Chapter 1
The CRY of the CHILD
‘Gather
close if you would hear my words,’ whispered the Story Teller. ‘Listen to the
voices of the ancestors. Feel the touch of the Sacred Winds of Time and know
all that has gone before us is not lost.’
Few
travelled this trail.
Down through the centuries it knew only the weary tread of women heavy with a
new life within. It opened to them because their journey to this sacred
mountain was written in the stars.
The
hot sun beat down on Awi adding another burden to her aching body. Fear, flamed
by exhaustion, whispered again and again that they would not reach the birthing
stone in time. Three days had passed since leaving her village in the green
valley far below. Each dawn asked more as they climbed ever higher towards
peaks covered with snow.
Her
unborn was a gift to the people, the first child, the one created of seed
joined by the wisdom of the old ones. In a distant past, long lost to memory,
the Ancients saw the virtue of ensuring the first child was seeded by a young
man chosen by the elders. When Awi was but a girl of five years, it was decided
Tu, who was the same age, would be the companion to share her journey into the
realms of women.
Families
gathered from the distant reaches of the land to celebrate the promises made in
that betrothal. Many children stood before the people for the dedications.
Little ones who were impatient to be gone, eager to visit the cooking fires, to
race to the tumbling stream, climb the tall trees, swing on the vines and
plunge laughing into the deep pools. Yet when Omanu, the village elder, clothed
in a robe of many colours, took up the sacred talking stick and stepped forward,
everyone and everything fell silent. Even the birds seemed to watch, wait and
listen.
Each
little couple shyly joined hands and shuffled forward to stand in a half moon
before Omanu, who said in a strong, kind voice, ‘Two great rivers meet in the lives
of these children. We gift them to each other for the birthing of one child.
Thereafter, they are free to continue to walk together if that is their dream,
or to seek other companions for their life trails. This is the way and the
wisdom of the ancestors.’
Then
old Grandmother Ula was helped to her feet and a murmur of excitement rippled
through the children. A quiet word of command stilled their hushed words but
did not remove their smiles. All knew it was time to receive their stone. Even
those too young to understand the wonder of this moment felt its power when the
old one stood beside Omanu. Every child knew the smile that played across the
face of this wise elder, the oldest of the mothers. It spoke of laughter and
gifts to be treasured.
All
remembered the words of those who prepared them for this day… When
Grandmother Ula stands she will give to each of you a sacred stone. Be still,
for she only sees children who wait quietly for the gift. Noisy and impatient
little ones are invisible to her old eyes.
Another
said… It is not just any stone. It has been gathered from a special mountain
by those who hear its song and know its ways. And it has been shaped to hold
its spirit strong to guide you day-by-day. Learn to listen to your stone.
The
third teacher had added even greater mystery. She spoke of the coloured cord
that held each stone. With excitement, stored deep in her memory, she said… When
Grandmother holds your stones before you they will twirl in the Sun and you
will see a beautiful colour appear for a few moments. Watch for it when the
cords spin and hold it in your mind forever.
That
colour was born of the joining of two others. It was a product of the revolving
cords, of the wonder of the source where two tides meet to create a third,
something unique that was of them and beyond them. If held deep in memory,
understanding would grow to give it meaning in later years.
Grandmother
Ula beckoned for a couple to stand before her. Tu pulled Awi forward so they
might be the first. She remembered every shade and shimmer of what she felt
from that instant, recalled her intense grip upon his hand, her need for an
anchor as she spun into a whirlpool of surging excitement…
‘I
need to rest,’ murmured Awi. ‘My mind travels back to days long gone. And there
is joy in that. But exhaustion stops me in my tracks. The trail to the sacred
birthing stone seems so long.’
She
was helped to sit on a smooth rock ledge that had comforted many women over the
generations. Here, where the path was very steep, rest was always needed. To
ease her pain Awi sent her mind back to the betrothal day again… she saw the
old one, with grace and whispered words of power, open the way to draw two
stones from her beautifully woven basket… watched her lift them clear and knew
the thrill of expectation as grandmother held the ends of both cords in one
hand, let the stones fall with a skill that saw them spin around each other… in
an instant… the two cords, one red and one yellow… twisted together to create a
stunning blur of a magical orange colour… Awi sighed as she remembered how
their stones slowed, to finally stop and separate.
There
was design and power in the twirl of the cords. Now Awi knew the wonder of it.
The child within was of that moment of new light, the flash of orange and the
colour beyond theirs. It was created by ancient tides that carried all that had
ever been into the closeness of their joining. It had touched and awakened the
excitement and joy of every part of her being at the crest of their embrace. It
was yesterday, today and tomorrow. The timeless space of knowing. It was
Creation.
‘Are
you ready to move on?’ one of the woman asked.
‘Not
yet, I still need time with my memories. The joy of the past lightens the
burdens of this day.’
Awi
would never forget how Grandmother Ula then took a cord in each hand and raised
them to greet the Sun. It was only then that she saw the shapes carved there
for their journey of life. Each was a circle, Sun and Moon, the curving path of
wisdom that was without beginning or end. Each was marked as no other to honour
the gifts of the one asked to carry it and carved with finely graved symbols
that spoke of mysteries beyond the mysteries.
A
shaft of pain stabbed her. When it passed she grasped the cord of her stone and
drew it. The words the old one spoke that day echoed through Awi’s mind… the
cord passes through a circle drilled in the centre of the disk of stone. That
opening is of the balance, the place where we are nothing and everything, where
we touch nothing yet are bound to all.
Awi
remembered how Grandmother Ula then spoke, with laughter in her voice, to join
them in companionship with the stone and each other. She could not recall the
exact words as she walked this mountain trail, but still felt the magic of the
cord passing over her head and the stone coming to rest on her chest. She
stroked its smooth surface again, was drawn into its depths and thrilled to
hear the song within. ‘Bright stone of power, you are a wonderful friend. One
forever bound to my journey and the son I carry.’ she whispered.
Before
she gathered her strength to travel on, Awi saw the moment that truly bound her
to Tu… At that time she understood little. It was enough that the stone sang to
her. The child accepted the moment then sent it deep and broke free of the
ritual to play and dance with the other children.
Someone
intruded on her thoughts, said something… Awi nodded not fully taking in the
meaning of the words and was startled when cool water was slowly poured over
her head and neck. Another memory was triggered… yes, water had splashed over my
head… had startled me out of a timeless realm... had run down my chest to wet
the stone and seal the promises made that day in the sacredness of the
blessing… now I understand my path… see it carved into the ancient trails of
the stone… trails that reach back to the birthing of the stars and forward to
the mystery of all that is and all that will be.
Eight
years later, when Awi's body first bled with the seed, her mother and
grandmother took her to the sacred cave to open her life to the ways of women.
Only then did she begin to catch glimpses of the long journey that was to bring
her to this moment on this mountain.
As
Awi toiled higher on that steep trail she wrapped her cloak of weariness ever
closer and let her mind escape to the excitement and wonder of her days in the
cave of learning. With gentle words the women prepared her for the beautiful
days and nights she was to know with Tu, her betrothed.
Tu
was born to a distant village but in his sixteenth year he came to Awi's home
to help the hunters harvest the eels that left the lakes to journey to the
ocean. It was early in the season of long hot days and warm nights. Since their
betrothal they met at least every two years for one turning of the Moon. Sometimes
his people came to her village with its little round huts built entirely of
wood. The surrounding forests and the rivers and lakes brought great bounty
into their lives. They always arrived with gifts of finely worked stone tools.
When
they travelled to Tu’s people they carried gifts of sun-dried fish and berries.
Awi found their stone round houses intriguing. Awi had struggled to see how the
stone roof did not fall in and bury everyone. When Tu explained the whole roof
depended on the power of one keystone to hold it together, she was very
impressed but still a little confused. His village was high in the mountains,
located above the tree line and knew deep snow in winter. Sturdy homes that
withstood fierce winds, and warm furs were essential for their survival. Stone
quarries bound them to these heights and offered the core that gave meaning to
their lives. They were of the Stone People.
Awi
and Tu did everything together for there was no distinction between male and
female children. All the life trails were open to them. Women and men shaped
stone, worked the fishing nets, cared for babies and were keepers of the sacred
lore.
This
visit was different. Awi and Tu were now provided with their own sleeping
shelter. They had their food with the family, and enjoyed the company of all,
but found they yearned more and more for the seclusion of their own dwelling.
It was a haven set aside from all others. None could approach it without
invitation. Even the young ones, who loved to spend their idle moments with Awi,
understood the boundaries set before them.
Within
its walls they told stories of their childhood, shared the inner journey of the
spirit and their secret thoughts. And all the time they felt the need for a
closeness that went beyond anything they had ever known. Yet they knew, with an
understanding far beyond their years, that step was best approached with
gentleness and patience.
Both
had been taught the lore of the seed tides, the lessons of the loving way, but
knowing and being were realms apart. They understood there would be blood in
the sharing and for some days walked anxiously around their growing need. It
was Awi who drew the moment upon them. She knew they were being swept along by
flood tides that could not be denied and opened the way for Tu. Their joyous
excitement reached far into the night and touched depths beyond all imagining.
Knowing and being found completion as they explored the wonder of two beautiful
bodies that sang as one.
Thereafter
every moment together was filled with an all-consuming fire. Tu went daily to
the nets with Awi. Together they cleaned the catch and hung the prepared fish
on the drying racks. And when the evening meal was finished they slipped away
to share the remainder of the day in the sanctuary that was but a simple
shelter.
Then,
when the season of long hot days began to merge into the time of the falling
leaves, the seed tide failed to show for Awi. She waited seven days then shared
her excitement with Tu. They talked of nothing else in the next five days. The
wonder of a new life intruded on all they did. Its music surrounded them in
whispered words in the company of others, in joyous laughter beneath the
waterfall and in the gentleness of their loving in the night.
Everything
turned upon the seed alive within. Their lives contracted to embrace the small
spark of life they had created by their love. The tiny one housed within the
womb. And their lives expanded to touch a universe of immensity and power as
their world joined to the ancestral realms with an awesome knowing, reached out
to embrace the stars with a sense of completeness, and travelled on to fathom
the beyond where all tides meet.
On
the twelfth night without a flow they shared their excitement with Awi's
family. Her mother smiled and said, ‘This news appeared in your smile days ago.
Two great rivers join as one to awaken the miracle of life. We are filled with
great joy. Your son journeys far to join us. May we nurture him on the long
trail to his birthing day.’
As
Awi crested another rise she looked back over the land they had traversed in
recent days and reflected on her journey. She thought… There are many trails
woven into our lives. My child will this night ride the heavens to gather his
spirit from a shooting star. That is the way of the world without end. And the
spirit that returns to enter this quickening one within my womb will carry the
dream of the Ancients and be open to all they have woven into the Song of the
Ages. His journey has been carved in stone and sung into the waters and the
skies above. He is of the orange blur of light that flashed from the twirling
cords on our betrothal day. He will walk the mystery and the magic of the Great
One. He is very special. Few are born to know the wisdom that allows them to
hold a Stone and a Star in the same hand.
Awi
knew she had slowed to a shuffle as her mind drifted in and out of the past.
She gathered her strength again. Urgency sounded and grew. A new hurt now
surged through her with a rhythm all its own. The little one within awakened to
its passage. Each step was now a burden that reached deeper and deeper into
unknown caverns of pain. Her hand reached again and again for the comfort of
her companion stone. Its song lifted her spirit to the mountain tops. It said
she had the courage to come to the journey's end in time to open her body on
the birthing rock.
Strong
arms guided each step and helped her along the narrow mountain trail. Rocks
that had fallen across the path were eased aside by those who went ahead to
clear the way. Words of comfort helped her find the commitment to the next step
and the one beyond. Each a victory.
Rest.
Awi was eased down to sit on a low rock. Then smoked eel meat was given in
small pieces. Juicy oil ran down her fingers. It was delicious food and
provided the strength to surmount the rising slopes ahead. Its power to sustain
and nurture is well known to those trained in the lore of the high trails. Few
people reach the peaks standing so tall and fewer still know eels climb to
those places when the winter-melt begins.
Anui,
the grandmother of this trail, sat with her arm around Awi. Sensing the need
for diversion she whispered to a woman who then clambered down to a nearby
stream. She returned, after a little time, with her hand closed tightly.
Chuckling and dancing with delight she cried, ‘You wriggle so. Such strength in
a little body. Be still my beauty and I will show you to Awi.’ She
brought both hands together and cupped them to reveal a tiny black eel. It
rested motionless in the light then jerked to life to curl and uncurl and snake
up her arm with ease.
‘Enough!’
said Anui, who still held Awi close, ‘return the one called Tuna to the stream,
gather everyone to me and I will tell the story of that little eel’s journey.’
And
so Anui began. ‘The little one we have taken back to the waters climbs to the
snow to feed. It is so. In the spring that baby, born of Tuna, answers the call
of the mountains and leaves the river to climb a small stream that flows from
the snowfields. It wriggles and squirms up the trickling waters to surmount
rock faces that threaten to deny its way. Even when there is no water it curls
its small body to find the grip that allows it to cross rough surfaces and
reach ever higher. Weeks pass and it still strives to attain the snows. Then
the night arrives when a bright Moon greets the tiny tuna in the waters at the
edge of the great snowfields. There it rests triumphant, for it knows with a
wisdom buried deep in memory that the struggle to reach the peaks is honoured
by a feast.
‘Awi,
this is the wonder of it. Little tuna has come to the snow to harvest a crop
sown by the blizzards of late autumn. Great clouds of insects lie frozen there.
Abundant and free in the warm days of summer they rode the winds to grow fat
upon the land. When the coldness arrived, as it must always do, those who
stayed too long were covered by the white cloak of winter. Baby tuna knows
this, for what is has always been.’
Anui
paused to see if Awi was recovering from the last steep climb, then placing her
arm around her again, she continued, ‘What the winter freezes the Sun releases.
Tuna waits and the thaw provides. Everything is as it should be. Out of life,
death, and out of death, life. This is the great circle of knowing woven into
the land. Within it tuna grows stronger and longer until the wide waters of the
river call and the descent to valley begins.’
They
resumed their journey. Awi moved slowly but was stronger after the rest and
food. She thought of tuna and said to herself, ‘I walk in the strength of the
little one who has climbed to the snow. Such heights achieved, such
understanding in one so small it cannot see beyond the next rock. So much trust
in the knowing that carries it ever higher. Tuna, friend of the high trails, I
thank you for the gift you give me.’
The
day lengthened and the path at last descended. It was done. The great river was
now but a small stream at her feet. They had come at last to the source of the
waters. Her son’s first cry would echo through this valley to greet these
mountains and the blood of his birthing would flow to these waters. One journey
was over and another would soon begin.
Awi
lay resting on a woven mat spread over a carpet of yellowed grasses and gazed
at wisps of hazy red cloud lit by the setting Sun. Her eyes closed as she absorbed
the next wave of pain, going into it, accepting it, riding the crest and
relaxing into the retreat. The Sun surrendered the heavens to the power of the
rising Moon. It filled her world. A brilliant globe of light. Full. Now she
knew the circle was complete.
Her
son would enter this realm surrounded by wondrous white light. That was the
prophecy and that was the way. Water was brought to Awi and she drank it
quickly. The climb and the dry air had sapped the juices from her. Then loving
hands softly massaged scented oils into the fullness of her beautiful body and
gently caressed the aching muscles of her arms and legs. The women who nurtured
her with their touch had been her constant companions over many months. She
gave herself into their hands. A warm, feathered cloak fell across her to ward
off the growing chill of the night. All would be as the ancestors planned. In
this she trusted.
Awi
did not see the star that fell from the heavens to bring the spirit of her son
into her womb. She barely had the strength to acknowledge the joy of the women.
The birthing tide now grew so strong she was lost within it.
Comforting
words. Then gentle hands circled the mat that was her bed and carefully carried
her from the grass to the birthing rock. Those who placed her on the stone knew
exactly where her body would rest upon it in greatest ease. It held her in warm
caress, for the Sun's heat had explored its depths and now returned to greet
the night. The stars embraced her, covered her nakedness but could not yet set
her free.
Time
folded over time. Awi became lost in a curtain of torment. Someone was crying
at the night. Screaming. The veil of pain eased aside but the distant voice
continued to rail against the gods. Keening broken words of anguish. Into the
long silence sobbing weary words of longing, ‘Tu! Tu! Tu! Help me… Tuuuu!’
Such a long journey through that night. Yet there
were markers. Words of encouragement. Then the sacred chant for the breaking of
the waters. Ancient words filled with the love of the Mother. Words of majesty
to welcome the first glimpse of the head of the little one. Words of gratitude
when he slipped into caring hands and gave his first cry. Words of rejoicing
when the afterbirth swiftly followed. And words of healing to cleanse the blade
that severed the cord joining mother and child. Separation.
They
placed her son in her arms. Awi held him close and gave thanks for the wonder
of his creation. He had come on the day foretold to greet the fullness of the Moon
and answer the appointed stars. The dream unfolded. It was done. She murmured,
‘Tu will be proud of his little son and speak often of his love for me. My boy
will know and remember.’
Awi
fell into a deep sleep. She never stirred when her comforters lifted her gently
from the stone and placed her in the covered shelter raised nearby. She did not
see them wash her blood from the birthing stone and guide it down timeworn
channels that sent it drifting into the stream far below. She did not know it
had begun its long journey to the ocean. She went deeper and deeper into
darkness as the rising Sun sent its light to touch the snows. She was not aware
of the soft voices that sang to her of the journey back to the stars.
There
was one last brief shaft of understanding. A moment of awesome majesty when Awi
saw she held within her hand her precious companion stone and a beautiful star.
Few are born to know such wisdom.
All
mourned the loss of Awi. Many families gathered to honour her courage with
words both beautiful and brave. And all the while Karu, the brightest star of
the stone, stood overhead. And Utini, her companion star, rode the High Trails
to draw close.
Grandmother
Ula sat beside Awi. Holding the cold hand of the girl she knew from birth and
loved so deeply… she talked quietly of the naming of her newborn and listened
for reply… looking to the stars she asked if the name Utini might be gifted to her babe…
found no hindrance for all knew the child was of the stars and the stone.
Ula
untied the thong of the carved circle stone that rested upon Awi's breast. The
one who had gifted it to Awi years before now moved it on. Thus was the power
that gave a young mother the strength to honour the birth of life placed in
Utini's tiny hands. He clutched it tightly as water was sprinkled over his
face.
Then the baby was wrapped in a blanket for his
journey to the village of the Stone People.
When sleep claimed him, Awi departed
To join the realm of the stars.
She was now of the Wonder
Of the Silence that embraces All.
vvvvv
The
Story Teller returned from the ancient days, bowed his head, sighed and sat
quietly.
‘Could
Awi be my great, great grandmother far removed?’ asked a quiet voice.
He
thoughtfully stroked his silver-grey beard in silence, looked around those who
gathered to hear his stories and said, ’That’s possible. She was the mother of
so much we hold so dear, but remember she left us many, many centuries ago. I
speak of ancient days and sacred journeys. Some say this is of the time before
the Buddha and the Christ and some say it is after.'
‘Thank
you, grandfather! My blood tie to Awi may be very distant but the story touches
something that moves me deeply. This is my journey too.’
‘Then
let's continue along this ancient trail of wisdom,’ he said with a smile.
‘Perhaps we will discover there the secret of your story.’
Gathering
in the others with his eyes, he whispered, ‘And yours too, for all wisdom is of
the circle.’
