What We Knew Before Knowing

What we knew before knowing
By Kala Séraphin

Restless as always, I couldn’t sleep. The thin sheet I had for a blanket was wrapped around my legs, tangled around my chest and constricting my breathing. I felt like I was wrestling with a very irate boa constrictor. Eventually, I gave up pretending to try to get rest. I found my way out of the tangled mess and walked to the basin of water at the foot of the bed. The cold water felt refreshing on my weary face. I washed up the best I could, trying not to waste a single drop of water. I didn’t know when a fresh basin would be given to me.

A few steps and I was at my writing desk. Once more, I gave a critical look at my living space. It was a small box with a bed adorned with one sheet, a basin of water, an urn for a toilet and this writing desk. The luxury I was gifted with was the leather bound book. It was a deep red leather with gold filigree on the cover. Inside were pages upon pages of white paper just waiting to be covered in ink. That was my task, to write my story in this book. I could take as much time as I wanted, there could be any amount chapters I desired, I could write in any format I wished. The only restriction was that I was not allowed to erase anything. The second the ink was placed on the paper, it was meant to stay. Only foresight and a way with words could correct anything. Once my story was complete, then I was permitted to leave this establishment. It was a deal I couldn’t remember making but I was bound to it. I found the contract with the book and sure enough, my signature was on it.

I had no sense of time. At first, my body followed a rhythm between sleep and writing. However, a quarter into the tale, my body changed. It no longer required sleep. Instead, I often found myself pacing the room in a circle while my mind worked out the details of my story. I was determined to make this a story everyone could relate to and will remember their whole lives. It was going to be the universal novel. There was only one problem. I was at a crossroad in the story and didn’t know where to take my protagonist. For so long, I tried to continue writing but my mind was blank. Pacing the room didn’t produce its usual dose of inspiration.

I looked at the door of my chamber, wondering if I should go out again. The other times were out of curiosity but now, it was a necessity. There was only one place it led to: the library of infinite books. It was a multi-leveled complex with books of all kinds.

The contract stated that I could visit the library of infinite books to search for inspiration or any other reason I could think of. The books had to remain where they were. I was permitted to go ten times, no more, no less. If I went this time, it would be my last time. That was the reason for my hesitation. Was I so empty of words that I needed to use my last visit to the library of infinite books?

Reading the last paragraph I wrote helped me to realize that yes, it was needed. There was no erasing or going back to change a passage. What was written was final. Only the blank pages could be a way for me to improve what was written.
“Alright, I am going to the library.” I spoke to the book, promising to come back with a fresh adventure for all the characters.
I slowly opened the door and looked down the long corridor. On both sides there were doors, similar to mine. Each of those rooms housed a person, like me, writing. The contract forbade me to disturb any of them.

Quietly, I made my way down the hall, holding my contract tightly. It had nine marks on it for every time I went to the library. I was nervous about the last visit. My mind created gruesome scenarios where I would suffer some torture for using up my visits so quickly.

The doorkeeper stood there, silent and cryptic like every other visit. His hood covered his head completely, letting me look into a black abyss. He simply stood still in front of the massive double doors. I couldn’t even see his chest rise and fall with his breath. I didn’t know if it was just me, but it felt like there was an icy aura surrounding him.

With a shaky hand I handed him my contract. It disappeared in the sleeve of his robe for a moment, then returned back to me with a fresh mark. With careful and controlled movements, he moved over and opened the door to the library. I quickly walked in, glad to have made it without any incident. The imagination could be quite gruesome when faced with the unknown.

I browsed the many aisles, feeling peaceful among so many books. They were all leather bound books like mine. There were different colours and some were thicker or thinner but invariably they were all the same. It was the content that made each book truly unique. Some made me laugh, others made me cry and a few brought new questions of existence to my mind.

I stopped at random and picked a blue book with a stained cover. My mind relaxed as I learned a new way of seeing the world. I was deeply into the book when my peripheral vision caught something moving. It had never happened before and it intrigued me greatly. I always thought myself to be alone. Could it be one of the other resident writers? I wondered if it was maybe the doorkeeper coming to drag me back to my room. I looked around a corner but there was nothing. Shaking my head, I turned back to the book in my hand when the movement earlier perceived happened again. This time, I ran down the aisle. Once more, I was greeted by the stillness of an empty library.

I wondered if I was losing my mind. What could it possibly be? During my past visits, I was always completely alone. Maybe it was the book I was reading. It could be possible that the story was affecting me more than I realized.

My heart froze when I turned around to return the book in question. In front of me was a young girl in a white dress with a sad expression in her big brown eyes. She was floating off the ground, her hair like a halo around her pale face. We looked at each other, unmoving. She looked so much like the protagonist of my story. There was even the same birthmark on her cheek.

Before I could regain the senses necessary to say or do anything, she turned away and floated through the book shelves. I followed the best I could. She was leading me to parts of the library I had never been before. When I stopped running, I found myself at the center of the complex. It was an open space with a ramp intricately carved with strange designs. I looked down to the other levels of the library. It went on forever. I looked up and it was the same thing.
She appeared beside me with that strange look of sadness in her eyes. All of a sudden, other specters appeared out of nowhere, all floating around aimlessly as if they were waiting for someone.

“Please, finish writing my story. It’s so cold here.” She spoke but her lips didn’t move. It was like an echo in my head.
For me, this confirmed it: she was the girl from my story. I was amazed yet confused. How could it be? Wasn’t she just a creation from my imagination? If not, then my writer’s block was putting her in a kind of limbo.

“I’m sorry…I, I mean…I don’t know what to write.” I stuttered apologetically.

She motioned for me to follow her and led me to another, darker, part of the library. I was back in the maze of book shelves. She pointed to a small green book for me to read. I read the first line out loud:

“Once upon a time, not too long ago. In a far away land much like yours and mine.” I looked up at her. She urged me to keep reading. It scared me how this was the story of a man living in a room and spending all of his time writing a book. Every thought he had, I remember having; every urge he fulfilled, I remember fulfilling. In the story, there was a library a lot like the library of infinite books. He even experienced a creative block as I was experiencing at the moment. I did not let my fear stop me. I continued to read the book until the very end.

As if in a daze, I went back to my room. The girl followed me to the door of the library then disappeared. I was so concentrated on what I just finished reading that I didn’t even notice.

I sat down at the desk, determined to have it all written down perfectly. The book had inspired me to take my story to a new world. Every word came out gracefully, at the right moment. The more I wrote, the more motivated I was to continue.
Finally, I sat up straight, looking at the finished book. All the pages were used without any space left to add more. I felt proud of the world I had created. I closed the book, keeping my hands on the cover as if to feel the energy and love that I had put into it.

“It’s done,” I declared, smiling brightly. Slowly, my hands lost their density. It was more like the book was absorbing my energy. My whole body was now transparent, like a fading memory. I stood and looked down at myself. My feet weren’t touching the ground.

The doorkeeper entered my room and walked through me as if I wasn’t there. I was speechless with shock. How could I simply disappear like that?

Unperturbed, he took my book and left the room. I followed close behind, floating down the familiar hall. He opened the door to the library and out came a familiar girl. Except she was no longer floating. Now, she looked real with her feet firmly on the ground and a more solid constitution. Her eyes, however, were no longer sad. They were glazed over as if she were thinking of another life. As she walked by me, she stopped and looked over to either me or the doorkeeper. It was a brief moment before she went on her way and entered what used to be my room.

I chose to follow the doorkeeper in the library. He took my book to one of the many book shelves and found an empty space at random and put the book in its new home. He went back to his post at the door while I floated in the library of infinite books, wondering about the life cycle of this existence.

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The Path

The Path

By Kala Séraphin

Out of the window was a hill. There was nothing extraordinary about this hill. A healthy person could climb it in fifteen minutes. It was covered with tall grass and bushes scattered over it. A lone tree at the top, stands barren. It has given up growing taller, let alone offer greenery for shade. Birds often fly around, dancing in the air with their kind; creating a story in flight patterns. They never stay long, these birds. The hill doesn’t offer proper food or shelter. Though it stands strong and infertile, Satya couldn’t keep her eyes off of this small mountain. She would sit with the other students, gazing at it when she should have her eyes closed in meditation. It was as if the wind carried a message from the hill, especially for her. No one else seemed to even notice it, the hill. Satya wanted to answer this call. Every morning, sitting by the window, listening to the messages, she would promise to go climb the hill in her free time. Every day, duties called her away, putting off the promise to visit the hill.

“Satya, you should be focusing on the flame, not gazing about like an untrained child.” The voice of the Guide was soft but harsh. Satya whipped her head back quickly and closed her eyes to concentrate on the flame in her mind’s eye.

After the session, the students quietly shuffled out as the Guide held Satya back. She sat with her head bowed, preparing herself for the reprimand. This wasn’t the first time the Guide kept her back.

“Did you find the flame?” The old woman asked, sitting erect in front of the young girl. Her blank stare looked ahead, her expression stern.

“No, I could not reach it,” Satya humbly said, keeping her head down.

There was a moment of silence. Satya slowly looked up, waiting for the Guide. She knew there would be repercussions for her distracted spirit.

“It’s been months since you perceived your flame.” The Guide claimed, keeping her gaze ahead. “You haven’t been putting as much attention in your chores. I have been told that you missed lighting two candles in the hall of thousand lights.” She continued, letting the mistake linger over Satya’s head.

In the distance, a bell could be heard, calling the students to prayer. Satya could picture them slowly making their way to the forest, looking for a quiet place to be at one with the Divine.

“I feel that there is something you are holding on to Satya. A cleansing would be the best course of action.” The old woman decided.

“Yes Guide.” Satya whispered. She was not looking forward to spending the following month in isolation, living off of a herbal concoction and water. She would have to spend every morning in the steam room, every afternoon in walking meditation and every night stargazing. Satya will not be allowed to communicate with another soul for the whole month. This was the greatest challenge for her.

The Guide stood up, reaching for her cane. She offered Satya her arm. The young girl interlocked her own arm and guided the old woman out of the hall.

“You have great potential to be a Guide one day,” the older woman started. “What is it that you think you need for you to get back to what is important?”

Walking outside, Satya turned her face to the sun, enjoying the warmth and light. She smiled and answered:
“I am not sure that this is the life for me. Though I believe in the Divine and think that what my sisters are doing is noble, there are doubts in my heart that I am to live this life of servitude.”

The Guide patted Satya’s hand, shaking her head.

“My dear, these feelings will pass. You must be patient.” She insisted.

Satya did not reply. She even had doubts about what the Guide was saying. She took the cane from her elder and watched as the blind woman confidently walked into the forest.

The next morning, before the sun was even peeking beyond the horizon, Satya took one change of clothes and went to the hut outside the temple grounds. It was a modest shelter with a steam room attached, meant for girls that were cleansing. It was built deep in the forest, isolated from anyone.

The moment she arrived, Satya stripped off her robes and went into the steam room. She was eager to start cleansing herself of the urges to leave the temple. There were so many impulses and doubts in her heart that she couldn’t find herself anymore. As she sat on the warm tiles, Satya closed her eyes, looking inside for something steady. It was impossible to find. Her mind kept distracting her with messages. The floor was too hot, the sweat dripping down her spine bothered her, and she forgot if she closed the gate when leaving the temple grounds…the thoughts came in waves, causing more discomforts.

Finally, the sun came up to its highest point. Satya was relieved when she saw it through the glass ceiling. She slowly washed herself, wrapped her robes around her body and started the walking meditation. Keeping her head covered eyes on the ground, Satya concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. All that mattered was the next step; to be in that moment.

Near the end of her five hour meditation, Satya thought about the hill she never climbed. It took only that one moment of distraction. She stepped on a broken branch that cut her foot. She broke her vow of silence when she let out a cry of pain.

That night, watching the stars, Satya cried. She could not find the balance she once had in her soul. It felt like she was slowly slipping away from the only world she knew. Since she was a child, Satya had lived at the temple, studying, growing, and slowly becoming a Sister of the Divine. Now, at fourteen years old, she felt lost. She sensed something called her away from the temple. She fell asleep beneath the stars, thinking of the hill and the world beyond it.

The first two weeks slowly crawled by. Satya followed the motions of her routine with her body but her mind remained with the hill. She thought about the lone tree, standing barren and alone. The image followed her even in her dreams.

One night, sitting under the stars, Satya started humming softly. She did not realize what she was doing until she looked down from the stars and saw a man standing at a distance, watching her intently.

“I’m sorry to scare you. I heard you sing and was just curious.” He said, smiling.

Satya stood up, taking a few steps back as she covered her head with her robes. Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of another human being; except she wasn’t certain if it was out of fear or excitement.

“You’re one of the sisters of the Divine, aren’t you?” He then asked.

“Yes. I am doing a cleanse.” Satya automatically answered. When she realized her mistake, she brought her hand to her mouth, gasping. This made him laugh.

“Aren’t you supposed to keep a vow of silence?” He asked, still chuckling.

The sound of his laughter calmed her. Satya managed a smile as she looked away.

“Yes. I have not been doing well these last two weeks. My mind is always wandering.” She revealed, sitting down again. It felt good to communicate with another person and share her troubles.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Tomorrow is another day.” He said, sitting down as well; keeping a proper distance from Satya.

“How do you know about the Divine Sisters?” She asked.

“My mother was one,” he said, offering her some water.

“How can that be? Once you become a Sister, it is for life. Having a family is against the Laws of the Divine.” Satya gasped, accepting the water.

Her surprise made the man laugh again. He took a sip of his water before he explained:
“She was on a pilgrimage when she met my father; love at first sight she claimed. One night was all it took.”

“One night for what?” Satya innocently asked.

The man now looked at her with a different expression. It had a hint of amusement and sadness along with compassion.

“One night for me to be conceived. I was born in this hut.” He explained, pointing to Satya’s temporary home.

Her gaze followed his hand, looking at the hut. She was a bit confused since it was forbidden for any Sister to live as a wife, mother or lover. A Sister of the Divine lives as a maiden and then crone. This has been repeated many times during Satya’s education.

“How can it be?” She asked.

“My mother was a Sister of the Divine but she was also human. Every human being has desires and feels curious about the world around them. Her heart wanted to become a mother and the first man she met, my father, was willing to fulfill her desire.” The man said, playing with the grass by his feet.

Satya quietly listened, taking in what he was telling her. She thought of the hill that called out to her. She wondered if it wasn’t the other way around. Maybe her heart was yearning to go out to the hill and experience a world beyond the temple.

“Did she ever regret her decision?” She asked.

The man shook his head, looking up at Satya.

“No. She never had a moment of doubt. The love she experienced as a mother was the greatest experience of her life.” He smiled as he said this. He then got up, gave Satya a small round object wrapped up and said:

“Good luck on your journey Satya.” She watched him walk away, wondering how he knew her name. Looking down, she saw that he gave her a loaf of bread.

The next day, Satya skipped the session in the steam room. She took the loaf of bread and started the trek to the hill. She was determined to fulfill this desire, regardless of where it will lead her. She was tired of holding herself back and wanted to know what would happen if she simply acted.

By mid-day, she reached the hill. The temple grounds were busy with the Sisters going about their business. Satya watched for a moment, wondering if any of them harbored any desire that would lead them away from the Divine path. Her musings were short lived as she was eager to reach the top of the hill.

When Satya found herself before the lone tree, she felt a light feeling in her heart. She was very tired and felt dizzy after fasting for over two weeks. Very slowly, she sat down, leaning on the tree and started to eat the bread she received the previous night. The grains on her tongue sent waves of pleasure to her mind. Chewing never felt so satisfying. Satya closed her eyes, unable to stop herself from sighing loudly with pleasure. When she opened her eyes, she saw a flock of birds dancing in the sky, gracefully weaving their way around. There was a sense of contentment that washed over her heart.

As the sun started to lower over the horizon, Satya decided it was time to go but she didn’t know where to go. If she returned to the temple, she would return to the rigid rules and regulations of the Sisters’ order. On the other hand, it was the only home she knew; where her family was. There was the hut she could stay in but this was a temporary solution. Eventually, the Sisters would find her and bring her back. Satya then thought of the man. Maybe if she found him, he could help her.

“Just take the first step,” she whispered to herself. And so she took one step then another and another. Those steps took her to the entrance of the temple. Her Sisters greeted her with disapproval as she did not complete her month of cleansing. They took her to her room and put her to bed.

Satya floated through many dreams, most of them were about the man and the hill. They all started with a voice saying: “Once upon a time, not too long ago. In a far away land much like yours and mine.” She finally woke up at dawn with pain in her stomach. It felt like something alive was moving and trying to come out. At the sound of distress, her roommate rushed to get help.

When the Healer came, Satya was on the ground, clutching her abdomen and crying.

“Satya, what is the matter?” Asked the Healer, kneeling down by the young girl.

The pain became unbearable. She started gagging, feeling something coming up her airway. Her muscles contracted violently, trying to expel the foreign object. Slowly, Satya felt it come out of her mouth. She heard the Healer gasp and another Sister scream. Finally, Satya could breathe again. Gasping for air, she opened her eyes. Before her was a small snake, coiling itself around her arm. Confusion blurred her vision. How could a snake come out of her mouth? She brought it closer to her face. It responded by slowly coiling itself around her neck and resting its head on her shoulder.

At that moment, the Guide walked in, lead by an elder Sister.

“What is going on? I sense something strange. What is wrong with Satya?” She asked.

“Guide, it is a snake. Satya birthed a snake.” The Healer’s voice was shaky. She was scared of getting any closer to the young girl.

The Guide walked in, kneeling by Satya, listening to the subtle sounds of the room.

“This snake; it came from you out of nowhere?” She asked.

“Yes Guide.” Satya answered, looking lovingly at the reptile resting on her.

“Then, that would make you a mother. Congratulations,” the Guide declared.

Satya looked up, smiling. She felt at peace with such a thought. Even though her child was a snake, her heart already felt connected and a strong sense of protection took over her mind.

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Roots

Roots

By Kala Séraphin

I was the last passenger on the bus. The night’s stars looked down at the small vehicle lazily making its way down the empty highway. The driver sat at the steering wheel with slumped shoulders. I could tell he was on the brink of falling asleep. I whispered a prayer to Morpheus to keep the driver conscious at least until I get off. After sitting for six hours in this unventilated vehicle, the last thing I wanted was to die in an accident of carelessness.

Though I did see some form of satirical irony. After spending the last week escaping from dangerous people, hours of running and all the sleepless nights, to just have it end in such a banal death was too much: All because the driver was overtaxed.

If my will had any power over life’s event, I would not die tonight.

The sudden stop of the bus shook me from my pondering. I looked out the window and saw that we were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees. Without the rumbling of the engine, I could hear a distant wolf howling.

“Last stop. Get off here.” The driver mumbled between yawns. He opened the door to prove he was serious.

“It’s the middle of nowhere! Where am I supposed to go?” I cried, pointing outside as if he hadn’t already noticed our surroundings.

Indeed, the driver shrugged, not even bothering to use words. Out of stubbornness, I sat still, crossing my arms. He could read what he wanted from my body language.

It took a long five minutes before he let out a heavy sigh and replied:

“There’s a village up this path. You can get a room for the night.”

With a violent flourish, I grabbed my duffle bag from the overhead compartment. If it hadn’t slipped out of my grasp and stumbled on the ground, I’m sure my displeasure would have made a graver impression on the driver.

With my gaze averted I stepped out of the bus. It quickly drove off in the night, leaving me behind in the chilly night. I heard the wolf howl once again. I didn’t want to become his midnight snack, so I started up the road mentioned by the driver. Between my red coat and duffle bag, I felt a bit like little red riding hood on her way to grandmother’s house. There were many other details that would nullify my imagery but I needed a distraction. Being from the city, I found it unsettling to be in a strange forest at night. My imagination saw monsters in shadows that revealed themselves to be squirrels or birds. This reminded me of a picture I once saw. At first, I noticed a cup. However, after shifting my perception, I saw two faces looking at each other. It seemed like the world was full of simplicity awaiting our multi faceted perceptions.

It was when I was thinking over the philosophical implications of such a picture that I came to a brick wall with a door big enough to allow a dinosaur to walk through. I actually took a moment to imagine a stegosaurus staggering from the past to enter this village.

A more human sized door was found and I quickly approached it. I pushed the door carefully and was glad to find it unlocked. There was a mature looking man walking around with a flashlight, nonchalantly swinging it left and right. He wore jeans and a heavy sweater against the slight chill of the night. What caught my attention was that he wasn’t wearing shoes. There was nothing to protect his feet from the land.

The man with the trimmed beard didn’t look surprise or bothered at seeing me. His flashlight covered me in blinding light. Blinking against the glare, I heard a sound as if he were about to scold a child out of bed after curfew.

“Do you need a place to stay for the night?” He asked. His tone was actually very friendly.

“Yes. My bus dropped me off here. The driver said I could find a place for the night and take the next bus in the morning.” I explained.

The man slowly nodded as he lowered his light from my face.

“Sure thing. We just have one rule here. No shoes or socks or sandals. Nothing on your feet, while you are on our lands.” His voice kept its friendly tone. The strange request didn’t even shake or disturb me. Because I was so tired, I immediately started to unlace my boots.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why this one rule?” I asked, trying to get my fingers through the knots of the laces. I was past the point of exhaustion and could barely keep my eyes open, let alone control my motor skills.

“For a stranger who’s only staying the night, there’s not much to say. We don’t reveal secrets easily here. But one thing I’ll tell you,” he started and flashed his light on his feet as he lifted his left foot. “We are very connected to our land.”

Wrapped in darkness with such a small beam of light, I wasn’t certain what my eyes were seeing. His feet were dark with years of walking on bare earth. Hairy toes with yellowed toenails wiggled lightly at my attention. These were details to be expected. What my exhausted eyes could not quite grasp were the roots, thick and brown that went from the sole of his raised foot, down into the earth.

There was no time for my mind to process the sight before the man helped me out of my old boots and wool socks. As my feet touched the bare earth, I felt a shiver of cold run up my spine. Then, there was a strange pinch from both my feet. Where it started, inside coming out or outside coming in, I wasn’t certain. Looking down I saw thin weak roots that connected me to the land.

The man took my hand and walked me through the town. There were only dirt roads to be seen. Silhouettes of shacks bordered the roads. In the gloom of the night, he brought me to a humble looking home. I was quickly ushered into a room and put to sleep.

“You have nothing to worry about now. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up, refreshed and ready to continue on your way.” The man’s voice was so reassuring and I was so terribly exhausted that quickly, sleep found me to be a willing bedmate.

A wild thirst shook me from my slumber. My eyes rapidly opened to scan the dark room. My throat felt like it was lined with tree bark. My lips cracked as I moved my lazy tongue over them. It was clear to me that waiting for the morning to come wasn’t a possibility. I sat up, waiting until my eyes made sense of the dark shapes. The soft light of the stars helped me see a low table by the window with a cup and a jug of what I hoped to be water.

Standing up, I panicked as I felt something under my feet. Sitting on the bed, I blindly felt with my hand under my feet. The thin roots connecting me to the ground were there, digging into my skin. After a little bit of rest, I realized how absurd this was. It was hard for me to believe what I was touching.

Following my thirst, I walked to the water jug. I was overly aware of each step I took. As my left foot broke contact with the ground, I could feel the roots stretch to accommodate the motion, then shrink back as the foot returned to the earth. There was no pain or discomfort. It was a simple feeling of unfamiliarity; like after getting your teeth cleaned at the dentist.

I poured myself a cup of water and drained it instantly. My whole body shivered with pleasure and asked for more. After drinking two more cups of water, I felt a calm satisfaction settle in me, starting with my throat that was previously so dry. My gaze lazily wandered out the window. I could have looked at the other crude looking building or the lush garden. What caught my attention would have made anyone look twice. A girl was by the apple tree, huddled, her knees to her chest and dressed in a thin dress.

I quickly dressed and ran out to offer any assistance. I brought a sweater to give her some warmth. Standing in the doorway I stopped dead in my tracks. There was a moment of hesitation. I was in a strange village, all alone. Who was I to swoop down and save the damsel in distress? I was no hero. In fact, I was the anti-hero; always one to play it safe. At the first sign of trouble back home, I ran away; taking the first bus that would go as far away as possible.

My shoulders slumped as I realized that I wasn’t going to help the girl under the apple tree. I sighed deeply as I took one last look at her. I froze when I noticed that she was looking at me. By the light of the stars I saw her dirty face covered in bruises. Her eyes were curious about me but more strongly, they were pleading me to come to her. It was more than safety she was looking for. I sensed that this small girl was hungry for human contact. She needed to be acknowledged and touched or else she would vanish into nothingness. Through the roots in my feet, I sensed this cry for help. It was a hunger so violent that it shook my own core. I never imagined someone feeling so forgotten by the whole of existence. That is, until a stranger comes along and notices her. A stranger with enough sympathy to grab a sweater and be prepared to offer it to her. Unfortunately for this nocturnal nymph, it is a stranger who is ruled by his cowardice. So instead of covering her broken, shivering body, this stranger simply stares, and then goes back to bed.

I spent an hour urging my mind to forget the image of the girl under the apple tree. The remainder of my night was restless with wild dreams and more struggles to forget. When my body demanded water, I ignored the cries, fearing the view from the window. When dawn finally embraced the sky, I quickly washed myself and prepared to leave. I tried to pay the man for the room. He refused my money and wished me luck on my adventures. By the tone of his voice, I wondered if he knew what happened.

I did not stay long enough to find out. After a quiet meal with the man, I gathered my belongings and took the road out of the village, keeping my eyes downcast. I was eager to have this chapter of my life become a distant memory. As I took quick strides towards the exit, I made promises to myself to never recall this village and its strange connection to the earth. Mostly, I vowed to forget the girl under the apple tree. Even though I knew that the feeling of loneliness that she shared with me would take a lot to forget.

I was one step away from being free to put my boots back on. I looked back for half a heartbeat then took that last step. As I felt the roots snap from my feet, a high pitched scream resonated in my head. It filled each of my cells until the pain of this scream was all my senses could register. It was such a sound of raw pain stemming from emptiness. The kind of emptiness brought about by loneliness. I ran, clutching my head in pain and knowing the source of such a heartbreaking scream.

I found the bus stop and finally got back on the road. I was grateful to be sitting in this stuffy bus. I didn’t care where it took me, as long as it was far away from the madness I left behind.

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What does it take to be strong enough? Can you find it within yourself to do what is right?

Life in the question and remember to follow your bliss~

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Return of the Story Teller

Welcome back~ 

After a long hiatus, which involved many changes and a big move to Indonesia, I am ready to share with you many more stories~ I hope you will enjoy as the journey continues. Share your thoughts, leave comments and stay connected~ and remember that everything is connected.

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 Unveiled

By Kala Seraphin

Do you remember the first sound you ever heard? For me, it was the sound of my mother crying. My whole world was vibrating with grief and fear. My first heartbeat coincided with her tears. I was upset as well. Her pain was my pain. Soon after, she was throwing up our dinner of cheap noodles and cabbage. She sat down, leaning back, feeling very tired.

“What’s happening to me?” She asked herself, rubbing her eyes. I wanted to shout out I’m coming Mommy! But I knew it was too soon. I didn’t have a mouth or any mental capability to communicate like her. I could only hope she felt me and my love for her.

That night, I fell asleep to the sound her humming. I was comforted by her sweet voice. I sent waves upon waves of love. I knew Mommy felt something because she fell asleep with her hands on her abdomen. The heat reached me and that’s when I knew that everything would be alright.

A week later, I started to see what Mommy saw, even though I didn’t have eyes of my own yet. I noticed what she did and shared her thoughts. She was in a cold bare room. There was a desk covered with papers, pens, a computer and one picture frame with the portrait of a baby boy with a ball, laughing. I wondered if I was going to be a boy. More important, if I would be happy the way people expect themselves to be happy. I heard of their set formulas through Mommy. I was skeptical but willing to try anything with Mommy.

Mommy was nervous, sitting alone in this office. She started to bite her nails and twitching her left leg. I began to pulse with anxiety. I tried to be still because I didn’t want to make Mommy sick again. But she still got nauseous and threw up in the trash bin that was next to the desk. At the same time, a tall woman wearing a white coat came in the room.

“Sorry,” was all Mommy said as she sat back in the chair, wiping her mouth with a tissue. The tall woman smiled stiffly and sat at her desk. She asked Mommy some questions about her body, then about her relationship with other men.

“What I’m trying to say, Miss Linds, is that, well…you are pregnant.” The woman in a white coat had a strong accent that made it difficult for Mommy to understand. The last part was unmistakable. I didn’t like this woman’s tone. It was cold and distant. She was judging Mommy even though she didn’t understand the whole story. All that the lady saw was a young, single, woman in a foreign country that is pregnant. No one knew yet just how special I was.

“About the father…” the woman started. Mommy shook her head. She was trying to invent a lie to make herself look better in the eyes of the tall woman. I felt like that was a waste of energy.

“He’s…I mean we are…were…going to get married.” She didn’t finish though. No one in the room believed the weak story.

Mommy made an appointed to see this woman, Dr. Yoshimi, again. Then, she started to walk, anywhere. She kept her hands on me, and walked through the crowded streets. She was crying again but now she knew why. I also felt disbelief from her. She didn’t want me to be real. I couldn’t understand her resistance since she created me. I tried to convince her that I was real: I’m really here Mommy! I love you! It will be OK! But she chose not to feel my message.

After walking around for so long, I sent sharp messages of hunger. I needed something to keep up my energy. Mommy understood my needs. She went to a small shop and ordered udon noodles. She really loved noodles. She had trouble communicating with the shop owner. Mommy did not know the language very well. I understood it perfectly. This was the same language as my father.

I wondered where my father was. Why wasn’t he helping Mommy? I could feel him, somewhere in the city. He helped to make me, to be so special.

Mommy spent three days in her tiny room without leaving. She cried, and cried then would eat. Sometimes she sat and watched a movie. If there was a family in the movie, she would cry some more. Once, there was a baby. Mommy got so aggravated that she threw her slipper at the image.

I would do my best to vibrate strongly all my love. How could I not? If it wasn’t for her, I would not have the chance to exist in this world. I could not grasp why Mommy chose to ignore me. Didn’t she remember the promise we made long ago?

On the fourth day, we were both startled by the sound of the doorbell. Mommy, wearing sweat pants and a sports bra, went to answer the door. It was Mommy’s friend from school, looking very worried.

“Tara-chan! You look awful! What happened?” Mommy’s friend walked in without waiting for Mommy to respond. She took off her shoes and started to clean the kitchen and boil some water.

“Ayaka-chan…I’m sorry but I just want to be alone for now.” Mommy’s voice was weak and raspy from crying so much.

“Could you at least put on a shirt?” Ayaka fussed around, getting clean tea cups and plates from the cupboard. Mommy sighed deeply and did as she was asked.

Ayaka had a lovely afternoon snack set out on Mommy’s low table. Green tea was served along with cinnamon cookies, fruit tarts and cream puffs. Mommy, now wearing a sweater, knelt down with her friend.

“Three days of hiding here, crying. Not going to you classes, ignoring our calls and messages. All of this after your doctor’s appointment. What’s going on? Are you dying?” Ayaka asked as she served the tea and ate one of the cookies. I wanted to try one but Mommy wouldn’t just yet.

“How did you know?” She asked. Her friend smiled a crooked smile. It warmed Mommy’s heart to be around her.

“I just do,” was her reply.

Mommy finally tried the sweets. I sent her happy, grateful vibes, enjoying the rush from the sugar. After eating three cookies, two tarts and five cream puffs, Mommy finally decided to make me real in her friend’s world.

“I’m pregnant.”

Ayaka’s tea cup fell to the floor, spilling the tea. She quickly cleaned it up.

“You…have…a baby…in you?” She asked in disbelief. I wondered how come people sounded incredulous when it came to new life.

Mommy sat quietly, sipping her tea. There was a heavy silence that lingered between the two friends as Ayaka finished mopping up the mess. I wished I could understand Ayaka’s thoughts and feelings. If only she could understand how much Mommy needed her support.

“My aunt can help you. I know how expensive medical bills can get,” she finally said. She wrapped Mommy in a hug, leaning her forehead on Mommy’s head. She had tears in her eyes and love in her heart.

“If I was a man, I would marry you right now. But if you knew what the men in my family looked like, you wouldn’t want to marry me. We’ll get through this together, OK?”

Mommy kissed her on the cheek and whispered:

“Arigato Ayaka-Chan.”

They sat on the floor, in this embrace for a long time. I felt my body thrive on their love. Ayaka placed her hand on me, giggling and said,

“It will be an amazing baby! Now, it is so small. You look like you’re bloated with ramen.”

Mommy giggled as well. Her laughter felt warm and energetic. I wanted more of it.

“What will you do with it? I mean…what are your choices?” Ayaka asked as she laid her head on Mommy’s stomach.

“I can choose to keep it, give it up for adoption or…terminate the pregnancy.”

Both Ayaka and I jerked at the last option. Mommy was crying again and so was her friend.

“Tara-chan! You can’t mean to do that!” Ayaka screamed.

“I don’t know! I’m so scared and alone.” Mommy cried.

“No Tara-chan. You will not terminate this baby. We will find a way, I promise.”

Ayaka staid with Mommy that night. I felt Mommy grow stronger with her friend’s support and so did I.

The next day, Ayaka and Mommy took a train to another city to talk with Ayaka’s aunt. It was fun to see all that Mommy saw. There were so many people that walked the streets. We passed a woman dressed in a lovely dress that looked so heavy! There were flower patterns all over on a golden background. She wore a wide ribbon around her waist with a strange bow on her back. Her skin looked so white and soft that Mommy was very tempted to stroke her cheek. Both Mommy and Ayaka admired this strange looking lady. Then they went to eat green ice cream. I did not like it at all. I was also so tired of all this activity and growing that I slept for the remainder of the day.

It was another two more days before Ayaka finally convinced Mommy to go back to school. Now her days were spent sitting in big classrooms, struggling with the language, writing notes and feeling lost. I tried to help Mommy to understand the language. I sent her a lot of energy but she chose to block me. I think it was because I was too small and she couldn’t really feel me. I never stopped growing and sending her my love.

One night, Mommy was in the library, reading an old book about a man called Confucius, when a group of young girls sat close to her. They started whispering mean things about my Mommy. They judged her and called her names without thinking twice about their words. Mommy could not understand what the girls were saying but she felt that the energy was harmful. She quietly packed her books in her bag and decided to go home. She cried on the train, when the people of her school were far behind her.

Be strong Mommy. I’m here with you. I think she understood my message this time. Mommy’s heart fluttered and she grabbed her stomach. She stopped crying and smiled.

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Going Deep

I watched as the girl sitting next to me toyed with her champagne glass. She ran her index finger up and down the edges. She made circles and eights, all the while pretending to be listening to a professor drone on about bio economy. I could tell, by the manner she caressed the champagne glass that her mind was on sex. She licked her lips every so often, and dropped her eyes. I imagined that those were the moments her thoughts were especially racy. My mind wandered to sex and I saw her hand running up and down my chest, her black hair resting on my shoulder, tickling me as she moved.

“What do you think Juny? I’d love to hear what you think.” Professor Litmus was an American determined not to appear self-centered or egotistical. Usually, I would take great pleasure in playing with people like him. However, I was feeling light at the moment. The weather was lovely with the wind blowing a soft breeze and the sun.

“What do you mean, Professor? I’m not well versed in…bio economy.” I claimed in my most innocent voice. It was quite an effort to keep the sarcasm out of my tone.

“Coming from a country like yours, I would believe you’d have some input to give.” He replied, taking a sip of his mimosa. The afternoon sun shone bright on our brunch. My mood was light, especially as the cool breeze blew through my hair.

“Just because I’m Korean, it doesn’t mean I have an opinion regarding every subject matter. I’m a photographer and I enjoy taking pictures of my country. I have other hobbies but bio economy is not one of them. I’m not going to pretend to know just to look distinguished around a group of people I barely know.” It was becoming quite a challenge to keep my tone neutral. People like professor Litmus were gifts from the Universe. Meeting people who pushed my buttons kept me vigilant about getting carried away by my emotions. However, some days, it was harder to accept the gift.

“Personally, I find Professor Litmus absolutely captivating.” The woman with black hair, whose name may have been Carry of Sherry, claimed. She leaned forward, exposing her cleavage for the whole table to admire. I let my eyes drink in the beautiful view then said:

“Oh please darling, all you’re interested in is to sleep with the man.” My comment brought a moment of awkward silence where everyone concentrated on their meal.

This brunch was suppose to be a meeting of minds. Professor Litmus had a PHD in bio economics and the sexy Carry/Sherry was an author. There was also a famous psychoanalyst by the name of Dr Saltillo. He was a caricature of Doctor Sigmund Freud himself. His frame carried the years of debauchery with a loose jowl and a stomach wide enough to rest his coffee on. Dr. Saltillo even had a cigar he smoked while enjoying his pancakes and omelette. Madame Sevigny graced out presence, coming all the way from France. She came from an artistocratic family which meant she had the money to support her passions. Her main love was supporting the arts. She contributed by giving big donations to private companies. She also kept a young ballet dancer in New York and a painter in Berlin funded, with all living expenses paid for. I suspected she had many more lovers across the globe. Then, there was my friend, Austin, a budding filmmaker who constantly organized such events as a source of inspiration. He firmly believed that if more people shared ideas, there would be more healing in the world.

As for my presence at this particular meeting, I knew it wasn’t for my experience as a photographer. In the last year, I had gained a reputation as an alternative healer. The man with the magic hands, they called me. That is why I was flown from my home in South Korea, to New York, so that I can share my gift with the world. At least, that is what Austin proposed when he flew me over.

“Why are you here anyways? Is it simply to antagonize people?” Dr. Saltillo asked. I looked over to his large figure, refusing to judge this man from my perspective. It was one thing my teacher kept repeating in her communications. I needed to stop judging what I perceived to keep my vision open to all the possibilities.

“Juny is a gifted healer,” Austin cut in. I was greeted with the usual condescending smiles, especially by Dr. Saltillo. The majority of the people I meet were firm in their belief that unless one was certified and had spent a lot of money in scholastic institutions, one wasn’t a real healer.

“I don’t know about how gifted I am. I’m an alternative healer. I place my hands on certain points of people’s head and release blocked energy.” As I explained, in layman’s terms, what I did, Madame Sevigny and Carry/Sherry turned a very inquisitive look in my direction. The men, on the other hand, put on their most skeptical airs.

“That sounds a bit like new age hoodoo voodoo to me,” dismissed Professor Litmus. His comment washed over me like water. I was so accustomed to such resistance. The people who showed the most skepticism were usually those who eventually became the most fervent believers.

“I don’t know, Professor. I’ve heard of many cases of people affecting their environment with meditation, or any emotions for that matter. I mean, how many times has it happened that one person’s anger turned a whole room uncomfortable?” Asked Madame Sevigny.

Talk about energy and intention began with Madame Sevigny being a staunch believer and Professor Litmus dismissing it as flights of fancy. Though I was the most qualified to enrich the discussion, I chose to sit back. The energy these people were raising was so palpable and potent and it amused me! I wondered if it was the subject matter itself that provided such strength.

Austin also sat back, smiling. He could feel it as well. It hadn’t taken him long to learn how to perceive people’s energy. Three months ago, when we met in South Korea, Austin was a drug addict on the verge of ruin. He wanted to be a filmmaker, yet couldn’t focus his mind long enough to grasp the visions in his mind. Instead he would copy what he saw in mainstream media. However, the public was already weary of such movies or documentary that his creations wasted in the unknown. We met by chance, at a coffee shop. He asked me about interesting sights of my country. It didn’t take long for me to figure out his story. I offered to share my gift with him. He was eager for something new in his life and so everything came quickly, starting with the end of his drug addiction. He hasn’t been the same since. Austin then brought me to New York where I am now constantly solicited to help someone with their problems.

Most people come to me wanted more. They want more power, more money, more sex. I quickly found that warning them about such outlandish requests was a waste of breath. I would work their energy points, releasing the blocked areas, they would pay me and I would let them out in the world. Sometimes they thrived, sometimes they didn’t. However, without fail, everyone changed.

After Madame Sevigny called Dr. Saltillo a chauvenistic pig, I gracefully took my leave. I couldn’t see how this brunch was enriching my life and the conversation wasn’t going anywhere fun.

As I walked out of the restaurant, Carry/Sherry ran after me. She slipped a card in my hand and said:

“Sorry if I’m imposing. Austin tells me you’re very busy. I have a friend who would benefit from your gift.”

I looked at the card. It was green with whimsical designs on the borders. At the center was a name, Sandara Grimms, Landscape Artist. I smiled at the tag line: Making your world beautiful to look upon. It was more than beautiful to look upon before people came and built these concrete jungles and artificial gardens.

“Please, call her tonight. Let her tell you her story. If it’s not worth your time you can simply walk away.” Carry/Sherry offered as I studied the business card. I smiled, a bit skeptical and replied:

“Thank you Carry but like Austin said, I’m awfully busy. I don’t have time for anyone new at the moment.”

“My name is Amanda. Please, just hear her out. It won’t cost you anything.” She pleaded. Just then, my taxi arrived. I opened the door and looked back at her and her lovely chest one last time.

“For me, time is money. Good day Alana.” As the taxi driver sped away, I glanced once more at the business card, sighed and slipped it in the pocket of my pants.

After two months of constant healing, I was feeling tiered of being around people. I didn’t have time to fit in someone else with the usual material requests who didn’t understand the greater picture.

“Everyone is so tied to their bodies, they forget their infinite selves,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. I repeated some mantras my teacher had taught me when I first started learning to manipulate energy. What would it take for people to realize their infinite selves and enrich themselves through that source of energy?

As I walked in my hotel room, I sifted through my messages. I was grateful for the news that both my appointments for that day were canceled. The actress had a big audition she simply couldn’t pass on. The gynocologist’s mother was brought to the hospital for a fractured hip. Finally, I had a night to myself. The first thing I did was lay down on the bed and drift off to sleep.

I woke up to a starry night. I sat up in bed and looked out the window, watching the tall buildings, the traffic and people going by. I felt my dream wash over me, yet couldn’t grasp a linear story. I vaguely remembered someone from my past. I couldn’t recall if it was a man or a woman. However, suddenly I felt turned on. I couldn’t remember the last time I craved sex so strongly. In my youth, I would want sex often and with different people, as many as I could. Never before was it this strong.

Going to the bathroom, I found the card Allana gave me. It had fallen out of my pocket earlier. Picking it up, I figured I would try my luck. I could listen to this woman’s sob story and seduce her in my bed.

I picked up the telephone and dialed the number, all the while vibrating with the urge. After the fourth ring, a woman picked up. Her voice was soft. She also sounded tiered

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On writing

~On Writing~

Blood coarsing through my veins, it becomes ink, which, when manipulated by my mind and hand, turns into letters, that will make words that then creates sentences.

These sentences come together to form coherent thoughts reflective of my feelings…Scratch that~ nothing is cohenrent when it comes to my mind.

So, all this together makes it official~ I write. I am a writer. What does that means? To write is to communicate in an unconventional manner. Reaching out to other humans, exposing a thought, a feeling, maybe risk an opinion. Trying to create a connection. Aren’t we all just looking to connect?

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