She had work to do, and no office to do it in. They had outgrown her old place. The tiny house where she had raised her
family. It had been home for her
children, and accustomed to it, they no longer remembered the larger house that
had been part of their early childhood.
But Gia knew that she needed a bigger place to do her
work. All her life she had drawn people
to her who needed healing of some sort or the other. And now she felt the call to help the walking
wounded more effectively. So she had
begun opening her home and her heart to the friends of her children, and the
people who wandered into her life like stray pups. Often so emotionally battered by life that
they snapped at everyone, even the hand that fed them.
Gia had never thought of herself as a gentle woman, yet in
her heart, she tenderly took these lost souls in and through patience and hard
work, brought them out of whatever private hell they had been in. She would have laughed at anyone who said
that she was really a softie, but she had a secret place in her heart for
anyone who tried, failed, and picked themselves up to go again. Her children knew a bit of this secret, but
they did not understand the depth of her fire, for they had not been through
the hell that she had growing up.
Hands that should have been tender had been brutal. Words that should have been spoken in love
were used as whips on the young Gia. Chores
that should have been easily accomplished were made infinitely more difficult
by their unceasing demand.
And yet, in spite of hiding her wounded heart behind walls
and hardness, she had these tender spots.
She found enough courage within her to change how she talked to her
children. Not playing head games with
them, she learned to ask for the behavior that she wanted. Though in order to do that she had to figure out
what she wanted. It was an interesting
journey for the wounded Gia, peeling one layer of pain away to reveal a sweeter,
stronger woman, just as one would peel an onion.
She knew that part of her healing was to help heal others
who had been wounded just as she had, with words, with fists, and with
cruelty. And so she stood there, looking
out over her land, having the time, the space, and the willpower. Missing only one thing, the money. And no money meant no materials.
She had been clearing the land the hard way, the old
fashioned way. With an ax. Pulling up the scrub, using it to create
fences and foot paths through the woods, fill in the low spots, and cover over
the muddy ones.
But finally all that preparation was done. She stood in the midst of the clearing, ax in
hand and realized that there was nothing left for her to cut. The trees around the area had ribbons around
their middle. These ribbons marked the
edge of the yard that would surround her new home and office. They would shade her home in the hot summer
sun of Arkansas. They gave protection from the winter winds
too. But it was the fierce heat that she
was most worried about. In the winter
you could wrap up in a blanket or put on another sweater, but in the summer it
was hard to take off enough clothes to keep cool. Trees helped that tremendously, which was why
Gia didn’t want to cut any more of the tall sentinels down. Besides they made her feel safe. Protected, watched over. And she had never had family and friends who
did that for her.
But there she stood, ax in hand, uncertain what came next.
Sitting carefully on the ground, she crossed her legs and
just enjoyed the peace. Once her home
was built, it would not be quiet in the clearing again. And so she enjoyed the silence. A silenced filled with the stirring of mice
and voles, fluttering of butterflies wings, twittering of the yellow and blue
songbirds, as well as the harsh cawing from the neighborhood crow. The silence was anything but.
As she listened to the cheeps, and whirring, the knocking
and the clicking, she began to hear a pattern, a song really. And hearing it, she began to hum along. It began tentatively at first. Just a quiet humming. The song of the Forest
seemed to quiet momentarily, as if listening to her song, and then it began
again, quietly at first. In her heart
she heard the melody of the greenwood and allowed her voice to grow, adding a
harmony, tentatively at first.
Gradually, the sound grew, echoing through the forest. Eerie, haunting, and soulful, her song echoed
the Forest, and the Forest echoed through Gia.
Each note sliding up and down the scale,
harmonizing, shifting, swooping and diving.
The song drove on. Harmony
interweaving with melody, until she was not sure which was which.
Eyes closed Gia sang from the heart, pausing only to
breathe, listening to the excitement growing within the Forest. It had been many years since anyone had sung
with it. Enjoying the playfulness of
it. Stretching here, singing close
harmony there. The only dissonance came
as a pick-up drove up the gravel road nearby.
Radio blasting, momentarily silencing the Forest. Only to have the shifting melody start up
again as the dust settled. The song
returning stronger than before.
Eyes still closed, Gia found her self lying down in the center
of the small meadow, feeling that her body was alive, perhaps for the first
time. As though she were larger than her
skin. Weaving melody and harmony, into Forest and home.
Bringing each separate sound into the melody much the way a builder
would add each board when creating a building.
A home.
Totally focused on the swelling symphony, she didn’t hear
the quiet rustlings around her. Didn’t
feel the wind dance, ebb and flow, enveloping her lifting her. Didn’t feel the earth move as the clearing
reshaped itself.
So totally focused on Listening and Singing, she didn’t see
what was happening around her. Didn’t
notice until the melody wound down to its end, gently slipping into silence as
the last note faded away.
Eyes still shut; Gia felt vibrant and alive, wishing it
could go on and on. Knowing that soon
enough she had to return to everyday living, she allowed herself the luxury of
a short nap in the dappled sunlight.
Finally the sound of a dog barking in the distance drew her
back to her body. Sighing, knowing that
she still had to figure out how to build her home, she struggled to a sitting
position rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Confused briefly by the buildings that confronted her, she
thought she was still dreaming. For
right in front of her was the home and office that she had envisioned. Her hands had been unable to draw what her
heart had wanted. Her words a poor
substitute for the vision she had carried all these years. And yet it was before her. She’d even managed to dream the guest
cottages that she’d seen one time in a movie, so that the people who came to
get her help wouldn’t always be underfoot.
There was lush thick grass, and as she looked down, even the dirt under
her fingers was different from the poor sandy soil that had been there before. It was rich and black, and the plants growing
in it were strong and healthy.
Everything she had ever wanted, down to and including, the flower garden
underneath the front windows.
She knew she must be dreaming. None-the-less she stood and went to
investigate. The house of her dream
didn’t include furniture. Nor did it
include window screens. Amused at the
missing detail, she started to laugh.
And began to run through the house looking at everything. She wondered why the wood of the window sills
looked as if they had grown up from the ground.
The kitchen had just the kind of faucet she had seen at the hardware
store and wished for, knowing it would never happen because of its
expense. In her dream it had happened.
Gia joyously spent the rest of the day wandering through
this new home and office. The guest
cottages were tiny, but as exquisite as the rest.
When Nathanial came home, supper wasn’t ready, hadn’t even
been started, and Gia wasn’t in her usual places. Worried about her, he decided to go the only
place he could think of – the clearing.
She had been working herself near to death to clear the land. And he was concerned for she had never stayed
so long.
She heard him call through the woods, as he hiked up the
path toward the clearing. Positive that
she was still asleep, that when he stepped into view, Gia greeted him as if she
were a mere girl again, skipping across the yard. Puzzled by the look on his face, she peered
into his face. As tears ran down his
face and he pulled her into his arms, Gia realized that she was not dreaming.
Gayle McCain
(Written for a friend in 2008.)
