Once the dawn had merged into early morning, he arose and gathered together the things he would need for the day, and took the now routine walk back down the path to attend to his daily chores. The forest welcomed him as always with open arms, and finding a rhythm with the tapping of his walking stick and putting a few words to it began his descent in a walk of song.
There is a place, so the legends told, of an ancient race of people who lived in great houses of many stories and fantastic shapes and whose powerful civilization held influence far across a strange and forbidding desert land. Further, it was said, that the remnants of this once proud and mighty people could still be seen scattered about the mysterious landscape of mesa, canyon and badlands in the region as yet unexplored and not detailed on any map, the region that lay behind the great mountain upon which he lived.
Nearly two-thirds of the way up the mountain path, there was a promontory point that jutted out for which the width and breath of three people could stand simultaneously, and offering a view to the southwest, out and across the plains toward the land of the ancient ones. He would often stop here on his way up to the cave and reflect...remembering the stories the elders would tell of the people whom had once lived their lives out upon this hot, dry land of the endless stars, so called because of the vastness of the heavens and the sheer number of stars to be seen on a clear night, so many in fact that they appeared as a cloud that slowly rotated around a center.
It was told by the elders that First Woman,`Atse` Asdzáán, had a job to do: place all the stars in the sky. It was slow, painstaking work, because she wanted to create beautiful patterns in the sky. Coyote, the trickster, offered to help. First Woman didn't trust him, so she made him promise to be patient and careful. But Coyote quickly tired of the job, and found a shortcut. He gathered the blanket holding all the remaining stars and shook it vigorously, scattering stars across the sky at random. So today, when we look at the night sky, we see a few beautiful patterns of bright stars, which were given the names of the animals, goddesses and gods that inhabited their world, and a background of thousands of stars, seemingly placed in the sky at random.
And so it was told that the designers of the great city that lay far off into the distance configured their massive stone geometry to amplify natural forces channeled from the canyons, mesas and mountains that surrounded them. Each village was carefully positioned to align with sun and moon and equinox and solstice cycles. Also, each village was laid out along a complex, earth-energized power grid that was designed to link earth with cosmos, thus enabling powerful natural forces to be harnessed during ceremonial events. This synthesis of energized stone and high ritual enabled these ancients to fully catalyze the earth and supercharge their populace into the unification of the soul with Source.
This was what he longed for...the unification of soul with Source. If this could indeed be achieved, perhaps his heart would settle. Perhaps the deep sense of aloneness would be replaced by a life of altruism. The need to fulfill the self and it's inner longing and loss would be replaced by the desire to simply give...to fulfill life...never needing in return anything to fuel his fire, nothing would be required to inspire him any more...he would be inspiration...and that would be as adequate and as simple as anything would need to be. Yes, he was a dreamer, always had been, but this seemed so real to him, this concept...it seemed so natural and attainable...if only...well, if only he could tap this energy, this unification of the soul with Source.
"Ok now...quit dreaming," he mumbled aloud, "you have work to do."
Winter was not far away, and as this point on the trail afforded him a grand view of the lay of the land, he forced himself to survey an area to pasture his small herd for the season. The winter rye and orchard grass in the lowlands was ideal for this, it was just a matter of finding an area not already occupied by the herds of the villagers below.
The sun had risen midway in the sky as he poked at the ground with his digging stick, his mind on things other than gathering jojen roots. The gnarly tubers were a staple food for the villagers who spent their lives on the floodplain southwest of the mountain. They grew in plenty throughout the forest, though the foragers never went deeper than necessary, keeping to the edge closest to the small gathering of houses and barns. Flatbread was the most common way to prepare jojen roots, but the varieties of dishes the village cooks produced were numberless.
He was becoming tired and dirty as he wrestled another root from the earth. A fruitfly whined in his ear, and as he swatted at it, leaving a red smear on the browned skin of his cheek, he put his weight on the back of his heels, and quietly mumbled to himself...
"My dear old forest...we need another voice to talk too, and to listen too as well...this time alone upon this mountain has be hard and long. Oh well, time to head home, the sun will be low by the time I return."
He wiped the sweat from his face, streaking it with rich, charcoal brown soil, when he suddenly heard a rustling of leaves and snapping twigs...
“Speaking to oneself out loud is a sure sign of an addled mind,” a quiet, soft-spoken voice proclaimed.
Startled, he turned toward the voice but saw no one. He had just started to swing the sack of jojen roots up and over his shoulder when the voice, catching him unaware, caused him to loose his balance and down to the soft forest floor he went, spilling the roots and leaving him looking quite laughable lying there amidst the diggings of the morning.
“Careful you don't swallow a bug, my funny man, standing there with your mouth open like that.”
He quickly looked all about, through the trees and thickets of brush, but still he saw no one.
"Don't be alarmed," the voice said, "I am Ameera, your whisperer, your other conscious.
Then, for what seemed like eternity, there was silence. Only the sound of his own heartbeat could be heard.
“Are you one of her people?” was all he could gasp in reply.
"Of course not" replied the voice, "I am your whisperer. Normally her people avoid you people at all costs, and no one else from her village will come this deep into the forest, so she must send me.”
Still, he saw no one, nor could he tell just from which direction the voice had emanated. Again, all fell quiet as he tried, in vain, to still his heartbeat, hoping to hear even the slightest hint as to the voices true existence. But there was nothing...only the sound of forest, and the nearby stream.
"Could you kindly show yourself, let me see the face of this voice that falls from the air like the wind, " he asked.
There was no answer. Nothing but stillness. He sat there upon the ground for a moment more, perplexed, puzzled, then leaning over onto his hip and with a push of his right hand, he stood himself back up, hoping that now he might have a better vision with which to set eyes upon whomever had invaded his quiet midday chores. Still nothing as he scanned three hundred and sixty degrees of view.
He began gathering his jojen back together and, with an occasional glance over his shoulder, repacked it for the walk back to the cave. He knew, as he headed back up the path, that this would not be their last meeting. He did not know how he knew...but of its certainty...he was sure. The biggest problem at the moment however was his focus...he could not seem to be able to apply his mind to the tasks at hand, and after a few minutes of halfhearted searching, he gathered his sack of roots, took one last look out towards the horizon where his dreams held the fascinations of the ancient ones, and off he went on towards home.
