At
dawn Thursday, she started a pot of coffee and gazed absently out into the
backyard. The yard was deep and - other
than a large oak tree near the house – was clear of trees for about one half of
an acre. Deep green grass covered the
ground. A huge picnic table and trestle benches
which could have sat two dozen people bordered the left side of the yard. There was a brick and cement barbecue
pit. She guessed the fenced field beyond
was probably cattle pasture. Woods, beginning
with the oaks and maples surrounded the right edge and a pecan grove stood
sentry at the bottom of the yard. It was
too beautiful to stay inside. She
retrieved her well-worn broomstick from her room and went quietly out the
kitchen door.
Gwen
stood in the center of the yard and drew a deep cleansing breath. She hadn't done the Morning Meadow ceremony
in over six months. Morning Meadow was a
ritual that taught spiritual lessons and physical skills. Everyone who served the light learned
it. Children begin the practice as soon
as they are old enough to hold a wooden dowel.
Morning Meadow was a beginning.
The basic steps for all the complicated steps to come. With mastery, the lessons learned in Morning
Meadow were sufficient to protect yourself in simple battle.
Simple
battle, she snorted at her thoughts. She
thought she was done with battles. The
Light had other plans for her. She
cleared her mind and held the stick horizontally to the ground at shoulder
height: Dawn.
She
sank to her knees, keeping the staff steady: Awareness.
She
lowered the stick to the ground, pressing her forehead to the cool dewy grass: Awe. She held that position while her muscles
stretched and her joints popped. Curling
upwards from the small of her back she stretched the staff as far as she could
reach: Surrender.
She
returned to the Dawn
position and drew in another breath.
She
dropped the rod end, allowing the tip to dip level to her waist and repeated it
with the left end. She did this six
times. Then the rod dipped to her hip on
the right and the left six times. She
dropped the staff to her knees on the sides and eventually allowed the staff to
touch the grass. The Spider's Web wasn't complete until she'd
walked the staff ends back up to Dawn position again.
Her wrists ached from disuse.
She
transitioned to Frog in the
Pond, alternately
swinging the staff outward from chest to side with the right hand snapping the
free end into her left hand and then arching the staff with her left hand out
to the side and back to snap into her right palm. She repeated Frog in the Pond a dozen times.
She
brought her hands together in the center of the rod and stretched it up as far
she could lift it and then bent at her waist touching her knuckles to the
ground: Rainbow. Holding the staff parallel to the ground and
keeping her feet flat, she began to twist it around to the back of her ankles
to the left and then to the right. Rising
slightly, she twirled it around behind her left calf and then her right. A little farther up with each pendulum she
worked the staff up to her waist and then all the way inch by inch until she
stopped twisting her torso and began twirling the staff. It had taken her two weeks to learn how to
perform the Journey
without falling over with dizziness.
Smiling with joy, she repositioned her hands and returned to Dawn.
She
began the exercises again. Dawn, Awareness,
Awe, Surrender, Dawn. She added steps to Morning Meadow working her way across the
yard. A box step for Spider’s Web, grapevine steps for Frog in Pond, but nothing for Journey because balance was the key
to that exercise.
As
she arched to the ground with the Rainbow she followed through with a somersault. She arched and rolled across the yard. Then she turned around and worked her way
back to the center of the yard in box steps.
Sweat was pouring down her arms, torso and legs and her mouth was fuzzy
with thirst. Dawn. Awareness.
Awe. Surrender. Dawn.
She
laughed and lowered the staff. She
smelled coffee and turned at the sound of pastor's voice, "That was
beautiful, Gwen. Thanks for brewing the
coffee. Didn't know what you wanted in
it so I brought the works."
He
stood behind her carrying a tray laden with a steaming pot, mugs, a jug of milk
and a sugar bowl.
Still
breathing hard, she smiled and followed him to the picnic table.
"It
is so beautiful here," she sighed over the mug she had to hold in both hands
due to her aching wrists.
"You're
beautiful here," he replied.
"Atticus,
please don't. You don't know me."
"I
agree. I don't know you yet. But I do know beauty when I see it. And you are beautiful."
She
put down her mug and frowned.
"Do
you do that exercise every morning?"
"I
stopped for a while but I plan to get back into the habit of the Morning Meadow. That's
its name. It's a spiritual ceremony as
well as a physical rendition. Every
individual step has a name too, but they are all things from a meadow."
"Tomorrow
morning, will you let me try it with you?"
She
nodded. "It's not as easy as it
looks. Don't get discouraged."
He
snorted, "That didn't look easy at all!"
"What
are your plans for today?"
"It's
Thursday. I work on my sermons for Sunday
and Wednesday, prepare the agenda for the Elders’ meeting, and go fishing in
the afternoon."
"Is
there anything I can do to help you?"
"Are
you any good at cooking?"
"With
the right ingredients," she replied softly. "There's only so much I can do with
peanut butter."
Excerpt from
Comes
the Warrior
© Evelyn Rainey
Available for publication.
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