“Schuyler, wake up!” says Mrs. O’Brien as she begins opening his blinds.
“Mom, this getting a little annoying,” Schuyler groans. “This is basically my last day to sleep in before school starts up again.”
“The phone’s for you, dear,” she says. “And who closed these blinds?”
“I did,” Schuyler replies. “I wanted to sleep. The light wakes me up. What time is it?”
“It’s 8:30. You might as well transition to an earlier wake-up time. Tate is on the phone.”
“Right. O.k.”
She hands him the cordless phone, and then pretends to straighten things up in his room.
“Mom,” he says. “I got it. Thanks.”
She takes the hint and heads out into the hallway.
“Hey Tate. Why are you up so early?”
“Schuy,” Tate answers. “LaurAx wants to know if you can come up camping with us today.”
“What?” he replies incredulously. “Right now? It’s Sunday. I go to Mass with my family.”
“What time is that over?” Tate asks.
“We usually go to the 11:00 a.m. service which gets out just after noon,” he replies.
“Hang on,” Tate says. “My mom’s trying to speak to me at the same time.” There’s about a 20 second pause while muffled voices carry on in the background. “We’ll meet you there. Eleven. Right?”
“You guys want to go to our church?”
“Sure. I’ve always wanted to go, and my mom’s been lots of times at the San Carlos Mission. All you need is a sleeping bag, a change of clothes, and maybe your toothbrush. Can you swing it with your parents? It’ll be just the three of us. She really wants to talk about what’s been going on.”
“I was going to use Monday to get ready for school on Tuesday”.
“We’ll be back by 10 am. I’ve got practice at noon. Our coach is a masochist.”
“Yeah, football practice starts at 5 PM for us. I guess my parents won’t mind. She likes your mom. I’ll see you at Mass then.”
Schuyler clears the plan with his parents, then throws some gear into a duffle bag in advance of heading off to Mass with his family. His morning is preoccupied with the message, the scroll, and the weird dreams he’s been having.
As Mass ends, Tate walks up to him in the vestibule. “All set? Cool ceremony. Candles.”
“Oh yeah, that’s normal. You should see the place around Easter time. Incense, holy water, big organ music, the works. Let me grab my bag out of the car and we’ll go.”
Schuyler grabs his gear and tosses it into the back of LaurAx’s white van. He hugs his mom, fist bumps his younger brother and dad, then climbs into the cab next to Tate. Ms. Askin spends a few moments outside the car chatting Schuyler’s parents before they depart.
“Hey Schuy, glad you were able to make it on such short notice,” says Ms. Askin. “I’m really curious...” She pauses. “I do my best listening out in the trees, especially after some good food. I hope you like campfire fajitas.”
Schuyler nods uncertainly.
“We’re headed up north to the Mogollon Rim, about halfway between here and the Grand Canyon, not too far from Sedona. I tossed some sandwiches in that cooler in the back, so we could get a move on and stake out a camp site.” Not needing any further invitation, Tate climbs over the seats, back to the large cargo area, and starts digging into the cooler. He tosses forward sandwiches, beverages and fruit - and the boys begin devouring their lunch. Shortly afterwards, they are fast asleep partly due to food coma, and the other part due to persistent humming of the truck tires on the highway headed up into the pine mountain forests north of the valley of the sun.
A large jolt serves as an adequate wakeup call as the road suddenly turns to gravel. “Hope you boys enjoyed the nap. Just in time, too.” Ms. Askin deftly maneuvers the vehicle toward the back entrance of Potato Lake to an undeveloped campground. The normally busy camp area is eerily deserted as drought conditions have led to boating restrictions. She maneuvers the van into a clearing among a stand of fifty foot tall Ponderosa pines. She quickly springs out of the driver’s seat, and engulfs the forest air. “Ahh, this feels like the right place for us tonight.”
Schuyler nervously takes a quick glance at LaurAx, then promptly helps Tate unload the gear. Their energy quickly picks up in the cool, pine-scented air. The boys dig in, efficiently setting up the two tents, and all the camping equipment.After all the gear is set up, they begin gathering firewood, which turns into a sort of competition. Half an hour later, there are two stacks of wood that would accommodate an inappropriate bonfire for the dry conditions. Ms. Askin prepares a small fire and begins cooking on the coals when they are ready. Soon they are sitting down to a delicious, spicy meal of chicken fajitas, washing it down with several cups of icy lemonade. Schuyler enjoys the meal, noticing the taste and texture of each bite, almost like eating food for the first time.
“Caaawww, caaawww,” a call echoes above the campsite from the treetops.
“Mom, do you see the size of that one?” Tate asks.
“Yes, hon. They know we’re here. We can expect others, just before dark. While there’s still a little light left, you two might like to take a look around,” she says, straightening the campsite and humming to herself.
The boys don’t hesitate, quickly heading into the stand of pine trees. The ground is rugged and craggy, making Schuyler grateful that he brought hiking boots instead of his normal flip-flops. Tate leans over to Schuyler, “If we stay quiet and move smoothly, the animals will allow us to see them.” Schuyler cocks his head at Tate in return.
Moments later three jackrabbits appear from behind some bushes, carefully studying the boys as they gather food. Soon after, squirrels begin climbing down from trees, and birds of all kinds start scurrying about. About a hundred yards in the distance, the familiar sound of a woodpecker pounds rhythmically. They begin walking in a northerly direction, when a dark figure swoops from just behind the back of their necks and then flies off deeper into the forest. “Whoa! What was that thing, a pterodactyl?”
“Great horned owl,” Tate whispers. “Hunting time.”
“Scared the bejeebees out of me,” Schuyler replies rubbing the back of his neck. Further on, Tate squats down to point out some fresh deer droppings. As they crouch down, they notice a rust colored form crossing from a nearby meadow into a deeper stand of trees. The fox pauses, stares at the boys, then twists its head slightly to the left, almost disappointingly before disappearing. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it just gave us that Ayana look,” says Tate. “She has a lot of fox tendencies… Maybe she’s communicating with us.”
“What does that mean?” asks Schuyler incredulously.
“Our people believe that animals and humans are closely connected. If you think about a fox, they are clever, observant, brave, and persistent. LaurAx thinks Ayana is a classic fox,” continues Tate.
“Now that you mention it, that whole head twist thing did look familiar. I got that dirty look when we parted yesterday. It never occurred to me that she might have wanted to come along. Does she even know we’re here?”
“Uh, yeah. I sent her a text message on the way to your church this morning. She sent a snotty reply. She wanted to give us homework.”
“Figures, she does not like to be left out. I wonder what kind of animal your mother thinks I am.”
“Well, it’s not exactly like that, but she’ll probably explain more about it if you ask her. C’mon, it’s really getting dark. We’d better get back to the campfire.”
“Uh, which way, Tate?”
“Good question,” he says. “I lost my bearings while watching the animals. Let’s see, the pink sky’s kind of southwesterly at this time of year. Let’s head this way.” They amble along cautiously as the encroaching darkness makes it difficult to scale the rugged terrain in the pine forest underbrush. They both take turns stumbling, followed by a quick “you ok?” This caus
es both of them to laugh nervously.
After nearly 15 minutes of this, Schuyler stops and props himself up next to a large log. “Don’t you think we should be there by now? It didn’t take us nearly this long to get out here.”
“I know, I was thinking the same thing myself,” Tate replies. “Relax a minute. Let’s keep really quiet and see if we can hear signs of the crackling campfire.” The boys pause a minute trying to listen for any sign of Tate’s mother, or the campfire. In the background, they hear large stiff winds which sound something like the ocean. “Do you hear it?”
“I don’t hear any popping sounds,” Schuyler answers. “It does sound like we’re at the Oregon Coast, though.”
“That’s the Rim. The wind blows regularly along the Canyon walls. It makes that sound. Potato Lake is just south of that, in this direction,” he says turning around. After a few minutes of tracing their steps, and then course correcting due to the edge of the lake, they run into the campsite where Tate’s mom is humming a song, and tending the fire.
As they approach the campfire, an eagle cries out from the tree tops. “Thunderbird’s been awaiting Schuy,” Ms. Askin murmurs. “Did you boys get lost?”
“No…yes!” the boys answer simultaneously. Schuyler glares at Tate in frustration.
“Good,” she responds with a curious smile. Schuyler returns her a confused look.
“Since you made it back in good order, you probably learned something. Getting lost is good practice for finding your way.”
“Mom, we spotted a fox who gave us the Ayana. I told Schuy you would explain animal natures to him.”
“Well, I hope you reassured her with a pleasant smile,” Ms. Askin replies. You know a restless fox won’t let others relax. We’d be up all night.”
They settle onto large logs near the fire pit after pulling on hooded sweatshirts. The surrounding forest is now sheathed in darkness, intensifying the contrast of large flames in front of them. The heat feels good, and the light is mesmerizing. An aura seems to emanate from Ms. Askin. Her face grows wiser.
“Schuy,” Ms. Askin breaths deeply, as she makes an arc gesture to the fading blue and darkening sky. “I realize you know very little about our native traditions and beliefs. Tate works hard to blend in with your classmates. I was much the same way. I only want him to be aware of his heritage, so he can make his own choices.” Schuyler’s eyes are fixed upon her, while Tate continues to stare into the fire. “I’m going to share some traditional thinking with you,” she continues, “so you might fully grasp what’s been happening to you. Really to both of you.”
Schuyler looks over at Tate, a bit nervously, who gives him only brief eye contact. He nods to LaurAx.
She continues, “Our native people struggle with how much we want our children to assimilate into American society. On the one hand, we want them to enjoy the same prosperity as their classmates, but we don’t want them to dismiss the larger soul. Our American society is skin deep. There’s not a lot of thought behind what causes things to happen, Mother Earth’s voice is ignored. People do things based upon whatever pleases them most at a particular moment. There’s no reverence, no hunger to try to understand the world in a deeper way.”
Schuyler tries to absorb her meaning. “Is this about the environment? Um, my grandfather was a Goldwater Republican.”
“No, and yes,” she responds. “The voice of mother is too often co-opted to further a political agenda. Reality is harmony, sustainability, the wheel of life. We cooperate, or mother answers back.
The discussion begins to ring true to him particularly in light of the Sedona encounter. His mind wanders a brief minute. She continues.
“You, apparently are different. You’re a deep thinker. You carry around this aura about you. You’re an intuitive. Some of that may contribute to the trouble you get into.”
“What do you mean, how does it make me get into trouble?”
“Some people are at home in the physical world, and revel in it. Others aren’t quite full citizens, if you get my drift. Straining to fit in is a tell-tale sign of this.”
Tate covers his mouth as he tries unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh. Schuyler shoots him a glare.
“Tate isn’t so blessed.” This has the desired effect of quieting him, and a tinge of resentment begins to creep up into his throat. He remains silent.
She continues, “Scientific people like to call this using the subconscious mind. Your religion might call it being blessed with grace, or the presence of the Holy Spirit. Our people would say that the Great Spirit is strong with you.”
“But why do I seem to attract trouble?” he asks. “I achieve my goals. I study hard – at times. I try to be good...”
“Navigation, probably,” she answers. “The trick is to be of this world, but not from this world. Observe how you see things, what influences you. That eagle we heard earlier, our Thunderbird, is a reflection of you. Eagle notices everything – without judgment. That’s where ‘eagle eye’ comes from. Your spiritual nature mirrors eagle. Your Irish ancestors held similar Celtic beliefs about eagle wisdom.”
Surprised by this, Schuyler smiles.
“See, I take notice of similarities among people, rather than their differences. We are all more connected than first meets the eye. Simply stated, eagle also is the courier. It takes messages from Spirit to man, and from man to Spirit. Your Thunderbird tendencies have been quite pronounced lately. Does any of this make any sense to you?” she inquires.
“Yeah, I guess,” Schuyler answers. “When you put it that way,” Tate looks at him with a bit of surprise. “I can’t exactly explain it, but I’m starting to understand it. I’m not trying to brag, but I see things – I seem to understand things, without being told about them.”
“You have an uncommon gift, particularly at your age,” she answers. “Most people have to cultivate their intuitive side.”
“But I can’t stop thinking about all that’s happened,” he says. “It gets a little annoying. It seems obsessive. And I sense Tate and Ayana are tied into this too. There’s this quest, this mission we need to somehow perform.”
“Does it ring true in your heart?” she asks. “Is this something you desire?”
“I don’t know if desire is the right word,” he responds. “It’s not like craving. It’s more like something I know I’ve got to do, like I own it. I recognize it. I need to go through with it.”
“Sounds like you’ve hit the nail on the head - so to speak. That word, recognize. Very powerful. Words have historical powers that have been watered down in common usage. Look it up in the dictionary. Deep in the definitions you’ll see something like: ‘to know again’. That’s heart language.”
There’s a quiet moment. All three stare at the fire, watching the burning embers pulsate. The wind stirs only at the tree top level, creating a calm, still pocket of air below.
“I won’t burden you with many more thoughts right now, but you should pay attention to your eagle nature. It will help light your way. Your friends will help, but each person must attend to their own path. Ayana’s path has fox tendencies. Tate’s the mustang.”
Tate puffs up playfully.
LaurAx continues, “He exhibits faithfulness, stamina, friendship, and cooperation. Also warns of danger.”
Tate smiles with a prideful look.
“You’ll notice I didn’t mention anything about wisdom,” she says.
Tate pulls the hood over his head, and stares wistfully into the fire.
“Look, it’s important that you understand your differing natures in order to be successful in your quest. It’s probably why you haven’t been great friends in the past. Lean on each other when you need to. Strength in one, might find weakness in another. That’s where harmony comes in. Ayana, apart from her obvious intelligence, brings womanly energy to balance you two. This should not be overlooked.”
Schuyler and Tate look at each other with raised eyebrows,
but say nothing. The reflection from the flames brightens their faces. “You guys are ready for this. It is your time. In olden days, you three would already be adults. The 20th Century started the movement of seeing sixteen year-olds as merely children. You are only beginning to learn what you are capable of accomplishing.”
Tate looks back over at Schuyler and mouths, “Ayana’s going to kill us for missing this.”
Chapter 8: What Dreams May Come
The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” - Marcel Proust