Soul Seekers03 - Mystic
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In memory of Shaun Daniel Winegar 1966–2012
Contents
Animal Spirit Guides
Jaguar
Jaguar represents power, grace, and stealth. Jaguar teaches us the benefits of silence, concentration, and deep contemplation. Having enhanced physical abilities to feel and see its prey, Jaguar inspires us to be more sensitive to the people around us. With its eerie unyielding stare, the spirit of the Jaguar leads to a greater depth of vision and inner knowledge. Able to bring down prey many times its own size, Jaguar reflects power beyond the individual, a power enhanced by the intimate connection with all, the spirit, and imminent rebirth.
Monkey
Monkey represents perseverance, fluidity in motion, and balance. Monkey teaches us to adjust our course quickly when confronted with new information. A brilliant shape-shifter, Monkey prompts us to explore who we are and who we choose to be. Intelligent and adaptable, the spirit of the Monkey instructs us to reject rigid thinking and to be open to new perspectives, approaches, and experiences. A naturally curious and social creature, Monkey encourages learning, creative problem solving, and communicating in a concise and straightforward manner.
Raccoon
Raccoon represents disguise, dexterity, and adaptability. Raccoon teaches us how to be dexterous in the many faces of self we reveal. Disguised by its mask, the spirit of the Raccoon is not one of a thief, but rather one of mystery, a tool of transformation allowing us to achieve altered states for healing and magick. Having powerful nimble claws, Raccoon encourages us to be creative with our hands, and its ability to live anywhere reminds us to be flexible and adaptable in any situation we find ourselves in.
Squirrel
Squirrel represents trust, thrift, and preparedness. Squirrel teaches us to gather resources and prepare for the future without accumulating things from the past, such as worries and fears. A very active and energetic animal, Squirrel reminds us that in our quest to achieve our goals we need to take time to socialize and rest. With much of its time spent gathering and storing food, the spirit of the Squirrel informs us of the importance of balance between giving and receiving. Able to scurry up the side of a tree to evade a predator, Squirrel cautions us that danger is best avoided by climbing to a higher place.
Red Fox
Red Fox represents wisdom, invisibility, and discretion. Red Fox teaches us to be in harmony with our surroundings, through stillness and quiet we can blend in almost to the point of invisibility. With its highly developed sense of smell, Red Fox encourages us to sniff out every situation and person, avoiding those that we sense are trouble. Using its keen eyesight to hunt under the cover of darkness, the spirit of the Red Fox encourages us to see beyond our present situation and into the realm of spirit. Mentally agile, Red Fox guides us to rely on the power of our instincts and to freely call on our creative force.
It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.
—Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
house of light and shadow
one
Daire
I wake to a room gone suddenly bright as Axel calls to me from his place by the door.
He pauses. Allowing time for me to gather myself, begin the slow crawl from slumber, before he makes his way to my bedside. His approach heralded by the soft hum of his breath rising and falling—the muffled hush of his feet crossing the smooth limestone floor.
His voice is a melody.
His movements an inspired choreography.
Still, when he stands by my side and places a tentative hand on my shoulder, I shrink from his touch and squinch my eyes shut. Stretching back to the dream where I cling to the memory of Dace’s embrace. The sweep of his fingers moving over my flesh … the press of his lips meeting mine … desperate to lose myself in the glittering burn of his kaleidoscope eyes, reflecting my image thousands of times. Preferring the fantasy of Dace and me blissfully reunited at the Enchanted Spring, to the barren truth that awaits me.
“Daire, please. I know you’re awake.” Axel keeps his tone light, as though he’s not the least bit annoyed by the game. “I will gladly sit here all day if that’s what it takes.” He claims a space on my mattress and waits for me to acknowledge him.
“You have the patience of a saint,” I snap, reluctantly forfeiting the dream and accepting it for the ghost that it is. My eyes widening at the sight of Axel’s anxious lavender gaze. Caught by the way it darkens to a deep stormy amethyst, before turning as clear and luminous as the day we first met.
The day our first words were spoken, formalities exchanged.
The day he swept me into his arms and rocketed me high into the sky. Piercing through the glorious silken spun web that yielded to a world of bright golden light.
So unlike the prior times—once deep underwater—once in a haunted Moroccan square—back when I was naïve enough to disregard the events as coincidence.
“I’m hardly a saint.” His fingers spear through his shock of blond hair that swoops over his brow and falls in loose curls past his cheek. A move I’ve observed countless times, and yet, it’s no less enchanting than the first. The platinum strands seamlessly blending into a complexion so fair, smooth, and translucent, I can’t help but think (and not for the first time) that between the pastel eyes and porcelain skin, he appears so exquisite, so strikingly angelic, the only things missing are a halo and wings.
“If not a saint, then an angel, perhaps?” The question hangs heavy between us, not nearly as jokey as it might seem on the surface. Here in the Upperworld, anything is possible, and I’m eager to get to the truth of this strange situation I find myself in. “Or a spirit guide, maybe? Perhaps even
my
spirit guide?”
My gaze narrows on his as I silently ponder the unspoken questions:
Am I a convalescent or a captive?
Is he saving me or enslaving me?
Assured by the way he flinches, the way he tears his gaze away, that he heard the thoughts as well as the words.
“What if I told you I was none of those things?”
“Then I’d suspect you were lying,” I say in a voice that’s strong and sure. Wanting him to know that while I may be at a physical disadvantage, dependent on his willingness to take care of me and tend to my wounds, my will is still strong. My days as an invalid are nearing an end.
He lowers his chin, sending a tumble of blond curls sailing over his forehead, down past the finely sculpted bridge of his nose, before landing at the perfect bow of his lips. “If you insist on a label, and clearly you do, then I guess you could say I’m a Mystic.” He runs his palms down the crisp white tunic he wears.
“A Mystic?” My tone is as stark as my face.
He nods, making great study of the abstract, Georgia O’Keeffe–style painting of a vibrant blue lake on the far side of the room, before settling on the small, glass-tiled pool where I often bathe in a modest white gown as Axel rinses the suds from my shoulders and hair.
“Define Mystic,” I say. Despite a number of prior attempts, this is the most I’ve ever gotten out of him, and I plan to push it as far as I can.
“One who is initiated into esoteric mysteries.” He turns to me, clearly pleased with his explanation, but I’m far from satisfied.
“Would you care to elaborate, or are you being purposely vague?” I lift my chin, quirk a brow, surprised to find my sarcasm tested by the shock of his luminous grin. A grin that begins at the tip of his chin and creeps all the way to the haphazard part in his hair. A grin so open, kind, and authentic, it takes all of my will to curb the impulse to return it.
“I’m being purposely vague, there’s no use denying it. So now, if the interrogation is over, perhaps we can talk about you?” Misreading my silence for surrender, he leans closer. “How are you feeling?” he asks, studying me with a concerned eye and a cool palm that travels from my brow to my cheek. Searching for signs of the fever and chills that have plagued me since I arrived in this place.
“The interrogation is
never
over. You should know that by now.” I pull away from his touch, striving for a stern voice and the expression to match. Resolved to get at least a few of the answers I seek. “What exactly is a Mystic?” I demand.
He shutters his eyes, sighing when he says, “I’m afraid it’s of a scope that is far beyond human comprehension.”
“Try me.” I frown. Glare. Commit to waiting for however long it takes to get him to properly answer me. But all I get in return is a view of Axel’s grin. “C’mon, Axel,” I plead. “Why won’t you tell me what it means? Is everyone in the Upperworld a Mystic? And if so, where are they? Why haven’t I seen anyone but you the whole time I’ve been here?”
He commits to the silence, leaving the questions to hang heavy between us.
“Fine.” I breathe a frustrated sigh. “But don’t think this is over. You can evade me for now, but I’ll find out eventually. You’re not the only stubborn one around here.” I do my best to rebuff the lure of his charm, but it’s no use. Even when he’s not smiling, chucking a self-conscious hand through his hair, or engaging in any of his other well-practiced gestures from the “Handbook of Disarming Moves,” he radiates such an abundance of genuine kindness, benevolence, and undeniable charisma, it’s not long before I fold. “So, in the spirit of cooperation—which, by the way, is something you could stand to learn a thing or two about—I will answer your question by saying my fever has finally broke.”
I watch as his fingers move from his lap to my cheek and then back to his lap. Captured by the way his movements cast the most glorious veil of light, bearing no hint of darkness or shadow.
