Creator. We bow to You. Having passed through the Garden, we now enter the Virginal Sanctuary on our path to the Shore of the Seraphim and the Well of Being. Guide our steps, that we do not disturb the life which Your Sanctuary protects. If any creatures within its boundaries wish to share our joy and our journey, we welcome their presence. Know of our love for You, Creator, and our joy in Your Presence and Your guidance on this Day of Naming.”
Quatama rose and led them through the bright summer prairie, a riot of wildflowers rivalling the thick swatches of tall grass. The sun’s rim caressed the horizon ahead, where flatland gave way to trees thick with foliage and dappled with equal accents of light and shadow.
The celebrants walked in silence now, journeying through the grassland and into the forest beyond. Tall and regal branches of oaks offered parallel salutes as the procession trod beneath their overhang. Shadows of true dusk deepened moss-flecked trunks and the angular faces of the elvenfolk appeared in the gloom, as they crept from their recessed nooks hidden beneath tangled tree roots.
A young hare scampered over, hopping excitedly alongside Eve, a recognized friend, no doubt, who had helped her or kept her company when she tended a row of lettuce, giving it its leafy share to take back to its burrow and feed its family. It stood up to greet her. Eve stroked its soft head, and it kept pace with her in scuttling spurts on the mossy woodland path. A small raccoon ran beside Michael as he walked. Michael smiled at it, and extended his arm. The raccoon followed uncertainly, then sped up and jumped, scampering along Michael’s sleeve to sit on his shoulder, enjoying the ride for a bit before jumping to the ground and scurrying off.
Woodland birds, sparrows and thrushes, chittered a soft song on the tree branches above. An occasional flutter of wings beat a soft patter.
The solemn eyes of a young elf met Michael’s. The elf raised a wine gourd, and his eyes and his mouth indicated its rich contents. Michael nodded, his own lips curling upward in appreciation as he passed. The elf followed him, joining the procession.
The forest gave way to more open prairie with a slight rise visible in the distance.
On the plains, an eclectic mix of animals appeared, flanking the celebrants. Mares, stallions and their colts trotted along, kicking up small swirls of dust. A pack of wolves padded silently after them. Snakes, scales rippling hotly in the last vestiges of sunset, slithered by. Two prides, of leopards and of lions, moved majestically to the left; two herds, one of slow-moving elephants, the other, fleet gazelles, followed the lions. On the right, a clan of bears lumbered past a flock of ambling pheasants and peacocks, tails dragging. Above the whole procession flew bright formations of birds, a graceful V of geese high up, flocks of blue jays, sparrows and seagulls swooping and soaring further below against the colorful sky, a profusion of wings.
Angelfolk, elvenfolk, and animals now climbed the rise, surmounted it, and began their descent to the Shore of the Seraphim.
The midnight blue waters rushed against the scalloped edges of the shoreline, a soft golden foam flickering and coating the sand as each spent wave receded into the sea. The gold and blue waters also circled around the Well of Being, further up the beach, its weathered stones glistening not only from the spray that leaped upon it, but from the glimmering substance of the foam.
Neither its height nor its width were impressive, roughly three to four feet high and five feet from center to rim. But it was not a well of water. Swirling vapors emanated from its shaft, wisping in trails above its rim. Its nebulous mist drifted beyond the shoreline, creating a haze of fog.
The celebrants traveled down the slope to the beach and the Well of Being. Quatama, Leianna in his arms, stood on the seaward side of the well at its centerpoint, facing it. Michael stood to his right, Eve, to his left.
On Michael’s right stood Gabriel, then Adam, then Lucifer, holding his son Ashtoreth, staring wide-eyed at the well and the throng around him. To Eve’s left stood Deianna and Affaeteres. Bael, still held fast against her, for once remained quiet, staring at the vapors rising from the well shaft.
Across from them, four other Elders, the young male elf holding the wine gourd, and an older female elf filled in the opposite side of the well. Tendrils of mist floated and swirled in the air.
A space still existed between the parallel half-circles of celebrants around the well. Fair-sized gaps remained, the circle unclosed.
From the packs, herds and flocks of animals that had joined the procession came a rustle of movement. A tawny lion emerged, strode over to Affaeteres’s left, and sat quietly on the sand. A small sparrow flew gracefully upward against the vaporous currents of the Well and fluttered down, lighting between the lion and a portly bald Elder.
To Lucifer’s right, a strong grey wolf padded softly over, his tongue lolling in a wide lupine grin, and stood proudly and attentively. A gazelle bounded down the slope, slowed to a canter, and took her place to the wolf’s right.
No spaces remained around the well.
Quatama lifted the infant in his hands, holding her over the well shaft. The mist increased, obscuring the child within the thickening cloud.
“We present this child to You, our Creator. She is named Leianna, first born of Michael and Eve, niece to Adam and Gabriel, godchild to Lucifer and Affaeteres. We offer her to You, that she may know You, that You may recognize her, the special spark within her born of the eternal Flame that lit Your universe. Commune with her, Creator, that she may know her place within it.”
Quatama released the child, slowly spread his arms, and empty-handed, stepped back. None seemed alarmed for the child’s safety. They waited serenely, unmoving, with an obvious certainty that she would soon be returned to them.
CHAPTER 10
I watch the screen, which seems to have frozen in place, nothing happening in this movie-like reenactment of my immortal beginning. The people and animals circling the Well of Being stand as rigidly and noiselessly as ancient statues. The thickening vapors from the well begin to billow out, blocking my view of the celebrants. It finally hides them completely, the screen a wall of coarse grey. I wonder if the technical difficulties are due to a glitch in the viewing station or in my own mind. Quatama turns briefly toward me. “You are seeing the journey you took to God, through the Well of Being.” He returns his gaze to the viewing screen. I do likewise and wonders why a journey to God should seemingly pass through grey fuzz.
A kaleidoscope of shimmering, blindingly colorful light abruptly replaces the grey, stunning me, pushing me back against the chair, my hands lifting to shield my eyes against its scintillation. A baby chuckles, obviously delighted with the lightshow—the child I had been, thousands of centuries ago.
I slowly lower my hands to my sides. “I . . . I remember,” I murmur, amazed that I can. “It was . . .” I search for adult words, find that they fail me, accept instead the infant’s response. “ . . . so pretty.”
Quatama nods reverently. “The light of creation always is.”
—WELCOME, CHILD.— In a voice that seems to radiate from everywhere at once, a voice I hear not with my ears or mind, but with the very core of my being, an all-powerful essence greets me. The voice is rich, resonant, its tone clear, yet neither loud nor soft, high nor low.
Then I no longer sit in the chair, in the viewing station, on the eighth physical astral plane, but am once more an immortal babe, seven celestial days old, floating in an undulating spectrum of light.
I reach out and touch the essence, which is both contained and all-encompassing, a shifting focus of energy and all
