Foggy Trip, or The Red Feather
It was early morning. I had just spent a long time in that place before the dawn, do you know that place? That mystical place where you’re just waking up, and you’re neither here nor there. That place where the birds are barely singing and the sun is flirting with the lawn. That place where you try to hold on to your dreams before they blow away like dandelions held between your fingers and chased by your breath, time running out on your dandelion clock.
Do you remember playing Dandelion Clock? Oh my the children of my first owner’s family used to play it all the time. They were so dear to me! Picking dandelions in full bloom, they would huff and puff until all the seeds were gone, sure that the number of puffs told them the hour. (They were often right, I noticed. I used to play along, and watch my dashboard clock as they counted. One. Two. Three! Yes! Three o’clock!) I didn’t even mind that there were dandelion seeds all over me. They would just blow right out on the next top-down cruise, sure to happen soon; it was summer, after all (it always seemed like summer back then) and my family was the kind of family that loved to take me out on the road and laugh. They were the kind of family that, as Tolstoy would say, was happy in the same way all happy families are happy.
But I am going off the road and so is my story, and it’s early yet. Back at it. Settle in and stay with me here, friends, let me take you for a ride. So. I was just coming out of a particularly long time in that special pre-dawn place that I love so well, and once again I had tried too hard to hang on to my dreams. Everybody knows that dreams are just like dandelion clocks. If you try to hold on too tight, they simply disappear, crushed under the weight of your enthusiasm, even though just seconds before you had held them right there in the palm of your hand. And of course once they’re gone, they can’t come back. They won’t even give you so much as the time of day. I finally decided to shake myself out of my dream state and just let go. I was holding on way too tight. Hoping that my many dreams from the night before were still lurking around me somewhere, I figured I’d put my mind on something else and give them a chance to gather strength and come back to me. So naturally, I decided to go for a drive. I do some of my best dream capturing out on the road. I mean, I am a car, after all.
But I didn’t want to go on just any drive. I wanted to go off campus. On a real road trip. Adventure! Mystery! Intrigue! Or at least, uh, Interstate. So I took one last stretch with my eyes closed, turning my lights on and off and racing the engine a little, and as I did I saw the Indian in my dream turn to watch me leave his world, and I smiled to myself, letting him go, knowing I would see him again. I started to back out of the barn. I wasn’t too worried about what road I was going to take, because I didn’t really know where I wanted to go, but I didn’t want to go alone, and I was beginning to worry about who was going to be there in the driver’s seat, because the wrong person behind the wheel can ruin any adventure, especially one like I had in mind. I mean, the ideal road trip companion should be someone who fascinates you, right? Someone who surprises you, talks shorthand with you, makes you laugh. But also someone who steps into the silences with you and softens its hard places, removing the sting but leaving the stillness, even when you’re still a thousand miles from your destination. Someone you can have entire conversations with without ever saying a word.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I went and threw gravel up from my tires at Neil’s window to wake him up and come with me, right? Wrong. Yes, of course Neil is that person for me, that perfect road trip companion, I mean, we communicate in ways even I could never have imagined before I met him, he is part of me now, and I mean, come on, my first choice for any adventure is always Neil, he’s my bff, and he’s always up for whatevz. But I knew Neil was preparing to go out on a tour, and that I probably shouldn’t bother him, I hate to bother him when he’s working. Trust me, you do not want to get in the way of that. (Oh. This was sort of just before the Chrome Dreams tour, you know the one where my hood ornament is the album cover? Sometime after the Pink Moon but before the Summer Solstice.) So I slowly crept by where I knew Neil was still fast asleep, secretly hoping he might be looking out the window watching the sun rise, see me and decide to get behind the wheel, but when there was no sign of him, I went looking for other companions, hoping they weren’t lost in crystal canyons.
I didn’t have to look very far. I had barely left the barn when I saw them again. Lady of the White Buffalo, and John Lame Deer, right there around the corner and under the tree, just like the very first time I laid my headlights on them, and looking every bit as celestial, maybe even more so in this early morning light. I was thrilled! I had been dying to see them again, and I hoped they were here to see me. They were.
“We’ve been waiting for you, LV” Lady of the White Buffalo said first, and when she smiled, I swear to you it was exactly like a bolt of lightning and a clap of thunder in a summer rainstorm, all flash and heat and light, but no rain, no rain, no rain. It suddenly smelled like rain though, all around me. Now, understand that my natural instincts would normally fire off my fight or flight reflex at the first sniff of summer rain, I am a convertible, hello, but I didn’t feel any epinephrine rush kicking in at all, I desired neither fight nor flight, I only wanted to get closer to them, and to that smell. Oh god I do love that smell. And if you can’t smell rain in the summer, you need to try harder. Mother Earth is always sending us gifts. John Lame Deer smiled then too, watching me take it all in, and all of a sudden I felt like I was watching the tv and it was watching me. Except I don’t watch tv, because the only good thing about tv is shows like Leave it To Beaver, and the Gilmore Girls, but you and I we’ve been through that, and I digress.
As I moved closer to them, John Lame Deer put up his hand to stop me; I had not noticed that there was a bundle on the ground, and before I could even really make out exactly what it was, I knew. It was Medicine Wheel! The Indian had stopped me before I ran him over (that would have been bad). In a move that reminded me of his beautiful ghost dance on that first night, he took a quick, light step forward, scooped Medicine Wheel up off the ground before me and brought him to me, laying him gently on the back seat, still wrapped in his beautiful Indian blanket of all the colors of Earth, and still sound asleep. The Indian and the Lady smiled at each other, and then at me, as they opened my doors and hopped in, just like that, just like the first family who ever owned me used to do on Sunday mornings, going to church, the man at the wheel, the woman in the passenger seat, and the baby in the back. I laughed to myself at how it felt the same, but it was so different.
“Not so very different,” the Lady of the White Buffalo said. I forgot they could hear my thoughts. Good thing I hadn’t been thinking anything outrageous. She laughed. “It’s okay, LV,” she said. “You don’t have to try to censor your thoughts around us.”
I didn’t say anything. I also tried not to think anything, but that’s harder than you think. She went on, seeming slightly bemused, but there was also a slight sense of urgency about her this morning I thought. “What you were thinking, LV, about that family you used to know, going to church on Sunday mornings, it’s not so different from where we’re going now.”
“Where we’re going?” I said, confused. When did this become their road trip? I thought this was all my idea. I had already been thinking about how I was going to convince them to come with me on my little joy ride.
The Lady smiled. “It is your idea, LV. We’re just here to guide you.” Guide me? I don’t need a map to get around, I thought. But then again. Maybe I did.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” I said, quickly. “I am thrilled to be going anywhere with you three. I just didn’t know there was a plan.”
“There’s always a plan,” John Lame Deer said, his voice reminding me of the sound of gravel under my wheels all over again. I closed my eyes to better remember the sound of his voice, I wanted to keep it inside of me forever, and suddenly I heard a song. I heard a drum beat pounding, and what sounded like Neil’s guitar, it’s easy to recognize that sound, and I thought I heard Neil’s voice, but I couldn’t make out the words. There was something sacred about this music, though, at least to me, of that I was sure. I had to force myself to open my eyes again, because the music was like quicksand, I felt myself getting sucked in and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get out. When I opened my eyes, we were already moving. I tried to think where we were going, but even though I had only met them once before I realized the futility in trying to second guess these two, and decided to just ask.
“Wyoming,” the Indian said in his mysterious voice before I even had a chance to ask, and turned left at the gate, as we headed out into the real world and hit the road together.
My mind and heart were racing like they always do at the start of a road trip. I could hardly contain my excitement. But this is getting long, and I haven’t even really begun, so I’ll skip ahead. Besides, surely you’ve been on a road trip in a car like me, haven’t you? So you know the joy of the open road. The sensual feeling of the wind in your hair and the sun on your face, the absolute thrilling feeling of possibility and freedom and happiness that the white line stretching out ahead of you can invoke. Right? So I’ll skip ahead a bit.
The sun was high in the sky by the time we hit Wyoming, and we decided to take a break. We pulled into an old Esso station, and the Indian and the Lady took Medicine Wheel out of the backseat, he was wide awake and squawking for some food now, and went for a walk, telling me they’d be back shortly. I looked around the gas station, feeling slightly superior to all the other cars filling up their tanks, ha, I did not need to refuel. Remember, I had already been to Kansas after the first time I met these two. I felt the envy of the other cars, all wanting to be me for different reasons. This one here wanted to be friends with Mother Earth the way I was, that one there wanted to be a convertible, the one over there wanted to be pretty like me. Some, mostly the male cars, were just envious of my own bad ass 1959 Lincoln Continental Mark IV convertible self. Their envy only increased when I told them about how I could just cruise and cruise forever without having to stop to refuel. There was almost a fight when a hybrid rolled by with nothing but scorn, thinking me a gas guzzler, and my new friends jumped to my defense. But we talked and he apologized for his snide remarks, and we were cool. Whew. Cars can be so judgemental, you have no idea. They didn’t even know me, and already so many preconceptions about who I was. Anyway, it was fun to make new friends out there on the side of the road in Wyoming, and I didn’t even notice how much time had passed when I said goodbye to my last new friend as he headed back out onto the proud highway, and I was alone.
I looked around. It seemed like my three companions had been gone a long time, but I knew they’d be back. I looked up at the blue blue sky and smiled. I was feeling deeply satisfied with myself, being out here on the road again. It felt good. So far, this adventure was everything anyone would want in a road trip. Clear blue skies, open road, fascinating company. Top down! Talk. Silence. Laughter. Love. It was that perfect feeling. I wanted to stay there, right there, where the feelings stayed, forever.
I didn’t stay there forever, of course, because I’m right here, with you, but I did sit there idly for a while longer, waiting patiently for my fellow travellers, letting my engine get cool and my seats get hot as I soaked up the sun. I was starting to go into a trance as the sun made love to me there when I looked down the road and saw two men on horseback coming toward the Esso station. Two riders were approaching. Slowly I roused myself to get a better view, and as I did I laughed to myself, and thought I didn’t belong here in the watchtower, I was a rider. I told you before every car dreams of being a horse, didn’t I? Anyway. Suddenly I wondered if Neil was wondering where I was, he should be up by now. I made a mental note to call him on the pink iPhone that I keep in my glovebox so he wouldn’t worry, but right now I couldn’t take my eyes off these two men. No, it was not two men, but a man and a woman, on two of the most beautiful, and biggest, horses I had ever seen, Arabian horses, one white and one black. They were the kind of horses that I always imagined when I thought of horsepower, and cars think about things like horsepower a lot, folks. Anyway, the mysterious and beautiful pair arrived at the gas station, and without hesitating the man leaned over and kissed the woman on the white horse square on the mouth without a sound, completely unbothered by the fact that they were right out there in the middle of a gas station parking lot on a highway in Wyoming in broad daylight, and dropped off of his horse, and without a word she took the reins of his horse and her own and rode off down the road. I watched her go, her long dark hair flowing behind her looking for a minute like a flock of ravens that were black and then blue in the light, but I think my eyes were playing tricks on me, I had been on the road a while. I blinked and she and the ravens were gone, and as I turned back to the scene at the Esso station the man stood before me, and we stared at each other. He was tall and strong and beautiful, and Native American, and he was holding a backpack and a rather beat up handmade cardboard sign that, to my amazement, said … are you ready for this … “Medicine Wheel.” Medicine Wheel?! What? Things were getting weird.
Just then, and thank GOD, my companions turned the corner of the Esso station and came out into the light. I called them over with my mind, which was ridiculous, because they were only about 20 feet away and on their way toward me. John Lame Deer spoke in a native dialect to the stranger, and they all turned toward me and got in the car, the stranger stowing his cardboard sign and backpack in the trunk. I noticed he was not wearing any shoes.
My Lady friend felt my confusion and said, very quietly and just to me as she pulled the front seat forward and hopped into the back with Medicine Wheel, “Well, LV, looks like we have another travel companion for our journey,” raising her eyebrows and winking at me as she spoke. She went on to explain in a whisper that this man had simply been a hitchhiker, and had been picked up by many on his journey, including the woman on horseback I had just seen, and now by us, on his way to a place that, yes, was called “Medicine Wheel,” and to my amazement, this is where we had been heading all along. We weren’t far from it now, she said. My headlights - and my head - were spinning. I couldn’t believe it, but off we went, the two Indians in the front now, back onto the proud highway, and heading toward the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming. It wouldn’t be long now until we got where were going, and I was jumping out of my paint with excitement and anticipation.
The hitchhiker fell right into our little group’s supernatural groove, though we weren’t yet ready to share with him our trail names. (Oh, you don’t know about trail names? I’ll have to tell you about that later. But everyone knows that any good road trip requires everyone present to have a trail name, including the car. And trail names cannot be chosen ahead of time, nor can they be chosen by you. They have to be chosen by your companions for you, along the way, and symbolic of your present time together, arising from the events of the road. Someone might be “the joker,” someone might be “the thief,” etc.) Anyway, it was like the hitchhhiker (I guess that was our trail name for him!) had been with us all along. He was interesting, and funny, and smart; sharp and strong and soft and quiet in all the right places. I watched him closely in my mirrors as he sat there in the front passenger seat. He was a stranger to me, but there was something so familiar. Ah ha! I finally knew what it was. This man was wearing clothes just like Neil wears. He was wearing a t-shirt and a plaid flannel shirt, and jeans. Although, like I said, his feet were bare. As he leaned back in the seat now, his face up to the sun, his shirt fell open a little and I gasped when I saw his t-shirt. It was an old Buffalo Springfield t-shirt from back in the day! What the hell. Where did he get that? Wait until I tell Neil, I thought. What a weird coincidence. Wait. Was this the Indian who had been in the corner long ago, trying on Neil’s clothes?!? Looks like he had taken off with some if it was the same guy.
As we headed up into the foothills of Wyoming’s Big Horn Mountains, the hitchhiker expained that we would be going up to an elevation of almost 10,000 feet, it was quite a climb. Medicine Wheel, where we were headed, is located on a plateau up there, and the view from the top has wide views of the Bighorn Basin, the Wind River, the Absaroka Range, and the Pryor Mountains, he said. Lady of the White Buffalo and John Lame Deer looked like they already knew all of this, so I thought that maybe the hitchhiker was talking only to me, although he never addressed me specifically. I wanted him to go on, but suddenly he stopped talking, and all of our attention turned to the road. The weather, and the roads, had taken a turn for the worse. The wind began to howl, and it turned cold. We stopped briefly to put the top up, and continued our uphill climb.
It was foggy now. So foggy. A foggy, foggy trip. So very beautiful in its mystery, but also so easy to get lost. I thought for sure we were going to go off the road, it was so hard to see ahead. The road had narrowed, and on one side was sheer rock face, which I did not want to scrape against, scratching my paint, but the other side was even less friendly … a cliff. A drop I knew none of us would survive. Well. Maybe just I wouldn’t survive. The others seem to be appearing and disappearing in this world as they pleased. At least Lady Buffalo and John Deer and Medicine Wheel were anyway. And I was beginning to have my suspicions about the hitchhiker. They are all so real to me that it is hard to imagine that they must be ghosts of some sort, so I tried not to think about that. (I am silent like a ghost, but trust me, I am as real as you are.) Anyway. I was hugging the left side of the road, the rock face, and I did actually make contact with it a few times, I thought I saw the hitchhiker wince.
Suddenly, the fog cleared, and the road opened up. I sped up a little, took a turn a little too fast, recovered, and stopped short, dirt and gravel flying everywhere. Good thing my companions were true road warriors and very good sports, they just laughed, and then we all fell silent. Here we were at last, we had arrived, and I could not believe my eyes.
The Medicine Wheel spread out before me on the plateau and it took my breath away. The Medicine Wheel was a collection of stones on the ground measuring 80 feet across and consisting of 28 rock spokes radiating from its center. There were six carins scattered on the outside of the wheel’s rim. I drove around it slowly. Wondering at it. Examining it. We stopped and everyone got out. Medicine Wheel (the baby buffalo) immediately began to prance around the wheel, and as he did so he got faster and faster and bigger and bigger and his circles got smaller and smaller until he stood at the very hub of the wheel, a giant and magnificent grown white buffalo, with horns that reached the sky. He turned his head to the sky and bellowed. My headlights opened wide. The hitchhiker began.
“Welcome to Medicine Wheel, LV,” he said. “Medicine Wheel is a sacred site, honored by our people for hundreds and hundreds of years, maybe even thousands of years. It is a place where we come to gather power and strength. I am your spirit guide here.”
As he spoke, the hitchhiker stomped his foot on the ground four times and lifted his face and his hands up to the sky, saying something in a language I did not understand. And then, to my absolute amazement and delight, the wheel began to turn! The giant wheel on the ground made of stones, the giant ancient sacred Medicine Wheel, began to turn, with the loudest sound you have ever heard, it sounded like drums pounding and guitars feeding back and Indians chanting all at the same time. I was transfixed. Confused. Entranced. It started to feel like the whole world around me was spinning now, not just the Medicine Wheel. There were colors, beautiful beautiful colors, and feathers falling from the sky. I smelled rain. The wheel’s hub, where Medicine Wheel now stood, felt like a vortex now, and I was being drawn in, and fast. I knew I could not resist it, so I tried to just go with it, reminding myself that I trusted these people who were guiding me. So I closed my eyes and just let go. As soon as I did, everything stopped.
Suddenly it was quiet, and when I opened my eyes I was in a whole new place. I was somewhere deep in a beautiful forest, with a waterfall that sparkled in the sun, radiating every color in the rainbow, and that seemed to come directly from the sky. I could not see where it began, it was so high above me. And I was faced with the scariest looking creature I have ever seen.
“LV,” he growled, sounding like a wildcat, but looking like something I can hardly even describe to you now. He had the head and face of an eagle, and the body of a lion. He was ugly as hell, but yet I found him strangely attractive. I was scared to death. Suddenly, he began to laugh uproariously. That only scared me more. I looked around for a way out, but my wheels were gone. Finally, he got himself under control.
“LV,” he began again. “You are drawn to me, yes?”
“Yes,” I said, surprising myself.
“That’s because you are in the south quadrant of your Medicine Wheel, right now, LV, it is the place where your fire and passion reside.” He had my attention. Suddenly, the hitchhiker stepped out from behind a tree, and continued,
“LV, the Medicine Wheel is a place where we come to gather power, and strength. It is ancient, and sacred. It is different for everyone. No one really knows where or when it came to be. But it is a powerful place. It is a place of intention.”
I nodded. He went on.
“There are four quadrants to the Medicine Wheel, LV. South, where you are now, and North, East and West. We will briefly visit each quadrant tonight, and then stand at the wheel’s center to watch the sun rise. It is the eve of the summer solstice, the most powerful time here. The time you are most likely to be able to draw power from the earth.”
At that, the forest creature’s eagle head turned bright red and he was leering at me. It freaked me out, but only because I liked it. The hitchhiker smiled at me, understanding, and went over to the creature and plucked a red feather from his face, instantly turning him to stone. He crumbled and fell to the ground. The hitchhiker placed the red feather on my front seat, releasing it from his hand about halfway there and letting it float down. We watched it fall to the rhythm of the giant waterfall behind us. When it landed, it felt like fire.
“Red is for fire, passion, fertility,” he said. “You are planting seeds for the future now LV. You are the fertile one, planting seeds of hope, in a season of hope. This quadrant of the Medicine Wheel represents summer. Summer, in our world, is the time to accept the change. To learn. To understand. To … Hope.”
I nodded. I was beginning to understand why they brought me here, but I needed to see the bigger picture. Think and ye shall receive! The earth opened up and swallowed us, I screamed the whole way down.
We landed at a place that felt dark and cold. I wanted out. My wheels were back, but there was no place to go. The hitchhiker was lying on my back seat, sound asleep now. I wondered if he was dead. A creature, more horrible than the first, approached, mumbling to himself. He didn’t seem to notice me at first so I stayed very still. But he noticed me. He came right up to me, mumbling all the while, and tapping me with a grotesque walking stick. As he came closer, I could see that he also had a lion body, but the head of a man.
“Surely some revelation is at hand,” he said. “Surely the Second Coming is at hand.” I recognized his words, I thought. A poem I knew? Maybe. He walked around me in a circle. He even lifted my hood! Honestly. I didn’t even know him. The nerve.
He stuck his head in and sniffed. “The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity,” he mumbled. That seemed backwards to me but also … familiar. Ah. I recognized his words now. A poem by Yeats. I won’t tell it to you here, but I’ll type it out for you at the bottom in case you don’t know it. This strange creature was randomly mumbling lines from Yeats’ poem, with a blank stare.
Finally he shut the hood, jumped into my driver’s seat, and looked into my rearview mirror. God he was horrible to look at. He sneered into the mirror, and I knew he was sneering at me. “And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?” That did it. I know I wasn’t looking my best, but, uh, “rough beast” ? I might be muddy but I’m no rough beast, I thought. He laughed a horrible laugh, turned my key and drove through the wall.
When I came to, I was in a field I remembered from somewhere deep in my memory, a happy place, a place of innocence. It stretched on for miles and miles all around me, and it was covered with dandelions. It was twilight. I breathed a giant sigh of relief. I was further relieved to see the beautiful hitchhiker standing beside me again.
“Are you okay, LV?” he asked gently, kindly.
“Yes, I’m okay,” I said. “But … I kind of feel like a Coupe de Ville.” He laughed out loud, surprising me. I knew we would be friends now. I stared at him when he looked away, and knew then that I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, like the ocean to the moon. It frightened me a little, but I couldn’t control it. I turned to see what he saw.
Together we surveyed the scene. I could see for miles in every direction.
“You look to the east,” the hitchhiker said.
“Yes,” I said, trying to sound confident, but I was hoping it wasn’t a trick or a test of some sort, because I didn’t really know. (It might surprise you that for a car, I have a terrible sense of direction. Thank God I have an onboard computer to help me with these things. I mean, I know which way the wind blows on any given day but on a foggy day I’d be hard pressed to point you east.)
The hitchhiker smiled to himself as if he had heard my thoughts.
“I know it seems simple, LV, but you need to listen with all your heart. Here the universe speaks to you.” I knew he was right, but at the moment all I heard were owls calling to each other, “whoo, whoo,” and all I could see were hawks, casting shadows on our eyes. He went on.
“In the eastern quadrant of The Medicine Wheel, we learn about beginnings. About how each day is a fresh start, a new beginning. East is where the sun rises, and in our world is the direction of the physical body and newness including children and newborns. Spring is the season here. The spring sun empowers each of us and gives us the energy to Do and to Begin. The Action of the mind and heart is here.” He paused. I nodded. I understood him completely, and I could feel my heart more fully embracing the change I knew I was heralding.
The hitchhiker turned completely around, and motioned me to do the same. Slowly, I turned my 19 ½ foot, 4 and ½ ton self around, and faced now west, into the setting sun. Into the twilight.
“Twilight,” the hitchhiker said simply. Even the word was sexy. We watched it together for a while. It was so beautiful. Mesmerizing. But yet … there was something so ominous about it. I started to feel scared again. A little.
“It’s understandable that you would feel frightened here, LV,” my new friend said. “The twilight brings the fading of daylight, and the beginning of night. The beginning of … the darkness.” He paused for what seemed like dramatic effect. He went on. “But you have to understand that there are lessons in the darkness, too, LV. When the darkness comes, we must look inward to find the light and have courage. To understand that what we see in the darkness may not be real, but only shadows. In our world, the twilight represents the fall, but also the most emotional part of ourselves.” At that, a beaver and a snake crossed our path, and disappeared. Suddenly I felt completely overwhelmed. I began to feel dizzy then, and it all went black.
But the black turned to blue (which is backwards, I know, I know), and I was in a heavenly place. A deeper twilight. Purple canaries and white doves were everywhere. But not in an Alfred Hitchcock “Birds” kind of way. Just in an amazingly beautiful, trippy kind of way. It was the Lady of the White Buffalo who spoke to me now. John Lame Deer was at her side, and suddenly I realized we were back where we began, at the Medicine Wheel. There was Medicine Wheel, the baby white buffalo, now grown large, at the hub of the wheel, looking noble, and proud, and beautiful. I turned to the Lady of the White Buffalo to listen.
“LV, the hour is getting late,” she said, solemnly. “You are in your north quadrant of the Medicine Wheel now. You will visit here again, but for now our time here is almost done. This is the quadrant that represents winter. With experience through the many seasons, we gain wisdom. Now we have the time to contemplate the lessons. The north signifies purity and wisdom, a great place of healing. It is here that you will learn about the broader picture of the Medicine Wheel, and here where you will gather your strength for the future. Now is the time to be grounded within yourself and be deep within yourself, like a bear in a cave.”
“But … There is something I don’t understand,” I said.
“The man at the center of the Earth?” she replied.
“Yes!” I said.
“Ah.”
John Lame Deer answered for her.
“LV, that was a test. You passed with flying colors.”
I felt angry. I did not like to be tested by my friends.
“Oh it wasn’t us who was testing you,” the Indian replied quickly. “It was the universe.”
Oh that made sense. Not. WHAT?
The Lady of the White Buffalo and John Lame Deer laughed together. As they did so, they each put a hand on the real white buffalo, the real live Medicine Wheel, who was standing on the hub of the rock Medicine Wheel. Instantly, he became a baby white buffalo again. They picked him up and wrapped him in the beautiful Indian blanket, woven from every color of the Earth, and came over and laid him in my back seat. He was already asleep, even after all the excitement. Uh oh, I thought. They are getting ready to take off. I moved closer to them as the twilight deepened around us. It was the summer solstice and the light was eerie. I didn’t want my friends to go away, when I didn’t know how or when I would see them again. They smiled at each other, and then at me.
“LV, do not be scared. We are always with you. And Medicine Wheel is always with you, whether you can see him or not. He is there.” Cryptically, they exhanged glances with the hitchhiker. “And you have a Spirit Guide now,” they added, but that’s all they said. The hitchhiker, my Spirit Guide, continued.
“The Medicine Wheel is a physical manifestation of Spiritual Energy,” he said. “An outward expression of an internal dialogue. A mirror in which we can better see what is going on within us, LV. It is a wheel of protection and enables us, indeed, allows us, to gather the energies that surround us into a focal point and to commune with Spirit, Self and Nature, all the elemental forces of Creation. It helps us with our Vision, and helps us to realize our potential. To see, understand and fully embrace our gifts.”
I understood. I closed my eyes to try to just take it all in, and when I did, I felt it. I felt the Earth move. I felt the Earth coming to me. I breathed deeply, and felt myself drawing power and energy from deep inside of Her, from deep inside the Earth. I felt Her gratitude, and I began to cry. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, knowing Mother Earth would understand that I was trying to apologize for us all. I felt a surge of energy, and I knew it was her forgiveness. I was overwhelmed, and I kept my eyes closed, and my mouth shut, for a really long time.
I think I stayed like that all night, because the next thing I remember was another incredible power surge from the Earth, and it was sunrise, on the Summer Solstice. The light was like nothing I had ever seen before. It was the kind of light that you can look at without hurting your eyes. The kind of light that sees inside of you. ”The darkness drops again,” I heard a voice say, and I didn’t know if that meant that the darkness had dropped away to make room for the sunlight, or if it was a warning that the darkness always comes round again. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, my mind was reeling as it was, so I just stayed quiet, with my eyes closed, feeling the power surge from Mother Earth in every nut and bolt, over and over again. The sun was already high in the sky when I was finally ready to face the others.
I didn’t say anything, but drove around the Medicine Wheel one more time, breathing in its majesty, and then drove around it again. I heard Lady of the White Buffalo say “The time is now, LV,” though her lips never moved. I knew that she meant it was time to go. Reluctantly I pulled away from the Wheel and pointed my front end down the mountain road. Much to my surprise, the hitchhiker hopped into the driver’s seat.
“Let’s hit the road” was all he said, and off we went, heading home. I flashed my headlights at the Lady of The White Buffalo and John Lame Deer as goodbye, and I knew that we all were holding that strange feeling in our hearts that you get when you reach the apex of any good road trip, that strange feeling of joy carrying sadness in its backpocket.
But I resisted the temptation to be prematurely nostalgic, and anyway, I was exhausted. We had been up there at Medicine Wheel all night long to fuse our grasp in the morning sun, and now we had to let go and begin the long road home, letting the seeds that had been planted on our journey take root. A soft rain began to fall, I smelled it before the first drop hit the dirt. The weather had cleared once we were off the mountain road and back out on the highway, though, so I decided to put myself on cruise control, and just vague out, giving me a chance to think about all the amazing things that had happened at Medicine Wheel, things that I would hold in my heart forever. I wish Neil had been here, I thought, I couldn’t wait to tell him all about it. I tried hard to store everything in my memory banks as precisely as I could, I knew he would want to hear every detail. And I was excited for Neil to meet the hitchhiker, who was now a close friend. He’s probably gonna want that Buffalo Springfield t-shirt for The Archives, I thought as I began to get a little spacey. The cruise control kicked in like Valium, and I was on my way home.
Next thing I knew, I was pulling into the ranch! Where had the time gone. I tried to shake off the road, and the cruise control, that can give you a headache, and I felt a familiar hand on the wheel. It was Neil! At the wheel! What?! Where was the hitchhiker? What had I missed?
Neil patted the steering wheel like he does and said, simply, “How ya doin’, LV,” with that kind of knowing smile of his. His eyes were amused.
“But, but, Neil .. What … How did you … I thought … There was a hitchhiker … And he .. And I .. And …Medicine Wheel…” Medicine Wheel! I checked the backseat, and sure enough, Medicine Wheel (the baby white buffalo, not the place), was gone, but the Indian blanket of all the colors of the earth was still there. I know that Medicine Wheel rides with me, though, even when I can’t see him. Now more than ever.
“Calm down, there, LV,” Neil laughed and continued driving us through the ranch. Just the feeling of having Neil at the wheel makes me calm, so I did relax, and I decided that my story for Neil can wait. I’d tell him tomorrow, after I had some sleep. And some coffee. Anyway. Neil’s patient. So much more patient than I am. He always tells me it’s a long road ahead and a long road behind. But I was really looking forward to telling him about the road trip, and the Medicine Wheel, because he loves a good story, and he’s such a good listener. And I know that the things I learned up there are important to him.
As we got to my barn-garage, Neil parked me and jumped out. He stood there for a while, walking all around me and looking me all over. His eyes were dancing and he was kind of shaking his head to himself. I noticed that he had moved the red eagle feather from my front seat to the glovebox, it was sitting on top of the moonstone.
“Didn’t want it to get blown away,” he said, with a kind of mischief in his eye, knowing that it amused me to no end that he could sometimes read my thoughts. “Might be a hurricane coming,” he added, but I couldn’t read his face, he was bent over, examining the places on the driver’s side where I had scraped that rock face on that narrow mountain road.
“Do you want to hear the story now Neil?” I asked. I always want to please him no matter what shape he’s in. Or I’m in.
“No, LV, not now, you rest,” he said gently, kindly. “Tomorrow’s coming, I promise.” He patted my driver’s side door and left the barn. But before he turned the corner and headed to his studio, he did a curious thing. He leaned down to the ground and picked something up. It was a dandelion, in full bloom. He held it up for me to see, his eyes dancing, and began to blow. The seeds went everywhere, the wind carrying them all right back to me, settling them all over me, and inside of me. When he had finished, and tossed the stem, he just stood there for a minute, looking for my reaction, I thought. Recalling the dandelion clock game I said,
“What time does that mean it is, Neil?”
And he said, his face more serious now,
“The time is now, LV. The time is now.”
I watched him go. I heard Greensleeves playing in my head. At the top of the hill, it was like he felt me watching him, and he stopped and turned to look back at me, there in the barn. The wind began to howl, and that’s when I thought I saw it. The Buffalo Springfield t-shirt. Was Neil wearing it? The wind blew his plaid flannel shirt open and closed before I could tell for sure. So maybe Neil had been with me all along … stranger things have happened around here. But then again, maybe not. I’ll have to get it out of him tomorrow, I said to myself and drifted off to sleep then, dreaming of the hitchhiker and Neil and the joker and the thief, and dandelion clocks and animals that talk and lots of other things, but that’s another story for another day, my friends, good night, dear Blog, good night.
x LV
The Second Coming, by William Butler Yeats (written 1919) Turning and turning in the widening gyre, The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand. Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?
