story Tess Flower and Book DavidWasher, July 20, 1993 This is a true story. David wrote it down, still in bed the next morning. He has left it complete, just the way he remembered it, just they way he hurriedly scribbled down the words, just the way it took hold and surrounded him. Earlier that day David had gone to Amanda’s wedding, his special friend marrying a man after knowing him for six months. And David, so recently, no longer married after 12 yrs of being together- twelve years of tending a garden together only to have the thorns cut their fingers as he and his wife judiciously pruned here and there. But now, more than ever, David told Amanda and Bruce that he believed in love, in the heart of love, in its truth and power and that he and Amanda were a special gift. Love is the only truth we know. He wasn’t sure marriage was one, but that wasn’t something to discuss at the wedding. After the wedding, Jeana and David sat at the beach and they read aloud the final pages of a book, The Universe is a Green Dragon. And after that they read poems from another magical book called The Enlightened Heart, edited by Stephen Mitchell. Sleepily, with hears and minds open, all things, words, places, heart and memories, seemed interconnected as the two new lovers watched the sun set and read poems aloud. It reminded David of how he had been given the book. Phoebe’s kindgarten teacher, Margaret Potts, had given him the book of poetry as a gift. David was holding his children’s Phoebe and Jacob Henry’s, hands and Mrs. Potts loaned him the book saying she thought David would enjoy it. David thanked Mrs. Potts. David always called her Mrs. Potts. It is awkward to call you child’s kindergarten teacher anything other than as you remember your own kindergarten teacher, as you remember your own childhood. It is the best part of having children. Mrs. Potts was David’s daughter’s first experience of public education. David had vowed to explore, interview, and meet all the kindergarten options available to this proud father’s daughter. This woman introduced herself as Margaret Potts. David laughed. David wasn’t going to have to look far for his daughter’s teacher. The names of his two grandmothers glowed in his head . Grandma, MargaretWasher, his Dad’s mother. Nonnie, SibylPotts, his mother’s mother. David loved both these women. Both died within months of each one of his children being born. It made David think how funny life and knowledge are really- passed on to us through our children and loved ones, through little glitches in reality that come when least expected. David’s midn was just watching the memories, holding hands, reading at sunset, after a day, after a life, that all seemed to be opening to a new beginning- reading aloud and then closing the book. At Jeana’s house in the city they immediately began to drift away and fall asleep. Jeana asked avid to tell her a story. They were still light and heavy with mixed feelings that follow the feeling of love and newness, the feelings of a long full day. She was curled and relazed like a small animal- a kitten, a child. There was an innocence as thy began to fall asleep and the story came as a dream as making love with visions, memories and sound. David’s last words were “what do you want to hear?” She said, “tell me about perfect love.” And the voice that whispered the story into the ear of their pillow wasn’t David’s, for he too was exhausted and fallend into a deep sleep. And this was the dream. There was once a young boy named Jacob who on the eve of his birthday was approached with the question of becoming. It was all confusion. The elders presented it as the custom of the village. he had to consider his place and where he would come to know about love, truth, relationships, marriage, make himself a home, have a family, take a job, make a living. “Arriving at manhood,” they said. He thought it was a lousy custom. Luckily Jacob was healthy, strong, handsome, courageous, uncommonly intelligent, and blessed with a wonderful sense of humaor. At least that was how he consoled himself in the heat of the day when all else seemed to be exhausted and futile. There shouldn’t be a problem with choosing a girl, finding a place to live, discovering a job, getting on with this manood thing. It was all there for the asking. He felt lucky tis way. But for this young boy he felt the need to know more. And in the complexity of his confusion there were no words to discover the meaning, for there were no expereinces to guide him through his dreams. It was a sense, and he did not have the words to describe it. It had gotten him so wrought that he had taken a fever and friends and family began to ask him if he was okay. Perhaps he wasn’t so lucky after all. Jacob lived in a village. this was a long time ago, when the forests were magical and mysterious. It was a time of enchanted castles and knights in splendor and princesses in serene royal gardens. It was a time of peace, and the royal court held its art and religion to be of the highest achievement of the time. The village in which the young man lived was set on a road that led from the castle to the forest. There was only one road that led through the forest, and no one ever dared to stray, for fear of getting lost. And although the castle was of astounding beauty and the forest of ancient mystery, neither inner court nor hidden woods were ever seen by the villagers who daily worked their fields and tended their homes. The young boy helped his father and daily he carried water, bundled wookd, helped with the animals, tended the vegetables. In the evening he would help his mother, read and listen to stories, sing and dance and play funny games with his brothers and sisters. But he had become restless over the last few days, or was it months? Certainly , could it be a year, or was he just unceasingly always this way, questioning? The road in front of his hosue led from the castle to the woods. It was the only way that travelers could go. Everyday, he walked out of his parents’ hosue and looked first to the west toward the forest and then to the east towards the castle. He had been to the edge of the forest and thought he saw a special light emanating from deep within. And he had been to the castle wall and believed he had heard an enchanted melody enwrapped by the wind float down from the highest window . But still, as he looked both ways he felt himself drawn inexplicably one way, then the other, and then back again. The castle was enchanting, so inspiring with the regal grandeur of its beauty, and the forest was so inviting with the whispering of all its secrets, the smell of all its flowers and gifts. His father would yell, “Jacob quit that day dreaming and get on with it.” And Jacob would leave his dream and then walk neither right nor left but straight ahead to follow his father into the field. That evening Jacob again gazed east and west. He sighed heavily. A gypsy passing with an old wagon and frumpy mule heard him and laughed as loud and gregariously as a barrel rolling down a rocky hillside. The boy looked up and asked him the reason of his merriment. Did he think something funny? His questioning nature took his pride and brought it into his chest where it tightened into a knot. And he asked again this time with the corners of anger shaping his voice. “is your curious merriment, your rotund laughter, directed at me, for if it is I’ll take you down off your curious mount even if you are my elder...” But the laughter of the gypsy man cut him off. “Oh, I apologize. Please don’t get angry,” he said, between his now gasps of air. “I am dizzy with laughter, but it is truly a compassionate one and not at you. My name is Marteen Potter.” He gasped for air holding his belly that was peeking out of the bottom of his shirt. “I must be going.” The young boy was alarmed but also couldn’t help but start to laugh. “You know,” the boy began with a question in his throat, “my father’s father’s name was Marteen de Toyas, and my mother’s mother’s name was Sibyl Potter.” “Ah, good. You can see yourself, I see. To laugh when there is confusion, that is a true mark. You’re a good lad. Here, I will give you two gifts. I know your confusion.” He handed the boy a book and a flower. “These are poems, sacred poems. Some you will enjoy, understand, some will be puzzles to be solved in years ahead. But for now, during your time of question just put the book under your pillow, for now your own dreams are the only truths you will understand.” “And what of the flower?” “That is your book mark. Place it in the book and forget about it. Someday that page will be a gift, and then you will understand the flower,and you will know about flowers and books.” And the man laughed as if he had made a great joke. The boy took the boy and the flower. The strange man rode off towards the forest. After he was gone Jacob looked in the book of poems and read: “The man gathering radishes pointed to way with a radish.” “Silly book,” and he mindlessly slapped the flower into the middle of it and went back into the house thankful to be able to have passed the awkward moment and get back to his pensive mood. The young boy laid on his bed still holding the book. His thoughts were countless and he thought he would never sleep again. The book actually did become a pillow and laid under his head, as he lay still and listened to the night air. Slowly the countless thoughts blended as one and he drifted away. He thought he heard the silly mule and that strange man again. So in his dream he walked outside. Again he came o the road and again he looked both ways. It was sunset and there was a quiet that only hangs at the moment when all the light changes. To the east, floating above the castle was the full moon, and to the west, setting upon the forest was the sun. “What an amazing evening,” he thought to himself. And he looked at the moon, bigger than he had ever remembered, silver in its face, almost feminine in its sublime whiteness and poetic generosity. And he looked at the moon, bigger than he had ever remembered, and he looked deeper into its pulsing glow further than he ever remembered. He looked at the elements and the light was charged and the sun and the moon seemed to grow closer. In fact, as he looked again athe moon was actually coming towards him. Yes, how foolish of him to mistake the moon for a white rider on a white horse. Closer still he could see it was a woman- unmistakably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen come upon this road. Then surprisingly the shadows shifted, and startled he looked towards the sunset and realized that he again had been foolish. That was not the sun that he had seen, but it was a dark-skinned woman with the richest dark auburn hair that glowed red, tied with ribbons and braids. she was wearing bright colored clothes made from thousands of fabrics and jewels glistening and reflecting. They both rode identical horses. And they came to him. They were exceptionally beautiful. And he was left words or thoughts. The young boy’s surprise was unsettling. “Relax,” he thought, and both the women came to him and kissed his forehead and lightly stroked his hair. And for no reason he would ever know he did relax and he did look them in the eye. And as he looked into each of their eyes, looked into their open astounding beauty, he saw the supreme nature that was now like a glow of light that he had never before beheld. In their eyes he saw love, love that was sacred and new. It scared him for it also had something dark and foreboding. He felt relaxed, but it was not comforting. “You’re about to become a man, and you have stopped here each day asking yourself the same quesiton, but you do not know the question and so you go on with your gathering. Your anger and confusion are not the way of yourself. Soon you will turn into an angry person for the question will tear at your heart. We are hear to heal you, to show you the question, for we are the question.” Each woman took time in saying each word and it was as if they were taking together and separately all the same. “Who are you?” the young boy asked. The woman in shining white answered first. “I come from the Eastern castle. I am known as the sacred muse, and I offer sublime and sensual knowledge, of creativity and life, of poetry and love.” The woman in the colorful and bejeweled tunic with dark auburn hair interrupted. “I am known as the mother of the planet. I am the breath of wind upon your cheek, I am the smell