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156_Chapter Three – Day 2 continued

He is there, in her eyes, and he recognizes me. He remembers how I tricked him and how he cannot walk in this world anymore because of what I have done. Every ounce of his being wishes he could reach out and touch me, but he cannot. I don’t know why, but our actions have accomplished what Amber tried at the door. We trapped within her, and he cannot touch anyone else, not anymore. I wonder now if we can get them through the door.

I am not afraid to face him as our eyes lock in clear communication. I do not waiver. I am in my zone, and at this moment, I feel strong, confident, and beautiful. I feel the peaceful calm of Spirit at my center. I am the healer. I finally return to what I know the best. I am in my Truth. God courses through my veins. There is no harm strong enough to befall me here.

Amber is lost. He pushes her aside as he assesses me, using her eyes to try and read mine. This presence was on the side of the road that day, telling Amber to go over the edge. It is who Heather met one day and chased Amber in her dream. This is who used the rope and eventually met me at the table. He is the one I tricked into my basement and down a drain, and as he looks at me, he is telling me I am not going to trick him again. My eyes respond to his expressing just as clearly, ‘I do not need to.’

He lingers for just a moment, trying to get a bearing on me. He senses my strength and dismisses it, minimizing it against inflated arrogance. Even after all I have done, he cannot imagine me to be any threat to him. I watch as his ego swells. He is amazed by his luck at seeing me here so soon, ignorantly sitting right in front of him. Overjoyed with his good fortune, he begins contemplating his vengeance. His eyes say I will pay for my misconduct. 

As I look back at him, I remain calm and peaceful. Mine are the eyes of a healer, but in the end, he cannot see what my eyes say. He sees only his own story and cannot comprehend the words I speak. His inability to see will ultimately be his undoing.

We exchange a complete volume of thought in a heartbeat. The moment is so fleeting most would not even have recognized his presence as he came into and then left Amber’s eyes. He is gone now, retreating to think and make plans, but I know he is still in them. I remain where I began, waiting to see Amber return.

I don’t know if she felt him there. She is suddenly tired from the draw of energy, and she is much more vulnerable. With this intrusion, he has already taken his first misstep. With his arrogance, he has already helped me. Amber doesn’t have the strength to fight.

I hear an eagle cry beyond the falls and realize the sun is rising behind the mountain. We’ve been here all day and all night. The cave is still dark, but I can see Amber watching me cautiously.

I speak as if nothing has happened. “I have something or someone inside of me,” I say. “I don’t want there anymore. I thought it would help me feel safe. I was wrong. It has taken over my life, and I don’t know how to find myself anymore. I prayed, Amber, and my prayers told me to ask you to be my guide. Will you help me?”

She is listening. I am not sure how she feels about what I said. She stands back in the shadows, watching me, stalking me, waiting for an opportunity, waiting to see what I will do next.

I do nothing. I simply sit with my legs crossed, hands on my lap, head down. I remain non-threatening, in the position of submission that has become my mantra. She’s a little confused by my lack of motion. It makes her feel vulnerable, raising her guard a bit, but not enough to risk movement. She senses something inside of her is angry, and this ‘something’ doesn’t trust me, but she does not know what it is. To her, it presents itself as a sickness, a mental illness. She knows she wants to gather her thoughts. She wants them to be as they used to be, but she doesn’t know how to get there. She is not as soft as she was earlier in our conversation, but this is o.k. We will get there again.

I sit silent, waiting for her to speak.

Finally, she does, “What do you want me to do? I don’t know what you want from me. Why are we here, in this cave? What do you think I can do?”

I answer simply. “I think you can help me.”

“How?” She says.

I respond honestly. “I do not know. But, I think between us, we can figure it out.”

“Why should I?” She questions. “I have plenty of my own problems. What reason do I have to do this?”

“What else are you going to do?” I ask. “We find ourselves here. No one else is calling to us to come. We’re in limbo, waiting for someone to tell us the next step. What reason do you have not to help me?”

“None.” She says, “None at all.” She looks beaten by this admission, like the thought of work to do, beyond feeding her paranoia, is exhausting. Still, I can tell it is also a relief. I am a distraction from the race in her mind, and a distraction is good. It has given her permission to stop pacing, sit on the floor, and think of problems other than her own.

She is not next to me, but she is close enough I can still see her. She is softer than she was, much more vulnerable. The wall is down again, “O.K. What do we do?”

“I’m not sure. Do you think maybe we could get to know each other a little bit? Maybe if we just start talking, it will come to us.” 

She agrees with this idea.

For now, she has let go of him. The rage and the agitated state fade with him. However, deep depression follows his departure. She is very sad and mostly tired. The energy she used during his rage has left her drained. 

“Is it okay if I get us some water?”

She agrees.

I go to the cave opening and fill coconut shells with water from the falls. This healing water will replenish our souls. There is no mistake in our meeting here.

She begins as if I am not there, like she is speaking to herself. “I am so tired all of the time. When I run, I want to rest, but if I stop, something will catch me. So, I still run. Sometimes I stop. Sometimes it lets me rest, but only so it can get closer. Then, I run again.”

“Do you know what it is?” I ask. “Have you ever seen it?”

“No,” she says, “I feel it. It is inside of me.”

I remain silent.

“I don’t know where to go.” She continues, “I don’t know what to be. I just want to rest.”

“Do you want to lie down?” I ask.

“Maybe, just for a minute.” Even as she answers, she begins to move toward the cave floor.

She doesn’t want to share herself, but she will in time. She must first learn to trust me, and to do so; she must get some rest. All I needed today was to begin the conversation. If I stay patient and she stays rested, our experience will be less manic and more open to healing.

I watch her as she lies down. She is still but does not sleep right away. She lies on her back instead, staring at the ceiling of the cave. She is trying to understand something, but she won’t be able to find what she seeks. None of it is real. She will never be able to sort it out because it does not exist. Still, she works at it until she finally surrenders to her exhaustion and loses herself to sleep.

When she is finally at rest, I get up and feed her some water. She is just conscious enough to accept the medicine. When she has consumed what she can, I leave what is in the cup next to her. If we are to succeed, she must drink. 

I manage to get a sleeping bag under her without her waking and put a small pillow under her head. I find a blanket in the cave to gently lay it over her sleeping form. I also leave a small lamp I found next to her head. Here, in this way, she will sleep deeply and peacefully.

After setting everything right, I return to my spot, to my sitting position in the center of the floor. It is not far from where she sleeps. I am here to watch over her. She will sleep through the night. When she wakes, the blanket, pillow, and light will all be gone. Only the cup will remain. I will still be in the same position as when she fell asleep. This predictability will help her trust me. She will believe she only dozed for a moment, which will help her think the situation is under her control.

I can’t do more than I’m doing. I must let her think she is the one in control and only I am vulnerable. As time passes, she will open, and she will share, and through this sharing, she will heal. Through knowing her, I believe I will as well. I can only pray we make it to the place where we might find some longer-lasting peace.

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