11.29.18 Blue Solar Eagle
Let’s revisit Madagascar for a moment, travel to the land of the Bobbing Baobao Tree’s, where Jack and Jill sit side by side on a blue bench headed to the holy sight. Here we’ll soar in the blue skies above, and as Eagle we’ll watch for a particular moment to cast an orb of golden light around them, reshaping the trajectory of their tale . . .
I am Eagle. I fly with ease through clouds and winds; my wings are strong and healthy.
I am Eagle. I am robust and sharp eyed, seeing far and wide.
I am Eagle. I hunt now, casting my gaze to Baobao Trees, searching for a moment.
I am Eagle. I see two people sitting on a bench within a vessel, bobbing bobbing. I dive down closer and the wind brings their speech to me.
I am Eagle. I listen.
“No way!” says Jack with a faraway look in his eyes, “I was there studying with Babaji, my guru, two months ago! What a man! I can’t wait to go back for future study.”
Jill snorts contemptuously, “What a faker you mean! Babaji is a three bit con man, false as these teeth I had put in my mouth after I fell and hit the concrete so hard I was spitting teeth for days after!”
Jack is surprised, “No, no, that must be another Babaji. My Babaji was the soul of enlightenment, deep as the waters in a lake; he took me to the most incredible places with the simplest of touches and gestures. Babaji changed my life!”
Jill grins, flashing her shiny pearly teeth, “Yes, well that’s the beauty of Babaji, he’ll fool you and you’ll go away thinking what a man, what a guru, but really he’s a hustler, a bustler; a false guru in a floating castle where fools come and fools go with their pockets lighter than before and some, like you, with lighter souls than before.”
It doesn’t take long to establish that both their Babaji’s is one Babaji, long time holy man and beloved leader of the reverent people of Terranuffa, high above the clouds in their floating city that’s always awake.
Jack is adamant, “Babaji is my guru. He is a true guru. I know this.”
Jill is adamant, “Babaji is no guru. He’s a fake. I know this.”
The two look at each other and then burst out laughing.
They laugh so hard their heads fall back and at exactly the same moment they spot Eagle diving down. They catch their breath and gasp, as the giant bird dips and flies right over them both then soars up and up again. They turn to each other with dazed looks on their faces.
“Did you see that?!” They ask at exactly the same moment, knowing that each of them had seen and acknowledged.
And that was the beginning of a friendship that changed into marriage and here we leave Madagascar and the wondrous Bobbing Baobao Tree and shoot forward in a burst of silver confetti and explosions to where Jill is sitting on a hill watching Jack play with their two children, Edgar and Alan. Jack has picked up something from the grasses and calls to both his boys, “Come see.” The boys run over, curiosity stamped on their faces, their mouths open into O’s, and Jill hears oohs and aahs coming from where they’re gathered. She gets up and goes over to see what they’ve found, curiosity getting the better of her too. It is a scaly skin, translucent and sparkling in the sunlight as they hold it this way and that.
“Let’s uncoil it!” Edgar exclaims.
They uncoil it, wondering how it came to be coiled in the first place. And then they marvel as it unravels, 10 feet, 15, 20, they each hold a portion and unwind with the skin, as it shimmers and glitters casting rainbows of light here and there.
“It’s magical!” Alan squeals, dimples in his cheeks, eyes glowing.
At 100 feet they stop and gaze upon the length of the skin with awe.
A cloud moves sinuously overhead in the peach toned sky. Red Serpent is older than the hill they are gathered upon, older perhaps than the Bobbing BaoBao Tree, certainly older than the cloud he’s moving through, and much much older than the ant climbing up Jill’s leg. She feels it’s little legs ticking her, and pulls up her pant to see what it is. An ant. She watches as it walks up and around her calf, then down, and up. Smiling, she picks it off her gently and sets it down on the grasses. Red Serpent watches keenly as she turns back to Jack and her children.
What shall we do with this skin? The children ask.
“Well”, suggests Jack, “We could recoil it and put it back where we found it.”
Jill feels something crawling on her leg again, and she pulls her pant up to see there are three ants circling her calf, one climbing higher and higher all the way up through her blouse, up her neck and onto her nose, where it sits and looks her in the eye. And she listens as Ant speaks, telling her what to do, before it climbs back down and into the grasses with the other three ants.
“Come,” Jill says, “Follow me.”
And with her eye on Ant, she leads them, carrying the skin, further up the green hill, high up to the top of the mound, brushed orange and red by the setting sun. Then they lay out the skin in a spiral, turning in, and around, and over, and under until a labyrinth has been arranged on the mound. And as the sun dips further down in a fiery blaze, they enter the labyrinth, Jack, Jill, Edgar, Alan, and the ants, until they reach the center together. The scales glow golden; they are ringed by glittering light, rising rising rising up to the sky, where Red Serpent opens his mouth and inhales deeply. The clouds rumble, he exhales, sending his breath to The Huntress with a nod. She lifts up her bow, nocks four arrows, and catches his flaming exhalation on the tips, letting them fly. They arc down, shredding into nothingness, releasing swirls of golden energy that hit their marks, one two three four, directly on the forehead, into and through their foreheads, down the center of their bodies and up as a rod of light, a current that knocks them to the ground.
Red Serpent is satisfied. And the clouds roll over, the pink, red, and orange sky darkens, and he passes on his way, a new layer of scales glittering on his long sinuous body.
I am Eagle. I watch from a tree as Jack and Jill and their children come awake on a green mound in darkness, their eyes filled with light, their bodies numinous. They wear wonder on their faces as they walk back home, finding their way easily down the hill. None of them notices the labyrinth of scales is gone. Perhaps they’ve forgotten.
I am Eagle. I watch from the blue skies, where I glide easily above a bobbing boat forty-eight years later.
Jill and Jack are seated on benches bearing shiny new coats of glossy white paint. They’re on their way to visit the BaoBao, redo the adventure that brought them together. The boat is crowded, crammed tighter than ever before. It cruises along the languorous river, snaking through the island, when suddenly there’s a scream followed by many more screams and cries of, “Snake, snake, aiiii!” The people on the boat are panicking and in the blink of an eye the guy next to Jack has kicked the now enraged snake over where it lands on Jack’s sandaled foot and opens its mouth, fangs bared, ready to strike.
Jack is strangely calm, as he looks the snake in the eye a jolt of energy flows through him, and he smiles. The snake moves its head back, shuts its mouth and is still, it sits where it is and looks Jack in the eye.
I am Eagle. I dive down and in one swoop, I have the snake in my claws, and carry it up and far away, my wing brushing Jack with a stroke of feathers before I’m gone.
Jack laughs, tears rolling down his cheeks, and he looks at Jill, knowing he need not ask, for she too is laughing, tears wetting her cheeks, they both saw. They hold each other laughing and crying and filled with wonder all at the same time, honey in their hearts, gratitude spilling from them in luminous streams of light that touch everyone on the boat, until everyone is laughing and crying and holding one another, filled with awe, honey in their hearts.
I am Eagle. I served for a moment. I fly beside Red Serpent and he nods at me, we fly together for a while, each a piece and part of a circle of life. Down below, a mother gives birth to a baby girl with shining eyes and a mark on either side of her cheeks; two deeply embedded dimples.
Much later, Jack and Jill wonder for a fleeting moment what Babaji may have made of the events, but by then Babaji is long gone, along with the floating city that never sleeps. Once a year, with their boys, they climb the green mound at sunset, walking a spiral path, singing with honey in their heart, songs of celebration and gratitude, and in the grasses and on their legs Ants crawl along in time.
I am Eagle. I see far and wide. Ride with me as I glide, see through my eyes and learn the way tides change.
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