WILLODEAN (THE CUPITOR CHRONICLES Book 1) (75 page)

In the
turmoil, I am frantic and run smack dab into her. 
The little girl locks her arms around my waist forcing me to feel her thoughts and pain, wicked, light and dark.

“No more running. No more running.” She says
. I fight her and push her back.  She is wearing the red stone necklace, the one eyed dragon of my fears, my terror, my sin.  I
t l
eaps for me and growls.  I hear its voice growl. 
“It’s all your fault. She is dead because of YOU!” 

The girl grabs me again and whispers. “
Make me seven, make me seven.”
 I
repeat the words because I don’t know what else to do. 
The house begins to rumble beneath my unstable feet and her tiny bare toes. A deep spirited voice speaks but it was neither
anyone we know of.  Unfamiliar. 
It was a voice out of the earth, below and above, beyond and inward, internal and external, a whisper in the dust, a stirring voice so quiet, it was loud, and so overwhelming it calmed nature to a deep sleep, a trance. A connection of unity, transforming, and transcending all boundaries pricked my soul with terrible, splendid wonders. Particles, little decibels of righteous fury entered the foundation of the cursed house within me, making a disturbance, throwing on light, spilling out truth and sending the shadows into chaos of which I have never seen before. The wisp of spirit spoke like ferocious winds wrapping
around trees and whipping the branches.  We held each other, transfixed and
unable to move, only to listen with our awful, terrible, splendid, gifted and cursed ears.
In this moment, we realized how much we needed each other, me better with her and her better with me.  A
coming together of hearts, each of us seeing ourselves as one, feeling as one, knowing and breathing as one. It was eerie, awful, and disturbing. The adult and the
child cried out to be filled. 
I merged with her, she merged with me.
 Things held me, unknown, hard to accept, flashes of time and places I didn’t recognize or want to remember. The deep guttural voice speaking inside me, around me, of me, beyond me, beyond my fingertip grasp, beyond the Michelangelo painting, beyond the curtain of the sky, beyond the moon, the stars, beyond the drenching rains in the fields at midnight, beyond the churning black waters that cleansed me, beyond the void of space and time, of all I knew and didn’t know—it spoke and there was no den
ying the presence and the power it held in me. 

“Willodean. You must let go” The voice said. The child held me tighter as if she expected me to bolt and leave her. Her arms were wires cutting into my skin.

“Accept what you fear and then confront it. You must let go. It is the law of the universe. In order for a bird to fly—it must let go of the limb it’s perched upon and trust. There are no easy answers and maybe no answers at all. I have given you all you need to go forward—but it is up to you, to use it. Surrender to all you don’t understand and everything you cannot control and never could. Quit trying to fix things and let me handle the journey of your steps. Surrender to all the bad, the ugly and the wrongs committed against you, by others and most of all, 
yourself.
 You were young Willodean and it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t. Sometimes bad things happen and we make the wrong decisions. It’s life.
But if you trust me—I will make the bad decisions good for you and others. 
Three lines—twelve words.
  Those are mine. 
I was there when it happened with Maw Sue, with you, with everyone and I will be with you always. Don’t let go of me—and I won’t let go of you. You need me. I need you. Accept all you know and what will be revealed, confront it, deal with it and then go forward. 
Together.
 Willodean as adult and Willodean as child. They belong together. 
As one.
 Trust the child within you. Trust the adult within you. Use your gift. Fight the enemy. Fight the shadows that are trying to keep you from the life that is rightfully yours. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that Maw Sue died the way she did. There are things you don’t know. No one could have stopped it.
Sometimes things are set in motion, long before we have anything to do with it. 
You fell apart when she passed. You went half mad. The curse 
wasn’t
channeled for good and it almost took you.
Almost.
The shadows are powerful but
you are stronger than they are and I am stronger than they are. 
When you slipped away, I couldn’t reach you. You blocked me out.
You built the little girl a room and locked her away. 
You kept
her from your heart, where she belongs. 
You shut me out of your life and went your own way.
You shut her out of your life too. 
The shadows took advantage of your weakness, your aloneness, and without the childlike heart, they could use you however they pleased. They attacked when you were most vulnerable and that is when you broke. You split into two separate entities, each a half that made the whole, one wandering and searching, one a seeker, the other a sleeper, a shadow following, trying to reconcile itself with the body it belonged, the child
it abandoned, the soul it lost. The little girl is you, the lost you.  She’s been trying to get you back ever since.  With my help of course. 
After Maw Sue’s death, you fell into a dangerous pit of darkness. You were haunted by the shadow of yourself,
your childlike self and the choices you made.
 You denied your own existence, your own purpose. You shut your ears to the gift and closed your eyes to the light. You thought you’
d die like Maw Sue.  You felt as if you deserved it. 
Punishment for taking the necklace. Beyond that,
a lot of things happened as you will discover on your journey, but for now, know this Willodean.  Our
fate is ours alone. Not of others. We can either use the gifts or let the gifts destroy us. We can either channel it for good, or let it be our demise. I pray that your journey end in your desire of heart, completeness. 
Seven.”

The little girl’s hands gripped mine.  “God?” I said in a stunned voice.  It was silent.  Stilled like the peaceful waters.  It got dark, quickly.  I swayed a little but then realized my eyes were closed.  When I
open them, I look around the cemetery. I am alone with the casket. No little girl.
Strong scents fill my nose. 
I look down at my feet
and there is a pink rose lying on the ground. 
A small part of me wants to deny any of this happened but a larger part of me knows it
did
happen, exactly as I saw it, felt it, heard it. 
Gifted and cursed.
 No little girl, no breakfast smells, no souls or shadows across the cemetery, 
nothing.
 I start to tremble because I know what I must do. I walk to the casket and pull a long stemmed yellow ros
e out of the flower arrangement.  I follow the
primordial rite of passage my grandmother passed down. Besides, I need it now more than ever. I need the 
Immortelles
 
to save me, and take away my grief. 

In my last attempt to make peace with
what I know—I close my eyes and look for the last time, or I try.  Papa Hart now a petal person, forever
immortalized
with a flower inside a Mason jar.  I look but not at the dead.  I look at his life. 
I look with agony
and pain.  I
clutch the thorny rose as punishment, slicing my skinny fingers. The southern sap
flows in pain. 
Take my grief. Take my grief.
 Inside the realm of in-betweens, I look at my grandfather
and all that he represented in my life.  I remember our porch time, our stories, and our fishing trips. 
I loved and looked with all my heart. And once I was through—
I wasn’t through.
 I went
a little further than Papa Hart.  I
swept past the illumination, the burning fire of the God gaze
and looked at everything I could find.  My eyes were magnifying glasses into the past, viewing details, things I’d forgotten.  I look
at Maw Sue, her flaws, her love for me, her imagination, her laughter, her grit
. I look. I love.
 I hear her crackling voice telling stories, the word-struck power that kept me, sustained me. I look at her death, the bedroom, the ma
dness. I look at the stone.  I look at why I took it.  I look at my desperation, my madness. 
I look at Maw Sue, how broken she was and how her broke, broke me. I look at God, 
three lines, twelve words.  I look at how he was there the whole time, not a no-show as I thought. 
Enduring
love. Enduring look.
Enduring God. 
With love I look at who he is, who he isn’t.  I look at the
mystery of it all. I look to the God behind the moon of my childhood heart. I look to the Old
Testament God of judgment, of rules, and laws, and stones thrown.  Of sacrifices, altars and baby lambs.  Of fires by night and clouds by day.  I
look to the New Testament God of grace, of mercy and love. I look to the God who is still a mystic. I look because he keeps me yearning, searching and seeking. It is who I am
. I am a seeker. I am a Cupitor.
 

I look for the answers to my questions? Why did he stay his hand? Why didn’t he save her? Why did he let her go? I look to understand what I cannot unde
rstand. I look to let go of the things that I cannot change, things I hold, clutch and cling to. 
I look at a close knit family,
deeply flawed, weird and quirky but I look at the love tangled in between it all. 
I look at my marriage, at Branson, the ring, th
e destructive path we took with each other.  I look for the good in it, I look with love, enduring. 

Most of all, I look at myself, the adult, the little girl, the parts I love and hate all swished together
. I look. I look.
 I look at the crumbs, divine manna from heaven. I look at the messages they bring, the changes they give me, how they searched me
out. I look at the little girl with hope in her heart.  Resilient.  Sh
e looks to the sky and waits for the wind, for the breath of God, for she knows it will come. She is enduring like the Willow tree. She is strong, relentless, and faithful. I look at the times I ran when I should have stood. I look at my world with a set of different eyes, acutely aware of my surroundings, alive, passionately looking for the magical realm of inspiration that they inspire. I look and wait for the divine dance. I wait for the Dirt Dancer to come down and whisk me away with his flames of desire. My eyes begin to flutter with the thought and I feel as if I may burn up on the spot. I realize I have never gone this far in the journey, inside myself, beyond the house, behind the moon, beyond the dark starry night of the soul, searching, seeking, looking—really looking at everything as it 
was
 and not as I hoped it to be. This time, I really 
looked to let go
 of all control, everything I planned, the failures, everything I hoped, dreamed—
I let go.
 I fully embraced the unknowns, the invisible attributes of a life that is yet to be, the life I am supposed to step into. 
To be. To simply be.

I look and accept the woman I was, the woman I am and the woman I should be and will be. I look and accept the little girl that was, in all the darkness and light, in the good and the bad, I accept her. I
look at her victories and her defeats.  I
hug her and love her unconditionally. I accept what I know and what I don’t understand about her. I accept what I don’t want to accept and hope by this acknowledgment, it will
allow me to surrender when it is time. 
I look to receive what I don’t want to receive. I look to let go and finally accept, fully, completely, whole, 
seven
. I
accept the gift still wrapped, even if I don’t know what’s inside, I accept it wholly, fully accept.  I take responsibility and
accept the girl who haunts me, thrills me, and makes me cry, laugh and wonder. I accept the nightmares, the anger, the craziness, the madness and the gift. 
Oh, the splendid gift.
 I also accept the curse so that I may channel it and use it for good.
I will not let it destroy me. 
I look and accept the part of me I
left behind. I look to forgive myself. 
I should have stayed. I
know that now.  I
forgive myself for denying what I should have confronted. I look and accept the House within me with its dark rooms and its buried secrets. I look and accept. I look and surrender. I surrender my past, my present and my future. I Willodean Hart, look and I let go.
I make lovely my losses. Instantly, a flame lit inside me and I felt the burning lamp of a new heart beating inside me.
New heart! New heart! 
I looked into God’s gaze and
melted.  I
accepted the terrible, awful, splendid gift. And for the first time, I meant it. I let go. 
But I did not say goodbye.