This tale follows on from its predecessor, however the protagonist has herself assumed a bit of the holy fool. As for the pilgrim who wanders into the tale, she is feisty and determined even as she is tired and ragged. I have a sense that the two shall become friends.
A good friend did ask whether any part of this tale is autobiographical. The answer is no, save that I have myself wandered in wild places and called life a "sick joke". But no-one appeared to enlighten me. The tale below fell from my fingertips upon the keyboard like clear water bubbling from a mountain spring. Even thinking about that spring - one far off comes to mind - leads my mind to far high misty places where already leaves are falling red and brown and golden.
Long and wearisome had summer proven. Many and far had been my journeys, those requiring my services all too often had been demanding, and the rewards had been small. None of these things ought to have surprised me. Nor should the healer become motivated by gain, although one needs a certain income to hold mind and body together. Then there is my horse to be fed and cared for. So it was a relief to find in my purse the coinage necessary to buy food and set off at an ambling pace across the broad empty hills unsought after. At last I could relax and travel as it pleased me. The occasional shepherd might offer conversation and a roof at night. As for the few vagabonds, all knew that I carried little of material value whilst my horse was too distinctive to sell in any market within riding distance.
I paused in early afternoon heat. Autumn had brought cool dewy mornings yet warmth had not deserted the hills. My horse grazed in this favourite spot where a grassy valley swept gently uphill between two great belts of beech woods. I lay in the shade looking up through the bright green canopy that danced in a slight breeze. Somewhere beyond my supine feet an intriguing alley led into the far wood and idly I imagined it winding away to a hidden glade with a spring and pool of crystal clear water though I knew that the narrowing green way petered out in a little distance. I felt sleepy and dozed a little since tiredness had for a season rested heavy upon me like a cloak. Then my horse neighed to warn me of the unexpected for he is good and loyal. Through half opened eyes I scanned the valley to see a woman trudging uphill, burdened with baggage and footsore. I lay still in the long grass and watched her approach, intuition sensing her to be needy. A part of me groaned inwardly for I wanted to slumber on, yet pity awakened within my sleepy body. She paused a few paces from me, a gaunt figure straggle haired clad in a sun-bleached dress that might once have been dark green. A leather belt drew in her garment showing how thin she really was. Too thin, I thought, to be carrying such a heavy bag on her back.
On reflection I too must have made a strange sight, though not unusual for one of my itinerant lonely profession. A dress of autumnal red reached my knees, gathered at the waist by a broad leather belt, and the hems were embroidered with a geometric pattern of blue, green and yellow. I loved that dress, the soft flowing fabric and the way that its colours matched the wide world through which I journeyed. Tight brown breeches and long dark leather boots gave comfort in the saddle and on foot. Besides, I liked those tall boots. A wide-brimmed hat of green felt, tall and finished with a feather, completed this distinctive outfit with a little panache. The feather was a clue to my soul for those with eyes to see, for it had fallen from a hawk circling high as those splendid birds are accustomed to do. Or rather the proud bird had let that piece of him fall to me who flies only in spirit. I am Hawk and he that soars and circles so freely is my inspiration.
“Are you a seer?” she asked and I smiled for what I see is real and gauge this by mixed observation, intuition and a little inspiration. Then she told me of how she sought a way to follow, had walked far and wide seeking a lightening of her worries, and was desperate to discover guidance and enlightenment. “What have the wise to tell me?” she asked plaintively. I smiled again and stood, brushing dry grass and seeds from my dress and pushing my hat back a little on my head.
“Follow me”, I commanded, “drop your bag and come.” She seemed reluctant to put down her load, and I guessed that it contained many things that she believed necessary and irreplaceable. “Alright”, I said, “keep your bag on your back but come.” We dropped down a few dozen paces to the flat valley floor, crossed over and climbed gently towards the tree-lined alley. The sward narrowed, sunlit canopies closed in, and the air became little cooler in the shade. The grass thickened and I imagined rank foliage and heavy dew at dawn. A massive beech bole marked the end of the alley, the grass ending mingled with sturdy roots. “You’ll find an answer here”, I announced in a bright clear voice.
“Where is the answer?” she asked bemused.
“This is the answer.” She glared at me. I continued, “There is no secret path, no sign nailed to a tree, no buried treasure that I know of. There’s your answer. There is no easy way, just a need to find contentment where you stand each day.” Angrily the young woman turned and stumped back down towards the valley, faster than she had walked before, feet trampling a swathe through the rich herb. I stood and watched for realisation must strike her alone, and I willed her to open her mind a little. Thus she stopped in the sunlight of the valley floor, her back to me, and I saw the lonely wanderer begin to sob head bent brimming with anger and frustration. I let her unhappiness subside a little and then walked lightly down to rejoin her.
Through her tears she choked out the words, “You seers have no answers and this life is like a sick joke.” I laughed and bitterly she looked me full in the face cheeks wet with tousled hair sticking to them.
“You don’t know how to look or feel”, I commented bluntly.
“But there’s no answer, no sense.”
I dropped down to the grass, reclining to gaze at tall white clouds drifting through a light blue sky. Then I bent my mind upon her, imagining she and I drawn together in a bright sphere beyond which sky, trees and grass were faint and blurry as through a thin misty veil. I heard her soul cry out and compassion filled me radiating love towards her. But compassion is neither obliged to be gentle nor predictable.“Do you want to learnt something right here and now?”
“What have I to lose”, she responded dully. But at least the tears had stopped.
“Strip yourself naked!” I sensed a palpable silence. “Do it”, I ordered, then added more gently “don’t be ashamed for I’m not looking, and there is no-one else to see you.”
With a thud her weighty bag hit the turf - at last, I thought - then I heard her belt unbuckle. With a swish her dress landed in a pool about her feet. “Sandals too”, I added dreamily, and heard each in turn drop onto the ground with a faint slap. “And the rest”, I whispered.
“How do you know if you aren’t looking?”
“Intuition told me, and besides an ascetic with just one garment wouldn’t have needed the luxury of tears. But as you aren’t being honest then I’ll need to open an eye. One woman needn’t be ashamed in front of another.” I raised my head and opened my left eye, glimpsing my wiry fellow traveller in a finely woven slip that reached half way from taut buttocks to thin bony knees. The breeze moulded the soft fabric to her form, and I perceived a wan beauty in her. So we both were inclined to enjoy a soft sensual garment. She turned around to look at me, and I was pleased to see modesty, even submissiveness on that face which had moments before been so angry and cynical. Her stance suggested a fearful thought of “what am I doing?” yet projected love newly felt drew forth courage also. Warmly I told her, “You’re safe here so take off that pretty garment.” Off it came, over her head, and she faced me hands clenched in front of her crotch. I lay back and closed my eyes, letting her see what I was doing.
“Stand feet apart with your arms outstretched and head high”, I told her and listened for the movement of her feet. “Now, tell me what you feel.”
“The sun on my skin and the breeze too”, she responded.
“And...?” I responded.
“The grass under my feet”, she said thoughtfully, “and I can smell the woods and the flowers.”
“Precisely”, I said quietly. “And how do you feel now?”
“Embarrassed, not really understanding, but calm”, she responded slowly.
Slowly I replied, “You will understand. These good sensations of sun, breeze, fragrance, they flow from simplicity. Goodness is simple. Darkness is complex and fashions that complexity to burden and confuse the unwary. Head for that which is simple, make your life simple, cherish simplicity, and you will have a clue for your journey.”
“Is that all?” she asked with fresh curiosity in her newly calm voice.
“No, but it’s a start”, I replied cheerfully. "Breath deeply and expel your worries with each breath. Now dress yourself. I’ll put your bag on my horse for a little way if you agree. We can head for a wayfarer’s inn where I am known, and there you’ll be welcome. When we’ve eaten and drunk, sat by the fire and finally slept long and deep, we’ll go through your baggage and discard some heavy items that I’m sure you don’t use and never will.”
She smiled for the first time and said thoughtfully, “I’m sorry for saying that you seers aren’t able to help. Will you forgive me?”
I grinned and told her, “I’m a healer, not a seer, and you can learn to perceive as clearly as I do.”
Within me is a trickster too, I thought, and smiled inwardly at the thought of how he had surprised both of us. The trickster, the holy fool, the one who breaks conventions wilfully that those with ears and eyes might be challenged. We'll encounter him again I warrant.
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