2 Skye Diamond – Hippies, Yippies and other Misfits
Bound, gagged and trapped beneath the rocks in a shallow stream. She could still feel her heart racing, and the thrashing to get to the surface for air. Straining, pulling against the delicate, innocent flow of the gentle water, the surface just beyond reach. So close, she could see the air above, but couldn’t free herself from the chains that bound her down. Above her loomed the tall figure, looking down, grimacing.
She was sweating when she woke up. And gasping for breath, but breath didn’t come. Now she felt like a fish out of water, unable to calm her fiery lungs. Unable to fill or be filled. She thrashed around in her bed, seeking relief, any kind of relief.
Skye. She was named after a place filled with air, but there was none to be had. This emptiness, this need, the air leaking out, as if there was a crack in her lungs. The faster she took it in, the faster it went.
Finally, on all fours she doubled over and began to feel her breath return to her.
Her mind was blank. Just breathe. That’s all. Just breathe.
Her heart was a smashed window. She struggled to bring the air through the shards. It whistled and hissed. Down, down, down, deeper and deeper she dove into the blackness. Into the pain. She had been running for long enough. Whatever it was, whatever awaited her, she had to face it.
She was standing on a high desert cliff. The Red Rocks surrounding her. At first she thought she was standing in the shadow of the rocks, but the Mountain in front of her moved. She could make out the long silhouette of a feathered headdress that trailed behind the enormous figure. His dark eyes had coals inside them. They burned right through the heart-shards and breath returned to her. With a deep inhale she fell to the ground and sobbed. Her heart filled with water, it poured out of her, washing away the shards of glass, clearing, clearing. She shook silently, releasing her pain in waves, giving it back to the soil, asking the Goddess to take it and heal her. The Great Mother washed her heart, cleared her soul. Poured compassion down upon her.
Around the edges of her heart-pain she could feel the rawness where the feelings were returning. She could feel herself allow the love to enter. To soothe. She didn’t feel deserving, and this set off another round of the grief dance. She sobbed until she had no more strength to resist.
And then the love poured in. She found herself standing on the edge of the cliff, arms open wide, light streaming down from above, into her heart, filling it, overflowing rushing, glowing, outward.
As she looked at the great Red Mountain, he waved his hand towards her, and a white feather danced through the air in front of her. He called her “White Eagle Feather” and then disappeared. She caught it in her hand and tears of gratitude washed over her.
When she opened her eyes, she was upside down in her bed, sheets in a ball, her whole body, her whole being felt electrified and alive.
She could breathe again.
The music went off, reminding her to wake up.
Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she splashed water on her face. She looked herself in the eye, bracing and encouraging herself to face what lay ahead.
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