Solstice - Of The Heart (28 page)

“Ladies first.”

“Not fair, but okay.”

I devoured the last bit of my sandwich
and sat up straight as though I were about to give a speech in
class.

“I’m of Slovenian descent. My parent’s
grandparents came from Yugoslavia and settled in St. Stephen,
Minnesota. I was born and raised in a suburb of Minneapolis called
White Bear Lake. Ever hear of it?”

“No.”

“But you’ve heard of the Twin
Cities.”

“Sure. Mall of America, the Twins, the
Vikings, Prince.”

“Prince?”

“The musician.”

“Oh yeah. Well, he’s old school. So is
Bob Dylan, but I’m getting off track here.”

I took another breath and
continued.

“My mom is a psychotherapist. My dad
was a truck driver, so I didn’t get to see much of them when I was
little. I hung out with baby sitters mostly.”

I sat back.

“Your turn.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to
give me?”

“What else do you want to
know?”

“Let me think.” Aaron reflected for a
second. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“No. My mom miscarried three times
before she had me. Your turn.”

“Really. That’s it?”

“Yes! It’s your turn. Where did you
come from?”

“Well, what you just said sounds too
rote.”

“It is. It’s the diary of my life. I
should know it by heart since I’ve had to repeat it to just about
everyone I’ve met in Shasta. Now what’s your story? Are you
Lemurian or not?”

“There you go again. Blasting through.
You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“Just say yes or no.”

Aaron purposely took a bite of apple
and stalled. He methodically chewed until I could stand it no
more.

“Well? Are you?”

Aaron cleared his throat.

“Am I what?”

“You’re toying with me.”

He smiled.

“Maybe a little bit.”

“So?”

“Who isn’t Lemurian?”

“What’s that supposed to
mean?”

“Lemuria was the cradle of
civilization. It gave birth to many civilizations. Many of us are
descendants of Lemuria.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No. I’m not.”

“You mean there are billions of
Lemurians?”

“If they descended from Lemuria,
yes.”

“How do you know this? They don’t
teach it in school.”

“I’d have to give you a history lesson
and I know how you hate history.”

“Who told you I hate
history?”

“Bernard said you had to serve
detention for skipping history class the day I saw you up here on
the Crags.”

“Interesting. How come you didn’t have
to serve detention?”

Aaron shook his head. “I didn’t
skip.”

“Okay. Sure.” I looked to the sun. It
was mid-afternoon. “We have time for a history lesson, don’t
we?”

Aaron nodded.

“Sure. If you’re
interested.”

“Teach away.”

Aaron jumped to his feet.
He pulled off his sweater and rolled up the sleeves to his shirt.
He threw his apple core over the edge.

“Not sure I’ll be as good as Professor
Mattingly.”

I settled into a
depression in the granite deck.

“Maybe not,” I said, “but I got to
tell you, you’re a lot better looking.”

“No fraternizing with the
teacher.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

I pulled off my sweater
and threw it to the side.

“Give it to me, teach.”

“Imagine this,” Aaron said as he waved
an arm at the sky “is the pacific ocean. “Over here,” he pointed
left and drew an invisible line, “are North and South America, and
here,” he said as he walked across the window and waved a line, “is
Asia. Down here,” he pointed to the granite deck, “is Antarctica.
All this in between,” he said, arching a circle with his hand,
“was, at one time, Lemuria.”

“That’s good,” I said. “I can see
it.”

I couldn’t of course, but I was
enjoying watching Aaron, especially when I could do so unfettered
and without making him feel self-conscious. I could see he had a
flair for entertaining an audience. The more he talked the more
animated he became. The muscles in his arms flexed as he pointed
and drew. The wind toyed with his hair, whipping it into locks that
curled at the end. His blue eyes radiated light, then dark and
greys in between as they reflected the surroundings.

If there ever was a perfect classroom
for learning history, this was it. I read how, in the ancient days,
students would recline on pads out in the wide open and listen as
their teacher took them to faraway places.

Here, on the granite slab,
three-thousand feet above the flatlands, where birds play and the
warm breezes of the afternoon draft through the window, I found joy
in a history lesson delivered to me by the god-man. I felt flushed
and overheated so I removed my t-shirt and bathed in the sun’s rays
and Aaron’s every move. I noticed Aaron stopped moving. He looked
at me, probably wondering why I had stripped down to my sports
bra.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing. Just thinking you’re
starting to look pretty comfortable. Maybe too much so.”

“Thought I’d work on my tan while I
learn history. What better place,” I said, waving a hand, “than up
here where the sun burns.”

“You won’t be falling asleep in my
class, will you?”

I shook my head. “Not a chance. So
what happened,” I said, “to Lemuria?”

“It sank.”

“You mean like a boat?”

“You could put it that way. Most of it
sank in the ocean after volcanoes and earthquakes ripped it
apart.”

“Is there anything left of the land of
Lemuria?”

Aaron gave me the
teacher-to-student-good-question reply and continued.

“Yes there is. The Hawaiian Islands,
the Easter and Fiji Islands, Australia, and New Zealand were all a
part of Lemuria many-thousand years ago.”

“And the Lemurians? What happened to
them?”

“The breakup of Lemuria didn’t happen
overnight. There were early signs, like volcanoes erupting and
earthquakes taking place. Some Lemurians took the hint and
relocated. But millions didn’t. They died.”

I could feel the sun burning into my
shoulders. The breeze, so prevalent through the open window earlier
in the day, now lay still.

“You have any water left?” I asked
Aaron.

He pointed.

“Yes. In the back pack. Getting hot,
huh?”

I nodded, pulled the water bottle from
its saddle in the back pack and drank. I held it up for
Aaron.

“You want some?”

Aaron dripped in sweat. He pulled his
shirt off. He sat down beside me. He drank before
talking.

“You don’t believe the story, do
you?”

“You mean that Lemuria
existed?”

“Yes.”

I slid around and faced
Aaron.

“I don’t know. I’m one of those people
who has to see something tangible, you know. There’s so much out
there that isn’t real, all digitally fabricated. If ancient
civilizations, like Atlantis and Lemuria were real, than where’s
the physical evidence? Where’re the skeletons?”

Aaron smiled.

“Glad you asked,
grasshopper.”

I looked puzzled.

“Grass hopper?”

“It’s a name the Chinese master gave
his student when the student questioned the master’s ability to see
the world. The master was blind, but he could hear the grasshopper
at the student’s feet while the student, even though he had sight,
could not.”

“Okay, master, if you can see the
world better than me, what is it you see?”

“Do as I do,” he said.

Aaron turned to the sun. He removed
his shoes and socks.

I did the same.

Aaron unzipped his cargo pants’
leggings and removed them.

I didn’t know where we were going with
this, but it had intriguing and stimulating value.

Still I hesitated.

Aaron sensed my
reservation.

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” he
said, as he crossed his feet over his legs.

Given my pants leggings were baggie, I
was certain the folds of fabric would not be conducive to crossing
my feet up over my calves. I leaned back and squirmed out of my
jeans. I kept an eye out to see if Aaron was looking.

He wasn’t.

It’s one thing to be basking in the
sun in a sports bra and pants, another thing to be sitting cross
legged in a sports bra and skimpy underwear. I told myself this is
for a good cause and really isn’t any different than if I stood on
a beach in my bikini. I also told myself I would not mention any of
this to my mother.

Cherrie, yes. She was sworn to secrecy
less I confess her dark secret.

Aaron lay his hands, face up, in his
lap. He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the sun.

I did the same, but had a hard time
keeping my eyes closed.

If someone came climbing up our
granite staircase, what would they think? What would they
see?

I closed my eyes and tried to envision
what I would see if I were that person.

Two young people, a female and male,
mostly naked, in Buddha repose, eyes closed, facing a fierce
afternoon sun. Behind us, an expanse of sky, a carpet of fir trees,
and a single dominant mountain standing tall in the distance,
filled in the back drop.

“Can you hear it?” Aaron
asked.

“What? The grass hopper?”

I peeked.

Aaron smiled.

“No. But everything else.”

“I really don’t hear
anything.”

“Then you aren’t
listening.”

“Maybe,” I said, mentally giggling, “I
don’t have my ears open.”

“Exactly my point.”

I peeked at Aaron. He was the picture
of meditation. His eyes were closed, he breathed shallow, and he
sat relaxed.

Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough, or
maybe I was trying too hard. Maybe if I let the concerns and
worries of the todays and the tomorrows go I could hear and see
more. After all, that’s what meditation was all about, wasn’t it?
Focusing? Letting go?

I settled in, took a last look at
Aaron to make sure he wasn’t peeking, (he wasn’t) and let my mind
relax.

As far as I knew there wasn’t any
breeze, yet I heard it in the pine needles in the trees up from us.
I heard my and Aaron’s breathing. Way far off in the distance, I
heard the blow of a train whistle, a raven’s squawk, and a dog
bark. Nearer, I heard the rustle of a leaf as it scraped along the
granite deck, the trickling of water, and the hum, the sound
silence makes in one’s eardrum.

Aaron broke in.

“How many sounds do you
hear?”

I counted them off.

“Eight.”

“There’s more.”

“How many more?”

“You tell me.”

I returned to listening.

The growl of my stomach. My watch,
yes, the ticking of my watch. A bug’s wings clicking. A jet high in
the sky. Crackling, like maybe the drying of bark on a tree. Hot
air escaping from the warming of the water bottle. The piercing cry
of a goshawk. The crumbling sound of rock as it’s split apart by
heat. And the splash of sweat as it rolls off my forehead and hits
the granite deck.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I had
never stopped to listen, to really hear the sounds of life. Sure.
I’ve heard before, but only what was bombarded at me 24/7, and only
as so much noise. These sounds, because I listened, formed mental
pictures in my mind. I saw by hearing, the same way the blind
Chinese master saw.

Aaron brought me to a place I had
never been before.

I prayed he would take me
further.

He did.

17 HISTORY LESSON

Like everyone else, I know about yoga.
I know about meditation. I just never tried it. To be sitting here
on the window ledge of the Crags, in my underwear, inches from
Aaron, falling into a deep trance, was, as Cherrie would put it,
dodgy.

Did I feel immoral?

Not at all.

Aaron didn’t ask me to undress. He
simply asked me to be comfortable, to allow myself to relax. If it
had happened any other way, I would still be fully clothed. (Not
that at a later date I wouldn’t entertain the idea)

Now, Aaron asked me to purge all
thoughts and all sounds from my head.