your devotions, assisting you in taking in and giving forth the glory of our beings."
“So be it,” replied Keara.
Back Then
“Tell me what you remember, Yaro,” requested Saffi.
“I know that we loved, Saffi. Our names were different and our bodies showed the effects of the dense world. I remember meeting you and seeing so much more than your physical presence. I was compelled to walk next to you, to ask you questions in order to have reason to be in your energy field. You wore a jacket you had made yourself. It was very unusual.”
“Yes, I see us now. I am walking down the stairs coming from a meeting about starting a food co-op in our little town. I feel your presence as you approach me and hear the deep tone of your words. I let them in. They stay with me slowly drifting down to my heart. Pure tones. Welcoming. Kind. I want to know you,”
“I dream of you that night, Saffi. It is a young man’s dream, but takes me far beyond the sensual feelings I have. All of a sudden, I am bursting with life. I am a wild poppy, brilliant red, filled with seed. One dewdrop falls. I awaken."
Saffi blushes, “Yaro, we recognized each other so quickly. I am seeing you standing in tall grass near an old homestead, three worn steps up to the porch, a heavy brown rocking chair there looking like it had served many a tenant. You are silent, but your eyes take me in. And I want to be in. Inside you.
"You think I have come to visit your friend, Reuban, who also lives there. Your words tell me not to be afraid to hang around until he gets home. We begin to talk. You tell me of the masks you have been making together, the ritual uses for them and the ground Reuban is preparing for future events. I listen to your words and here the secret story beneath them. The secret story tells my soul that I have found the gateway. I must pass through."
"We knew so much, Saffi, and yet it appeared as though we knew nothing. I was lost. I was searching. Reuban was an inspiration to me. You were a ray of dawn light.
Kate-Aimee's Morning
Mist like the Earth's breath rose to kiss the birds good morning. The trees shed their dew. The frogs took their morning bath. I took off my garden shoes and sat for awhile on the weathered bench. This is it, I thought. It has been good.
Next thing I know, I am in the kitchen, but it is a new kitchen. Same old cabinets, plain and brown, dishes with the delicate iris flower painted on the rim, a vase with a lone daffodil. But, everything is clean as a raindrop. No crumbs on the counter. The broom stands tall in its place as if it were just promoted to a desk job. The evening newspaper is gone. In fact, there are no stacks of anything, no books, no mending, no cups to be washed.
I walk around. It seems the whole house has been renewed. "Must be angels," I think. Then, I hear your footsteps coming down the stairs. "I'm going to play the flute," you say. And you pass me by with a wink and a twinkle in your eye.
"The flute?" You have been a farmer, a hard-worker, an everyone-can-depend-on-me kind of guy. You have worked the land, built our home, raised our children, fed the goats and chickens, mended the fences, dug the ditches, repaired the equipment, provided the food, and now, you are going to play the flute you say. As if you have ever played a flute in your entire life!
I sit down again. Breathe. I notice there is no glass in the windows. Very strange. I see you out there in the field dancing. Dancing! As if there is no work to be done. Well, actually there doesn't seem to be any work. I lay back in the chair, the big, fat-armed chair that belonged to Grandmother. It almost feels as if she is holding me now.
Grandmother. I think of her and drift into sleep. She tells me all my work is done.
Grandmother's Kitchen
Shae and Wren are sitting on the porch swing, listening to Grandmother hum while she makes blueberry pancakes. They have savored their quiet moment and now wish to help. "Grandmother, shall I set the table?" asks Shae.
"Put out the special dishes that Kate-Amee likes so much. She and Reuban will be joining us today. I saw them dancing in the field like a couple of young deer. This is a very special occasion. It must be the blueberries. They are magic you know."
"Really, Grandmother? I didn't know."
"Yes, they were a part of a weekly ceremony I did with Tha for many years. He appreciated them so much that his gratitude was instilled in them and then transmitted to all the berries of their kind. When we give something, anything at all, special attention, it broadcasts that feeling as widely as possible. In the case of blueberries, I see that it has made its way through Time and is gathering people together to share this meal.
"Wren, grab the extra chair from the sewing room, please."
In the sewing room, Wren notices that Grandmother is recovering her old armchair. "Nice cloth, Grandmother. You have so many skills. I hope to continue learning from you."
"You will, Wren, no doubt about that. I intend to be around a long, long time."
As the pancakes sizzle hot on the grill, the syrup and butter and milk arrive at the table. The chairs make themselves comfortable and the tablecloth is proud to make a setting with the dishes, their colors complimenting each other, their designs aligning. Silver forks and knives cuddle next to spoons in pink cotton napkins just like they were meant to be together. Smells hover around, sweetening the air just enough to call the people to the feast.
Reuban and Kate-Amee arrive. Grandmother, Wren and Shae sit down and call the breakfast to order.
"Holy Spirits of all that exists, we welcome you here this day," says Grandmother. "We bless our food and all that came before it. Love to the sun, the soil and water. Love to all my sons and daughters. Ho."
The Ideal
There is not the usual need for food anymore. Bodies function quite well without it, but it ties people to a set of pleasures that are hard to replace. Meals here are usually special occasions to celebrate something or someone or to stimulate a memory or assist a person in reaching a special state of consciousness.
Teas, of course, are primary substances offered, particularly to newcomers, to assist them in orienting themselves to the place. They loosen the ties that bind the self to limiting states of consciousness. Then, there are the cherished foods, dishes that signify transformative moments. There is also a long list of comfort foods, the ones that made you feel good in Earth life when things were not going well.
The blueberry pancake breakfast was a detail of the life Grandmother lived with Tha. It symbolized a kitchen welcoming close friends, a kitchen suited to fresh food preparation, canning and storing, with all the kettles, jars and wooden spoons, a walk-in pantry and a pastoral view out the window over the sink.
Just outside, we can walk the stone path through the flower garden to the vegetable patch near the small lake. The shed holds just the right tools, all in their places though seedling trays, gloves, bottles of plant-helper concoctions, buckets of soil and jars of seeds are scattered about on their way to becoming a fine performance for the spring show.
Grandmother and Tha worked many Earth years creating a situation that would allow, or at least encourage, other people to live in small group settings, provide food for each other, maintain the buildings, and spend most of their days
