Quest: The Awakening Chapter 1 Grandfather
Grandfather
Grandfather sat ruminating about the prophecy, and the turbulent days to come. He sat hunched in front of a small campfire, his aged body balanced on a cracked and crumbling cinderblock. His body shifted frequently with excitement, he was feeling an urgency about his part in the prophecy, things were unfolding very quickly now.
The smoke from his small campfire blew in changing directions with the shifting winds. There was a lot shifting these days, not just the winds. He squinted his eyes to protect them from the smarting effects of the acrid smoke. When the wind changed and his vision cleared, he turned his gaze to look over the edge of the mesa. Below him stretched a flat landscape of muted browns, pale greens, and grey. Early evening bruised shadows stretched from bushes and dry grasses reaching arthritic fingers eastward.
The mesa he lived on was close to 100 feet above the desert floor, throwing everything below into a hazy blur. Many centuries his people had lived here. Perhaps they had been here since the beginning of the fourth world. That was what his grandfather had told him when he was a child. He believed this mesa, in fact possibly the spot in which he now rested, was a center point of the world. Where the earth energy started and spiraled out in all directions to all parts of the planet. When he focused, he was able to actually see that energy as it vibrated with life. It was interwoven into everything, and he could see it in every person, rock, and river.
Grandfather gently closed his eyes and focused his awareness inward. He connected with the deep peace, the eternal stillness, at the center of his being resting there briefly, and then turned his attention to the earth beneath his feet. He could feel the energy vibrating, alive and pulsing like a heartbeat, coming from the earth, into and through his body re-charging his very cells, then out into the air around him. He sat quietly, his breathing slowing into a steady rhythm.
He allowed his deep desire for peace and balance to return to the earth and her people to fill his heart. He imagined that it was so, rather than just a wish, and felt joy swell his spirit. The pulsing energy waves seemed to build and become more vital. He held that sense of peace and harmony in his heart center, visioning it as a glowing ball of white light. He extended that light, and watched as it expanded and beat with the beating of his own human heart. His wrinkled, weather-worn face creased as a smile stretched his lips. He felt the light spread like warm honey through his body, easing away tension and his many physical pains. His breathing deepened still, his muscles relaxed. He began to lose his awareness of being a physical being, slowly blurring the edges, melting into the awareness of oneness.
A loud thumping sound began that was not in sync with the beating of his heart or the pulsing of the light and energy. It was faint at first but, growing louder, began to vibrate his body in a way that was jarring. His awareness returned to his body and he shifted his weight, feeling his bones grind and crunch as he moved, some of the cinder block crumbling away beneath him. His eyes opened to see the fire had died to embers glowing bright orange in the fading daylight.
He heard the thumping, felt it buzzing his body with each beat, and began to hear some human voice shouting along with some unintelligible lyrics. Being a traditional Hopi elder, and the medicine keeper for his people, “modern” music was like the invasion of the whites into their lands all over again. The teens were getting sucked into the images they saw on TV, adopting the culture of the whites more and more with each passing year. Grandfather feared that the Hopi, as a culture, and perhaps even as a people, after so many decades of protecting themselves from such changes, might fade into extinction. It set his teeth on edge, and that blissful feeling he had been holding sacred evaporated like mist in sunlight.
Under the sound of the music he could hear the rumble of the car engine. He turned to the road behind him to see a large 1970s Cadillac coming into view. It had climbed the winding road to the top of the mesa and was slowly stalking its way between the pueblo homes, rattling and vibrating windows in loose frames. He could see several of the reservation teen boys in the car, and the music erupted from the open windows like a volcano belching up lava, soot, and ash. He saw one of the kids eject something from the window of the backseat and heard a rattling clatter as an empty beer can skittered across the dirt road toward him. There was an accompanying belch and laughter from the car.
Grandfather’s shoulders slumped, he sighed, and sadness washed through him, like the fast waters did through the washes during summer monsoons. One of the boys in the car might be his own grandson Eloy. He was so filled with anger these days. He did not have any interest in the old ways and seemed to be almost repelled by them.
Grandfather remembered the day he had tried to talk to him about learning the medicine way, and his grandson had looked him in the eyes and told him that those ways were dead, and that he was living in the past. He knew that his Grandson was planning to move away from the Reservation as soon as he was old enough. This troubled him deeply as he had no one to pass the ceremonies to. The line would be broken.
Grandfather released his breath, and let the sadness continue to wash through him. He focused and directed the sad energy to flow out through his feet into the earth. The only way to hold onto hope was to let these feelings move, as feelings need to do. Feel them deeply and in purity, and release them back into the earth. The earth could absorb negative feelings like a sponge and would not be harmed. He was grateful to her for this gift, among so many others.
The tail lights of the car winked brightly as the driver touched the brakes before drifting around a corner and out of his sight. The sound of the thumping took longer to fade, but eventually he was able to hear the quiet natural sounds again. He could hear a few crickets (there were fewer and fewer as the days of summer were approaching fall), an occasional dog barking, and the sound of the wind. He could smell juniper and sage brush, creosote and dust, mingled with the smoke of the evening fires.
“Creator, awaken my Grandson. Let him see that the ways of the past are the only way back into balance, that he is needed for the time of the fourth shaking. Touch his heart with compassion for the earth and the people. Guide me in how to help him, and make me ready for the days to come.”
He had been gazing up at the first stars, tiny pin points of light emerging from the ever darkening sky as he prayed. He turned to look into glowing embers of his fire now, releasing his prayer to creator, allowing it to leave his heart as untroubled as possible. His vision blurred and he drifted into the space between thoughts. He lingered there. His body relaxed and his breathing deepened again. A vision began to unfold before him, hazy at first, but gaining clarity with each breath. He saw two white teens, a boy, tall, with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes, and a girl about a half a head shorter with thick blonde hair and inquisitive bright eyes the color of green apples. They were engaged in animated conversation as they studied something that was balanced across their laps. They were sitting in a bus, their bodies bouncing slightly and scenery flashing by the window beyond them. He saw symbols on the parchment like sheet that was spread out between them.
As he looked at the symbols, he was struck by their familiarity. Some of them were symbols that were also on the sacred tablets for which he was the chosen keeper. The prophecy tablets, as they were known, were ancient, and foretold of the time of the fourth shaking. A time the world was most certainly entering now. He saw further that there was an image of the three Hopi mesas, and that the kids were pointing at the mesa upon which he now sat. They were nodding in agreement about something. He began to hear some of what they were saying.
“We’re going to find that old man from the dreams there aren’t we.” said the girl more as a statement than a question, looking at the young man next to her. He looked down at the parchment, his long bangs falling over his eyes, making his face difficult to read.
“Yeah, I think so. What I don’t know is why?”
She was quiet for a moment, then said, “This is crazy. We’re going all the way across the country because of a dream.”
“True, said the boy, but how often do two people have the exact same dream? It has to mean something.”
Grandfather’s vision of them faded, and he heard a new voice, one that resonated with authority and conviction.
“They are coming, the time is now. It is time for the world to remember. You will share the prophecy with them. They will carry it where it needs to go. The time is short. These are the ones that you’ve been waiting for.”
Grandfather’s eyes flew open. He saw stars above him and felt a cool breeze raising goose bumps on his skin, or perhaps in response to the voice and vision. He felt a few sharp rocks digging into his back. He was lying on his back on the dusty ground. He must have fallen. His breathing quickened, and his heartbeat was drumming a fast rhythm against his ribs. He could feel adrenaline speeding the blood through his veins, making his head pulse with each heartbeat.
“Is this really the form the relative will take?” He wondered aloud. This was not what he had envisioned by what he knew of the prophecy, but the voice, the voice was familiar. The voice was the one that had spoken to him about important matters for the tribe and the ceremonies, the voice of creator.
As his thoughts began to come into focus, he realized he had seen these children before. He had dreamed of them before, dreams that had been washed away from his memory until triggered by seeing them again now. Like writing in the sand, the ocean waves fading them from view, as one wave at a time the words are washed away. The dream memory often fades so quickly after the light tugs you from sleep. But now he remembered. He remembered.
Grandfather sat ruminating about the prophecy, and the turbulent days to come. He sat hunched in front of a small campfire, his aged body balanced on a cracked and crumbling cinderblock. His body shifted frequently with excitement, he was feeling an urgency about his part in the prophecy, things were unfolding very quickly now.
The smoke from his small campfire blew in changing directions with the shifting winds. There was a lot shifting these days, not just the winds. He squinted his eyes to protect them from the smarting effects of the acrid smoke. When the wind changed and his vision cleared, he turned his gaze to look over the edge of the mesa. Below him stretched a flat landscape of muted browns, pale greens, and grey. Early evening bruised shadows stretched from bushes and dry grasses reaching arthritic fingers eastward.
The mesa he lived on was close to 100 feet above the desert floor, throwing everything below into a hazy blur. Many centuries his people had lived here. Perhaps they had been here since the beginning of the fourth world. That was what his grandfather had told him when he was a child. He believed this mesa, in fact possibly the spot in which he now rested, was a center point of the world. Where the earth energy started and spiraled out in all directions to all parts of the planet. When he focused, he was able to actually see that energy as it vibrated with life. It was interwoven into everything, and he could see it in every person, rock, and river.
Grandfather gently closed his eyes and focused his awareness inward. He connected with the deep peace, the eternal stillness, at the center of his being resting there briefly, and then turned his attention to the earth beneath his feet. He could feel the energy vibrating, alive and pulsing like a heartbeat, coming from the earth, into and through his body re-charging his very cells, then out into the air around him. He sat quietly, his breathing slowing into a steady rhythm.
He allowed his deep desire for peace and balance to return to the earth and her people to fill his heart. He imagined that it was so, rather than just a wish, and felt joy swell his spirit. The pulsing energy waves seemed to build and become more vital. He held that sense of peace and harmony in his heart center, visioning it as a glowing ball of white light. He extended that light, and watched as it expanded and beat with the beating of his own human heart. His wrinkled, weather-worn face creased as a smile stretched his lips. He felt the light spread like warm honey through his body, easing away tension and his many physical pains. His breathing deepened still, his muscles relaxed. He began to lose his awareness of being a physical being, slowly blurring the edges, melting into the awareness of oneness.
A loud thumping sound began that was not in sync with the beating of his heart or the pulsing of the light and energy. It was faint at first but, growing louder, began to vibrate his body in a way that was jarring. His awareness returned to his body and he shifted his weight, feeling his bones grind and crunch as he moved, some of the cinder block crumbling away beneath him. His eyes opened to see the fire had died to embers glowing bright orange in the fading daylight.
He heard the thumping, felt it buzzing his body with each beat, and began to hear some human voice shouting along with some unintelligible lyrics. Being a traditional Hopi elder, and the medicine keeper for his people, “modern” music was like the invasion of the whites into their lands all over again. The teens were getting sucked into the images they saw on TV, adopting the culture of the whites more and more with each passing year. Grandfather feared that the Hopi, as a culture, and perhaps even as a people, after so many decades of protecting themselves from such changes, might fade into extinction. It set his teeth on edge, and that blissful feeling he had been holding sacred evaporated like mist in sunlight.
Under the sound of the music he could hear the rumble of the car engine. He turned to the road behind him to see a large 1970s Cadillac coming into view. It had climbed the winding road to the top of the mesa and was slowly stalking its way between the pueblo homes, rattling and vibrating windows in loose frames. He could see several of the reservation teen boys in the car, and the music erupted from the open windows like a volcano belching up lava, soot, and ash. He saw one of the kids eject something from the window of the backseat and heard a rattling clatter as an empty beer can skittered across the dirt road toward him. There was an accompanying belch and laughter from the car.
Grandfather’s shoulders slumped, he sighed, and sadness washed through him, like the fast waters did through the washes during summer monsoons. One of the boys in the car might be his own grandson Eloy. He was so filled with anger these days. He did not have any interest in the old ways and seemed to be almost repelled by them.
Grandfather remembered the day he had tried to talk to him about learning the medicine way, and his grandson had looked him in the eyes and told him that those ways were dead, and that he was living in the past. He knew that his Grandson was planning to move away from the Reservation as soon as he was old enough. This troubled him deeply as he had no one to pass the ceremonies to. The line would be broken.
Grandfather released his breath, and let the sadness continue to wash through him. He focused and directed the sad energy to flow out through his feet into the earth. The only way to hold onto hope was to let these feelings move, as feelings need to do. Feel them deeply and in purity, and release them back into the earth. The earth could absorb negative feelings like a sponge and would not be harmed. He was grateful to her for this gift, among so many others.
The tail lights of the car winked brightly as the driver touched the brakes before drifting around a corner and out of his sight. The sound of the thumping took longer to fade, but eventually he was able to hear the quiet natural sounds again. He could hear a few crickets (there were fewer and fewer as the days of summer were approaching fall), an occasional dog barking, and the sound of the wind. He could smell juniper and sage brush, creosote and dust, mingled with the smoke of the evening fires.
“Creator, awaken my Grandson. Let him see that the ways of the past are the only way back into balance, that he is needed for the time of the fourth shaking. Touch his heart with compassion for the earth and the people. Guide me in how to help him, and make me ready for the days to come.”
He had been gazing up at the first stars, tiny pin points of light emerging from the ever darkening sky as he prayed. He turned to look into glowing embers of his fire now, releasing his prayer to creator, allowing it to leave his heart as untroubled as possible. His vision blurred and he drifted into the space between thoughts. He lingered there. His body relaxed and his breathing deepened again. A vision began to unfold before him, hazy at first, but gaining clarity with each breath. He saw two white teens, a boy, tall, with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes, and a girl about a half a head shorter with thick blonde hair and inquisitive bright eyes the color of green apples. They were engaged in animated conversation as they studied something that was balanced across their laps. They were sitting in a bus, their bodies bouncing slightly and scenery flashing by the window beyond them. He saw symbols on the parchment like sheet that was spread out between them.
As he looked at the symbols, he was struck by their familiarity. Some of them were symbols that were also on the sacred tablets for which he was the chosen keeper. The prophecy tablets, as they were known, were ancient, and foretold of the time of the fourth shaking. A time the world was most certainly entering now. He saw further that there was an image of the three Hopi mesas, and that the kids were pointing at the mesa upon which he now sat. They were nodding in agreement about something. He began to hear some of what they were saying.
“We’re going to find that old man from the dreams there aren’t we.” said the girl more as a statement than a question, looking at the young man next to her. He looked down at the parchment, his long bangs falling over his eyes, making his face difficult to read.
“Yeah, I think so. What I don’t know is why?”
She was quiet for a moment, then said, “This is crazy. We’re going all the way across the country because of a dream.”
“True, said the boy, but how often do two people have the exact same dream? It has to mean something.”
Grandfather’s vision of them faded, and he heard a new voice, one that resonated with authority and conviction.
“They are coming, the time is now. It is time for the world to remember. You will share the prophecy with them. They will carry it where it needs to go. The time is short. These are the ones that you’ve been waiting for.”
Grandfather’s eyes flew open. He saw stars above him and felt a cool breeze raising goose bumps on his skin, or perhaps in response to the voice and vision. He felt a few sharp rocks digging into his back. He was lying on his back on the dusty ground. He must have fallen. His breathing quickened, and his heartbeat was drumming a fast rhythm against his ribs. He could feel adrenaline speeding the blood through his veins, making his head pulse with each heartbeat.
“Is this really the form the relative will take?” He wondered aloud. This was not what he had envisioned by what he knew of the prophecy, but the voice, the voice was familiar. The voice was the one that had spoken to him about important matters for the tribe and the ceremonies, the voice of creator.
As his thoughts began to come into focus, he realized he had seen these children before. He had dreamed of them before, dreams that had been washed away from his memory until triggered by seeing them again now. Like writing in the sand, the ocean waves fading them from view, as one wave at a time the words are washed away. The dream memory often fades so quickly after the light tugs you from sleep. But now he remembered. He remembered.