Part 1: The Initial Journey
So when the night visitor comes again, as it surely will, to bring us its gnawing
questions and emptiness, when it brings me longings for what once was, and when the
fear of losing myself without anyone noticing, when I cannot find home, I will look for
our open door. When the visitor reminds me of how I ache for a safe place to rest my
heart and a warm connection to a trusted soul, I will reember your touch and your
tears. When the visitor comes to you in the night and you feel lost, remember that I,
too give the same precious refuge to your heart as you have given mine. When the
visitor comes for us, let us look away from its unwelcome familiar face and remember
and return to you and I and our moment by the sea.
-Life on the Other Side, Sylvia Browne
I was never quite sure if I was the appropriate one for him to choose. I, myself, had made
the choice not to go back for a while. In fact, I wasn’t sure if I would ever go back.
There were things for me to do at home, books to read, old friends to visit, theories to
learn, singing and dancing to be done.
I remember the moment he asked me. So that you can understand I will call it a “day”,
but here at home, there are no days and no nights. There are only fleeting moments over
and over again that last for all eternity. Time is not understood. His trip here would be a
moment as well, would be only a small dot in a whole array of dots arranged over and
over again into infinity.
Throughout eternity, it is his smile that has always remained the same. It touches me so
many times, away from as well as at home. Sometimes, in one of my lives, I would only
see it once, reaching out for it but never quite grasping it, my soul telling my confused
brain that I would see it again soon, upon my return, my conscience not understanding
that time was irrelevant. Sometimes it is the smile that brightens my every waking
moment as a human. And on the Other Side, it is there invariably, as I walk about my
daily activities, as I lay myself to rest on the soft grass in the gardens.
He smiled at me that day, that moment, when we stood just outside the Hall of Records.
We stood upon the steps that seemed massive but were really only an effortless bound to
reach the top. He took my hand and held it and his touch warmed every tip of my soul.
No sound came out of him, that isn’t necessary when we are at Home. He asked it of me
and I looked at him, so beautiful and radiant and perfect. And although I wasn’t sure if I
was the right one for the task being that I had never done so before, I could never resist
him, one of my faults that I tried to correct on almost every journey into life. So, I agreed
and he smiled again and I felt whole, as I always did when I was at home and he was with
me. He caressed my soul with his own and I prayed to the Mother and the Father that I
would not fail at guiding him on his next journey into the tumult of life.
We walked into the Hall of Records hand in hand. We had much to plan.
*****
His mother, Jane, lie in the hospital bed with her feet in stirrups and panted. I stood at her
back, having left the womb to ensure that all was prepared outside. In front of me, at her
side was her own Spirit Guide, Raylene, who somewhat resembled a flower child who had
just stopped over on her way to San Fransisco. She had long somewhat wavy blonde hair
and always wore long flowing linen skirts and white blouses and love beads. Her earrings
were Native American made and hung two inches below her lobes. She smelled of flowers
and her voice was quiet and drawled in such a way as to put someone into a deep sense of
enchantment. She hummed a song to soothe Jane, who could not hear it, but feel it. I
winked at Raylene and she nodded to me, her soul telling mine that it was fine and my turn
to return to the baby. I left and re-entered Jane’s womb.
When I arrived in the softness of his temporary home, I placed my hand on his warm, wet
face. “This is it.” I told him. He looked into my eyes and sighed.
“I hate this part.” He told me. I could see that he was getting scared already. Most
humans are scared of death, but they have no idea how perfect and rewarding it is. If they
think that death is painful and scary, they are lucky they cannot remember birth. Leaving
home is the hardest and most agonizing feat one will ever make in their entire life. Being
forced away from the love and acceptance of the Other Side into a cold cruel world that is
only made to learn about life is the hardest part of living. I looked into his eyes and tried
to soothe his fears.
“We all hate it.” I said. It didn’t seem to have much of an effect, as he began shivering at
the thought of his departure. I knew how he felt so my heart ached a bit. I had been there
myself, many times in fact.
“I think I’ve changed my mind.” His thoughts were shaking now as well. I pushed him
toward the opening where there were bright lights and loud noises. It was getting colder
in the womb by the minute. He slid easily. “I don’t think I want to do this.” But he knew
as well as I did that the contract had been made and there was no going back on it now.
Quickly when he arrived into the world he would forget about me until he needed me so
much that he had to remember. And I would show myself, in whatever form he chose to
see me in. For me it would not be long. For him, as he was already half human, he knew
that it would feel like an eternity. His heart began to race and the blood flew quickly
through his tiny veins. “I’m scared, Aurora.” He said to me. It was happening so
quickly. I continued pushing, as did his mother, and then, in one final thrust, God pushed
as well, and he was exiting. Just before he left, I whispered to him to the deepest parts of
his being, “I’ll be right here.”
And he was born
*****
Jane held her soft bundle in her arms and looked down into his wide eyes. He yawned and
then looked at her for a moment, trying to remember who exactly she was and why exactly
he had chosen her. But he couldn’t really remember. I, myself, stood in front of them and
watched. He saw my image, my wordly image and looked at me, also trying to figure out
who I was. I sent Jane the message to touch his cheek and she did and the baby turned his
attention back to her, starting to feel hungry.
“Nickolas”, she whispered and he looked at the poors of skin on her lower cheek. He
yawned again. He was so tired. I looked at Raylene and she looked away, almost
embarassed. Somehow, perhaps from being a bit clairvoyant herself, Jane had given him
his spirit name, the name bestowed upon him by God. She looked at him and saw all the
hope she could muster although she was tired and spent and ready to sleep herself. She
saw the painting that she had made only three years earlier; the painting of a small blonde
boy who sat catching butterflies in a jar, ready to release them. She thought of the
butterflies and how her small child would someday be loved by so many. “Nickolas.” She
whispered again.
“I’m hungry.” Nick told me. He wasn’t sure who I was, but he could still see me there
and knew he could speak to me. He also knew that the person holding him could not hear
and it baffled him. I smiled at the baby who watched my spirit image that was already
beginning to get transparent. “I don’t know who this lady is, but she smells like
something warm. I like her.”
“That’s good,” I told him, “She’s your mother.”
“Mother?” He asked. “Can she feed me?”
Right now, his mission was to thrive. “Yes.” I told him simply. “All you have to do is
cry.” The baby looked a bit perplexed. “Just cry.”
And Nickolas did.
*****
It wasn’t long before Nickolas forgot about me, could barely see me, the one he had
chosen as his Spirit Guide, the soul who would walk next to him through every step of his
journey through life. He barely saw my light shadow on the wall or felt the warmth of my
aura when I watched him sleep in his cradle. He had much more exciting things to
concentrate on, things like learning to walk and go to the pottie and to eat his vegetables
with a fork and a knife. I wasn’t offended, but I was lonely without talking to him, lonely
for his attention.
He was not conscious of missing me yet, in his toddler years, clinging to his mother,
listening to her voice telling him that he would be great years from now, that he had to
release the butterflies as soon as he could. I watched Jane as she sat alone at night,
waiting for her husband to stumble in blindly drunk, using half the bank account for a
party or for booze. I heard her thoughts of someday getting out of the small upstairs
apartment of a night club, being something bigger and better.
She rocked her chubby cheeked baby as he ate an oreo cookie. He sat on her lap facing
outward and she put her head on top of his, loving to feel his hair on her skin. “My
Nicky.” She told him, “Someday we won’t have to worry about any of this, some day
people will worship us and we’ll never be alone. I promise, baby, never.” Nickolas cooed
a little and squirmed to get down. I looked at Raylene knowingly and she looked away a
bit ashamed. It was innocent at the time, without a hint of greed, just a desire for
security for herself and her child. But time would change that. And a rougher road ahead
would make Jane harder.
When it was late at night and Nickolas’s father would come home the baby would stir in
his crib, sensing the tight air in the house, sometimes hearing his parents arguments. On
those nights I sat at his crib and rocked it very gently, trying to soothe his discomfort. He
would whimper in his sleep, going home to play on the stairs of the Halls or visiting the
gardens. But he wouldn’t remember the comfort of Home when he awoke, would not
remember that I was there one step behind him.
*****
Nickoas walked barefoot outside of his parents big blue van that was parked close to a salt
water inlet. The sun blazed onto his fair skin and hair and his eyes automatically squinted
due to their light color. He shielded them with a tiny hand and approached the water,
carefully watching his reflection. Daddy was sleeping and Mommy was feeding the new
toe headed baby that had made an appearance in the family earlier that year.
He felt chills creep up his spine and the water moved but there was barely any wind. He
was scared only for a second and then suddenly felt soothed. He peered deeper into the
water but could not see anything but his own chubby cheeked reflection and deeper the
confines of the murky water. He studied his reflection a minute longer and hoped that the
evenings events were nothing more than a nice bedtime story and some toasted
marshmallows. But he had a feeling Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t be quiet for
long.
*****
Raylene knew what was going on outside. I was sitting out there on a rock watching in
wonder and amusement. Jane wasn’t out there. Nick was exploring and playing by
himself, as usual. And then he had started singing.
I’ve heard angels sing on the Other Side. I never realized just how angelic his voice would
be, perhaps borrowed from one of them for his short time on earth. We had planned that
this would be his life theme, but I did not understand just how magnificent it would sound.
I sat in wonder, wishing he would look to me and sing, but he didn’t. He concentrated
with his head down. He was singing a song his mother played on her Tape Deck a lot.
Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon and Garfunkel. His sweet childlike voice had an
heir of maturity well beyond his five years.
Raylene knew Jane should hear. She knew what Jane would think, what she would see.
The butterflies in the bottle would finally be released and they would start flying toward
the stars. Jane’s spirit guide creaked the screen door open, one of her ways of
communicating to the young mother. Jane sighed as she picked up her small girl and
walked toward the door, mumbling to herself, “Damn door.” And then she saw her son
standing in their new backyard, singing at the top of his lungs.
Not remembering Home or the angels, Jane thought to herself that it was the most
celestial and beautiful sound she had ever heard. She walked slowly toward her son and
her daughter rubbed her head against her chest.
“Nick?” She asked very quietly, seeing the jar being opened. He stopped singing and
raised big blue eyes to her, hoping he had pleased his mother. “Who are you singing to,
baby?”
Nickolas smiled and looked at his mother’s young hopeful face. “The blades of grass,
Mommy.” He told her, and resumed singing. Jane touched her heart as the baby twitched
some more.
The butterflies flew out of the jar, with no fear of the sky at all, climbing higher and higher
as fast as they could, knowing soon they would reach the stars.
*****
Nickolas stomped into his room, despondent, throwing down his backpack and
plopping himself onto his bed. The house was loud with children and the
sound of dinner being made. People laughed and talked and argued and cried
and screamed and scuffled around in the hallway. He flipped on his small TV
and turned on the Nintendo and began on Mario. He turned up the volume
control on his stereo and MC Hammer attempted to drown out the noise of his
full house.
Nick’s mind drifted to earlier that day.
Her name was Carrie Richards and he was in love with her. She was so
beautiful with her florescent pink tube socks and that little purse she
always strung across her shoulder. Her hair was platinum blonde and she had
green eyes that danced in mischief. She sat in front of him in Math class
and would always turn around and lean her chin on her hands and look at him
sweetly for an answer or a quick joke.
Nick had somehow slipped and told his father about her. “Ask her out, son.
We can take you two to the drive in or something.” His father was smoking a
cigarette as he worked on a boat that was parked in the inlet outside their
home. Bob’s hands were stained with black grease, a smell Nick always
associated with the man. It was easy talking to Bob. He never really
expected much of his son, only that he be a man. He was always saying that
when Nick was upset or at the verge of tears. “Be a man, son. Don’t let it
get to ya.” And then he would inhale on a cigarette and continue whatever
new project he was currently working on.
So Nick tried to do his best Bob imitation and “just ask the girl out”. He
had gotten her attention at Recess and walked up to her with
pseudo-confidence, his chest puffed out. God, he must have looked like such
a loser.
“I was, uh, thinkin’….” He looked at her for a reaction but she just stood
there twirling a strand of that gorgeous hair. “Would you maybe wanna see a
movie with me sometime?” He looked down to the ground, tracing his foot in
the sand. Nick was sure she would laugh. But it wasn’t her who did. A
bunch of the other girls were standing a few feet behind him, had walked up
and eavesdropped. And Carrie didn’t look at him, she looked at them, her
face squashing a bit, looking less immaculate.
Shanna Burke was the one who started it. “Ballet Boy and Carrie? HA!” She
threw up her tiny hand and then smacked her knee.
Another one of the girls chimed in. “Nick LOVES Carrie!” Everyone began
laughing. Carrie convulsively twirled her hair. Shanna approached.
“You really think she’d EVER go out with YOU, you loser?”
“Wha, why not?” Nick croaked, his face reddening by the minute.
“Lotsa reasons, dork. You’re not like any of the rest of the boys. Why don
’t you play football or soccer or anything? You’re always in plays and
theatricals.” She waved her hand in the air for affect, emphasizing the
word. “And you dress like a girl.” Nick looked down at his shoes and socks
and jeans and shivered. “You’re not even a real geek cause you’re not good
in school. You just…just….” She breathed in deeply. “You don’t belong
ANYWHERE, Nick Carter.”
Nickolas swallowed hard. He wouldn’t cry, he had to be a man. Carrie
looked down sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Nick.” She said barely audible. He
just turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, his blotched with sheer
embarrassment. A kickball scurried in front of him and one of the older
kids called to him.
“Hey, Ballet Boy, think ya could kick that ball over here?” Nick was
determined. He hauled off with his right foot and pictured the ball as a
head. And he overshot and tripped, falling on the hard concrete. He was
face down and his cheek was cut. He remained facing the ground, wishing his
body would melt into it.
The kid walked up next to him. “Pathetic.” He said, and grabbed the ball.
Everyone was laughing. Nick got up and ran. He went to the nurses office
and faked a head ache until Jane came and picked him up. She didn’t really
notice on the drive home. She just talked about the next talent show that
weekend, about the costume that Ms. Holland was sewing and what his
choreographer thought of the dance routine they had chosen. Nick swallowed.
Jane hadn’t even asked why his cheek was cut or what could possibly be
causing a 12 year old a severe migraine. She didn’t much notice what Nick
was feeling. No one really did.
His head was really throbbing now as he watched Mario scamper across the
screen. The music was bothering it, but he didn’t want to hear all his
brothers and sisters and relatives and friends and parents and pets making
noise throughout the house. He rubbed his eyes. Nick was about to explode.
Be a man, son. He heard his Dad’s voice.
Nick arose and walked out of his room, down the hallway. “Hey dork, take
the garbage out.” BJ stood near the back door in the kitchen, reaching for
a glass in the cupboard. Nick’s fist flew out and struck his younger sister
square in the mouth and she gasped, clutching her hand to her lip that was
bleeding. He hardly noticed and ran out of the house, down toward the water
and the speed boat that sat by their small dock. He jumped on and curled up
on the floor of the tiny vessel and began crying. He was so angry.
“Why can’t I just be like everyone else?” He said through gigantic muffled
sobs. He was such a baby. He wasn’t a man. His Dad would be so
disappointed. His thin frame shook as he cried.
A few moments later, he felt a tickle on his arm and he looked up. A
butterfly sat there and he gasped quickly. He reached a finger out and
touched the wing. It was dark blue and had light green and yellow swirls
that made an intricate design in the center. “Hi, butterfly.” He
whispered, loving all creatures on the earth that he encountered, except
maybe sharks. The butterfly didn’t move, wasn’t scared one bit. He cupped
it in his hands and pushed it upward toward the sky. “It’s OK. It’ll be
alright.” He told it as it flew away. “It’ll be alright.”
The sun shined brightly on the top of his head. He loved the way it felt.
Nick laid down on his back and watched the clouds in the sky and before he
could even catch himself, he had drifted to sleep.
*****
There was a big mountain with an immense lake before it and he approached it
quietly. I was sitting by the lake on a rock, my hands wrapped around my
knees. My long ebony hair blew in the wind and I watched the sun, which had
always been my focal point, which had fashioned me my spirit name of Aurora.
Nickolas walked up slowly and sat down beside me. “Hey.” He said, but he
was quiet.
“Rough day.” I told him.
“Yeah.” His voice was faint. At least someone had noticed. Even if it was
this stranger.
“You’re different because you’re special, Nickolas.” I told him simply. He
looked at me, rolling his eyes. I loved his spunk and his need to always
argue. It would come in handy where he was going in life. “I know you don’
t understand now, but you will some day. And I promise you this: you don’t
have to worry about girls. You’re gonna have plenty to choose from.”
“Sure.” He said, putting a finger in the water, running it through so that
it made tiny ripples outward.
“Go back.” I told him. “You have work to do. And when you need anything
else. I’ll be right here.”
Nickolas sighed and stood up. He hummed to himself as he walked away. It
made me a bit sad. His dream visits back Home were few and far between
these days. I watched him leave and my heart swelled with love simply
because I did love. I loved him so much.
Nick awoke and the sun was in his eyes. He shivered even though it was
warm. He knew he had had a dream, but he couldn’t remember it. Then he
heard Jane calling.
“NICK!” She hollered. “Time for voice lessons!” Nick’s body felt heavy as
he got up and walked toward her adamant voice.
Spirit Guide
Part 2
NinasFiction
NinasFeet
