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.” 

The Holy Wells of Londinium

Chelsea decided that since there was a little more time to get back to the Savoy that perhaps she might just stroll and bypass the tube altogether. It was a gorgeous summer day and not too hot. People were filling the streets as the work day came to an end. As she exited the building there was an amazing summer breeze coming up off the Thames. To her right was the Globe Theatre and as curiosity overtook her she decided to investigate. It was a replica of the artistic home of, perhaps, the greatest English writer of all time that changed the course of Theatre and the English language still inspiring and vitally important today, William Shakespeare. She stood in front of the building in silent meditation in homage to the great playwright. The glint of the setting sun made the building turn a buttery amber color in the rich summer sunlight. It almost looked as if it were on fire. As she turned to make her way up onto the Millenium Bridge, a pedestrian walk across the Thames, she could see the familiar turban of the Sikh who had left her only a short while ago to tend to a mother in labor. He walked with intention and yet he seemed relaxed and in no hurry. She shadowed him keeping her pace at a good twenty yards behind making sure she did not lose him on the other side. The Millenium Bridge let off somewhere just before Saint Paul’s Cathedral another masterpiece of architecture created by Sir Christopher Wren. As the Sikh descended from view Chelsea grew anxious that she might lose him. She quickened her pace and as he hit terra firma she called out, “Dr. Singh?”

He turned a bit startled and in his momentary inertia finally recognized who it was that had shouted his name. He smiled broadly.

“That was a fast birth.” Chelsea said as she stepped close trying to bring a little levity to an awkward situation.

“A false alarm.” Dr. Singh replied.

“Walking home then?” Chelsea asked innocently.

“Just walking.” He answered kindly.

“You said you learned of these paintings from another place…a tavern.” She continued.

“Yes, yes.” He said. “It’s this way. We will pass by it. Would you like for me to show you?”

“Absolutely!” She smiled. The two quickened their pace in anticipation.

“London is a very old city, a prehistoric city, you see.” He began. “It was a powerfully spiritual place to the megalithic peoples and then to the Celts and Picts. The Romans called it Londinium, What people do not know is that there are holy wells still evident that the ancient people revered. And on these wells were built churches, Christianity’s way to quash paganism. What they did not know is that the sacred geometry of medieval and renaissance architecture only increased the power of these reflective holy pools. And these wells formed on ancient ley lines.” He said and he intentionally broke off any more explanation to let Chelsea digest the information.

“Isn’t that just superstition?” Chelsea replied.

“Superstition? You think it is superstition?” he said astounded.

“That’s what I hear.” She replied sheepishly.

“Aw, but what do you really hear?” He asked. She was silent. They stopped walking and stood before the grand edifice of Saint Paul’s Cathedral. Dr. Singh pulled out his moleskin diary and opened it to a miniature size map of London that unfolded and bloomed like a flower.

“Down that way you can see the Spire of St. Bride’s Church. Further down is the Temple Church and even further is St. Clement Danes Church and then St. Mary le Strand. They are all aligned on the Strand Ley Line.” He explained and he laid his pen down and every point on the map perched like crows on a clothes line and they were indeed aligned. Chelsea tried to seem impressed but Dr. Singh remained observant and in tuned.

“And yet you believe in the magic of the Rhys paintings.” He huffed. Chelsea remained silent and a bit self-conscious.

“Very well. I shall have to show it to you. Take my hand, please.” He instructed and stretched out his arm. She was apprehensive but his warm eyes seemed to foment trust. As she touched his hand the entire street changed. Horses and carriages wheeled by at rapid speeds. Where there once were well crafted cement sidewalks and asphalt for the roads there was now cobblestones and mud. Men wore periwigs, tricorn hats, waistcoats and breeches. Women were attired in long bodiced dresses and capes. Immediately the sky turned gray with smoke and filth. The stench from the river was like that of an open sewer. The streets were a mix of human shit, rotten food, animal bones, horse droppings, vermin and mud. Dr. Singh’s appearance changed as well. As Chelsea turned her gaze from the English Renaissance cityscape she was met by the regal visage of an American Indian. He was tall and muscular and he wore a bison robe along with his leather leggings and moccasins.

“There are ley lines in America, too. But these are powerful.” He said and his copper colored eyes beamed with knowing. Chelsea was speechless. She was not sure if she was hallucinating or losing her mind or having a truly ecstatic experience.

“Dr. Singh?” She said in a fearful voice. The great chief gazed at her and smiled.

“I am Tamanend, Chief of the Lenni Lenapi tribe. You are safe with me…because…I am you.” He replied. He took her by the hand and they glided effortlessly only inches above the soggy cesspools of the London streets.

“Ley lines are the entrances to the space time continuum.” He explained and the words did not seem to match the Indian’s appearance.

“Water is a conductor and that is why the holy wells have become portals.”

They stopped just in front of a local public house. A hand crafted sign read ‘Ye Olde Cock Tavern’ and in front of the establishment were dirty vagrants, a few women of ill repute as well as barristers and merchants. To Chelsea it looked like a movie set but the odors in the air and the kinetic psychic energy told her this was the real thing. A heaviness hung in the air and Tamanend pulled Chelsea inside through the throng of merry men and barmaids. The chief stood head and shoulders taller than the patrons and as he moved gracefully through the crowd he made a clear path in his wake. The pungent odor of stale beer and urine infused the cramped, stuffy pub. They moved to a small table in the back of the establishment.

“This is Dr. Samuel Pepys.” Tammanend said.

“And who is this deliciously ripe petit four?” Dr. Pepys replied.

“Chelsea…Barrett” She answered. The bar hushed.

“A strange accent, indeed. From whence do ye hail, my fair girl?” Pepys inquired.

“America.” Tamanend replied for her. His voice was velvety and yet authoritative.

“Ah, a place that shall be quite familiar to my compartriot here. Chief Tamanend, Lady Chelsea Barrett this is William Penn. He is about to embark on a trip to Ireland.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Penn said and then added, “I am not at all familiar with this America nor do I have any desire.”

Dr. Pepys laughed uproariously.

“Oh, my dear boy. If you only knew what lies before you.” He said. Then as an aside, whispering behind his hand he leaned in and said “He does not know this yet, but he is about to trade in his armor for the cloth. A Quaker, no less. A pariah. An outcast in this very city. But he is resourceful and he shall build his own city of Philadelphia all in good time.”

“How does he know this and why am I privy to it?” Chelsea asked.

“A part of your soul is familiar to them and them to you.” Tamanend explained softly.

Chelsea studied the young man, Penn. He was so handsome he almost looked like a woman. He had fine delicate features and yet a strong physique. She found herself a bit attracted to him but not at all to the etiquette of the time, nor to the tradition of regarding women as things.

“And what brings you to our little pocket within this tiny wormhole?” Dr. Pepys asked teasingly.

“She has been studying the Rhys Paintings.” Tammanend explained.

“Alchemy, is it?” Dr. Pepys replied and he stared at Chelsea hard. “Are you worthy?”

“She is undergoing purification.” Tammanend replied.

“Searching for the Philosopher’s Stone?” Young William Penn asked and his gaze was sweet yet electric with sensuality.

“Something more arcane.” Tammanend replied. “A wish that cannot possibly take place on the physical plane. It is of an angelic nature.”

“I see.” Pepys said studying the two.

“What, may I ask, my fair lady, is the desire?” Penn asked innocently and with intense curiosity.

“Um…I’m not sure how…” Chelsea began. She wasn’t sure how to form the words in a succinctly understandable way since the desire seemed so completely unattainable.

“Leave the how to us, my dear, and let us know of your heart’s desire.” Pepys instructed.

“Two of the same shall beget an heir. That is the desire.” Tammanend said matter-of-factly. Dr. Pepys scratched his chin and studied Chelsea intensely for a moment.

“This requires Enochian evocation.” Dr. Pepys murmured. “Dr. John Dee’s work will be of help in this. You see he was able to change his gender merely by contemplation, meditation and evocation. But first we must visit the Temple Church and its archives. I shall escort you.” Dr. Pepys said and he stood up and bid young William Penn adieu.

Richard was pale once again, his energy drained. Even though the night provided some comfort and much needed rest his reserves were low and his being seemed vulnerable to exhaustion and disease. The round of ale and toast most likely added to his discomfort. He sat on the bed waiting for Mrs. Hopkins and Mr. Watkins to acquire Michelangelo from the livery. It was Saint Patrick’s Day and so Ned and the other stablemen had joined in on the festivities. They were not to be found since the snow had prevented equine locomotion for many days now.

Victoria studied him closely. She let her hands feel his face and forehead and then she let her palm slip beneath his shirt and touch his chest.

“You’re with fever again.” She said. “We must stay here until you are well enough to travel.” She continued as she wiped her sweaty hands on a cloth.

“I want to go home.” Richard answered.

“And we shall. But net yet.” She advised. “This storm has already taken enough lives. And it shall not take my husband.”

“What if I ride? Would that be too unchivalrous? I could wrap myself in this hide. It kept me warm in the storm and now that it has passed…” His words trailed off as his eyes grew heavy.

“You must lie down for a moment. I shall see to the innkeeper and to Mr. Watkins and Mrs. Hopkins. I shall also make a cup of tea for you, dear. You must rest.” Victoria instructed. Richard slowly lay back down on the flimsy mattress and pulled the bison hide over him. He watched Victoria move almost like an apparition, a faint mist, a remnant of a potent long-ago dream. She vanished leaving him alone on the cramped attic room. As his eyes closed and his mind began to drift he could feel himself undulating on the water as if lying down in a small row boat, the gentle rocking soothing his senses and creating a kind of hypnotic state.

He awoke with a start to find himself in actual water surrounded by the most beautiful lotus blossoms and the smell of sandalwood. As he sat up in the holy well he could see the nave of St. Bride’s church. He had only been there a few times before when he lived in London. It was a place where the poor could be fed. And as a small boy he begged the vicars and congregants for food. Quickly he moved from the well and stepped up onto the floor of the church. With each step towards the door the water was wicked away as if by magic. He stepped out onto Dorset Rise completely dry and in the distance he could see Ansa in her saffron robes turning down Tudor Street. He dashed out into the crowded lane to try and catch up with her. She seemed like a golden orb floating among the mundane. He knew he could find her at the Thai restaurant and so he made his way there down Tudor Street and then to King’s Bench Walk. When he arrived at the establishment it was crowded with a variety of ethnicities. He maneuvered his way through the crowd awaiting sustenance and down the narrow hallway to the back room. There he found Ansa sitting with Ashley at a small square table.

“Welcome.” She said and she bowed her head slightly. “Come. Sit. Eat.” There was a bowl of soup already prepared for him. He sat down as Ansa and Ashley studied him.

“Ms. Coleman, you’re looking well.” He said kindly. Ashley blushed and smiled.

“Thank you, Mr. Rhys.” She replied. Then Ansa pulled out the orange thread that Ashley was holding.

“We call you.” Ansa giggled. “We pull on this and we call you.”

Richard nodded as he devoured the coconut soup. It was the exact thing his body needed and he felt immediately revived and restored.

“Now you ask.” Ansa instructed. Ashley seemed completely self conscious. She took a breath and then she began.

“Chelsea and I…” She started slowly.

“Chelsea?” Richard said, his attention immediately taken. “Where is she?” He queried.

“You must combine.” Ansa said. “To make a life…very special life.”

“Combine?” Richard asked unsure of the request.

“When you and her combine you become one --- you become deva, bodhisattva.” She said. “You become how to say…androgynous…In your tradition…an angel.” Ansa stood and then she motioned for Ashley to stand. Then she took Richard by his arm and positioned him just in front of Ashley.

“Step back.” Ansa commanded and a bright flash of light blinded the room. The cooks in the kitchen clapped and cheered. Ashley and Richard were perfectly aligned. Both male and female. Both potent and powerful. Ashley looked down to see a much more muscularly defined physique. And to her surprise as she lifted her arm she could see Richard’s bicep there and just behind it the immense wings that glowed a soft lavender color. It took her breath away.

Ansa gazed at Richard embedded within Ashley. Then she uttered a soft directive.

“If you want to go home this is the way. There is only one chance. Then you will be free. And you will not remember. But you will give life, you will give seed to something new.” She gazed at Ashley and said, “There is only one chance. Only once will you have the ability to create with her. Then it will be gone and you will not remember him. Understand?”

Ashley nodded yes. Then Ansa coiled the string about her finger and Richard stepped out of Ashley and they were themselves again.

“When time is right you pull this.” She said to Ashley. Then she looked over at Richard. “When you feel the pull, you go to her. Understand?”

Phoenix Rising

Chelsea was alone in the Tate for quite sometime daydreaming and perhaps meditating on the Rhys masterpieces. She was still seated in front of painting # 7 watching the ouroboros swirling in her imagination. The Sikh that had quietly slipped out to answer a phone call had not returned. Ordinarily it would not be of any significance or even cross her mind, but somehow she was intrigued by what he had whispered and wondered that if she shadowed him he might reveal more clues to the inner machinations of the great works. She looked at her diagram and the next painting in the sequence was # 3. She moved out of that gallery and quietly tiptoed down the hall peering into the various galleries looking for the next sea painting. The works had regular titles similar to Whistler, titles like “Nocturne in Blue and Gold” or “Harmony in Gray and White”. It was in the description card next to the painting where the curators identified that which was a precursor or sequel. She sat down quietly having identified the current painting as third in a succession of thirteen. The canvas was enormous and the demarcation between heaven and sea almost obliterated. The heavens seeming almost darker than the surface of the water painted in an almost expressionistic way. The brush strokes hinted at cresting waves and yet could have just as likely been the swirling formations of a tempest. Chelsea even considered that the circular patterns might be the sooty ashes of a subterranean fire burning hot and deep underneath the ocean floor. Somehow the art provoked thoughts of complete conflagration. There was no orange in this canvas that she could see and yet the image evoked fire. The number three did not go unnoticed either. Its significance conjured the trinity as well as mind, body, spirit. Virgin, mother, crone. Infant, Adult, Senior. It invoked ideas of family: Man plus woman equals child. She let her mind wander on that particular equation and realized that a child would either be male or female thereby creating imbalance either way. There would either be two males and one female or two females and one male. Those would be the outcomes. She heard someone step into the space quietly. She did not turn around immediately but continued studying the canvas. She could hear footsteps moving lightly across the floor. Then he came into view. The Sikh had returned and he moved close to the painting in order to scrutinize the strokes and the variations in color.

“Calcination.” He whispered and made a quick note in a small moleskin diary.

“Do you know the combination?” Chelsea asked and the sound of her voice crashed through the silence like a runaway train. Not only did it startle the man but her own voice made her jump.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. The man moved to the metal bench and sat on the edge.

“That’s all right.” He whispered in reply.

“What is calcination?” Chelsea asked still whispering.

The man smiled kindly and moved a bit closer to her in order to explain.

“The substance is burned until nothing remains but ashes.” He replied enigmatically.

“Substance?” She said.

“Yes. False roots. False beliefs. Anything that limits possibility. Fear must be burned.” He said and he gazed at the painting as if he were looking at a long lost relative. “What is it that you fear?”

The question resounded through Chelsea touching her at her core. It rendered her silent, for if she spoke about her fears there would be a torrent of emotion and one would beget another until the entire Pandora’s box might engulf her. The Sikh’s translucent brown eyes penetrated her.

“Is it love? That is usually what keeps people enslaved to the mundane. The fear of fully experiencing it.”

“No.” Chelsea interrupted. “ I mean, I love my mother…and father.” Chelsea said and her voice trailed off knowing that he meant something entirely different. The Sikh smiled kindly like a teacher.

“I am talking about the powerful combination of eros and agape.” He said. “You have known it…embrace it…open to it.”

“How do you know the combination?” Chelsea asked after a moment deflecting his inquisitiveness.

“It is not important how I know. It is only important that you know.” He smiled. She cocked her head still puzzled.

“There is a man at Ye Olde Cock Tavern that showed me once. I have never forgotten. And to him I shall be forever grateful”. He smiled kindly then his smart phone went off again.

“What is his name?” Chelsea probed.

“Dr. Pepys---Excuse me. It seems a baby must be born today.” He said cheerfully and jumped up and quickly left the gallery to answer his call. “Dr. Singh here.” His voice echoed through the empty corridor and in a moment he was gone and the space was silent again. At that moment her phone vibrated. She pulled it out to find Ashley on the other line.

“Hello?” She whispered.

“Hey, it’s Ash. Are you okay?” She said on the other end.

“Yeah---yeah, I’m fine.” Chelsea whispered as she tried hard to navigate the quiet corridors and move into a public space where cell phone conversations could take place without reprimand.

“What’s going on? Where are you?” Ashley said and she sounded concerned.

“Um…I---I’m at the Tate,” Chelsea confessed.

“I thought you weren’t feeling well.” Ashley replied.

“I’m not---not really. But I felt well enough to sit and study at the Tate…I’m sorry.” Chelsea added.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Ashley replied cheerfully. “The butler is sending the car at 7:30 so we need to pack all our stuff and be downstairs. Dinner will be at 8:15 in the Hyde Park residence.” Ashley explained.

“Oh---well, should I meet you back at the hotel now?” Chelsea asked.

“I think I have a little time to make one more stop but I will be there by 6:30”. Ashley said.

“Okay.”

“Okay then. Love you.” Ashley said and for some reason the words frightened Chelsea. She was silent and tongue tied and unsure how to respond.

“Um…I’ll see you there---Bye.” Chelsea stuttered and then she almost threw the phone to the concrete floor.

“Idiot!” She whispered to herself. “Love you.” She said to the phone almost imperceptibly, but the connection was broken. “Fuck.”

Ashley parked the rented Vespa on the corner of Middle Temple Lane. After strapping the helmet to the bike she wandered to the Thai restaurant to see if Ansa was there. It was late afternoon and a variety of working people crowded outside the eatery for sustenance on their way home. Ashley politely weaved her way through the crowd and into the packed interior where the Asian cooks took short orders and filled requests at lightning speed. She tried hard to get the attention of one of the women she had met before, Bayarmaa. Finally the woman caught Ashley’s eye and waved excitedly.

“Ansa not here!” She said smiling brightly.

“Where?” Ashley asked.

“She at well.” Bayarmaa yelled back over the din.

“What well?” Ashley screeched back.

“At big church---St. Bride.” Bayarmaa screamed and pointed in the direction of the building.

Ashley nodded and then screamed back, “Someone is coming to place an order for Coconut soup at 8:00.”

Bayarmaa smiled and nodded then made the ‘okay’ sign with her fingers before returning to the chaos of take-out.

Ashley decided she was close enough to St. Bride’s church that she’d walk the few blocks over. The church had been built on top of a Roman shrine to the goddess Diana. It had been destroyed by early Christians and then razed again in the Great fire of London of 1666 and rebuilt by the master architect and Masonic magician, Sir Christopher Wren. She could see the beautifully lyrical spire as it pierced the London sky. The doors to the church were open and as Ashley walked through the narthex into the nave she saw the brilliant saffron robes that Ansa wore. The old woman was alone and no one else seemed to be in the building. And as Ashley drew closer to the altar she could see a brilliant blue pool of water there in the middle of the church. It was odd and breathtaking and she stopped and remained silent as Ansa chanted her prayers and let lotus blossoms float on the surface of the crystal clear pool. She noticed there was a sweetness in the air, a fragrant scent of roses mixed with sandalwood. Ansa nodded and the sound of wings flapping permeated the entire church. There were no birds just the faint sounds of flying away. Ansa turned and her white hair beamed with the clearest brilliant white light. She illuminated the church. And as her face broke into a smile the affect seemed to be levity.

“I know why you here.” Ansa said softly.

“She’s not pregnant.” Ashley replied. Ansa shook her head as if to correct a mistake.

“She’s not. The Doctor said so.” Ashley reiterated. “But she wants to be.”

Ansa smiled broadly at Ashley and waited for more information.

“With me…” Ashley said a little sheepishly. She waited for laughter at the absurdity of it, a daydream, a fantasy, an unfulfillable wish.

“If you want? You have.” Ansa said simply and directly. “Nothing impossible. But…you must be pure.” Ansa instructed and she stretched out her hand for Ashley to join her. As Ashley grasped the old woman’s bony fingers she felt as if she were floating. Hovering at the edge of the sacred primordial well in the middle of a renaissance church she was stunned by the clear turquoise water.

“She must be pure.” Ansa continued. “And…there is sacrifice.”

“Yes, I know.” Ashley said reverently.

“When we up there…in Bardo.” Ansa began and she pointed to the sky. “We seek nothing. Then a question come and desire to learn answer make us grow heavy. Weight make manifest as Prana. And just there---just at etheric plane we tip one way or other. It is the place of duality. We choose male or female. You must find your way back to that place to become the seed. It not far, but just out of reach. Just above Kether, the crown.” Ansa explained.

“And Chelsea?” Ashley asked.

“She not have to go as far as you. But she must go through purification.” Ansa continued.

“How? What purification?” Ashley asked.

“Not for you to know. The Sikh will guide her.” Ansa said cheerfully. “And the paintings…” Then she pulled a small orange thread from Ashley’s scarf and wrapped it about her finger.

“This…this is the lifeline. You make agreement…with him…But sacrifice is this: you will not remember him or anything about him.” Ansa said cautiously. Then she spread her hands out over the holy well and as she brought her hands together the well disappeared as the stone floor rebuilt itself. Amazed and breathless, Ashley stepped on the stones that had only moments before were water. And she was supported.

“I make you soup.” Ansa said as she motioned for Ashley to follow her out into the street.

The revelry from the Saint Patrick’s Day celebrations drifted up from the dining room below at the Court Street Livery and Inn. Victoria gathered what few things she had in the small attic room that she and Richard had made their own the night before. She clasped her small leather bound Bible. It was given to her by her friend Rosalind Howard, Countess of Carlisle, a very close London friend when Victoria was with Charles before she had met Richard. She found herself compelled to open the good book and read whatever passage might appear at the moment. She took a breath and then quickly flipped the small book open.

Genesis 6:1-4

1. When men began to increase in number on the earth and daughters were born to them,

2. the sons of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful, and they married any of them they chose.

3. Then the LORD said, "My Spirit will not contend with man forever, for he is mortal; his days will be a hundred and twenty years."

4. The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown.

At that moment Richard entered and startled her from her quiet meditation.

“I’m sorry, darling. Did I surprise you?” He said softly. There was a fatigue in his voice and he moved as if exhausted. No wonder. He had nearly given his life for her in pursuit of rescue. He sat down on the flimsy mattress and pulled the bison robe around him.

“I shall be glad to finally be home.” He whispered. She noticed the small orange thread tied about is finger. And then she recalled the reason it was there. So that he would remember her one hundred and twenty two years later...in the future.

“You are my guardian angel.” Victoria said plainly and she kept her gaze constant to see if he might reveal something that would confirm her suspicions. Richard grinned in his charming way and then bowed his head and replied, “If I were an angel I could have whisked you away back to Grove Street in the blink of an eye.”

“It feels like a blink and yet an entire lifetime.” She replied and her voice bent at the weight of her words. He rose and in the Shaman’s robes he seemed a giant standing as tall as Lincoln and towering over her as if she were a small child. His dark eyes a translucent copper color and his temples sprinkled with white.

“Take me home.” She whispered. “Take me home.”