Destined to Fly: An Avalon Novel (19 page)

I
am slipping into varying states of consciousness with ease though it is increasingly beyond my control. Sometimes I am fully cognisant of what is happening around me, other times I merely slip into another world and time. I am vaguely aware that my body doesn’t want for much but my soul is vital and hungry to show me more so eagerly takes me away. I can hear sounds around me but still no one speaks to me so I’m never distracted from my immersion in the spirit world.

It is during one of these returns to consciousness that I become aware that I’m surrounded by the women of the tribe. There are no men in this hut, just women chanting around my resting body. I don’t have the energy to lift my head from my lying position so I merely turn it from side to side. My eyes widen as I focus on what is happening around me. The women
are in simple traditional clothing, which barely covers their bodies, and one of them is wearing an elaborate decorated headdress made from feathers and beads.

We are in a small, enclosed thatched hut and the air I breathe is thick and hazy. It stems from some smoking rocks and plants in the corner, presumably a form of incense.

No words are spoken. I don’t feel the need and know they won’t be returned anyway. I’m comfortable with this and not speaking seems to preserve what little energy I have. I abstractly wonder about my children, knowing they haven’t been in my presence for however long this journey has taken in its timeless dimension. I perceive reassuringly they are safe and that, in their minds my absence has not been too great. This knowledge provides me with a sense of wellbeing for them.

I make eye contact with the woman in the headdress as she comes toward me to lift my head in her arms. Still chanting, she brings some liquid to my lips and tips it carefully into my mouth, before lowering my head back onto the stretcher. My eyes close as their chanting increases in volume and I recede into the eye of the eagle flying high over the lush lands of the Amazon.

I come to again with awareness of small, light strokes being painted on my body. I can’t move, my body is too weak. It is as though I only exist in this body through my eyes, though I can still feel every sensation. I’m disconnected but aware.

My insights to date have been profound, though my inability to move my physical form means I haven’t been able to record anything in my journal. This world and the past world shift and blur with ease. I can’t remember when I last saw Jeremy or Leo, as time is no longer a measure that I comprehend. I’m assuming they are close but I understand that this preparation I am going through with the tribal women attending to me is somehow strictly women’s business.

I notice I am naked. My body is being decorated with fine lines of dark paint, no doubt extracted from some plant or flower. I can only gather I am being prepared for some from of ritual or sacred event. I can’t imagine what but given everything I have seen and experienced — if that is the right word — on my soul flight so far, I know I needn’t prepare, just accept whatever happens. Perhaps my time has come to finally meet the shaman.

I am perfectly still as the chanting woman continue their activities around me, my body content with being a canvas for the women’s artwork. Considering the minute detail with which they are applying their strokes, this is not a project that will be completed any time soon.

Once again my head is lifted and I feel the warm, herbal liquid entering my mouth and moments later I am flying again.

The battered ship lands on the shores of Ireland from the freezing waters of the North Atlantic Ocean. Some men are weary, some dead but most eager to ravage this newly-discovered land. Batons in hands and helmets on heads, the men scour the countryside in search of civilisation, food, shelter and wealth of any kind to extend their empire. These huge Nordic men, covered in animal skins, are silenced by their leader as they notice the shimmering flames of fire atop the hillside. Their robust bodies stride steadily closer to the scene and bear witness; unusually for them, they still as they watch, mesmerised by the vision before their eyes.

Under the light of the moon, at a time when twilight never converges into full darkness, lie six women and six men. They are positioned on each of the twelve rocks in a circular formation, removing what simple garments they have from their bodies. As they become naked a woman covered only by her long black hair and a wreath of golden flowers around her head rises from the centre of the circle as though from flames and kisses their genitals as if igniting their passion. She moves clockwise around the twelve, as though she is giving them permission to feel, touch and explore each other in their most sensual parts. She returns to the centre of their circle and begins to chant and dance; different tempos and rhythms appear to signal a change in connection to each person. The men move in one direction, the women the other, back and forth as their frenetic exploring continues, the sexual moaning heightening within the entire group. The lady with the
wreath, in their centre, continues writhing and dancing and moving, her chanting reaching ecstatic levels as she takes on an almost goddess-like form and the small crowd gathers in closely around her. As this occurs, I sense my spirit being drawn directly into her body and we become one. I am her.

The pure sexuality of this ritual is pounding through my veins and I notice its energy has subdued the violent intentions of the Nordic men as they watch us. Their heightened arousal temporarily suspends their need to plunder and despoil. The twelve bodies surround me, worshipping me as their high priestess and I eagerly open myself up to them, granting them access as I spread my arms and legs wide and throw my head back. Each concentrates on a different part of my body: my neck and ears, each of my breasts, my thighs, my belly and my sex. I reach new heights for them, my people, toward the glory of our goddess. The only part of me left untouched is my mouth, which continues to release an almost unearthly yet soulful sound. I am secured by strong hands, my legs spread wide as my body is offered high to the stars above. Tongues and fingers fondle my sacred openings with reverence, as my body quivers in the pleasure they elicit, and a soulful song, going beyond ecstasy, pierces the night and reaches the heavens. The bodies wrap themselves around me until my heavenly sounds subside, gently lowering me back to earth glistening, quivering, idolising me. Only when I am completely still and close my eyes, do the others partake further in their sensual activities. Each
man and woman partner off and complete the act that ensures the birth of the next generation.

The chief of the Vikings notices most of his men are now pleasuring themselves around him given what they have just witnessed. He forms his lips to emit a low-sounding growl to attract only their attention. Some in the peak of the act attempt to swallow the sounds of their own release. They move toward the local people as a uniformed and disciplined group to do what they do best — conquer. As the leader nears the dark-haired goddess, she remains perfectly still on the ground as if in a trance, palms placed over her heart.

The Viking chief sends his men back to the ship with their human bounty, others are sent to continue their hunt for food. The giant white warrior towers above the serene woman, taking her in, absorbing her beauty, recalling her sounds. He lowers his body over hers, kissing her hard, slamming his tongue into her mouth, as if trying to touch those soulful notes. He takes hold of her breasts, twisting them with his calloused hands. She lies still beneath him. He removes the cloth covering his throbbing phallus, which reveals the virility of his manhood. He positions himself over her body, but just as he moves to enter her, her large eyes flash open like a bolt of lightning, temporarily blinding him with their shimmering emerald gaze.

Never one to be taken against my will, my body rises slowly and confidently from the earth and guides the Viking to his knees, so we are equal in height. My unblinking eyes meet his, overpowering his strength
with my magic. I position my moist, naked form above him, my long hair barely covering my breasts and I lower my glistening thighs around his majestic girth, knowing I will be able to take him deep within my loins. I, the high priestess, throw my head back, baring my throat, releasing him from the captivating trance of my gaze, and take wild control of his pleasure until he is completely under my sexual spell. He holds me in a vice-like grip with his arms as if his soul depends on the essence of my beating heart. Our lust for one another grows until we are both consumed by mutual passion for one another, losing all sense of consciousness, until he explodes volcanically into me, releasing his Viking seed into my belly as though we are creating the earth itself. His low guttural cries of ‘Freya’ merge with my heavenly voice as we two become one.

Sated under the evening stars, this is the first act of kindness and warmth the Viking has ever experienced in his life. The first willing touch of a woman. As I see his tears, I see Jeremy’s smoky green eyes reflecting back and recognise the explosive beginning of our united souls, establishing a most sacred and blessed path for centuries to come. Anam Cara.

As high priestess I kiss the tears as they begin to slide down his face replacing aggression with love. We remain connected in the lush green field, kissing and caressing, soothing and adoring until he finally becomes flaccid enough to withdraw from my body. In the light of the breaking dawn, he strokes a small heart-shaped birthmark positioned just above the nipple of my left
breast and tenderly kisses it, gently this time, just as I did for him.

The union of our two souls, Jeremy’s and mine, forever bound in the magic and power of these origins that sparked the essence of the healing blood.

It is only at this realisation that I am released from the body of the high priestess and return to my ethereal state.

I see that the Viking never returns to his ship and he never kills again. The priestess and the Viking travel the northern lands — she offering rituals to the gods and goddesses in return for health and fertility, he teaching men to embrace, not fear, the sexuality of women. Their union is one of love, lust, and desire, never tiring of each other sexually, only craving and exploring the carnal nature of their beings.

Time travels into the future and they have twelve children, symbolically representing the conquest that brought them together. Three of their daughters have heart-shaped birthmarks somewhere on their bodies, on their left sides: one on her foot, one on her shoulder and another on the cheek of her bottom. They have their mother’s gift of soul singing and healing, displaying greater compassion and spiritual awareness than the other children. Their mother teaches them fully of her magic and their craft is passed down many generations. The heart-shaped birthmark fades over the generations, becoming instead a mark of legend and abstract magic as opposed to reality … But then again, all legends seem to be founded in some form of truth when you tap into their source.

I now understand that none of these events have occurred by chance; they all lead to this watershed in my life. I have been given the privilege and gift of witnessing my ancestors’ lives, the fragments of my soul. I know I have the power and courage to put the past behind me and venture, unafraid, into the future with the man my soul has been searching for centuries to find. With the circle complete, I intrinsically know that integration will be possible when the stars align, just as Leo said to me.

When I next open my eyes to this earthly world, I am sitting up and my hands are being held by a man I have never seen before. We are seated cross-legged and I am mesmerised by him. His headdress is more elaborate than anything I have seen on my journey so far and is decorated with many feathers of the most colourful birds in this immense jungle.

I can feel the energy running between our palms as though it is literally pulsing through our bodies and regulating each beat of our hearts. I don’t see anything else around me, so absorbed am I in his presence.

Once our eyes lock, I hear the first pounding beat of a tribal drum; it is slow at first as though it’s attempting to attune itself to the rhythm of our bodies. I remain locked to this man both physically and mentally.

We temporarily lift up out of our bodies and fly together but not too high, just enough for me to absorb the scene below us, illuminated only by the fire burning and the fullness of the moon. My heart fills with warmth when I notice from above that Jeremy and Leo are sitting beside me and the shaman. Their eyes are closed.

As we float above everyone I notice the women who have been tending to me are chanting and dancing around the fire with their men, to the increasing beat of the drum. They remain calm, as though preparing themselves for what is to come.

I take a moment to have a good look at my body, one that I would not have recognised as myself just months ago. It’s as if I have been transformed in every possible way. My hair, now longer than it has been for years, has tiny braids weaved through it, with feathers and beads interlaced between the parts that remain wild and free. My body is lithely toned from little food, and trekking through the jungle. My skin has a healthy glow beneath the intricate designs swirling around my limbs, shoulders, back and belly.

Many strands of beads of varying sizes are hung around my neck, some reaching almost to my belly. I have an intricately-woven skirt sitting around my hips, barely covering my private parts. My breasts are bare other than the necklaces — each areola has been painted with reddened dye and the tips of my nipples black, as though they represent all-seeing eyes.

The woman I’m inspecting looks wild and exotic. Under different circumstances I would have denied
it could ever have been me, but I know she is the culmination of the many visions I have witnessed via my soul flight. She is completely serene, like a goddess awaiting some form of reincarnation. No sooner has that thought flickered through my mind, than I am abruptly reunited with my body with a virtual thud.

My hands have been released by this man with the powerful magic sitting before me. This time I sense everything around me and can look into the eyes of the men who have orchestrated this journey. Jeremy, though looking tired and a little overwhelmed by what surrounds him, is full of love and appreciation, and ultimately awe at being involved in this event.