Subject:            Valley of the Bones

From:               Nannie109@aol.com

To:                   ClarisaT@yahoogroups.com

Whatever possessed me to embark on this donkey trip?  I should have stayed on the ship watching Elsie draw and the clouds floating by the moon, listening to Mother complaining of everything while denying what’s happening as well as waves slapping against the side of the ship as sea gulls call to one another, smelling Elsie’s crayons and Mother’s perfume with an ocean salt water background.  Instead I am on a donkey that is really too small for me, bouncing along a muddy forest path, having fallen behind my companions (since my donkey is so small and doesn’t move very fast) composing emails in my head of what I will write to you, Clarisa, when I return to the ship and have access to a computer.

At first I was delighted when a tiny white donkey with blue eyes (didn’t realize donkeys had blue eyes) ambled right up to me, nuzzled my hand and gazed directly into my eyes.  What a sweet donkey she was, and so connective.  (Reminds me of the box turtles I’ve found over the years in the woods that do not retreat into their shells but look right at your eyes, not your feet.)  I had had trepidations about a donkey trip but she allayed my fears.  This wouldn’t be so bad with such a cute donkey (not at all intimidating or threatening.)  Her eyes are so very expressive and soft.  (Makes me think of Elsie and that sweet young hospice patient.)

The farrier at the stables insisted I should ride on this donkey, not walk alongside (I was thinking of my weight overwhelming her), so I did.  The farrier also said I could name her so I decided on Snowflake after my cat who also seemed to choose me.  I don’t think I ever told you this, Clarisa.  I remember we had to park the car in the dirt road since there was no driveway onto the property when we were looking for land to relocate.  We left the window half open for air as we tramped all over the 25 acres of meadow, woods and a section of huge rock boulders. 

When we returned, we found a scrawny, infant kitty was huddled on the back of the car having opened a package of cheese crackers.  Poor thing seemed to be starving.  We gave it some milk from our cooler and some real cheese, talked to her, tried to smooth down the rumpled white and dirty fur, and left her with another bowl of milk.  That was in spring. 

By fall we had returned, having bought the land, sold our house back east, and, with our heads filled with many new possibilities, had pulled our travel trailer down to live in it while making arrangements for getting a well dug and a septic system put in on the land.  We were finally back to the beautiful land.  What hopes and dreams we had for us to have sold our dream house we already built (literally, with our own hands, all parts of it), and to move so far away. 

We parked in the dirt road again, gathered what we needed from the trunk, turned around… and there she was… as if waiting for us all these months.  Somewhat bigger, looking a bit better, but waiting for us.  As we hiked on the land that fall day, and many days, weeks and years later, she followed us, obviously choosing us to care for her.  She loved to sit in my lap and purr as I stroked her, in the evenings.  I still miss Snowflake, 26 years after she made her choice.

And here I am with another Snowflake who chose me, and now I follow her lead.  She seems to know where she is going, but she just goes slower than the other donkeys.  Mother will watch Elsie but who will watch Mother?  There’s no telling what mischief she will come up with.

 We’ve been ambling along for what seems to be hours, during which time I think of these things I will email you, Clarisa, when I am able to do so.  The tree canopy thins out and we approach an opening in the trees.  Ahead stretches a huge area covered with such an assortment of things: tents in one area, people squatting on the ground digging and searching through rocks of all sizes, mounds that look like the Native American burial mounds in Arkansas and Oklahoma, and open areas strewn with rocks like in Pennsylvania where the glaciers dropped off all the huge boulders as they melted and receded during the Ice Age.  These rocks aren’t as large as those, but seem to be interspersed with something else. 

 This must be the Valley of Bones I heard mentioned… Those whitish sticks must be bones!  But so many bones?  I’m overwhelmed!  So much death!  But, how did so many bones come to be here?  Who were these people?  these animals?  What were their stories?  I guess this is what people feel when they think of death and dying and hospice (so overwhelming).  We hear it all the time, Clarisa, “How can you deal with it all?”  And of course the answer is – one person at a time – one person’s story so it doesn’t end with dying alone and in pain.  One person at a time; one bone at a time.

 Snowflake flicks her ears around (did I speak out loud?) and turns her head to look at me.  I reach out and stroke her neck.  She licks my hand, nods her head, and turns back as she moves gingerly, avoiding stepping on any exposed bones, along the perimeter of the area. 

 She proceeds a bit, and then stops and looks back at me, rippling the muscles of her back.

 “Should I get off now?”

 She nods her head.  How can she understand, yet turtles seem to understand at times, as do cats, and other critters.  I slide off the best I can and glance around.  I have no clue what I am to do here (excavate, dig, move bones and clear areas?) I let my eyes wander, trying to get a sense of where I am.  Snowflake gently paws next to a spot where some smaller stones are piled with a larger rock on top forming a ledge of sorts.        

 “Okay, I get it.”  I bend over and lift the top rock off and feel around the remaining stones.  Way underneath, under the ledge, I feel something both smooth and pointed.

‘Fragile’  I hear, and look at Snowflake.  Those same far-seeing, aware eyes gaze back at me.  Eyes that are not typically cat’s eyes or donkey’s eyes.  Who are these animals?

 But I carefully grasp the item and draw it forth.  How beautiful!  A white shell or bone – fragile and lovely – in the midst of mud and rocks and people looking like they are mining for gold (or Arkansas diamonds.)  I grab a blue cloth from my saddlebag and gently brush off the remaining dirt and mud.  There!  I can see it even better now as I check it out from all angles.

Each view a masterpiece!  What kind of shell is this?  Or is it a sculpted piece of alabaster or ivory?  It’s so intricate.  ‘No, it’s a shell.’  My thought or Snowflake’s?   I now remember seeing such a shell, an alabaster murex, and reading that the flanges kept the snail within from sinking into the mud of the ocean bottom, acting much like snow shoes do.  How magnificent!

 Holding the shell, ever so gently, with both hands cupped, I walk to a grassy spot at the edge of the tree line, and sit.  Snowflake lies down next to me.  I look from the shell to Snowflake and back again, wondering about the connection, if any. 

‘No coincidence.’  So what do a white shell, a white donkey and a middle aged woman – also white – have in common?  ‘Patterns – check for patterns.’  

“What kind of patterns?”  No reply.  I squinch around a bit to get more comfortable and my foot moves a pebble to reveal something white.  Holding the alabaster shell in one hand, I unearth the object.  Brushing off the clinging dirt, I hold it this way and that to discern what it is.  Not as fragile as the shell, but similar with spikes like the shell but a hold running through the middle, like a donut.  This almost looks like a spinal vertebrae, but just one?  I look around but don’t see any others.

 ‘Patterns.’ 

 “Tell me more.  Don’t just say patterns.”

 ‘Look!’

 So I carefully observe the shell in one hand and the vertebrae in the other.                                            

The life force/cerebral fluid flows through the vertebrae bringing life and awareness and consciousness to the body.   It protects the soft and fragile spinal cord within.  The shell protects the soft creature within.  I look from one to the other.  They appear so similar.  One is the housing for spinal fluid, the consciousness, and the other for snails of the ocean, the basics of life.  I think of the spinal vertebrae, protecting the fluid that connects us to life and to other levels of consciousness, other realities if we so choose.  I can feel my own awareness rise, as in meditation, moving up from the lower chakras to the eye center.

 I put my hands together, so shell and bone touch, completing the circle of my energy through my arms.  I feel a small jolt, as the energies connect and circulate.  And with that jolt… I know this shell is like those remembered many lifetimes ago, on the shores near Ur over 4000 years ago.  I remember how prized they were, and how some scribes used them to inscribe words of homage to the gods and the kings.  And I had ridden to the ocean in a cart pulled by an onager (somewhat larger and more horse-like than a donkey, and far more unruly with a stiff mane like a zebras and a black stripe down the middle of its reddish-brown color.)   I feel the intense heat. 

 I finally glance up to see Snowflake watching me.  She nods.  So once again I remember a lifetime.  The larger patterns reveal themselves once again.  Some would say its imagination, hallucinations, even craziness.  Those who don’t know me might say I’m on drugs, etc.  (They obviously don’t know me, Clarissa.)  I don’t expect others to agree with my interpretation – it is the kind of experience that each person needs to discover for themselves.  It is enough that after all these years I am comfortable knowing what I experience is true.  The struggle to reach this point has been difficult, but well worth it.  Fortunately, there are enough people around to support me even as they know how sane and ordinary I am (some would say even boring).  And now a little white donkey even agrees. (Who or what is this donkey?)  Something else to discuss woth you, Clarissa, when I actually complete and send this email to you.

‘The Feast of Serpents is about to commence,’ said Leonie. ‘You should hurry is you want a good viewing spot. I’ve heard it is well worth seeing.’

‘Why don’t you women stay then?’ asked Almurta.

Leonie shrugged. ‘We’re forest people, not party people,’ she said.

Almurta looked at the throng on the balcony and wondered if she could still remember how to be a party person. The flamboyant clothing of the party goers flashed in the sunlight as they gathered round a table laden with a sumptuous feast. Many had hung up their offerings of intricately decorated and inscribed prayer flags. Almurta’s hung there too, its glowing colours symbolising her prayer for healing. The image she had printed on it of a figure striding out joyfully seemed impossibly optimistic. Her journey across Lenore had been demanding and there had been times of deep self analysis. The Serpentine Road had extended her to the point of exhaustion. It had all been engrossing and she had learnt much but she was tired of travelling. Bone weary.

Before the women’s concert Almurta had spent days sitting with them at their camp beneath the trees. The gentle murmur of the voices had soothed her as the women spoke of their quests deep into the forest where they fought against ancient evils and dark forces. Although their battles were fierce and terrifying the women spoke of their victories with humility. Their failures they listed with honesty. The stories touched Almurta and resonated with her own. She felt a sense of belonging and her tiredness lifted.

The hubbub on the balcony called her back to the present. Snippets of clever repartee drifted across to her as more and more people joined the group. A sudden hush fell upon them as serpents slithered out of the forest and onto the banquet table. L’Enchanteur presided over the proceedings as the snakes ate and drank. ‘They are all great people,’ thought Almurta. ‘Gifted and talented every one of them. E is a remarkable woman. I’m just not sure I can keep up with them any more.’

As the snakes finished their meal and slipped back into the forest a sudden gust of wind swept across the balcony. Flags bumped against each other. The string supporting Almurta’s jerked and broke. The wind caught the cloth and lifted it above the trees. For a moment the light shone through the gauzy cloth and the figure upon it appeared to dance across the sky. As Almurta watched it hovered an instant and then was tossed higher and higher by the wind until it was no more than a smudge of colour. She glanced back at the forest to see Leonie disappearing among the trees.

‘Leonie,’ she called lightly as she tugged on Shadow’s bridle and ran after the woman. ‘Leonie can I come with you.’

The woman turned and smiled. ‘Of course,’ she said.

All the snakeskins were put into a bright copper cauldron and set alight. Bella sprinkled something over the pot and produced a miniature fireworks display, which was cheered and clapped. After this she and Trevor wove their way through all the tables singing a song in a strange language. I couldn’t understand the words, but it was pleasant to listen to. They ended up in front of the gong and Bella raised her arms and shouted an incantation. Then she brought her arms down swiftly. At this point hands shot over ears – except I was a bit slow – and Trevor struck the gong with the mallet. It was a very deep tone, and not only made my ears ring but made me feel a bit nauseous too. He struck the gong three times and then all eyes turned to the woods. As the ringing died away the snakes appeared. The ground appeared to be seething with them – every size and colour.

As soon as the snakes appeared, so did the food. There was meat, fish and fowl; hot seasonal vegetables; salads, soups, fruit; puddings, pies and cake. Jugs of mead and lemonade were placed on the tables too.

We were asked to lift the snakes onto the tables; offer them tiny morsels of all the foods and then set them back on the ground. This seemed less than hygienic to me, but we did as asked. Fortunately, the snakes were very docile and didn’t slither all over the food. When they had been fed and were placed back on the ground, they all headed back to the woods and the feast got underway for us humans.

There were acrobats, clowns and jugglers to entertain us while we ate. The food was delicious and after we’d finished eating, the tables were removed and replaced by a wooden dance floor. A lively band played jigs and reels, and we all had a whale of a time. The dancing continued through the night, but I caved around ten thirty and went to bed, thoroughly exhausted but very happy.

I passed Bella on the stairs and winked at her.
‘I know your secret,’ I said.
‘What secret?’
‘The snakes. It’s the gong, isn’t it? Nothing to do with charms and incantations.’
She put her finger to her lips, ‘Shhhh!’ she said. ‘Don’t let the cat out of the bag. The visitors like a bit of pomp and circumstance.’
‘Don’t worry, Bella. Your secret’s safe with me.’ I gave her a big hug and went to my room.

I washed and dressed and wandered outside. The landlord seemed to be directing things.
‘Good morning. I’m glad the rain stopped.’ I said.
‘Yes. It’ll be a good day for it.’
‘How will you cater for so many people?’
‘Oh, we don’t do it all. The whole village is involved in providing the feast.’
‘How do the snakes get here?’
‘Bella sings to them, and they come out of the forest.’
‘But, snakes are deaf aren’t they?’
‘Are they? I never knew that. It must be the charm she uses.’

Just then Bella emerged from the inn and came to join us. Only three hats this morning, but all of them different from yesterday.
‘Would you like to take a stroll with me?’ she asked.
‘I would. You can tell me all about how you charm the snakes.’
‘Oh, if I did that, dear, I’d have to kill you,’ and she chuckled at her joke. At least I think it was a joke.
‘How can you sing a charm to snakes when they can’t hear?’ She tapped the side of her nose and winked at me.

We walked to the far side of the pond as we talked. She asked me how Hecate was and we talked of her little cottage. Apparently it had been in the family for centuries. When we reached the other side of the duck pond we met a group of men hauling an enormous gong onto the grass. It must have been about six feet across and was mounted on a large timber frame on wheels. Another man was carrying a large, leather covered mallet. A dinner gong that could call people from miles away! Bella shouted ‘hello’ to the group and we made our way back to the inn.
‘Join me for breakfast, Bella?’ She agreed and we went inside.
‘Will you be attending the Gorgon ceremony tomorrow?’ she asked.
‘I’m not very fond of smelly cheese.’
‘Huh!?’ She looked puzzled. ‘It’s not a cheese. Its ‘The Gorgon’, like in mythology.’
‘Oh! What’s involved in that then?’
‘Well, you have to perform for her, and if you do a good job she removes one of her veils and imparts some wisdom.’
‘It’s not painful karaoke, is it? I don’t do karaoke.’
‘It can be anything of your choosing.’
‘Hmmm. I’ll have to think about that. I don’t sing; can’t juggle or do magic tricks and my dancing days are over…….I might just watch.’
‘Oh, and while I think about it, don’t forget to take your snakeskin to the feast.’
‘Aaand what snakeskin would that be? I don’t have a snakeskin. Do they skin the snakes?’
‘No, the skins that the snakes slough off each year are collected by the children and decorated.You have to have one to be seated at the feast.’
‘Where will I get one?’
‘One of the stalls will be selling them.’
‘OK, I’ll go and get one.’

Bella went off to prepare herself for the calling-in of the snakes, and I wandered through the stalls on the common, looking for the snakeskin merchant.

The stall was painted all over with brightly coloured snakes, and the proprietors were a couple of children about nine years old.
‘You have a beautiful tent,’ I said.
‘We painted it ourselves. Not just us………all of the kids.’
‘Well, you’ve done an excellent job of it.’
‘Do you want to buy one?’ asked the little girl.
‘I do indeed. Which one would you recommend?’
‘I painted the purple and orange one,’ she said, ‘An’ I did the spotty one,’ said the boy.
‘Those were the ones that I like the best, too. I’ll take them both. How much are they?’
‘Three dollars each.’ They beamed. I handed over a ten dollar note and told them to keep the change.
‘Carry them carefully,’ said the little boy, ‘ ’cause they tear easy.’
‘I will. Thank you very much.’
I carried my purchases back to my room and laid them carefully on the bed.

At twelve thirty I made my way through the tables looking for ‘E’ and the others taking the donkey trek. They saw me first and waved and shouted. I sat down, together with my snakeskins, and we all swapped tales of our adventure so far.

“I will protect you,” Maya said, gently, trying to ease Francesca’s fear.

“Why do I always think of the worst possible scenario?” Francesca questioned – more to herself than to Maya.

The sky was glowing with swirls of pink and orange, the blue barely visible as the sun began to set. The clouds were smudged thin, lacy over the burgeoning colors. The journey was going slowly for Francesca. She was so unsure of herself that she could not make even the smallest decisions. A fork in the road kept her busy for hours as she created stories of disaster for each path before her. She was paralyzed by her lack of self-confidence, but Maya stood patiently beside her knowing Francesca must find her own way or have the courage to ask for help.

“I should never have left the Abbey,” Francesca said, “I should have never let Sarah talk me in to this. I just wasn’t ready.”

Maya led Francesca to a lake hidden beyond the lush green trees. It glittered with the last remnants of the sun and Francesca had a sudden urge to jump in. Maya stood at the edge and drank from the clear, pure water. The sound of rushing water falling endlessly from the rocks above drifted through the silent air. Francesca slowly removed her clothes and stretched her body towards the darkening sky and a feeling spread through her that she had never felt before.

She slowly inched the tips of her toes towards the water wanting to get a feel for the temperature before entering. It was warm and cool at the same time. It was a new sensation and she could no longer wait for it to embrace her skin. She slipped into the water, her footing unsure on the slick, black rocks. She paused under the waterfall and let its healing powers flow through her.

Francesca emerged a new woman. She stood on the edge of the lake refreshed and renewed.

“I’m ready now, Maya,” she said, “Thank you for being so patient with me. I am going to need your help, knowledge, and guidance if I am going to make it to the House of Serpents. Will you help me?”

“Oh Francesca, I have only been waiting for you to ask,” Maya replied, “We will begin in the morning. You have much to learn my child, but I am here to guide you through whatever may come your way.”

Francesca curled next to Maya that night letting Maya’s breaths lure her to sleep knowing that she could handle whatever came her way with Maya by her side.

We are all different parts of a whole...