"A Gift From GAEA"

A GIFT FROM GAEA
A short story by REI Franklin October 2009



The cold mountain air bit his exposed cheeks as he sped downhill with a white knuckle grip on the handlebar. To successfully navigate the many dips, ruts, rocks and miscellaneous debris with hairpin curves and thousand foot drops along this remote path, concentration was paramount. Remembering words of advice from his coach, Ral loosened his grip a little and relaxed his back. It had taken him almost three days to reach the top of the mountain from the village and against all rules and even basic common sense, he had come alone. It hadn’t been easy pushing his bike uphill while carrying a heavy backpack.
Down in the valley the village folk, who had welcomed the “crazy boy from the north” with their usual extreme hospitality, were concerned about Ral. Some of the locals had offered to go with him but he politely declined and insisted that he needed to be by himself. He had hitched a ride with one of the very few vehicles that ever ventured this high, and the old truck had broken down on arrival. Weeks would pass before the needed parts arrived. Most of the time the farmers took their produce and flowers to market on mule back but sometimes the old green Toyota groaned its way uphill bringing joy to the children who climbed on when it stopped at the Plaza Central, the town square.
El Turco, the Turk, as the driver was known, always brought  special treats for the kids and he always let them ride with him as he went from house to little white house along the dusty dirt road offering his wares to eager housewives. They waited for him on their front porches yelling at the ever present barking dog. Kitchenware, bolts of brightly colored cotton cloth, maybe a kerosene lamp or even a stove, no plastics, he’d learned early on that these folk didn’t like the newfangled, easy to break stuff. Sometimes they paid him but most of the time they would beg for credit. He knew they were poor but he had a family to support, his children would go hungry if they didn’t pay him. All of this he explained to the women as he opened his dog eared account book and pretended to write in their purchases. His heart was bigger than the mountains surrounding the village.
The half mile downhill sprint was exhilarating. This was his first real mountain ride; his bike was top of the line and had proven itself worthy of the high price his father had paid for it. He loved it with passion, it took him places where he could be alone, where he was able to let his mind wander and explore the vastness of his inner space. The ground had leveled off and he stopped to enjoy the breathtaking views of a rare cloudless day. The crisp morning air was invigorating, in the distance he spotted the snow covered peaks of the high sierra, maybe someday he’d take his bike there. Looking up at the slopes he’d just passed he saw the bright yellow blossoms of the frailejon plant sitting atop their long skinny stems waving shyly at him making him smile with wonder. Farther down he spotted the beautiful lilac petals of the Andean lupine flower. Overhead a majestic condor patrolled the cobalt blue skies.
Slowly easing himself down, he first sat then laid flat on his back enjoying the serenity of the moment. Time stood still or so it seemed to him. He’d always excelled in sports and his school grades were tops; his few friends knew him as a dreamer, a defender of the weak. Socially he seemed to tolerate rather than truly enjoy parties, but at least he made an effort to participate. This is what he really loved, being in places like this. Sometimes he’d go spelunking with a friend or two exploring little known caves and even spending days underground. Definitely, Ral was special.
His breathing slowed, and consciousness drifted into higher spheres. The lines between reality and fantasy grew thin. Minutes turned into hours. Faintly he heard the voice call his name. Louder, the voice beckoned him back to awareness. Opening his eyes he looked around and saw no one. Still he heard the voice calling his name. Sitting up he realized the sun was high, past noon. He should get going. His plan had been to ride down to the village before dark, being October the weather was fine but on the mountains a short freak storm could pop up at any time. Picking up the bike he heard the voice again, this time it had a definite urgency to it and told him to leave. The voice was not in his head, there must be a person nearby. He laid the bike down and searched the surroundings. It was a woman’s voice, very sweet but with character. Maybe the wind was bringing the voice from a distance but there was only a slight hint of a breeze coming down from the summit. Not finding anyone he got on the bike and headed downhill.
The village was nestled in a high valley with a small lake at one end. All the little creeks that picked up the runoff from the surrounding hills plus several springs kept the lake alive and the overflow tumbled over a cliff in a beautiful waterfall with a deep pool at the bottom. The path Ral was riding twisted and turned for more than five miles before it leveled off and entered the village from the lake. Something didn’t feel right, he was uneasy. There was tension in the air, he sensed danger but couldn’t define the nature of it. The front wheel hit a rock and almost sent him flying but he managed to regain control and stayed on the path. He knew he should slow down but the feeling of urgency prodded him on. The sky had turned grey and some clouds were gathering. Maybe there was a storm on the way, he looked up for a moment and instantly regretted having done so. The turn came up suddenly and he just knew there was no time to make it. This was the sharpest turn with the deepest gorge. Ral knew he’d be hurt. He pulled the brakes and tried his best to fall toward the mountain but momentum and loose gravel hurled him over the side. Being above the tree line there was no vegetation strong enough to break his fall.
When the truck broke down the kids brought a cart pulled by an old gray burro to help El Turco peddle his wares from house to house. Today they had gathered at the Plaza and he was telling them stories about camels and deserts but it was difficult to get them to picture a land with nothing but sand as far as the eye could see. They giggled and made signs to each other saying that the old man was “muy loco”, very crazy. They loved him nonetheless. It was mid afternoon and the sky had turned an ominous grey. A mongrel dog asleep nearby got up and sniffed the air whimpering. The villagers too felt a change in the air, maybe a storm was coming.
“No, not a storm, an earthquake” said an old lady calmly. “It always gets like this before a big one”
The Andes, the longest continuous mountain range, has been actively growing for many millions of years and tremors are common. Every so often a big quake will hit and cause damage to the mud brick homes of the mountain villages. Like a roll of thunder the blast of energy from deep below the earth shook the mountain side. The children, screamed, the safety of their happy world shattered by the suddenness and intensity of the violent force. For less than a minute the earth shook, it seemed much longer. Some of the houses crumbled and the bell tower fell. Muffled calls for help from the piles of rubble could be heard. Someone pointed to the mountain and screamed. The tremor had dislodged a great portion of the mountain and an avalanche of dirt and boulders was headed down to the village.
Ral closed his eyes and relaxed his body; he was well trained in the art of surviving falls. He figured he had about fifteen seconds before impacting the ground. What he didn’t know was that the ground he was to impact would be moving at almost his own speed. Dirt and gravel enveloped him and dust made it difficult to breathe. Down with the landslide he went tumbling over and over now unconscious from a blow to the head by a large rock. A second quake of as great a force as the first opened an enormous chasm between the village and the falling mountain side. Countless tons of debris poured into the gaping tear and with it went Ral and his bike.
For a long time he didn’t move. He tasted the dirt in his mouth and felt sand in his eyes. He was alive, but where, how? His mind raced, He felt no pain but surely he must have some injury. The voice called his name again.
“Ral, can you hear me?”
He tried to answer but no words came out of his mouth, he couldn’t even move it, much less speak. He was completely engulfed, he wasn’t even breathing, yet he heard the voice again.
“Ral, it is GAEA, I am the Earth you live upon. You are my child.”
Now he seemed to be floating above his body inside a great cavern deep inside the mountain. At least he could move and he could see. He felt very strange, his consciousness included vast distances. He saw the village and the people running and screaming, the little lake now emptying completely into the lower valley, he could see as far as the city almost fifty miles away.
“Ral” The voice kept calling his name.
Suddenly a flash of white light enveloped him and everything vanished. Slowly a figure emerged from within the light. A woman, the most beautiful being a human mind could imagine. She smiled and beckoned him to follow her.
Slowly and deliberately she spoke.
“Every time you admire a flower, wonder at the beauty of a sunset or enjoy the aroma of an ocean breeze, you connect to the creative forces of the Universe, if you express gratitude for these things then you establish a connection between your conscious human self and the higher spheres.” Her voice was clear and he felt comfortable in her presence, as if she had always been part of his life.
“Yes Ral, I have been with you for a long time and you with me. Over many of your sojourns on this sphere you have expanded your consciousness and strengthened the bonds between us.”
Suddenly they left the underground world and travelled at the speed of thought into the vastness of the outer Universe.
“Look”, she said and pointed with both arms in the direction whence they came. He stared into the darkness and saw nothing. She smiled at him and said,
“Be patient, and believe for believing is seeing.”
He kept looking into the empty void relaxing his mind as he had done to the grip on the handlebar. Silently he began to wonder where he was. Immediately she answered.
“We are nowhere, we just are and that,” she said, still pointing, “Is your destiny.”
As soon as she had spoken he saw a glow in the distance, getting brighter. It was as if the light was coming at them at an incredible speed.
“Nothing is moving” she explained, “It’s your consciousness expanding.” 
The light was taking a definite shape, a human form emerged and he was almost shocked into unconsciousness when he recognized the form. It was he, Ral in such indescribable splendor that it was not easy for him to accept as reality.
“Believing is seeing, and since you have seen you believe. Now accept and you will understand.”
Closer and closer, clearer and clearer became the image; larger and larger grew the vision until all he saw was the awe inspiring vista of countless galaxies with clouds of stardust and comets whirling around. He remembered her saying that this was his destiny, what could she have meant? He wondered. No intervention from GAEA, he sensed he was alone now but was not afraid. He was headed to one particular star formation, or was becoming more conscious of it. As he got closer he recognized his “Home town” the Milky Way, the Sun then Earth, moments later he was hovering over his body that lay, unhurt next to the wreckage of what had been his bike on a surviving portion of the path to the village.
The ground had stopped shaking and the village priest called everyone to the Plaza. Many had been hurt but not one of them had died. It was a miracle. They had rescued the wounded and everyone was accounted for. El Turco gathered the children and calmed their fears; they must help the injured and soothe the younger ones. Any unhurt villager was already helping and since there was no doctor available the barber and the butcher did the patching and setting of broken bones. Healing potions made with special herbs were plentiful and skillfully applied. One of the villagers looked up at the mountain and yelled,
“Look, look, the mountain is on fire.”
Everyone looked up and saw the mountain engulfed in a bright light that seemed to be streaming down from the sky. While they were gazing in wonder at the light the figure of a beautiful woman with arms outstretched toward the village appeared before their astonished eyes.
“Es la Virgen María, es la Virgen.” Yelled the women, it’s the Virgin Mary, it’s the Virgin. The priest knelt and bowed his head in adoration followed by the villagers. El Turco stood back and smiled, he had seen this vision before, a long time ago when he was just a boy. A great earthquake in his native Turkey had destroyed several villages. Many had died as a result of the crumbling of the primitive mud and stone dwellings. In his village many had been injured but none had been killed and after the shaking stopped, the mountain that towered over the village had lit up and the beautiful vision had appeared. None of the survivors in the other villages had seen any such prodigy. El Turco had taken his father’s sheep to graze in the high pastures and was on his way back to the village when disaster struck. He remembered well his conversations with GAEA and the amazing yet humbling experience of recognizing himself in the immensity of the Universe.
Ral opened his eyes and squinted in the glare of the late afternoon sun. He didn’t move; his body was still adjusting to the higher frequency of his new level of consciousness. He listened, hoping Gaea would speak, but the voice was silent. He heard instead a faint whimper from one of the village dogs. Slowly he sat up and gasped when he saw the ruined bike. Again he heard the whimper. His concern for the injured dog overcame his vexation over the material loss. On his feet he looked around for the animal. He found it about fifty paces away with both back legs broken and a gash on his side, his fur caked with dry blood and dirt. The poor dog’s wounds were very serious and he had lost much blood, even so he wagged his tail weakly, glad to see someone.
Ral fought back his tears and gently stroked the little head. At first he didn’t notice but as he petted his friend a transformation was taking place. The broken legs moved and before his very eyes the wound from which a trickle of blood still oozed, started to heal. He continued to pet the dog and moments later it sprung to its feet and jumped and barked with glee running in circles as happy dogs are wont to do. He stared in awe at the antics of the now completely healed animal. “It is a gift from GAEA,” said the voice, “Use it wisely”. Ral looked down at the village, “Let’s go,” he called to the dog, “We have work to do”…