..::'The Gods call me Windhorse,' he said smiling at me through heavy lashes....'In actuality, Windhorse means, 'the exalted, bouyant state that one mounts and rides into the plain of enlightenment.'
'On many prayer flags printed in Tibet you will find a black horse in the center. When you hear the prayer flags in the wind you hear the words of God being spoken. I am Windhorse and you are Windhorse Woman.'
...He reached over on a shelf and picked up a marble statue and set it on the table between us. It stood about a foot high.
'Do you know who this is?'
I looked at the Greek statue that appeared to be both male and female. 'The statue looks androgynous.'
'She is. She is neither a man nor a woman, though she is both and she nurtures both aspects of herself because she is complete within herself...All beings who come into my valley must understand this principle.'
'...Are you afraid to die?' Windhorse asked me.
'I was, but not anymore.'
He squeezed my hand. 'That is good. Because to fall in love one must not be afraid to die.'
'I'm not sure I understand,'
'If you were afraid to die into me, then you could not love me. It would only be a foolish game. I showed you this statue because it represents a synergistic principle. Basically, being androgynous, her sum is greater than the parts of her.' Windhorse smiled at me....'That being has an ability that is more than the sum of her parts.'
'What is that?'
'She has the ability to truly love...Love can only happen through unity.'::..
Lynn Andrews
Windhorse Woman
* * * *
They all seemed to awaken at the same time, for a wonder.
None of the hard wrenching back to consciousness as with the other journeys, Emlyn noted. Not that the journey itself hadn't had it's share; heart-wrenching, to be sure.
And Em was left with much to be pondered...
'Is everyone alright?' Daryl still held their hands between them, he gazed at Emlyn and Shannon earnestly.
'I believe so! Em, how about you?' Shannon bent round Daryl to have a closer look at Em.
'I am here. I'm alright,' Emlyn answered automatically, with little emotion. She was still quite dazed.
Daryl released their hands and turned to Em, his hand went gently to her shoulder.
'My dear girl, I am so sorry, to have put you through this. I certainly never expected to see Gwydion.'
Emlyn looked at him, her eyes pained. He had no idea. She closed her eyes. 'I am tired, Daryl.'
Shannon stood. 'Come, Em, I'll see you to bed, yes?' She held out a hand, Em grasped it gratefully and arose slowly. 'Sleep knits the ravelled sleeved of care, I believe the Bard once said, no?' She smiled tentatively at Em, who merely nodded and followed Shannon upstairs to their rooms.
Indeed, not at all what I had expected...Daryl's head fell into his hands as he raked them through his hair, scratching hard as if to stimulate an idea.
Looking a right wild-man, he raised his head, noting the fire had burned down to cinders. He shook his head slowly; best off to bed as well.
Can think all this through later.
That last bit, though, haunted him; what Gwydion had said...about Emlyn having a 'husband', had given Daryl pause. And what was the Welsh he'd let slip before that?
'"Ystyngeo dyledawr"'-- the phrase that Gwydion had uttered upon seeing the Knight he named Emlyn's 'husband'...
Daryl mused upon the meaning of the Welsh pronouncement, which translated as,
"He lay low the mighty".
. . . .
Shannon saw Em to her room first, sat her upon the bed and joined her there.
'That was indeed, an awesome journey,' Shannon bent over, and leaned her chin onto her hand.
Emlyn stared before her, frowning. At last she looked over at Shannon. 'Yes.' She pressed a hand to her forehead and cleared her throat.
'I, I had not been expecting that.' She sighed.
'Gwydion...'
'You needn't talk about it if you'd rather just...' Shannon began, touching Em's arm gently.
'No, it's alright. I can't stop myself from thinking about it.' Em stared before her, unable to fathom the meaning of it all.
Shannon stood and poured a glass of water, bringing it to Em. 'Here.'
Emlyn drank gratefully. 'Thank you. You know...I knew we had been followed by someone the whole time. I could feel it, I could feel...Him.'
Shannon poured more water and drank it off in a gulp. 'Who is he, Em? And, well, is he your husband? Since when?' She returned to Emlyn's side. 'You are an enigma! Nothing could surprise me about you now.'
Emlyn was quietly pensive for a moment.
'I'm really not sure...but I have a very good idea, who it might be.' She looked at Shannon, appearing more focused now.
'I don't know about having a 'husband' or how that could even be...but if Gwydion believes this, that is all to the good. If only I could help Llew somehow...'
'We'll find a way. I'll help you, Em! He needs your help, that much is obvious! Did you see how his gaze ate you up?' Shannon took Em's hand in hers.
'But, Em; who is he, the Mystery Knight? Your spirit husband?'
Emlyn locked her gaze with Shannon. 'That is it, exactly! He is my Spirit Husband, and no other.
'Oh, Shannon, I do have someone. But he is in the Otherworld, and only in the Otherworld, can we ever be together! Oh, I miss him so...'
Suddenly she understood, and sympathized with, Daryl's obsession with the Cup...
'Ah!' Shannon sat upright. 'A Spirit Husband, indeed! Emlyn, I am impressed! And jealous, truth be told! Oh, I hear they far surpass those found only on the material plane... But, it is hard, being apart, no?'
'Very,' was all Em could trust herself to reply.
'Still...' Shannon pondered, frowning...'If he is able to keep Gwydion away...and your gypsy magic was a protection, too; to wrest us from dreaming within the dream...
'Em, I'm sure it is safe now for you to return! Come back to Mrs. Murphy's and California with me! Jeanne misses you so, as well.'
Shannon gazed winningly up at her friend. 'What say you now?' She lifted Em's chin and leaned to her ear and whispered, ''Tis soon Samhain!'
Emlyn thought about all this...it did seem possible. And she wearied of this time-shielded fortress; not only did it keep the world well Without, it also kept folk well Within...and cold and rain-sodden.
'Perhaps you're right. I do so miss California in the fall...'
'Sleep, Em.' Shannon stroked her hair. 'I'll leave you be...and when we waken, let us return, yes? Mrs. Murphy will be so glad to see you again!'
Em merely smiled, and found herself stifling a yawn. 'Til tomorrow then. And thank you, Shannon.'
'Sweet dreams...' Shannon rose, then softly shut the door.
. . . .
Morning dawned bringing a wan cool sun through the fog surrounding the estate. Neither light nor dark, an in-between sort of weather befitting a place which was neither here nor there.
Emlyn opened her eyes to it, and closed them again at once. Whatever dreams she may have had were swiftly fleeing...but she felt that He may have been there with her. She could detect His presence still.
She turned over, away from the light and snuggled down under the comforter, seeking a lost dreamland...
Could it truly have been -- He?
She did not think of him as Diego now...no, despite his resemblance to young Daryl, she knew absolutely, that he was not. She felt this 'in her bones'.
Possibly, she admitted, he could have been some far-flung relative of Daryl's. Or even his ancestor. Enigmatic uncle had mentioned that his family line intersected with hers at some winding, distant juncture.
She felt him, whoever he was...coming closer now. -- At long last! And, an added attraction: he had Gwydion on the run! This made her smile.
Her spirit husband.
No wonder she had remained unwed and leery of the men she had met thus far on her road. Few folk were on their own path or interested in refining themselves; turning their lead into gold, endeavoring a personal alchemy.
True, the men with whom she had become closest;
the Captain, Lev, Jethro, Jack...all had been seekers in their own right, and striving for something higher. Each in their own way. And they felt like fellow travelers; brothers beneath the skin.
Most importantly, they were their own persons.
They weren't desperately seeking someone, her, to somehow augment their tenuous sense of self-importance.
It helped no one; not women, nor men. People, in general, were no different from one another, except one half of them thought they were superior somehow.
Well, if Daryl and Jack were correct, the 'superior sex', modeled after the whole god-the-father patriarchal paradigm, had made such a catastrophic mess of the planet that life as we know it, as well as the planet itself, was close to an especially nasty end.
Women were forced into this role by economic necessity, of course. Hopefully the vote would help to cure this and her sorors would at least be able to earn a living wage, on their own, at last. What man would not welcome a more equal partner, especially with finances?
But when people were denied the right to thrive, the very definition of evil; they turned snappish like small dogs; an ugly thing to see. This inequality was what turned some women against their own sex.
With men, this behavior became disgustingly evident when women refused to play a role that men's imaginations had assigned to them; it was especially degenerate when evidenced by relatively affluent white males, who had no excuse.
It was a sad thing...how lost they all were. Em felt compassion for them, her long lost brothers.
She truly felt toward them as 'little brothers'. They seemed so lost; immature as squabbling children, fighting over toys. Even and sometimes, especially, the older men.
No woman could ever feel that fiery spark of true love, or even respect, for a man who is but a large, and sometimes dangerous, child.
She hoped a spirit husband might be able to help her with Llew. The lad deserved a world beyond that of Gwydion's...somehow, somewhere.
Emlyn sighed...she felt so sorry for children in general. So many unwanted children, or orphans like Sophie. Why did not more folk adopt? She had never understood why, if one felt the overwhelming need for a child, did one not simply adopt a child, already born, who needed parents?
It seemed the perfect solution.
But, then, the very idea of ever being secure and safe enough to be able to offer any sentient creature a home had never occurred to Emlyn. A place to call home, seemed as unobtainable as the moon to her.
Best not waste thought on such fancies.
But, oh...
She could accept never having a home or finding her mate in this physical lifetime; if she could meet with her spirit husband in the Otherworld, it would suffice.
Indeed, it would more than suffice: she would consider herself utterly blessed beyond all imagining...!
A soft knock at her door brought Em back to earth.
Shannon poked her head in. 'Em,' she whispered, 'Are you awake?'
Em smiled to herself, and gave up the ruse.
'I am.'
Shannon flounced in and sat upon the bed, bouncing. 'It smells like coffee downstairs!' She remarked, hopefully.
'Oh, alright...' Emlyn stretched and regarded Shannon who looked rather obscenely young and perky this early morn. 'It's probably espresso in the library. I shall meet you there in a bit.'
Shannon grinned and flounced away...
. . . .
Daryl was poring over volumes of books as was his usual occupation of late, when Shannon had knocked him up, as it were, and he'd tucked her onto the sofa with a cup of coffee and cornbread then returned to his studies. Shannon amused herself with the crop circle books meanwhile.
'The circle we saw at Glastonbury was much more intricate than even any of these!' She enthused.
'Ummm,' Daryl grunted.
'I wonder if I could draw it...' Shannon mused.
Daryl looked up, realizing he would get no work done now. 'Why don't you try?' He nodded to the desk drawers. 'There are pencils and paper in the top drawer there.'
With the child occupied, Daryl poured another cup of espresso and adding almond milk, he then opened another book, and sat back and sighed as he sipped...now where was that paragraph again...?
A soft rap, Emlyn then opened the door. 'Hola?' She called.
'Come! It's quite the gathering here already...' Daryl called, realizing today would be a round of interruptions.
'Bore da, Daryl,' Emlyn greeted him.
'Bore da, Em,' Daryl marked his page and shut the book on his lap. 'Did you sleep well?'
'I slept.' She went to la machine and pulled a steaming espresso. 'Yourself?'
'I...was out. I suppose it was rather like sleeping...,' was uncle's nebulous reply.
Em wandered over behind Shannon and put an arm behind her chair as she watched the girl tracing geometric forms before her.
'Crop circles?' She inquired.
Shannon smiled up at her. 'I'm trying to remember yesterday's circle, at Glastonbury.'
'Good luck,' Em told her, as she moved off and took a slice of cornbread. 'I can see it somewhat in my mind's eye, but it's hard to pin it down in detail, as it were...'
Emlyn took the sofa seat nearest the hearth, and gazed out the windows. Thus far, the weather still remained shrouded, undecided.
'What are you reading?' She asked Daryl who had resumed perusing his book. Or had tried to.
Daryl gave up, if you can't beat them, join them.
'D.H. Lawrence, actually. An English poet and literary lion of the midlands; born 1885, I believe. You will soon hear his roar...'
'Indeed?' Em was all curious. 'I do love English poets; nearly as good as the Kelts.' She winked at Shannon, who smiled.
'You will like Lawrence, I believe, ole Bert.
He was an iconoclast, a champion of freedom of the presses, and who argued against repressive Victorian age stuffiness and hypocrisy, and brought into glaring relief the vast abyss between the rich and titled, and the poor and working classes.'
'Ah, a man after me own heart...' Shannon interjected, still intent on her drawing.
'Indeed. He had a post as a school teacher for a time. Shall I read a bit?'
Em nodded.
'"When will the bell ring, and end this weariness...how long have they tugged the leash, my pack of unruly hounds? I cannot start them again on the quarry of knowledge they hate to hunt, I can haul them and urge them no more.
"Shall I take the last dear fuel and heap it upon my soul until I rouse my will like a fire to consume their dross of indifference and burn the scroll of their insults and punishments?
"I will not. I will not waste myself to embers for them. Not all for them shall the fires of my life be hot til myself a heap of ashes of weariness.
"I shall keep some of my strength for myself for if I sell it all for them, I should hate them."' Daryl finished, and shut the book.
'My gods...' Em stared before her, digesting these wild words with her breakfast. 'My gods, Daryl, that is exactly what has been on my mind all morning! You, he, Mr. Lawrence, has taken the thoughts off the tip of my brain! May I see that book?' She stood and was bearing down upon Daryl, eyes alight.
Daryl handed it over, rather surprised to find Emlyn so enthused over Lawrence's lamenting his pathetic state as a school master.
'Amazing.' Emlyn had bent her head over the tome, studying it with intent.
'Daryl, this is exactly the same way I feel around most of the men I had been seeing socially, when younger, you know. He describes it all, so very accurately!' She slowly shook her head. 'Especially the phrases, 'I shall not waste myself to embers for them' and 'til myself a heap of ashes of weariness.' That has ever how I had felt after spending too much time in the cold dreary shadows of their egos. Ah, sorry! Present company excluded, naturally!' She smiled gently at Daryl.
'I am honored...' he replied dryly, one long-suffering eyebrow cocked her way. 'You were thinking of men all morning then?'
Em paged through the book. 'No, not so much. One in particular, perhaps.' She hadn't looked up.
'Ah. I thought so.' Daryl had also been thinking of one or two in particular.
'Yes,' Shannon piped up, 'And in fact, after our little adventure, we learned alot. For instance, Gwydion is now on the run, from Emlyn's spirit husband...'
'"Spirit husband", is it now?' Daryl sat up, taking note.
'Aye. So it 'tis.' Shannon added. 'And Emlyn has a defender now, a protector in the Otherworld!'
Daryl let this notion abide in the ethers for a moment.
Meanwhile, Emlyn thought it as good a time as any to broach a particular subject...
'We believe that it is safe for me to return now, back to California and Real Time.' Her gaze challenged Daryl.
Silence then, but for the scratching of Shannon's pencil.
'We were thinking of leaving today, Shannon and I together. Back to Mrs. Murphy's, for now.'
She stood then, carrying the book back to Daryl. Putting her hand on his shoulder, she set it on the table beside him. 'That is where you should be able to find me.'
Daryl sighed, and patted her hand. 'Well, and why not then? May as well, Em. I seem not to be doing such a great job of keeping you and Gwydion apart, myself.' Daryl knew his weakness; the Cup.
And ever would he be at it again, he knew.
'If ever you need me...you know where I am.'
Shannon stood then, taking her drawing over to them. 'What do you think? It's a bare outline, but...'
The three of them put their heads together over the sketch, one dark, one blond, one redhead; and studied the design.
'You seem to have caught most of it, Shannon,' Daryl was generous in that assumption.
'It was a grand and glorious thing, wasn't it?' Shannon fell back onto the sofa, letting the paper drift onto the table. 'I could hardly believe my eyes! Such a marvel, we were truly blessed...' She shook her head slowly. 'I can't believe people are so gullible as to believe that old fahts with boards on their feet made them!' Her gaze went to Daryl, who was smiling in spite of himself.
'Some think, like myself, that it was The Church who sponsored a disinformation program against the 'reality' of crop circles; they felt them to be such a challenge to their power and authority over the souls of others...'
'Ah, sure'n that'd be like the papists! Oh, I've enjoyed the ah, pageantry of the church, but scratch the surface and it's teeming with horrors!' Shannon was surprisingly spot-on with her observations.
'I would like to go again, sometime!' She nodded at where the Cup stood, shrouded. 'If I may?' Shannon was ever one to leap into the fire.
Daryl affected not a very convincing pretense of seeming to think about this very seriously and to consider it from all angles...frowning, walking away from them...
Em had seen it all before. 'He would love to have you go with the Cup, anytime, Shannon. That much is obvious!' She called to Daryl, who turned then, shooting her The Look. Then he gave it up.
'Yes, alright, my wee colleen...of course you are welcome to travel via Cup with me. But only with me, never ever alone!
'Besides, I usually keep it locked safely away where no one can find it. Guarded by protection spells as well as hardware. So you can forget about sneaking off...'
Shannon's wide, innocent eyes said, 'I would never!' But Emlyn knew she would not speak the words aloud.
'So, when are you off then?' Daryl drummed his fingers on the book of Bert.
Emlyn looked at Shannon. 'This afternoon?'
Shannon bounced.
Daryl smiled.
'So be it. Let us have a nice lunch together and I shall see you both off after, agreed?'
It appeared they would soon be on their way.
. . . .
'I believe I will also make an excursion back west,' Daryl informed the ladies as they took luncheon together; a vegetable and mushroom (of course) quiche he'd whipped up for the occasion.
'Oh?' Emlyn paused mid-forkful.(Oh, dear; don't tell me you're coming with, Daryl, please, her mind groaned.)
Daryl sighed and whipped a wry glance at her, but refrained from informing her he could feel that groan to his bones. She knew it, anyway...
'Yes,' he continued, blithely. 'Rosa and Manuel reminded me that there are some ships coming to port in the City carrying cargo I may wish to review... I had thought I'll be off in a day or two.'
Relieved, Emlyn forged on with her lunch; she would miss Daryl's cooking, she must admit.
'Ah. Well, who knows? It is possible I might journey back to the City as well, at some point.
Right now, I simply yearn for the forested hillsides and the lovely autumn colors. Oh, to be outdoors in the sun, when it isn't broiling out, is a treat not to be missed...'
And I'm not going to, either, Em added to herself.
'Oh, Em, it's divine, this time of year! Wait til you see our little burg in the fall!' Shannon finished up her plate in record time, ready to be off, she was.
'Jeanne will be so glad to have you back. The Triad together once more! And just in time for Samhain.'
Emlyn ate in silence a while, pondering. Samhain.
Could she really enjoy a peaceful sacred holiday without kidnappings and the like? It would certainly be a nice change.
'I'm looking forward to it,' she smiled at her friend, and found that she was indeed. She even missed Jethro and Homer, strange as that seemed.
'One day you should introduce me to this mysterious Athena,' Shannon remarked. 'She sounds like a very interesting woman.'
'You would like her very much, I think,' Em replied. 'She reminds me of Jeanne somewhat.'
'Oh, Em! Hurry and finish, do! I don't want to miss Samhain!' Shannon began to gently bounce on her seat, unable to contain herself.
Em and Daryl chuckled at her, as if sharing a joke betwixt themselves. Ah, youth! They seemed to say, with just a look.
'It hasn't been altogether so bad here Daryl,' she managed. 'Sometimes, well, there are things about this place I even enjoy. Athena's company, and your cooking, of course...'
'Good to know I am useful for something,' Daryl replied, taking their plates to the sink.
Emlyn stood and came to him, clasped him in a fierce hug, and looked at him intently.
'I DO appreciate you Daryl, and all you have done for me,' she told him sincerely.
Shannon, not to be outdone at histrionics, leapt up and clasped them both, burying her face in her friends. 'I appreciate you both, too!'
Daryl laughed, a genuine guffaw for a change, and the girls joined in.
'Alright, alright.' He disengaged himself. 'It's time you were off, then. Everyone ready as may be?'
Emlyn grabbed her satchel and Shannon shrugged on her coat and grasped Em's hand, bouncing on her toes.
'"Drizzle, drazzle, dreidel, drone
Time for These Two, To Go Home!"' Daryl pushed up non-existent wizard sleeves and waved his hands about in the air about them, as the windows darkened with timestorms.
. . . .
Evening came as it usually did, (but not always), in Daryl's time-tossed world, and he sighed as he rattled about his big, cold and empty mansion. Having done some housework, he took a cup of coffee into the library and climbed the spiral staircase up to the loft, perching at last on Yeats' abandoned day bed.
He hefted his long legs up onto the bed, stifling a groan...sometimes his body simply felt too heavy or ungainly to him. Like a big dog, he felt he was getting problems with his hips. He fancied he would have to poke about for a nice, antique walking stick. A sword-cane like Mr. Steed's? Too heavy...but a nice silver wolfs-head cane perhaps.
He sighed. If only his beloved Anara would take pity upon him at last, and take him away with her in her crystal ship, off beyond the stars... '"Second star to the right, and straight on til morning..."', he whispered.
A sideways smile ghosted his lips. Yeats, the bugger...why had he been thus singled out for such a journey? Daryl knew, though, that gallivanting the galaxies was hardly that worthy's
work at the moment. No doubt battles were raging above, about which folk here on this little insignificant planet had no clue.
Rumbling from without accompanied a darkening at the windows as twilight deepened and storm clouds gathered. Hm. The girls had been gone for hours, the time storm should have abated somewhat by now, Daryl mused.
A shimmering in the air caught Daryl's eye.
A loud crack of thunder, and--
--Jack was back!
. . . .
Not only that, but he was back and grinning wide, seemingly pleased about something.
'Daryl!' He enthused, approaching his surprised uncle, who tried not to grimace at the pain as he sat up and slowly stood to welcome his prodigal nephew.
'How are you?' Jack took Daryl's arms and seemed happy to see him, for a change; and altogether
free of the air of unreality, and indifference that had enveloped Jack after his...injury.
'I am doing alright,' Daryl answered, rather bewildered. 'But, Jack, you look well! How are you? Do have a seat...'
Daryl gratefully fell back upon the bed, and Jack took the chair nearby.
'I feel fantastic,' Jack told Daryl, seeming to be his old self. 'See?' He leaned over, looking closely, deliberately at his uncle.
Daryl stared back. '...Your eyes...you don't need the dark lenses now?'
Jack shook his head. 'Not at all. Oh, Daryl--
it's amazing! Wait til you hear!' Jack popped up again, like...a jackrabbit. He ran a hand through his hair, the old Jack...
'Well, this is wonderful!' Daryl was relieved. 'I knew you would regain your faculties in time...'
Jack wheeled about. 'No! No, that isn't it at all, you see! Well, it is--and I have, but it wasn't a long, slow slog back to normal; no!' Jack still paced along, looking like he had a great secret he couldn't wait to share.
'Jack, just, tell me.' Daryl needed to know what had happened.
Jack sat upon the bed beside Daryl. 'Daryl. I've done it. We've done it! Aleister, and I, and all your research and notes, of course...' He shook his head, too excited to know where to begin.
'Yes?'
'Alright.' Jack seemed to get hold of himself at last. 'You know I was researching sound therapy, as healing, for myself as well as others.'
Daryl nodded.
'I studied, and researched everywhere,' Jack continued, 'Not just music theory and the sciences, but in old tomes of the ancients from many lands, finding lost histories, even!'
Jack was on a roll:
'Music was used as a healing force for centuries. Aesculapius was said to cure diseases of the mind by using song and music; music therapy was used in Egyptian temples...
'As early as 400 B.C., Hippocrates played music for mental patients. In the thirteenth century, Arab hospitals contained music-rooms for those thus afflicted.
'It was even practiced in biblical times, when David played the harp to rid King Saul of a bad spirit,' Jack smiled, obviously pleased to be acting the tutor to Daryl for a change.
'And, there is Sant Mat, which shares elements of Sikhism and Hinduism; technically speaking Sant Mat practice involves listening to the Inner Sound, also known as 'The Word' or 'logos' contemplating the Inner Light, and (eventually) leaving the human body at will - sometimes referred to as "dying while living". Son et Lumiere, Sound and Light! The principal intent is to awaken the Soul and unite with God.'
'No, no; nothing like that, uncle,' Jack smiled still. 'Better. Much, much better.' Jack did something completely out of character then, he took Daryl's hands in his, holding them tightly between them.
'We're going home, Daryl. Home. REAL home. I've found it! An alternate time line. Where all that went wrong in our time, had never happened. Where everything went right, not wrong! It's real, I've been there! Look at me!' Jack seemed, indeed, to be his Old Self returned.
'Come with me, uncle! We can regain the life that we lost. We can, at last, live the life we were meant to, that everyone was meant to!
Jack leaned in toward Daryl, his grey gaze steely yet ecstatic.
'Come back with me, uncle. Let us go Home!'
. . . .
LISTEN! Crosby Stills and Nash: DEJA VU
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZugv5oiNPQ
