response, and mimicked Allysen’s posturing with soft purring whilst he envisioned finishing off the last of the kitty treats left out on the kitchen cupboard.  Message received from most honorable familiar.  Manifestation complete; treats delivered as planned.

“I should have thrown caution to the wind and followed my heart long before now.  But now is better than never.  Yes?”  Mr. Fitch had finished off his goodies and was much too concerned with the business of cleaning his face to jump back into the train of thought in play.

“So, I can sweep the apartment until everything is in the van.  Let’s do that first Mr. Fitch!”  Two hours later it was done.

“Now to deliver the last of the things we worked on last week, Mr. Fitch.”  Allysen touched the lace on the empty spaghetti jar which had been transformed into a Gingham topped vessel containing the neighbors’ thirty years of love and devotion.  In actuality, potpourri from their anniversary roses which had been dried cured, infused and consecrated in ritual.  She had asked Spirit to continue to sprinkle their world with awe and wonder each turn of the season.  Although her neighbors were devout Catholics, the colors and herbs tweaked and offered in positive way would be universally acceptable when presented as a token of their union.  Hence, the potpourri.

Allysen rolled the jar and watched the tender petals and leaves roll gently with each turn.  The Red roses universally denote enduring love and passion; Baby’s Breath, the wondrous new beginnings even a long marriage needs to remain fresh and pure; Green leaves for luck and endurance and new beginnings each new day.  Scented with layers of Jasmine, Rose and Orange; a reminder of their oaths the day of their union.  A bit of chocolate mint thrown in for variety and well-being and all would be right with their world.  Allysen had also sewn two sachets to be hung in the closets with the leftover potpourri that did not fit in the jars.  A quick dart across the complex, and the Proportion Fairy had delivered the little surprise to a threshold much like the one the groom had carried his bride across three decades ago.

Next, a working for two friends who had asked for healing work.  As they were out of town this week, the POW WOW would try for them long distance.  Allysen had kept out two White birthday candles and her rosary.  She finished about the time the Sun was beginning to kiss the horizon.

As there were no overhead lights in the now empty apartment, Allysen would have to bid the home goodbye and sage the rooms with the flashlight she kept in her purse.  Traveling from room to room, she offered Sacred Smoke and Sage to every square foot.  After offering words of gratitude, three small gifts were left for the house spirits to pass on to the new family who would be following her.  A seashell of Lavender for luck and happiness, a tiny can of Salt that the family always know wondrous variety in life, and a pinch of tobacco that they always be blessed by the ancestors who lived on this land before.  And for good measure, she left a bottle of wine for the new family to ease the stress of moving.

For a moment, Allysen stood on the stoop with the cat carrier in hand, fondling the house key that would both secure the place and forever keep her out.  Its partner had been left on the cupboard inside; this would be dropped in the night box at the office.

How many times had she opened and locked again this door?  But it was true that one must close one door before another can be opened.  She did exactly that; final key turn, final sigil for protection drawn on the door.  The Rune Algiz and the saying that had kept her world safe for seven years…

“Algiz, protect this house and everything in it.  In the name of the Maiden and the Mother and the Crone.  So Mote it Be.”

The I-80 East was surprisingly free of heavy traffic the evening the Lady and the Cat began set their paths upon a new journey.  It never failed to amaze the driver that night of how beautiful a Full Moon could be on a starry night.  The cat had already fallen asleep, most likely to dream the carrier was not real.  Or many mice to be find themselves on its inside just in case it was.

After about an hour of driving, Allysen exited at a truck stop for a coffee to go.  As she stretched and marveled at the Moon once more, she pondered that the choice to leave her home had not been her own, and that was alright.  Everything does happen for a reason even when mortal man is not privy to the reason.  The choice to call the next place ‘Home’ however would be hers.  Hopefully amidst the excitement of a new city, new friends, and new interests would be wondrous a great antique mall and some good company with which to share Tea.  All was right with her world whenever there be Tea!

(To be continued somewhere East, just left of the I-80)

Circle of Friends

Many in the Writers’ Night Out group have been asked the question, “What is it really like to live a magickal life?” To help answer the question, Writers’ Night Out will bring you a new group project in 2012.

Circle of Friends is a fictional piece told through postings to the Hidden Inspirations blog from the varying perspectives of different characters, each created by a Writers’ Night Out member.  The Circle of Friends is an eclectic group of people from differing backgrounds who come together each month for a healing circle.  Hollywood depictions aside, just as with any other spiritual path, this is a way of life.  These are normal people with mundane jobs, and the same concerns about the economy and their families as everyone else.  Similar to prayer groups found in churches around the world, these individuals join to actively work for the good of others.  The terminology may be different than that used in more conventional paths – and thus more intimidating to some, but the intent is very much the same.  Although the characters are fictional, the situations – and the magick – will be true to life.

Check back soon to meet the Circle of Friends.  We hope you will enjoy these glimpses into the everyday lives of several magickal individuals.

~The Editor

The Angel Who Walked on Four Paws

The Angel Who Walked On Four Paws

By S.K.Watts © 2011

To say that a pet is ‘more than a pet’ or something greater than a wondrous bundle of surprise capable of wrapping its life force around our hearts in an instant is to know the touch of our own humanity and to marvel in the simplicity of Love.  Whether by fur or by feather, wet nose or warm muzzle, sharing time in this life with an animal spirit is a kinship most difficult to loosen when Spirit calls one or the other home.  It has been so for me.  But it is in the Remembering of our furkids as Linda calls them, that we are free to glean the wisdom our pets sprinkled throughout our lives, one spirit to another…equal in unconditional love.

When first we met, my tiny angel was in the physical realm suffering from respiratory distress due to a heart condition.  His nose was snugly nestled under the arm of my daughter who had resuscitated him at the local pet store, the water in his lungs audible from across the room as he struggled to breathe.  To this day I still see clearly the watery crystal blue eyes staring up at me that were filled with resignation.  If there is such a thing as ‘love at first sight’, this was the moment such a miracle had become.

The emergency vet informed us she would call in an hour or so when she had a better grasp of what was actually going on.  We were left no choice but to return home and contemplate our options.  When she called at midnight beginning the conversation with “I have good news and bad new concerning this puppy…” my heart skipped at least a beat or two while somewhere in the cobweb that was my brain I pondered the fact that this was not legally our dog.  Just as quickly I decided to label him an orphan and dismissed the nagging thought form.

“Give me the ‘good’ news first…” I said.  A very long pause ensued.

“He has a small chance of surviving if you can find a pet cardiac surgeon a.s.a.p.” The mind does some pretty incredible things whilst digesting information.  Mine wondered if she had ever considered standup comedy.

“And the ‘bad’ news then would be…” I was picturing his pensive eyes once more.

“He needs an open heart procedure or we need to put him down immediately.  I’ve given him some diuretic, but he is suffering.”  We knew the vet was genuinely concerned about her charge; we were both mentally calculating the responsibility of the surgery and its aftercare.  Segue to a less emergent issue…the dog technically belonged to the pet store.  We would worry about that on Monday when the store opened; it seemed a tad irrelevant at 2 am Sunday morning.

At the same instant my daughter and I informed the doc we would pick him up in the morning.  We would transfer this hopeless little creature (intravenous fluids and all…) to our own vet as soon as they opened in the morning and begin the search for the surgeon.  Whatever we would need to sacrifice to save this life would be well worth the cost.  Neither one of us slept that night, or for the three weeks to follow for that matter.

… The pet store, by the way, wondered why we did not put him down and demanded the $800 for the pup’s paperwork.  My daughter offered a renegotiation.  We would pay the $3000 medical costs and keep the dog they had attempted to sell with a heart defect that would have died alone in its cage in the dark had my daughter not intervened.  I would like to believe our offer was accepted because the store manager had a heart.

Our angel Seth would be given his name when the surgeon called to inform us he had died twice already on the table and would we like to name him before he was gone.  As I had just finished watching City of Angels, he was named Seth in sympathy with the angel who had fallen injured to earth in search of love

Seth did survive the surgery and spent time in intensive care winning the hearts of every vet and employee at the hospital.  When I came to pick him up, although my face could only have been glimpsed for a moment that first night, he sprang across the exam table and crawled up my chest, entwining his paws around my neck and nestling his face under my chin.  There are no words to describe ‘coming home’.  I learned the lesson of unconditional trust from a tiny clump of fur with a wet nose that day.

There would be restrictions over the years to come such as never being able to eat anything except wet food, not being able to run long distances, the inevitable long term issues that would present themselves due to the malabsorption, his luck of the genetic ‘draw’ prior to his conception.  However, watching Seth flourish amidst the chaos far outweighed anything that would need to be faced and handled with grace in the future, as he always managed to do.

I recall the day I realized Seth had never had the physical capability to learn to play, having been too busy always attempting to breathe and keep food down.  We still recall with fondness the day he was four months old and batted his first ball around, having learned it from his mentor Fitch the cat that shared the dog bed with him and protected him from harm.  After his digestive system had compensated to form solid stools (finally), it was hysterically comical the day of his first fart which nearly scared him to death!  He searched for his fart between all the potted plants for many days to come, reminding us of how innocent he would always be.

When Seth first met his cousin and another Husky pup (yes, we bought two more with issues so that he had company and they might be freed from their cages) he attempted to stalk them like his feline playmate, failing to comprehend the pack dog response when they in turn stalked him as prey.  The three pups were only one month apart each, and although they were twice his size in growth, they quickly learned to romp and chase bugs and they taught him to play like a dog, much to the dismay of our cat.

When the pups went as far as to ‘eat’ an entire room one day…carpet, molding, drywall, electrical…the resultant damage was several thousand in cost and two esophageal extractions for Seth.  I learned the lesson of ‘size does not matter’ that day…the finished basement a mere doggie snack to the trio.  Where was my head leaving them unattended?

Seth would from thereafter eat wet food for his entire life due to the esophageal issues related to his first two months in crisis…not the basement adventure.  He never resigned himself to this however, and his puppy years would be filled with series of esophageal extractions…dryer sheets, cat food…all due to Seth enjoying the gift of getting to be a puppy. We all gleaned the lessons of coping with what just was.

Our minds play movies of the pups running across the grass, chasing birds, getting out of the yard and being retrieved by the police since everyone knew where the three lived.  The day we were quarantined for breaking up a dog fight between two of them who had just eaten a bat just before being bitten by accident.  Until the rabies testing was completed, yellow tape draped the front door and the backyard gate.

Seth grew up to become a fine specimen of his breed, and unless you knew his medical history, would only have noticed a misshapen ankle, the little indentation along his right side.  Anyone watching the dogs drag two adults across the floor or grass would never have suspected these sled dogs weren’t all three totally normal furkids.  Only in his later years did Seth’s limp and eventual back surgery slow up his stride and strength.  Never once did he ‘complain’, always carrying himself like the gentleman and noble creature he was.

Eleven years would come and go, too quickly to live life and spend as much time as I now wish had been with my pets.  Seth was a font of love and eager excitement, always guarding the door for danger even though he could be bought for the price of a cookie.  To go on a walk was a treat, and although it tired him out and he would sometimes limp for days, he showed the neighborhood what a regal sled dog looked like in motion!  Relationships and addresses came and went, the link between our angel and his ‘pets’ remained as steadfast as the orbit of the earth.  We chalked the slowing down of his legs to older age and time, dismissing the probability that it would be his back and not his heart that would fail the test of time.

Each year that our Linda came to visit, we took a picture just in case it would be his last.  These are now the testimony to how bravely each year Seth would continue to carry on, dealing with whatever issue erupted with dignity.  Bladder lumps, seizures, limping.  Rounds of steroids, daily narcotics, heroic measures…until we must finally embrace the lesson of acceptance, and the day came when Seth could no longer stand.  Only now it seemed that the series of Linda and Seth pictures had of late, been images of an aging dog lying on a blanket.  Our Seth of earlier years had always risen like the gentleman he was to beg a kiss from the Lady Linda.  It was only now that I was having to learn the mind really does see what it wants to see most of the time.  My eyesight had become subjective instead of the necessary objectivity.

We took turns sleeping on the floor at night and doing the ‘wheelbarrow’ lifts to take Seth outside.  It was the morning I awoke to Seth having dragged himself and his blanket to the dog door, and was attempting to figure out how to crawl through the door on two legs that I learned the lesson of Unconditional Love from my beautiful angel.  Our Seth, my daughter’s ‘son’, had always been the epitome of dignity and grace.  He had always endured the physical pain, but this was mental anguish for him.  How had I not put my angel first and seen this earlier?

Three weeks and two days ago, we took Seth for the final trip to our Vet.  It had begun in hope that perhaps IV steroids might restore his strength for a time, a doggie wheelchair might be built to suit his needs… but I was grasping at straws.  My straws.  His legs were wasting by palpation and the X-ray revealed damage at too many levels to consider surgery except to selfishly buy additional time for us.

Seth had the two people who kept him alive against all odds with him when he crossed over to stand whole again upon The Rainbow Bridge.  I looked into the crystal blue eyes that won me from the very beginning of our journey together until they were closed and his spirit bid us goodbye.  It was an honor and a blessing to be with him for this journey as well.

There is little that can console when difficult decisions are must be made but the heart and mind cannot agree.  The link to a poem at the end of this little offering was sent by our angel Linda, and kept us going during a very painful time.  I asked that it be offered again for someone else who needs to read the healing words.  To avoid copyright infringement, I have provided the link to the poem rather than the text of the poem itself.

We picked our Seth’s remains up on Christmas Eve.  We buried him on Christmas in the garden, making him a shrine on the stepping stone that will bear his name.  I bid him goodnight and good morning even though I know he waits for me on The Rainbow Bridge.  Offering something I did during his life comforts me; it is silly, I know.  One of the greatest lessons Seth left behind was for my friend here in Nevada…

A devout Christian, Les has always believed we never see our pets again after this life, as we go to different places at death.  We even have an ongoing bet, laughed about for many years and through many losses of beloved pets.  If when we have both crossed over to the other side and our pets are there to meet us, she must watch all of mine when I choose to return in another life and love more pets for her to receive and care for until I return.  Because she knew and loved Seth, upon his crossing she has forever changed her belief.  She says she will be happy to watch all of my pets now should I desire to return in another life/lives.  Oh, and she will also pay me the $5 from the original bet should there be currency in the ‘hereafter’.  I cannot think of a greater lesson one tiny dog could teach during his stay in this life.

My daughter has had Seth’s paw print tattooed on her ankle.  I will continue to say Goodnight to Seth, offer assistance to the next pet in need, love the angel who graced my world and taught me strength and grace.

Many friends and family, our Vet who cried, have offered the words that Seth was ‘more than a dog’.  We thank you all.  Seth’s doggie partner Sasha who was left behind misses him daily as does Fitch the cat, his mentor who taught him to play.  We are all finding our way to smiling when we think of him.  Yet another lesson left behind for us to incorporate into our lives.

Goodnight Seth.  We love you always.  You were the Angel that walked on four paws for a time in this world, sharing your love and beautiful spirit with some mortals whose lives you touched more than you will ever know.  We will meet you on The Rainbow Bridge when Spirit calls us home as well.  Until then, happy trails to you and your new family upon the bridge…

http://petloss.com/poems/maingrp/friendto.htm

Defending Angel

Defending Angel

By Linda Monsees Stump © 2011

Usiku mkuu! Mtakatifu!
Uko utulivu;
Bikira amezaa Mwana,
Mtoto Mtakatifu ni Bwana;
Alale amanini, Alale amanini.

Janet Lyon paused in the gathering dusk.  The hauntingly beautiful strains of Silent Night emanated from the tiny village church, sung as she had never heard it before, in Swahili.  Janet had been kept so busy since her arrival in Kenya two weeks ago with the medical aid program through OxFam that she’d almost forgotten it was Christmas Eve.  Half a world away in her native Scotland, her parents would be gathered by the hearth, the scent of Christmas pudding wafting enticingly through the old house, decorated now with boughs of evergreens, holly and ivy.   She suffered a brief pang of homesickness.  The lowing of the cattle in the boma could have been part of any pastoral scene.  But the yip of a jackal far out on the savanna and the deep answering harrumph of a male lion emphasized the fact that she was far from home on this night.  Yet somehow the familiar carol, sung in such an exotic place and language, gave her a sense of peace.  And over all loomed the serene majesty of Kilimanjaro.

 Usiku mtuu! Mtakatifu!
Wachunga wa hofu;
Waliogopa kuwaona
Malaika walipoimba;
Kristo amezaliwa, Kristo amezaliwa.

Usiku mkuu! Mtakatifu!
Ni Mwana wa Mungu;
Ametuletea neema,
Ili tukae na salama;
Yesu Kristo Mwokozi, Yesu Kristo Mwokozi.

 Janet became aware that she was not the only outsider enjoying the impromptu concert.  A white man who looked to be in his mid-thirties and dressed for the bush in khakis and sturdy boots stood in the shadows of the church.  He showed up in the village a few days after her own arrival, and it was said that he was on a backpacking trip in the bush.  Janet thought she’d heard the headman call him Malachi.  He was tall with dark gold hair and would have been devastatingly handsome but for a physical deformity that gave him the appearance of a hunchback.  Still, the disability didn’t seem to affect him physically; he was very fit and Janet had seen him easily lift a hundred pound sack of grain.

Their eyes met and the man said easily, “Good evening, Dr. Lyon.  I’m afraid we haven’t met formally, but I know who you are – you’re doing some fantastic work here. ”

“Thank you – there’s so much more to be done, but I’m enjoying it tremendously and the people are so amazing.”   She paused.  “You’re Malachi, aren’t you?”

“Close enough,” he responded, somewhat enigmatically.

“I’m terribly sorry – did I get your name wrong?  I thought that’s what Jahi called you.” Janet was suddenly embarrassed.

“It’s really Michael – but Malachi will do just fine if you wish.”  His smile was roguish.  “Besides, out here names seem somewhat irrelevant, don’t you think, Dr. Lyon?”

“Please – my friends call me Jenny.  Dr. Lyon sounds very formal – and I don’t even know your last name to maintain the formality.”  Janet knew she was floundering.  She’d been absorbed in her work for so long she’d not taken the time for social small talk.  She hadn’t realized quite how isolated she was.

Michael seemed not to notice.  He grinned at her.  “If you wish, Jenny – I’d like to think of myself as a friend.”

Janet was silent for a moment before answering his previous question.  “It’s the land, I think – it somehow dwarfs us mere mortals.  The Kikuyu say the gods make their home on Kilimanjaro, and seeing it – even at a distance – one could believe it.”

“You are a remarkable woman.  You came here to help, but you don’t have the attitude that these people are somehow inferior because they haven’t had the advantages of living in what the modern world refers to as ‘civilization’.”

“I grew up in the Highlands of Scotland – there are some fairly remote places there, too.  Some of my colleagues in London think I came from the back of beyond!”  Janet shrugged.  “I suppose I just accept people as I find them.  I can’t expect people to trust me as a doctor if I don’t treat them with respect and equal trust.”

“You’ve certainly achieved that here.  Everyone I’ve spoken to has only good to say about you.  And the children adore you.  I watched you this afternoon with the little girls, letting them play with your hair.”  In the fading light, his hand traced the myriad of tiny plaits threaded through the red-gold waves that fell to her waist.

“I adore them, too,” Janet murmured, glad it was too dim to see the color that flooded her cheeks at the thought that he’d been observing her when she wasn’t aware.

 

“Daktari Simba!  Daktari Simba!”  Janet couldn’t help smiling at the way the Kikuyu had misinterpreted her surname, calling her by the Swahili equivalent of “Doctor Lion”.  The flash of Michael’s teeth told her he was equally amused.  Her smile quickly faded as she caught sight of the boy who raced toward her, tears streaming down his face.  It was the ten-year-old son of Bashira, one of the women in the village who had become a good friend.  “You come, Daktari Simba!”

“Faraji, what is it?  What’s wrong – is someone hurt?”

Faraji unleashed a torrent of Swahili, so rapid that all Janet could pick out were the words “Adia” and “gonjwa” – sick.  Adia was Faraji’s six-year-old sister, a beautiful, sweet-natured little girl with liquid dark eyes and an enchanting smile.  Her name meant “gift” – and she was aptly named.

“Tafadhali sema polepole – please, speak more slowly.  Adia is sick?”

Faraji nodded.  “Ndiyo – yes.”

“Can you tell me if she has a fever?  Does her stomach hurt?”  Janet questioned Faraji gently.

But the child was so upset that he could only repeat “Adia – gonjwa!” before lapsing into Kikuyu, none of which Janet could understand.

She tried again.  “Can your father carry Adia to the clinic?  I have medicines there.”

Faraji shook his head violently.  “Daktari Simba – you come.  Epesi – quick!”

“They won’t want to come in the dark.”  It was Michael who spoke.  Janet had almost forgotten about him in the urgency of the moment.  “Aside from the lions in the bush, there are the t’era shifta.”

Janet had been in the remote village long enough to know that the inhabitants typically did stay indoors after dark.  Small groups of roaming bandits terrorized the local villages; and poachers who butchered elephants for their ivory and lions for their heads and claws wouldn’t hesitate to kill to silence witnesses to their depredations.  But what if it’s serious? Janet thought, frightened for the child.  She was confident in her own skills, but…How can I treat Adia in a tin and brush hut without proper lighting and no electricity?

Aloud she said calmly, “It will be all right, Faraji.  Come with me and I’ll get my medical bag.”  Faraji followed her to the makeshift clinic the physicians had created just past the church.  Janet hoped that whatever ailed the child could be dealt with at Bashira’s home; otherwise they could lose precious time carrying her back to the clinic.  She would have welcomed the assistance of her colleague, but Dr. Kivuva had taken the Land Rover and driven into Nairobi to spend Christmas Eve with friends.  Janet quickly packed as many supplies as she could fit into her medical bag, and snatched up her rucksack.

It was full dark as she and Faraji came out of the clinic to find Michael waiting for her.  In the small church, the singing had stopped.  Without waiting for her to speak, he said, “I’m going with you.  You may need an extra pair of hands.”

Whatever protest she might have made died on her lips.  He was right.  She had no idea what she was dealing with yet.  There were too many causes of child mortality in Kenya; chief among them malaria and diarrheal disease.  And if Michael was indeed backpacking alone in the bush, he was probably capable of keeping a cool head in an emergency.

Faraji led the way at a rapid jog with Janet following and Michael bringing up the rear.  Once away from the lighted church and clinic, the inky blackness was so complete that Janet could only just see the pale splotch of Faraji’s shirt ahead of her.  Their footsteps swished through the dried grass as they ran; once Janet thought she heard an echoing sound off to their right, but decided it was her senses playing tricks on her.  It seemed to take forever to reach the home of Bashira and her husband Ibada.

Inside, the smoke of the open fire made Janet’s eyes water as her vision adjusted from the darkness outside.  Bashira sat on the dirt floor, rocking Adia in her arms, tears rolling down her cheeks. The child was ominously still.  Ibada stood impassively near the doorway, but his eyes were filled with pain.  He drew Faraji to his side.   “Blessed Bride, please help me now,” Janet murmured in Gaelic.  It was something she did almost unconsciously before any procedure.  In Scotland, St. Bride was long known as the patron saint of healing, poetry and smithcraft.

She reached to take Adia from Bashira, who kept rocking even though she no longer held her daughter.  “I will do everything I can, Bashira – I promise.”  Janet kept her voice soothing and calm as she went about taking the child’s vitals.  Adia’s face was flushed and she burned with fever, but there was no sign of the jaundice that would indicate malaria.  “When did Adia become ill?”

“This morning.  Yesterday she was fine – she ran, she played, she came with me to water the cattle.  Today she would not eat, would not drink.”

Gently Janet palpated the child’s stomach.  “Has she vomited?  Had diarrhea?”  The last question was simply pro forma; they would have known before they entered the hut if Adia had contracted diarrheal disease.

Bashira shook her head.  Janet continued her exam.  She drew back the threadbare blanket covering the little girl’s legs and bit her lip.  Adia’s right leg was swollen, the skin grotesquely taut from ankle to knee.  A cut on her lower calf that had begun to scab over had now broken open and was oozing blood and pus.

Bashira gasped and uttered a broken cry.  “There was no swelling this morning!  I thought it was the fever so I tried to keep her warm…”

“Did she go wading at all when you watered the cattle?” Janet broke in.

Bashira thought for a moment.  “She splashed a little, but I made her stop because of what you told us about water that is not running water.  That it can be…contaminated.”  She pronounced the unfamiliar word with the accent on the first syllable.  The tears were still rolling down her lovely face.  “Will my baby die?”

“Not if I can help it,” Janet answered, laying Adia gently back in her mother’s arms.  “I’m going to give her some medicine that will help her body fight the infection.  It’s an antibiotic called erythromycin.  I’ll have to make a small incision in her leg to drain the infection.”  Bashira nodded, her dark eyes fixed trustingly on Janet as she sterilized the skin on Adia’s leg.  She scrubbed as best she could with hot water from a clay pot in the coals and pulled on surgical gloves.  The little girl’s eyes fluttered open and she whimpered.

Janet spoke reassuringly.  “It’s all right, Adia.  I’m going to take care of you.  Can you be very still for me?”  Adia nodded.  “That’s my brave girl!  This might sting a little at first, but it will relieve the pressure on your leg.”  While she was talking, Janet made the incision and began the drain.  Adia flinched, but it was over before she could cry.  Janet kept talking.  “This medicine is going to take away the infection that made you sick.  You’ll have to take it for the next several days, but this is made especially for children and it tastes sweet, like cherries.”  The child took the antibiotic obediently.

Intent on her patient, Janet ignored the sudden commotion in the doorway.  Only Bashira’s scream made her head jerk up.  Ibada was struggling ferociously with two men, one of whom held a panga.  Blood dripped down Ibada’s forearm and onto the dirt floor of the hut.  A third man materialized and raised a pistol.  With a single movement he smashed the butt of the gun against Ibada’s temple.  Bashira wailed as her husband crashed to the ground and lay still.

“Quiet mwanamke!” the man with the gun ordered.  He motioned with the weapon.  “Money.  Food.  Give it to us now and we may let you live.”

“You killed my father!”  Faraji spat and launched himself at the man.

Before Janet could react, the bandit cuffed the boy casually, knocking him senseless.  Fear tightened her stomach.  It was clear these men had no qualms about killing.  “A Dhia, a Mhicheal bhcannaichu, dion sinn,” Janet breathed the old prayer, reverting to the Gaelic of the Highlands.

Michael, crouched behind Janet to hand her anything she needed, stood.  Janet shook her head, trying to warn him.  The bandit with the gun turned the barrel toward Michael.  There was no way he could get past her and reach the thieves before he was shot.

“Money.  Food,” the gunman repeated his demand.  “Give us all you have and you may live.”

“We have no money,” Bashira pleaded.  “The food is in that tin chest.”

The thief with the panga snatched the chest up and opened it.  He said something to the third man.  They spoke in an unfamiliar language that was neither Swahili nor Kikuyu.  Janet thought it might be Somali.  They seemed to be arguing.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Faraji move.  He was still alive, thank God!  She had to do something to keep the bandits’ attention from the boy – but what?  She shifted slightly, easing the cramp in her foot.  Firelight glinted on her red-gold hair and her movement caught the glance of the man with the panga.  He pointed the blood-stained blade at Janet, then at her medical bag.  “You have money there?”

“No – those are medical supplies.”

The gunman motioned to her.  “You – daktari?” This time the word was in Swahili.

Janet nodded.  “Yes, I’m a doctor.”

“You come with us.”

Janet’s green eyes flashed dangerously.  “When I have finished caring for my patient.”

“You will come with us.  Now – or I kill the child.”  He pointed the gun at Adia’s head.  The little girl’s eyes were wide with terror, but she made no sound.  Bashira bent over her daughter, trying to shield the child with her body.

“Enough!”  Janet’s voice cut like a whip.  “You will not harm her!  If you need a doctor, I will go with you – but I will care for Adia first.  Otherwise you can shoot me now and be damned!”

The gun barrel swung toward her as the bandit snarled something she didn’t understand.  She raised her head defiantly, determined that these cutthroats would not see her beg.  All at once the three men stumbled backward, their faces suddenly ashen.  They stared, not at Janet, but at something behind and above her.  One of them emitted a high, keening wail; the other two began gibbering with fear.  The man with the panga dropped it.  A dark stain appeared down the front of the gunman’s trousers as he wet himself in fright, the weapon slipping from his shaking hands.  Then, nearly trampling each other in their haste, the t’era shifta fled screaming into the night.

Ibada stirred and groaned.  Thankfully he, too, still lived.  Bashira wept, this time with relief and gratitude.  “Asante.  Asante sana, Malaika wa ulinzi.”

Janet turned her head and her breath caught.

Michael stood above her, glowing with a bright white light that turned his hair to burnished gold, a gleaming sword raised in his right hand.  His wings spread protectively over her.  No longer the hunchbacked hiker, this was the archangel in all his glory, her prayer come to life.  A Mhicheal bhcannaichu, dion sinn – blessed Michael defend us.

“Thank you,” she murmured simply.  The words seemed totally inadequate, and Janet felt absurdly close to tears herself.  The majestic wings enfolded her, bringing a sense of peace and safety she hadn’t felt in a long time.

 

Much later, after Janet had tended both Ibada’s and Faraji’s injuries, and Adia was resting comfortably, Janet and Michael took their leave.  “Kuwa na Krismasi njema – Merry Christmas!” Bashira’s good wishes followed them into the darkness.

Stars twinkled in the velvet blackness, and they walked in silence for a while.  Then Michael asked, “Are you all right, Jenny?”

“Yes, thanks to you.  You saved my life.  ” She paused.  Was it presumptuous or even somehow blasphemous to call an archangel by name, even though they had spoken as friends before?  What was the proper form of address?  Bashira’s words came back to her:  Malaika wa ulinzi – defending angel – along with the realization that the name she had earlier misinterpreted as Malachi was, in fact Malaika.  Jahi knew.

As though divining her thoughts, Michael said, “We are still friends, Jenny.   I hope you will still call me by name.”

Janet flushed.  “I – I’m not exactly accustomed to meeting archangels, Michael…I don’t know quite how to act.”

Michael chuckled, and a wing brushed her shoulder.  “That’s what I like about you, Jenny – you are so refreshingly honest.”

“Since you seem to know exactly what I’m thinking, how can I be anything but honest with you?”  She took a deep breath.  “I hope you won’t take this wrong, but I have to ask – why did you wait to reveal yourself until the t’era shifta threatened me?  I thought those men had killed Ibada and Faraji – and they would have killed Adia and Bashira!”

Janet heard the amusement in his voice.  “I knew Ibada and Faraji were safe.”

“But I didn’t!” she couldn’t help protesting.

“That’s right, you didn’t.” Michael’s voice turned serious.  “And this was really about you.”

“I don’t understand.  What was about me?”

“You would have gone with the t’era shifta tonight – knowing that they would kill you.”

“Well, yes… I’m a doctor, Michael – I took an oath to go where I’m needed.”  She tried to explain.  “I’m bound by my oath to use what skill I have to help as I’m able.”

Michael nodded.  “You have chosen a path full of challenges, Jenny.  You are passionate about what you do and you have proven that you put the welfare of others before your own.  You will put yourself in harm’s way rather than go back on your promise.”

The clinic loomed ahead of them and it occurred to Janet to wonder why Michael had not resumed his mortal disguise.

Again he answered her unspoken question.  “I must go, Jenny.  My job here is finished, but I will never be far away.  I will always be there when you call for me.”  Once more Janet was enfolded within the wings of the archangel.

The church bells rang midnight.  Michael released her and stepped back.  He appeared , once more glowing with glorious light, then he was gone.

And from the church the jubilant voices burst into the triumphant Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.

Waimba, sikizeni,
Malaika mbinguni;
Wimbo wa tamu sana
Wa pendo zake Bwana;
“Duniani salama,
Kwa wakosa rehema.”
Sisi sote na twimbe
Nao wale wajumbe;
Waimba, sikizeni,
Malaika mbinguni.

Janet stood alone in the darkness of Christmas morning, her heart full.  A Mhicheal bhcannaichu, moran taing.  Blessed Michael, thank you.

The Winter Angel

This season our Writers’ Night Out group joins to bring you The Winter Angel.  As Yule/Christmas is a time when we see representations of angels everywhere in holiday decorations, I thought it would be fun to write a story about angelic intervention in the life of a fictional character.  To make the project interesting, there were a few parameters:

1. The angel can appear as male or female;
2. The angel can solve the character’s problems but
3. Only if the person’s intent is pure and
4. The angel will not simply leave bushels of money or pots of gold as a solution – this is an angel, not a leprechaun!
5. The angel provides the answers and the opening for the solution – taking action is up to the character.
6. Everyone’s story must have a lesson.

We hope you will enjoy these stories as they are posted and wish you all the blessings of the season.