Solstice - Of The Heart (29 page)

And just when I added up and maybe
even surpassed his count on the number of sounds I could
hear!

“How many sounds did you
hear?”

I asked for confirmation I was the
winner.

“Doesn’t matter, grass hopper. Cleanse
them from your head. Purge everything. Relax. Clear your mind. You
will learn.”

That’s what I was afraid
of.

Learning history had always seemed to
be a waste of time in my book. I know, I know. I’ve been told in
order to make wise decisions in the future, one must be mindful of
the past. But really, what was to be gained?

Sure, it was said the purpose of
recording and reviewing history was so we wouldn’t, as humans,
repeat our mistakes. I didn’t see that happening, not today, not
yesterday, and not tomorrow. We humans seem to welcome
forgetfulness. How many wars had we fought since the first war, how
many lives had been snuffed out by stone weapons soon to be
replaced by lasers and modern weapons of warfare?

Were we ever going to
learn?

The greatest disasters to ever inflict
the earth, I had read, were from fire, water, and the human impact
on humanity. I didn’t see this changing, but I was willing to open
my mind to Aaron, to allow him to tell me his story.

And maybe that’s what it takes, is
trust, nurtured by hope, before there can be change.

I saw promise in Aaron.

I felt it as we sat
together on this granite ridge stripped of our clothes and our
preconceived notions.

I did as he asked.

I cleared my head. I thought not. I
listened and I absorbed as I descended from my soap-box.

As Aaron talked, I heard his voice as
another, more mechanical, as though he had memorized paragraphs,
word for word, from a book. They were his remarks, but they seemed
to come from a distant place, and with an accent that sounded
foreign to me.

Aaron’s description sounded very much
like the Eden I had learned about in my Catholic studies. He made
it feel as though I was there, walking through paradise with
him.

The thought of Aaron as Adam and me as
Eve passed through my mind, loin cloths and all, as he
talked.

“We came as one from Sirius and Alpha
Centauri, seven planets in all to settle the seven continents on
Earth. We chose one to be the cradle of civilization, the land we
called Mu, the Motherland.”

I knew from my research on the
internet Mu and Lemuria were one and the same.

“Mu was three islands great stretching
from what is now known as Hawaii to the Easter and Fiji Islands, a
vast rolling country cut through by rivers and streams and divided
by narrow sea channels. Palm trees, fruitfully copious with
coconuts, lined the waterways and the shores. Mu’s valleys and
Great Plains lay rich in grazing grass and cultivable fields, and
were filled with animals from every species, large and small, from
the lowly mouse to the mammoth mastodons. The low rolling hills
were lush with abundant growths, a veritable pleasure ground.
Flowers abounded and were frequented by gaudy-winged butterflies so
huge their wings were used as hand-fans by the populace, after they
passed. Humming birds and bugs of multitude array glistened like
infinite raindrops on a sun full day.

To this land we came as many, to lay
stone for roads near and far, to build monoliths and to prosper and
to grow and multiply our numbers. As a crucible is of small worth
empty, we filled the lands of Mu, and when our numbers became
intemperate on the land, our peoples made way to Atlantis and
distant.”

Atlantis, I had been told, was the
most ancient of ancient civilizations, so it surprised me to hear
Aaron say Atlanteans were descendants of Lemuria. I wanted to
question him on this, but he pushed ahead, his words sounding as
though he were reading from a book.

“
Many millenniums passed. We
prospered and, like the leaves on the trees, our numbers grew, a
status of sixty-four million. We were as one, holding in reverence
the Law of One, respecting and loving each as his own and our
Motherland, Mu. There was no savagery on the land, nor had there
ever been.”

Aaron stopped talking.

I felt a chill on my face. I broke
free of the trance and opened my eyes.

The sun crested the spires. It cast a
shadow on our faces.

Aaron’s head lay back as far as his
neck would allow. His eyes lay wide open. His mouth too. His
breathing sounded labored.

“Aaron? You okay?”

He didn’t answer me. He continued
talking.

“But here to,” he said, “our world
began to crumble.”

I wanted to hear the rest of the
story, but the shivering got the best of me. I rose, put on my
shirt, and pulled on my pants.

Aaron talked without regard for the
deepening chill or the rustling of my clothes.

I slipped on my coat and
beanie.

“In time,” Aaron said, “the waters
became ravenous. The ocean ate at our shores. The lands shuddered
beneath our feet. Fire thrust mountains skyward. Our high-priests
foretold of the great cataclysm to come. Many lay in fright. Some
sought refuge in new lands. Others burrowed beneath faraway lands,
taking with them our lineage and heritage and restoring
life.”

I finished dressing, but I still
shivered from the sudden drop in temperature. I heard Aaron’s words
and appreciated his resolve, but I thought it time to go home. I
squatted down in front of him, ready to awaken him from wherever he
had gone.

I suddenly felt warm, not from the
sun, for it was behind the spires, but from the heat radiating off
Aaron.

I placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder
and, in that moment, I felt warmth enter my hand, travel up through
my arm, and into my chest. The intensity caused my brow to break
out in sweat. I noticed, despite the heat he generated, Aaron
wasn’t sweating.

“In a day and night,” Aaron said,
“sixty-four million souls were lost, our beloved Mu cratered by
fire and sent to a watery tomb.”

I prodded Aaron with my finger as well
as my voice.

“Aaron! Hey Aaron. Come out of
it.”

He opened his eyes to see me, fully
clothed, standing before him.

I pointed over my shoulder.

“The sun’s going down. It’s getting
cold and dark. Can we go home?”

Aaron closed his eyes, folded the
fingers of his hands together, and pointed his forefingers up in
alignment with the bridge of his nose.

“Give me a minute,” he
said.

His hands made the form of a church
with a steeple. It brought back reflections of when I use to do
fold my hands in the same way in Sunday school whereby, when I
opened the doors with my thumbs, I could see the six parishioners
inside.

I stepped back, giving Aaron
separation.

Off in the distance, through the
granite window, I could see Mount Shasta. Only now she wasn’t
cloaked in a shroud of fog. Alpenglow lit her flanks. So dramatic
the effect, I lowered myself to a squat to stare at her and the man
who, in the foreground, still sat in meditation, his hands folded
and tucked to the bridge of his nose as if in prayer.

The contrast was striking, mauve haze
in the background, the mountain glowing red as though on fire,
granite darkened by dusk, adding frame and perspective, and a lone
man sitting, his head bowed, hair aglow, heat waves rising from his
form, hands folded in silent reverence to Mother Earth.

It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime
pictures you regret you didn’t capture on film—or in this day and
age—digitally. I settled for storing the image forever in my
memory.

Aaron opened his eyes. He rose to his
feet.

“You dressed fast.”

“I was getting cold.”

Aaron looked west to the
spires.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize it was
getting so late.”

He began to dress.

“You know you’re very hot.”

Aaron chuckled.

“Thanks. You are too.”

“You know I didn’t mean it that
way.”

“So you don’t think I am?
Hot?”

“Okay, so you’re good looking, I’m
good looking. But,” I said as I touched his hand, “you’re also hot.
I’m out here freezing,” I shivered for effect, “and you’re like,
burning up. How did you do that? Magic?” (I was being sarcastic, of
course.)

After putting his shoes and coat on,
Aaron led me down the granite steps.

“No, nothing magical about it. The
heat is a by-product of meditation. That’s all.”

“Well I didn’t heat up. I’m
freezing.”

“Because you never reached the
advanced state of meditation.”

“Okay. How does one get
there?”

“Practice. And more
practice.”

“Think you could teach me?”

Aaron stopped and helped me down an
abutment onto the granite plateau.

“Maybe. But for most people it takes
years to learn g Tum-mo.”

“That’s the name of it?”

“Yes. That’s what the Tibetan Monks
call it.”

“So that’s how they keep warm up in
the mountains.”

I side stepped a boulder as I imagined
a line of bald headed men, their legs folded under them, sitting
high on a mountain in the snow, with heat radiating off their
bodies.

“I don’t think that’s their primary
concern. They believe the reality modern day man lives in is not
the ultimate one, that there is a reality not dictated to by our
emotions, and this state of mind can only be achieved by meditation
and doing good to others.”

“So they’ve adopted the Lemurian
Way.”

“You listen good, grasshopper. Yes,
they believe in the Law of One.”

I wasn’t so sure I liked the name
grass hopper affixed to my lapel, but it warmed me to receive
praise from Aaron.

Somehow, though, with all the talk of
Tibetan Monks and Aaron’s super human abilities, I felt a bit
unworthy of the knowledge handed down by the ancients. I wasn’t
feeling that spiritually inclined.

Sure, I had a good time sitting there
half naked beside Aaron while soaking up his words, but it hadn’t
moved me to the point of where I felt as though I had been reborn.
In fact, I didn’t know if there was any rebirthing needing to be
done. I was okay where I stood, spiritually, for the moment. I
believed in a higher force.

I just didn’t know who or what that
was.

“Why are you telling me all this
stuff? About the Lemurians and Mu?”

Aaron stopped, turned, and looked at
me.

“Because you’re heart is
in solstice. You’re looking to reverse direction.”

“If that’s supposed to mean I don’t
have questions, you’re wrong.”

“Understood.”

“I do. Just not now.”

“That’s the way it should be.
Contemplation is the tool for all fruitful
understanding.”

I shook a finger at him.

“Now see there, that scares me. You’re
beginning to sound like a Monk. Next thing I know you’ll be shaving
those beautiful locks of hair off.”

Aaron’s laugh nixed that idea in a
heartbeat. No Monk could reap the joy he got out of pure
silliness.

As we stepped down off the granite
precipice, I pointed to the trail in front of us, which disappeared
into the forest.

“It’s dark in there. How are we going
to see our way back? Did you bring a flash light?”

Aaron moved in closer. When I didn’t
respond in kind, he leaned into my face.

“Cat eyes,” he said,
smiling.

I looked into his eyes. Sure enough,
the pupils had all but taken over his irises. His blue eyes turned
black as coal. A slim ring of blue encircled his pupils. I felt if
I stared at them any longer my heart would be forever
lost.

I turned away.

“So you can see in the dark
too?”

“Yes. Stay close. Follow in my
footsteps.”

As we set out on the trail, I asked,
“Do you mind telling me what else you can do?”

“I’m a fairly good cook. And I do my
own laundry.”

“Chuckle, chuckle. You know what I
mean. What other super powers do you possess?”

“I don’t see them as super
powers.”

“No?”

I caught a branch to my face and
ducked.

“What do you call them?”

“Skills.”

“Well, your skills,” I said as I
brushed another branch away, “are pretty darn advanced from my
point of view. And,” I added, “probably from a lot of people’s
point of views.”

“I don’t have anything that over time
others couldn’t master. It’s just a matter of training and
exploiting energy.”

“Yeah. Probably take a hundred years
or more.”

I stopped in my tracks.