Repairing the World

Tikkun Olam: Hebrew “Repairing the World”

 

Chelsea stood in the Temple Church accompanied by Tammanend still adorned in the great Shaman’s bison robe and Dr. Samuel Pepys wearing a long cloak and his tricorn hat.  Strange arcane symbols embellished the perfectly round church, and effigies of the Knight’s Templar marking their final resting place seemed to create a thickness in the air.  Ghostly mask-like carvings of a man’s face composed of leaves, the ‘green man’ along with strange pillars with a terrestrial globe and astrological globe capping the tops respectively.

“This is how Charles Dickens was able to write ‘A Christmas Carol’”.  Dr. Pepys said matter-of factly.  “He knew how to navigate the Ley.”

Then it dawned on Chelsea that she was seeing some kind of Christmas future...or present, albeit a surreal Christmas ‘present’.

“There is a brilliant young man about the same age as young William Penn who in a few years will change the world with his revolutionary discovery of the laws of Gravity.  Again he is learning how to maneuver the Ley.” Dr. Pepys explained.

“What are these Doric columns?” Chelsea asked as she carefully tiptoed through the sacred sanctuary.

“That, my dear, is Boaz and Jachin.”

“Biblical, I take it.” She replied slightly uninterested.

“Somewhat.  You see, my fair girl, Boaz and Jachin are the two pillars that stood at the entrance of the temple of Solomon.  They represent severity and mercy on the tree of life…alas, Chokmah: Hebrew for wisdom and Binah: Hebrew for understanding…before reaching Kether, the crown…In the east, Samhadi, the height of divine consciousness.  It is the yin/yang, the duality of existence.  Light, dark, good, bad, male, female, sun, moon.” He said and his voice trailed off as he was taken by the grandeur of the Temple himself.

Tammanend followed behind Chelsea as a guide and protector.  He waited for a moment to ensure Chelsea might see him as he touched the pillar and stood between the two sentinels.  The threshold between the pillars became the grassy savannahs of Pennsylvania and Ohio at about the time Tammanend led his people west to ensure their survival.  For as far as the eye could see was vast wild prairie and beautiful stands of trees and woodlands.

“This.  This is how it looked to the Great Spirit before the white men came.”  Tammanend said softly and with longing.  Chelsea was astounded by what she was witnessing.  The Temple Church of London let out into the American plains unspoiled and pure.  She could smell the sweetgrass and the sounds of birds and the faint rustle of verdure in the wind.  It was the absolute authenticity of nature.

“How?” She asked breathless.

“These are doorways in the wrinkles of time.  Tiny little holes in the fabric of space.” Dr. Pepys replied.

“I’m dreaming---I, I must be dreaming.”  She said and she grew nervous and wanted very much to wake up.  Dr. Pepys shook his head ‘no’ then he smiled kindly.

“You are separating the subtle from the gross, my dear.  ‘as above, so below’. A very important step in recognizing the gifts of the laws of nature and achieving, well, a kind of ‘nirvana’, if you will.  You have asked from the subtlest parts of your heart and now you shall receive.” Pepys explained. “However, I must ask:  What is it you hope to achieve from this most extraordinary request?”

“Achieve?” Chelsea asked confused and a bit disoriented.

“Besides your own personal gain?” He continued.  Then he patiently waited for Chelsea to gather her thoughts and to truly put words to the things that affected her deeply.  But more importantly to articulate what it is she truly believed.

“I…um…I never really…wanted to have children.” She began slowly the words trickling in gradually at first.  “But something happened…and I don’t know exactly when or exactly what it was but I…I fell for her, for this woman.” Chelsea began.

“Fell?” Dr. Pepys asked confused.

“Yes…head over heels.  I never expected it. Not in a million years.  But…She sends me…She has extraordinary talent and her paintings are very much like the Rhys paintings.”  She said veering off point.

“I see.” Dr. Pepys replied patiently.

“She makes me want…to be…better…to…be a better person…to combine…knowing a part of her would be growing inside.” Chelsea said softly.  “I mean, the idea of creating another life with her makes me feel like there is hope.”

“Hope for…you?” Pepys prodded.

“For me, for everyone---for the world.” Chelsea said and her words surprised her.  Before, her focus seemed to be on the pertinent things of life as she knew it, a job, security, a place to live and a hobby or two—the distractions of pleasure and entertainment.  Now the world became a nest that must be feathered and cleaned and sometimes torn down and rebuilt. 

“The word Jachin is replaced with a ‘y’ in the Semitic pronunciations.” Dr. Pepys began and his eyes sparkled.   “’Yak’ means ‘one’ and the suffix, if you will, ‘hin’ means ‘only’.  Here we have the great mystery revealed.  It is ‘unity’, the ‘only one’”.

Tammanend stood near the pillar ‘Jachin’ as Dr. Pepys continued.

“The story of Boaz can be found in the book of Ruth.  He redeems the estate through traditional and legal means all in his love for Ruth. The thing you have that is separate from yourself can only be redeemed through the perfectness of love.  ‘Jachin’ becomes the unity of being – something that a family member cannot divest.  And ‘Boaz’ becomes the unity of thought through the ‘act’ of love.” Dr. Pepys said softly then he turned and gazed at Tammanend who was leaning on the pillar Jachin gazing out at the breathtaking vistas of early America.

“It is in the Upanishads.” Tammanend said. “’Brahman’ is ‘Jachin’.  ‘Atman’ is ‘Boaz’. This is what she taught me”.

“Who is ‘she’?” Chelsea asked.

“She is Ansa.” Tammanend said and the sound of her name brought glimmering light into the temple.  The rays sparkled and flickered and infused the entire church with a kind of magical mist.  As Chelsea watched the light fill the church it took her breath away.

“Come.  It is time to learn the calls.” Dr. Pepys said and he gently took Chelsea by her arm and led her to the altar of the small church.  Chelsea kept gazing backward at Tammanend standing on the threshold, his sanguine countenance taking in the wonder of the wilds only a few steps before him.  Then suddenly the great chief crossed the threshold of the sacred pillars and Chelsea watched him as he moved further and further away half obscured by the high grass and the distance.

A black Bentley was parked in the circular drive of the Savoy Hotel.  It was almost the exact model of her Majesty’s, the Queen’s official touring car.  Vacationers and tourists as well as Londoners passing by stopped to study the automobile.  People could be heard whispering things like, “Is the Queen really at the Savoy?  Whatever for?”  They were kindly corrected by the doormen and various hotel personnel that the royal standard was not perched atop the car’s roof, therefore, Her Majesty was not inside nor was this the Royal vehicle.  “Then it must be some other important dignitary.” The whispers continued.  Ashley sat in the back of the car.  She had already gathered Chelsea’s things and tucked them carefully back into her suitcase.  The bellhops had loaded the trunk.  The only thing missing was Chelsea herself.  Ashley fidgeted in the back seat.  The driver, Dillon, waited patiently.

“I’m so sorry.  I asked her to be here by 6:30.  I’ll try again.”  Ashley said apologetically.

“Please don’t apologize, ma’am.  It is my job and my duty to wait.”  He said smiling.  Ashley dialed her cell phone for the umpteenth time and once again it rang and rang until finally on the fifth ring Chelsea answered.

“Chelsea?” Ashley said concerned.

“Hi—I’m so sorry.  I lost track of time and I’m on my way.  I’m only a few streets from the hotel.  I’ll be there in a minute.  I’m so sorry.” Chelsea replied.

“Don’t worry I packed all of our things and I’m waiting in a Black Bentley if you can believe it.” She said chuckling at the absurdity of it. “I’ll see you in a few.”  She said and then she hung up and opened the car door.  She stood on the curb so that Chelsea could see her.  Finally after a few minutes she saw Chelsea ambling along the lane and quickly sprinting towards the car.  Ashley climbed in on her side and Chelsea slid in on the other.  The air conditioning in the car was a cool relief. 

“Wow!  You really pimped the ride!”  Chelsea said giggling and excited.  Dillon pulled the car out of the drive and two were on their way to new digs.

“What happened?  Where were you?” Ashley asked.

“I thought I had a little time and so I stopped at the Globe.  And then I walked over the bridge because it was so nice out---I, I just lost track of time. I’m sorry.”  Chelsea said apologizing yet again.  Then she sat quiet seemingly centering herself.  She reached for Ashley’s hand and clasped it tenderly.

“I want you to know…That I believe in you.  I believe in us, whatever this is…”  She said softly and she could feel her heart race as she peeled away her protective layers.  “I want you to know that I feel deeply…about you.  And sometimes my response time is not…optimal…but I do feel…even though I may not say it…or reciprocate…in a…timely way.  I won’t apologize for that…It’s just the way I’m built.”  She said softly.  Then she gazed at Ashley and Ashley could see that it was the most honest she had ever been with herself since their adventure began.

“I know.”  Was all that Ashley said and she smiled and her copper colored eyes flashed a kind of mysterious knowing as the sun set on olde London Towne. 

 

Chelsea was stunned by the grandeur of the Hyde Park residence.  It almost seemed palatial.  It looked like the townhouses seen in all the Merchant Ivory productions shot in turn-of-the-century London.  In front was the signature wrought iron fencing with the sharpened points guarding the house from the commonness of the street.  They were met by Wilkins in the front parlor.

“Ms. Coleman.”  He said with perfect etiquette.

“Wilkins---this is Chelsea Barrett.” Ashley said.

“A pleasure---“ Wilkins replied and nodded his head in respect.

“I’m sorry we’re late.  We had no time to change our clothes.  We must look like touristy Americans.” Ashley continued.

“We ARE touristy Americans.” Chelsea said.

“Ms. Coleman there is some news. Some rather upsetting news.”  Wilkins said soberly.  Ashley and Chelsea could hear masculine voices murmuring in one of the dining rooms on the ground floor.

“Dame Thornton passed away this afternoon.” Wilkins said and his face was grey and his eyes watered slightly.

“But I just left her this afternoon.  She seemed quite well.” Ashley replied in shock.

“She…fell asleep…and did not wake up.  Natural causes.” Wilkins replied.

“So…are we…should we go back to the hotel?” Chelsea asked.

“We should go so that they can make proper arrangements.”  Ashley added and began to move towards the front door pulling Chelsea’s arm.

“On the contrary.  We require your presence precisely at this time.”  Wilkins said.  “Dillon has taken your trunks to your rooms.  If you would like to change please take a moment to do so.”  Wilkins continued.  “I am quite aware that dinner is supposed to be served at 8:15.  Mrs. O’Halloran has made the required trip to the east side foraging for this elusive Thai Coconut soup.  As for the other guests we will be serving Lancashire hotpot.  However, if you are hungry at the moment I shall have Erin prepare some hors d'oeuvres immediately.

“What does this have to do with us?” Ashley asked.

“Dame Thornton’s accountants and solicitors are in the other room pouring over her estate and will.  Since she had no heirs she has left almost the entire estate to the both of you.”  Wilkins said.  “I do not know the particulars and that is why you are both required presently.”  He nodded leaving the girls gob-smacked.  He had only moved a few yards before turning back. 

“Please follow me.  I’ll show you to your rooms.”

“This is getting more surreal by the moment.”  Chelsea whispered.

 

Erin, the cook, had prepared a wonderful plate of exotic cheeses and crackers along with cru d’etat.  Middle aged men, some in dark suits looking like bankers and others sporting bow ties and tweed jackets reminiscent of literary professors in the states, murmured among themselves as papers and files covered a huge mahogany desk from the Empire period. 

“Gentlemen.  May I introduce you to Ms. Ashley Coleman and Ms. Chelsea Barrett.”  Wilkins said and he smiled at the girls as they seemed to look like deer caught in the proverbial headlights.  There was a gasp and a hush as the recognition of Chelsea’s name was spoken aloud.  A distinguished gentleman stepped forward.

“Ladies.  Permit me to introduce myself.  I am Archibald Smoot, chief legal advisor to Dame Thornton.  You have inherited between the two of you approximately 400 million pounds.”

Chelsea held onto Ashley’s arm to keep from fainting.

“I’m just a poor white child from the woods of North Carolina.” Ashley whispered in her southern drawl, awaiting cameras and a producer to spring out of a hiding place somewhere and tell them it was all a big joke.

“Shhhh.”  Chelsea replied.

“The stipulation is that the two of you be married.” Mr. Smoot added as the other men cleared their throats and looked away. “But…same gender marriage is not recognized as legal in the U.K.” He added.

“Why would the Dame stipulate that if it is not legal?” Ashley asked.  The men looked at each other for a possible answer.

“We do not know.  We were hoping that perhaps she might have given you a clue.” Mr. Smoot replied.

“I have no idea.” Ashley said.  The men scratched their heads. 

“Are either of you British citizens?” He asked.  The girls shook their heads ‘no’ in utter confusion.

“Oh dear.” Smoot uttered. 

“The various charities, museums, trusts and foundations that Dame Thornton supported in her lifetime require the continued stewardship of…well, yourselves.” A non-descript lawyer stated from the back of the crowd.

Smoot stepped forward.

“A fortune of this amount cannot be taken from the country.  It is illegal to remove it all and the good works that Dame Thornton so painstakingly forged would collapse if the support were pulled…It could affect the entire British economy.” 

Infinite Kindnesses

A beam of sunlight poked through one of the shutters in the parlor and as the sun made its trek through the sky it shone its brilliance on Richard’s sleeping countenance. He had lain down for a minute and closed his eyes as Victoria greeted the visitor. He was still weak and he had trouble breathing from the croup that had developed over the course of the storm. The fire was warm and inviting but the sun’s light signaled Spring. With his closed eyes and still in a mild dream state he rolled into the sun. The light was brilliant white as he noticed it through his eyelids, the thin membranes creating a warm pinkish flesh color with tiny blood vessels snaking their way across his field of vision. Then he slowly opened them as if coming out of a long hibernation. As the sun struck his hazel eyes they turned a rich burnt sienna color with streaks of forest green emanating out. They were deep pools of brilliant earth tones and they shone like precious stones, like jasper in their brilliance. He almost felt blinded by the intensity and so he rolled slightly out of the direct light and let his eyes refocus on the crown molding of the magnificent house. He scratched himself and realized he had put the card back into his trouser pocket. He pulled it out and gazed at it once again confused and bewildered.

“Chelsea Barrett”, he said aloud to see if the sound might jog his memory.

“Victoria.” He whispered. He kissed her neck and she did not stir. “Victoria.” He repeated and then kissed her neck and ear again and she was sensually awakened. She stirred and moved onto her back gazing up into her husband’s exquisite eyes. She had only nodded off for a few minutes but her sleep was deep and restful. She kissed him and lingered there as it was the single most refined sweetness she could experience.

“I want to name her Chelsea.” Richard whispered and he moved his hand over his wife’s belly.

“Family name?” She replied through a sleepy voice. He shook his head ‘no’. Then after a moment she remembered seeing the card that Richard had found. “Who is she?” She inquired innocently. She was not jealous or possessive since she knew at the core of her being that he was her soul mate and had been before and will continue to re-enter her various lives until the end of time. There was no room for mistrust or insecurity in Victoria’s life. There were more important things to fret about. And yet that did not mean she did not respect and hold him in the highest regard. She loved him more than anything she could fathom.

“I don’t know.” He answered. “I don’t know who she is. She shows up in my dreams and I…well, I just have a feeling.” He continued.

“What kind of feeling?” Victoria asked as she brushed his thick hair from his face.

“I’m not sure. But it…it’s ethereal. That’s all I know.” He replied. A smile bloomed across her face and she took in every inch of him. Then she nodded ‘yes’.

“Chelsea.” She whispered. “It’s a good name. It will suit her.”

Richard caressed his wife’s belly and his effect on her was mesmerizing. All worry and fear skittered away. The tension of illness, cold, hunger and crisis was released and her body was supple and relaxed. His palm moved in a slow counter clockwise motion and he deftly slipped beneath her bodice and the waistband of her skirt. They had been too tired and weak to stoke the fire and so their wool clothing and the bison hide kept them from the chill. The buttons loosened and she wriggled her way free from the confining cloth and his dexterity and skill soothed and awakened her simultaneously. He kissed her tenderly as his hand circled the lower part of her abdomen and brushed the top of her pubic bone. She was downy and soft and he circled round and made a wider sweep as she pulled him closer and her breath grew short and expectant. Her belly was warm and she could feel the life inside move to the sensation. Chelsea. Somehow in the moment she knew the baby would be a girl and she would call her Chelsea. His gentle caress swept around again and his hand slowed as he found the soft fine hair that grew below her belly. Her face flushed and she kissed him passionately as his fingers found themselves engulfed. The release was palpable and he found that fleshy part of her just before the entrance that at times grows firm and wet and sensitive. She was audible in her desire and the physicality of it burned away all cares and concerns for the time being. They had found that piece of heaven that is timeless and rooted to the spirit. She moved her legs apart and widened herself. Her entire spine was like jelly and the electric arousal dictated her motion. He continued to massage that spot that was still outside yet tucked within the folds of her delicate anatomy. She was so beautiful. Every inch. Every pore. And she moved catlike beside him. She kissed him again and again as she unbuttoned her bodice, her breasts taut with pregnancy. She let her hands run through his wild hair as she pulled him down to her chest and offered herself up. She let him suckle her and the sensation and release brought out a loud sigh of ecstasy and, perhaps, relief. Her small pink nipples were erect and ready and though she was only about halfway through her pregnancy he could taste the scant trace of mother’s milk reserved for their child. Her body responded and she wanted more than anything to feel him. He was wonderfully firm and absolutely aroused. Her nimble fingers unbuttoned him and in a matter of moments he was fully in her hands. He was warm and the tip damp and poised on the precipice of exceptional prowess. His fingers slipped easily inside and he moved rhythmically just an inch or two in and her body responded sending a flood to those places. He was single-minded in his desire to find her peak. And amid her soft cries of excitement she whispered, “Inside.”

He shook his head ‘no’. Then he shifted and placed himself outside her folds and moved rhythmically letting her guide him so that there was contact. He was so aroused that a little bit of himself escaped into that downy place on her pubic bone. But he had mastered control of his urge through his breath and it sent him to new heights with each moment. Release was not an option until she had found exaltation. He wanted to taste her and he moved slowly downward as if hovering above her landscape and he widened the sensitive folds with his fingers and kissed her there as she arched her back and moved back and forth in that fashion. He tasted her and his tongue was fully engaged and completely enclosed by her contracting muscles. Her breath metamorphosed into gasps of escalating pleasure. It seemed as though she had no real control over her body and it moved faster and she wrapped her legs about him and she reached for him but could not find that part. ‘Let her desire come first’ he had been instructed and truthfully the act of giving made him ever more ravenous of her. Finally in the wake of a cascading crescendo her body grew limp as she inhaled sharply, her heart racing like a small wild animal. He was so intoxicated and aroused by her that when she reached for him in her euphoria, her simple caress and firm hold made him spend and the sensation was prolonged by the soft sounds of her satisfaction. And he spilled more than he ever had before and for a brief moment he was sorry that he had refused to actually couple. Then thoughts of the children they would have began to drift through his mind. It would be a long life…together. He knew it and so he must care for her even at those odd times when she would forget to care for herself.

Shackamaxon. That is what the Lenape people called the ancient elm tree that stood as a sentinel guarding the sacred lands and village of the Delaware Indians. It was their proverbial tree of life. A part of their cosmology was tethered to the great elm and the elder women of the tribe recounted their oral histories around the evening campfires. Unega sat in rapt attention as the history of these first peoples unfolded before her. Her white hair glistened in the flames of the blaze. And at times her mind would wander to thoughts of her father returning to his native Lhasa in the ancient Himalayan Mountains. Many moons had passed since her father bid farewell and many moons had passed since the English ship landed near the mouth of the Delaware River. Swedes had built farms near the great elm and as the months moved along and the winters came and went the English settlers began to arrive and push the Lenape further and further west from their homes. The Swedes gave up their farms and let the increasing number of religious refugees flood the area.

Unega was not familiar at all with ‘Quakerism’ since she was half aboriginal and half Tibetan and had only seen a few white people in her young life but as she grew older and the influx of immigrants began to arrive she made it her objective to understand. She was aware of the intense spiritual significance of the land and she knew that the awesome power of nature and the workings of the universe would deem it destined for greatness and evolution. It had been written in all of the Eastern ancient texts that a great nation would rise up from the West and recover the secrets of the pre-historic past. It would lead in innovation, equality, invention and political prowess. It would eclipse other empires like the Greek, Romans, Persian and English. And it would blossom in the blink of an eye where it taken centuries to develop in Europe and Asia. In the Middle Eastern scrolls they called it ‘Merika’, “The Star”. They knew it existed but no one had ever been there until now except for the first nations that had always called it home. The dark side of this understanding was that the indigenous peoples and their culture and way of life would be exterminated. As the great lodges of these Quakers began to appear, Unega would sneak about under the cover of darkness and listen just beyond an open window or just below the floor boards of a planked porch. She was fascinated with these people and their glowing countenance. They were polite and considerate and did no harm in their religious and daily expressions. It became very clear to her that these people did not believe in an organized religion. They did not take in ritual or establish tradition. They rather looked like white Buddhist monks meditating for hours at a time climbing the unending stairway to enlightenment. This sect of ‘Christians’ as she knew them to be were of hardy stock and the practice required discipline and endurance and strength of character. She also knew that the act of meditation only strengthened their resolve to be steadfast in their spiritual and pioneering lives. They did not have preachers or priests or ministers. They read aloud from their Bible and sang hymns. They sat for hours in meditation and prayer and they believed that any soul wishing communion with God and messiah could do so without an intermediary. Direct communication with the divine is the established tenet. A strict moral code would engender integrity and it was because of this and the modesty that the Quakers exhibited a kind of trust that Unega could believe in. It was this calculated risk that Tamanend and his people agreed to listen to the agreement set forth by William Penn and his followers. On a Spring day under the sacred elm they spread their blankets on the ground and smoked tobacco and ate together and discussed the code of law that everyone could comply with. Tamanend was impressed that Mr. Penn had taken the time and consideration to learn some of the tribe’s language and so the exchange of information was quick and ideas and grievances lost in translation were kept to a minimum. Penn addressed the congregation first and with great respect toward the Delaware chief began to set forth his ideas for the new utopian society he had hoped to create.

“We thank the great creator our God for bringing together the humble people of this territory and our brothers and sisters within our Religious Society of Friends. Firstly, Freedom of Worship in this colony is to be absolute and that includes the Indian tribes in the area. Secondly, there are to be free and fair trials also including the Indians with a jury comprised of peers --- and tribesman if the person on trial is native. Thirdly, there will be freedom from unjust imprisonment including the native peoples. And lastly, there will be free and fair elections to the new government of the colony.” Penn stated and a hush followed by a low murmur slowly began throughout the crowd.

“I would like to also say that we, as a colony know only too well the grief of losing a home so dear. And so we are prepared to compensate the Delaware peoples for their westward move and ask that there be peace and benevolence between us. Let not there be violence and ill will as has taken place before with Dutch and English. Let us be friends and faithful to our testimonies. I have set this covenant fourth in a treaty that shall benefit all as well as the children yet to be born.”

Unega nudged Tamanend as the quill had been dipped and ready for him to take.

“This is the work of Ansa.” She said and Tamanend gazed at her for a long moment. “It is good.” She whispered. “We shall live in peace while these men still have breath. And it will be our children’s duty to learn from them---their mistakes and their achievements. In that way we will not become extinct.”

Tamanend took the quill and smiled as he painstakingly drew an ‘X’ to signify his mark. He handed the quill back and the colonists clapped and celebrated. The Indians were surprised and then they joined in the celebrations clapping their hands in imitation of the Quakers. The great chief raised his hands and his people reverently bowed and quieted down.

“We shall all live in peace as long as the waters run in the rivers and creeks and as long as the stars and moon endure.” He announced in his tribal language and the interpreter reiterated his sentiments for all to hear. The crowd erupted in loud cheers and hymns thanking God.

Victoria felt as though she had taken Laudanum. She floated blissfully in her satiated position. The spontaneous intimate activity left her ravenous and she wondered if she had the energy to pull herself up and forage for food in the kitchen. They had already eaten the remnants left in the root cellar. The jam was gone from the wedding gift and the cookies Ashley left had been devoured the day before. There was nothing left that was edible but another sweep of the pantry couldn’t hurt. Richard lay on his back gazing up at the ceiling. His face looked like that of a regular customer to an infamous opium den. She rolled over and let her hand rest on his chest. And his face slowly broke into a charming toothy smile. She kissed him and pulled her skirt on. As she wandered out to the kitchen she stopped to make sure Richard was all right. He was lost in his reverie and then closed his eyes. As she stepped onto the flagstone floor she noticed Michelangelo nibbling on a brown paper bag. She had chomped through and eaten almost all of the broccoli. Victoria was mystified as she snatched the bag away from the horse. Michelangelo stamped her hoof in rebellion and snorted in a way that let Victoria know the animal was not happy. As she opened the bag she found fresh meat wrapped in some weird looking transparent material. Fresh potatoes, rice, apples and oranges and a set of two perfectly preserved pork chops rested in the bottom of the sack. Victoria sat down slowly and buried her face in her hands and she wept. Her sobs were profound and laced with joy and gratitude and affection. Ashley had promised and she fulfilled that promise. Another day could be lived without the affliction of hunger and the worry of survival.

Orbiting the Numinous Sensuality

Chelsea continued to gaze up through the gate that governed the little nook nestled on Grove Street. They had only been standing there for about ten or fifteen minutes basking in the glorious silence and the hum of the city thriving all around them. Chelsea felt as though they were in their own little bubble suspended in time and perhaps, space. The minutes they spent there stoically observing and reverently contemplating a kind of new found presence with each other felt like small little lifetimes marked with poignant anniversaries and celebratory memories. Introductions and synchronistic meetings, birthdays, pregnancies, motherhood, marriages, illnesses, births and deaths rolled up into a mound of sensitivities and quiet observances. The feelings welled up inside of her from an unknown place revealing the person standing next to her on the street. An artist. A talented painter with no idea how gifted she was. A warm body whose glow seemed effervescent and all encompassing. Chelsea’s analytical mind tried in vain to logically explain away the intensity. Perhaps she was projecting her hopes and wishes onto the most convenient person. Maybe her unquenchable drive to uncover the past had bled into the now and colored everything rosy. If she let her mind take control she might actively be able to control the rush and the butterflies. After all she didn’t really know Ashley. She interviewed her once and just because she had a notepad full of facts and dates and opinions about art did not mean that she ‘knew’ this woman. Lovers seem to know what their partner’s taste in food is, or what their fashion sense might be or the core of their moral fiber and system of values. This is what cements two people together. Was she a recreational drug user? Probably not, but how could she know. How was she in past relationships and what baggage is she carrying around, she thought? The questions and concerns that swam through Chelsea’s head had no real bearing on what was happening at the moment: Two human beings sharing a profound moment that included emotional memories from a past life and possibly embarking on some sort of relationship in the present. What type, she did not know. But the attraction was there and could not be denied. And though she was eager to do more research on Mr. Rhys she found his essence, his soul only an arm’s length away. She slipped her arm though Ashley’s and the feeling was constant and ebullient. Ashley’s face flushed and she threaded her fingers with Chelsea’s. It was so familiar it was uncanny. Chelsea had felt that sensation before with the same exquisite awareness. And even though she had no reference in her current life the feeling was palpable.

“Are you tired?” Chelsea asked quietly.

“No, no. Not at all. As a matter of fact I am wide awake.” Ashley replied and Chelsea could feel her hand tremble for a moment.

“Care to keep strolling?” Chelsea inquired.

“I’ll walk all night.” Ashley said and she sort of giggled. “No point in sleeping now.” She added.

“I don’t want to keep you up if you need to get home.” Chelsea said. And they stopped for a moment.

“I don’t need to be anywhere except here.” Ashley said and her gaze was intense and her eyes penetrating. They began to amble back uptown on Seventh Avenue noticing the various eateries and galleries and small theatres along the way. Chelsea often wondered why she chose midtown to live. She always felt it the center of where she must be. Perhaps it could be chocked up to some vague recollection of home. Even when she was younger, a teenager she knew she would move to New York and she knew she would live close to the crossroads of the world. She even went so far as to buy a street map of Manhattan and pick out the actual street and possible address. Her mother thought she was being silly and that the daydream would pass but it only grew stronger with time as she orbited ever closer to her destiny. She had chosen Thirty Eighth Street between eighth and ninth. It was a no man’s land and she felt like a settler amid the drug-addicts, musicians and actors that populated the area. She liked the rustic urban feel. It was gritty and real and quite possibly the remnant of a past New York slowly dying to the corporate invasion of Disney in Times Square. Soon the yuppies would arrive and gentrify the area. That was okay with Chelsea. She was always out and about never spending a lot of time in her place and the disappearance of the peep shows, titty bars and adult movie theatres were a welcomed change.

They climbed the fourth floor walk-up through a dingy hallway.

“I know it looks bad here in the hallway, but it’s safe. I know my neighbors.” Chelsea said and she realized that their hands were still intertwined as they moved through the corridor. Ashley didn’t want to let go.

“Um. Keys.” Chelsea said sweetly and she disengaged her fingers from Ashley who grew a bit self-conscious and put her hands in her pockets. They walked inside and the place was small but cute. It was decorated in muted tones: white, off-white, beige, tans and grays. The cupboards were old and made of pine with an oak veneer made popular during the seventies. Chelsea didn’t own the place so she made do with the cupboards. It was neat and utilitarian with a few stacks of magazines dotting the floor and filing cabinets. She had a double futon on an ergonomic frame. It was a place to crash and not conducive to lounging.

“I have some cookies---“ Chelsea offered.

“No thanks.” Ashley replied as she sat down on the generic looking couch. It had a tan colored canvas covering.

“Used to have a cat….Hence the covering.” Chelsea said and she set the kettle on the stove for tea. There were tatami mats and one repro oriental rug in the middle of the room. It was really a studio apartment with a bathroom and walk-in closet off to one side. One window looked out onto the street and the other opened to the shaft between the buildings. Chelsea went to a pile of papers on her Ikea desk and pulled out a few notes. She sat down next to Ashley on the couch and handed her the photocopied image of the tintype she discovered at the Public Library. Ashley took it and she gazed at it for some time.

“That’s Mr. Rhys.” Chelsea added.

“He looks…like he could be a relative of mine.” Ashley said slowly taking in his features.

“I know!” Chelsea said and her agreement revealed a growing attraction.

“We’re definitely from the same gene pool.” Ashley laughed.

“Definitely.” Chelsea said and the room grew quiet and the closeness they shared seemed to simmer in the midst of some unknown.

“He died of the Spanish Flu on September 11^th 1918.” Chelsea added breaking the chemistry a bit. Then she got up and opened the window to let in the evening breeze.

“I wonder where he’s buried.” Ashley said still gazing at his picture.

“Me too. I think I’ll try researching Green-wood.” Chelsea said. “That’s what the archivist told me.”

“Green-wood isn’t that far from my studio.” Ashley replied. “Why don’t you come out and see some of the new paintings?”

“I’d love to---when?” Chelsea exclaimed and her fervor was apparent.

“Tomorrow?” Ashley said without consulting her calendar.

“Tomorrow? Um, I have a meeting with the editor tomorrow. And I have to prepare for it.” Chelsea said deflated.

“How about the day after?” Ashley offered cheerfully.

“Sure. Let me call you to confirm, though.” Chelsea added.

“Well, thank you so much for dinner. I really enjoyed myself.” Ashley said getting up.

“You’re going to get a cab, right?” Chelsea asked.

“Sure.”

“You can take that with you if you like.” Chelsea said. Ashley folded the image carefully and stuck it in her small purse.

“Thank you---.” She said.

“I’ll walk you down and make sure you get a cab.” Chelsea stated and she threaded her fingers through Ashley’s again as they ambled down the stairs and spilled out onto the street below. As the cars whizzed by Ashley put her two fingers in her mouth and blew a piercing whistle.

“Ya can’t take the country out of the girl” She laughed as a yellow cab pulled up. Just as she opened the door Chelsea stepped in and for a moment it seemed as though a kiss was imminent. Ashley even leaned in and just at the last second it turned into the cosmopolitan cheek kiss of which Ashley had to grow accustomed to when she moved to the city.

“I’ll call you.” Chelsea said as the car began to pull away and Ashley watched her through the back window as Chelsea remained staring down the street at the disappearing car.

William Penn was thirty-eight when he left his native England for the new colonies across the Atlantic. They had spent months at sea making the crossing and although they had spotted land several days before they knew that the Dutch territory of New Amsterdam would be hostile to the boatload of Quakers arriving on American soil. So they skimmed the coastline until they found the mouth of the Delaware River. The King had granted William Penn 45,000 square miles of land set aside for Quaker resettlement. If England and Ireland could rid itself of these Quakers with their progressive and heretical views then everyone would prosper. Earlier settlers of the group had already bought west Jersey and set up their own colony. This land grant and charter made Penn the largest private non-royal land owner in the new world. With the agreement of Lord Baltimore the expansive real-estate began just below Jersey and just above Maryland. Penn along with his shipmates stood on deck observing the Delaware shore. The sun was fast setting and they would spend another night aboard. The captain extended his telescopic lens for closer inspection of the terrain. As the gentle motion of the sea undulated beneath them Unega with her stark white hair appeared through the glass. Behind her the wise and majestic visage of Tamanend and his tribe.

“Aboriginals, sir.” The captain said.

“Hostile?” Penn inquired.

Just then Unega lifted her arm with the saffron scarf as if to welcome the visitors.

“It looks as though…a signal…of sorts.” The captain answered.

“What kind of signal?”

“A wise woman. She’s waving a yellow scarf.” The captain answered perplexed.

“Quickly! Set a light!” Penn said excitedly. “We must assure them that we come in peace and modesty.”

“You there! Climb to the crow’s nest and set a light.” The captain ordered. Two deck hands scurried below for lanterns and oil. Another two were a few feet up the mast awaiting the glow. Penn watched the men as they deftly climbed the wooden poles way up high. He watched with childlike excitement as the lights flashed and the Indians continued to wave their colors. Later he went below decks and after the evening meal took a moment to write down his thoughts for the day in his diary: “It is a clear and just thing, and my God who has given it me through many difficulties, will, I believe, bless and make it the seed of a nation.”

Richard felt better with each passing hour. Victoria had found a few onions in the back of a bin in the pantry. They were old but they still had their flavor. She boiled them down and though it almost drove Richard to gag he drank the broth and ate the remnants. The house was filled with the pungent odor of the cooked bulbs. As he lay there in his sick bed he wondered if the roads were being cleared. Would anyone come to the house today? Most likely not since the manor was situated on farmland and people were aware that it was a seasonal abode. The only people who knew they were there were Mrs. Hopkins and Mr. Watkins. He wondered how they fared through the storm? Were they trying to make their way to the manor house? Were the trains running? He propped himself up and even though he was still weak he felt restless. Victoria had ventured outside again to fetch more wood for the fire. The pile was dwindling and Richard knew they would either have to find their way back to the city somehow or start burning furniture. He wondered how high the drifts were and if the howling winds had shifted them. He got up with some difficulty and pulled on his trousers. He could not afford to catch another chill so he reached for his wool coat and draped it over him. Michelangelo whinnied loudly as if to reprimand Richard for moving. He felt as though the horse was in cahoots with Victoria and that the animal would tell on him.

“Shhhh!” Richard exclaimed. But Michelangelo whinnied even louder. So Richard ambled across the hallway and into the grand parlor. He drew back the great velvet curtain and was almost blinded by the crisp white snow glistening in the sun. The drifts that formed were otherworldly. He almost felt as though he were living on another planet. He blew on his hands to keep them warm and then shoved them into his pockets. There was something in one of the pockets. Perplexed he drew out a small calling card. Written across it was the name “Chelsea Barrett”. Underneath in a strong fine print were the words, “Freelance writer”. An address at the lower right read: 356 West Thirty-Eight Street Apt. #4F, New York, New York. Then on the lower left were a series of letters and symbols all run together that did not make any sense. Cbarrett27@mindspring.com Underneath were a series of numbers and dashes that looked like some kind of code. He could not remember where the card came from and how it got into his pocket but he could definitely remember seeing Chelsea in the Library. But it was Victoria. He was utterly confused. Something had actually happened that he could not fully comprehend.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Victoria asked with a hint of anger. She moved to him and took his arm. “Are you trying to tempt fate? You’ll catch another chill if you don’t rest and keep yourself warm.” She reprimanded as she began to lead him back into the small parlor.

“Do you know a Chelsea?” He asked.

“No, no, I don’t know Chelsea.” She said shaking off the question and determined to nurse him fully back to health. “Now take those wool clothes off and I’ll hang them by the fire. He undressed handing his coat to her and as he slipped off his trousers she saw him as a vulnerable naked boy lost in his confusing thoughts. The sight of him made her warm but she knew better than to lose her head. She covered him with several quilts and stoked the fire.

“What if we have a girl?” He asked softly. He was still wearing a bewildered look on his face.

“Do you want a girl?” She replied.

“I want our baby whatever it is.” He said softly. “What I meant is what name do you fancy for a girl?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.” She said and the quiet settled down on them like a soft downy blanket.