I stood on the mountain peak and could see for miles. It was quiet, the sound of the air moving and also still, as it swirled around me. Below me, things happening, creatures were living, little particles of dirt were turning over and over, but I saw none of this, just the panorama before me, close and far.
I called from the mountaintop, my voice echoing all around against the magnificent mountainsides. Always speak your truth.
Later, there was a tugboat tethered by rope to a dock. The water was calm, the sun setting beyond the horizon line in oranges and yellows. No waves to rock the boat. The boat tied to the dock. I was the only person there. The water was dark and still. I had no idea what was beyond the distance.
Familiar faces at my fence, clinging to the fabric of metal workings, begging to be let in. Go away, I told them. I cannot be bothered by you. They screamed but at some point I simply stopped listening. Trespass.
And then the bucking horse, unbridled, kicking its nose to the sky and its feet to the dust, a storm cloud of dirt kicked up in a swirl around it. It was angry and fierce and unwilling to be tamed. As the cowboys wandered in aimless circles, confused around the campfire, I watched from afar, understanding perfectly.
The man’s beard was orange and white. The bird alighted on the branches of an evergreen, whose pine needles were orange. And orange is the second chakra, the chakra of creativity, of taste, of water, of self-acceptance and emotion and the energy of love.
Go the place you would least expect to travel, the teacher said. Subject yourself to the light which will illuminate what is right for you.
I looked at the purple lantern on my desk, the papers in neat piles, the open window issuing sounds so similar to that mountaintop. The distance is near. I understand. It’s all good. Perfect, even.