“Let’s talk,” April said as Jerry was finishing his shift.
“Sure,” Jerry replied.
On the outskirts of Port Townsend, Jerry arrived at a small cabin nestled beside a pond. April invited him in. She wore a white jumper with a t-shirt; her hair fell naturally past her shoulders.
Inside was a temple of calm. She obviously thrived in the woods, at peace with its quiet.
“This is one of my favorite pieces,” she said pointing to an elaborate mandala hanging over her bed. Crystals and beads were woven into an encircled web with bleached leather strands hanging below. “It’s a dream catcher.”
“Let me guess. It catches dreams?”
“Do you remember your dreams?” she asked.
“Lately. Some. Disturbing.”
“You need a dream catcher. From a Native American tradition, this will protect you from bad dreams. The Spider Woman, a maternal protector, created it. The cobweb design ensnares dreams. The good ones are allowed to slip through into your sleep; the bad ones are held until morning when they are burned up by the sun.
“When you recall a dream, that is a gift from the shadowland. They are hard to decipher, using a language we are not practiced in, but they are potent with insights into your life.”
Jerry ran his fingers across a snow white sheepskin draped over the base of the bed. A collection of sizable crystals enhanced her bureau.
April led Jerry outside into the backyard. A magical garden offered a bounty of tomatoes, basil, zucchini, raspberries, snow peas and more. Beyond the garden, aspen trees competed for sun amidst old growth pine. About 300 feet away, a pond glittered.
She stopped at a brightly colored hammock and patted the fabric.
“Sit,” she said.
Jerry hopped up.
“Perpendicular, so your legs flop over the edge.”
He now occupied a front row seat to a symphonic sunset in adagio tempo, featuring a magenta sun dipping behind the Olympics.
“I’ll be right back.”
She returned with two steaming mugs of chamomile tea. Handing them to Jerry, she alighted onto the hammock next to him. She pressed a pillow behind Jerry’s head and tucked one behind hers, then she received one of the mugs of tea from Jerry and leaned back with a sigh.
Jerry’s double shift stress dissipated into the air like the tea’s vapor.
“I’ve been watching you,” April said.
“What have you seen?”
“You’re a fish out of water.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’ve been hurt bad.”
Jerry nodded and gazed upon the now lavender peaks.
“I feel like I’m wrapped in gauze and slowly peeling it off,” he said.
“How’s it feel?”
“Shaky.”
“Have you found God?”
“Shaky.”
“What’s it going to take for you to let Her in?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look around you, Jerry, right now. You are communing with God, right now.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“It’s like love. When someone asks if you are in love and you have to think about it, then you aren’t. If somebody asks me do I believe in God, I have to think about it. That tells me I don’t.
“I want a miracle,” Jerry continued, “like one of the stories in the Old Testament, like hearing Him, Her,…”
“You’re forcing God to be something She’s not. There is no deus ex machina.”
“Well, He did, plenty of times, in the Bible.”
“Our understanding of God is evolving. Your God doesn’t exist. Feminine energy needs Her place on this planet, or we’re not going to make it. I love my feminine. And most of the world doesn’t. Most of the world is afraid of it, wants to dominate it, wants to kill it.”
They swayed in silence until the first stars twinkled. April hopped off the hammock. “Time to go.”
“Something I said?”
“Of course not. It’s the rhythm, Jerry. The day is done.”
“Well, ok.” He slid off the hammock and faced her, then leaned in for a Port Townsend hug.
Not to be. She turned quickly and headed inside.
As he cruised home, he caught himself humming If I Only Had a Heart.