Bedtime Story: Reflections Of The Past: Earth: Chapter 10

Relax into your evening, or fall asleep, to this recording of the tenth chapter of the magical novel 'Reflections Of The Past,' by Vanda Inman.

Set in a remote valley in Cornwall, England, 'Reflections Of The Past' tells the story of four characters whose lives intertwine through many incarnations, and of their special relationship with the valley's Sacred Spring and Holy Well.

Music by Serge Quadrado

Transcript

Reflections of the Past A Story of the Guardians of the Well By Vanda Inman These words are written in honour of the guardians of the past,

And those who journey in the name of love,

Light,

And all that is good.

The answers to all the questions we might ever ask can be found in the ground beneath our feet.

Part One Earth Pagan Prophecies Ceridwen's Cauldron The Sacred Pool And the Lines of Power Chapter Ten In Bulk And so,

All is well,

Jun gazed into the sacred pool,

A slight frown upon his brow.

The snows were melting slowly,

Patches of green appearing here and there to herald the end of the long,

Hard winter.

A pale sun struggled to stretch its light across the valley,

In welcome of the life which was beginning to appear all around.

Although it was cold,

There was a feeling of hope in the air.

Is it?

Rowan searched Jun's face as he turned back towards her.

Not with you,

I feel.

Only a few short moons ago,

You would not even have noticed.

But no,

Things are not well with me.

He agreed.

Rowan made no comment,

But waited patiently.

A skill which was new to her,

But one upon which she was working.

She gazed into the sacred pool,

Its waters running crystal clear as ever,

And thought she saw a shadow cross the surface.

Swiftly,

Like the running of the hair,

But shook the thought away.

Sometimes she wondered if she had become a little too fanciful.

You've found your place,

Began Jun,

And it's what is fitting and expected of you.

You have shown that you will fight to the death to protect the sacred pool,

And that is the mark of the true guardian.

He sighed.

I have loved this place,

And perhaps possess some of the skills you are now discovering.

But to stay here is not my destiny.

But.

.

.

Rowan knew Jun was no warrior as their father had expected.

Although since his recent illness,

Which had miraculously disappeared upon the death of Crow,

He seemed much more tolerant of the wishes of the twins.

So what is your destiny?

She eventually asked.

My destiny is to follow in the footsteps of Dearman,

Jun replied.

To be at one with the earth,

The sky,

And the creatures which live beneath and within it.

And my skills of scrying and healing will help the people here,

Or wherever I might travel.

They both fell silent.

Rowan knew Jun and Dearman had spent many hours together,

Both before and after her journey with him to the otherworld,

And harboured an increasing suspicion he and Dearman often travelled there together.

She had sometimes seen the great white owl accompanied by a huge buzzard flying swiftly along the valley,

And imagined Jun's skills to be growing daily.

And so,

Continued Jun,

Something,

Somewhere is calling me,

And I have to leave.

I've made my decision,

Taken my choice.

He thought back to the moment he finally realised he was no hunter,

And would never become a warrior.

He had spent all morning hunting the deer,

Following it along the valley,

Beside the river,

And up into the undergrowth and low woodland.

But every time he got near,

Something stopped him.

Once,

A wild duck had flown up from the rushes,

Causing the deer to start and bound out of the range.

Another time,

He had been at the point of throwing his spear,

Arm poised,

Body tensed,

When he heard the sound of voices nearby.

His concentration was broken,

And the moment lost,

And finally,

Finally he was close.

Very close.

The deer was grazing in a corpse of low trees,

And Jun remained crouched,

Half hidden,

And clutching his spear tightly,

For what seemed an eternity.

Eventually he straightened up and leaned forwards,

Slowly and carefully,

Lost in the moment,

His brown flint spearhead ready to claim its prize.

He pulled his arm back,

Eye intent on his quarry,

And then,

And then the deer raised its head and looked at him.

Jun had frozen,

His hand clasping the spear,

Completely unable to move as his eyes met those of the deer.

It stood,

Silently chewing,

Watching him trustingly,

Completely unaware of the danger it was in,

And totally unafraid.

Jun remained in the same position for long moments,

Until the deer lowered its head and began pulling the grass once more,

At which point,

With a will of its own,

Jun's arm dropped slowly to his side,

The spear falling from his stiff fingers.

He simply could not do it.

There was something Dearman had told him about the web of life,

And although Jun knew hunting and killing were all a part of the great cycle,

There was more,

About the sanctity of life,

Of every single thing,

Man,

Animal,

Plant and stone,

Having its own spirit,

And in that moment,

The essence of the deer had shone through,

Sang out to him in its gentle way,

And Jun saw a kindred spirit,

Rather than an animal to be hunted.

He stooped,

Picked up the spear,

And turned away from the clearing.

He fingered the flint spearhead,

The best he had ever made,

Which had already taken one man's life,

Running his fingers along the serrated edges,

Wondering if he would ever find the courage to use it again.

Knowing deep inside,

He never would.

Rowan nodded.

She knew the pull between duty and personal choice was hard,

But in the end,

Jun's heart had won.

I only hope no ill comes of it,

Said Jun softly,

And Rowan saw the swift vision of a cloud passing before the face of the sun.

She grasped his hand.

You must follow your heart,

Wherever it might lead you,

She replied.

It is the only way to know the truth.

It is the only way to true happiness.

Like you?

Yes,

Like me.

Rowan nodded quietly,

And was silent for a moment.

She too had made her choice.

Her destiny was to be the guardian of the sacred pool,

Even though Dearman had asked her to go with him to his stone circle upon the moor.

Even though she loved him with all her heart,

And knew with an utter certainty she was carrying his child inside her.

Although little time had passed since their union,

Following the return of the sun,

Rowan and Dearman had finally made their way to the cave,

And fallen into an exhausted sleep,

Each waking to the knowledge of a strong and enduring love,

Which neither could put into words,

But which bound them together,

Body to body,

Mind to mind,

Spirit to spirit.

Rowan would never in her life forget the feeling of being completely at one with another soul,

As surely as the earth and the water,

The sun and the moon,

Merged together in her beloved valley to create such beauty.

She traced the lines of Dearman's face as she gazed into his brown eyes,

And knew that,

For as long as she lived,

He would be her one and only love.

But despite such intensity of feeling,

Her ties with the sacred pool were so strong,

She knew she would remain there until the end of her days.

Rowan shook her head,

Thinking of the last time she had seen Dearman.

When she bade him farewell,

She pressed the brilliant crystal into his hand,

A memory of their time together,

And he handed her his twisted staff of Rowan,

For protection,

Then turned and walked away towards the moors,

And his own people,

His kilt of stout tails swinging in the wintry sunlight.

He never once looked back,

Walking steadily forwards the whole time.

Although Rowan's gaze followed his retreating form until he was no more than a speck in the landscape,

And she knew within her heart,

She would never see him again.

He has his own life to lead.

Maybe we just weren't meant to be together.

Perhaps it wasn't our journey.

She touched her belly softly,

But I will have something to remember him by,

And this child will follow in either my footsteps or his.

She did not tell John of the vision she had seen in the clear waters of the pool,

Of a woman whose hair continually moved with the flight of the raven,

Her gown of white snowflakes interlaced with the gold of the gorse,

Her presence giving Rowan the strength to carry on.

If she had not seen this,

Rowan doubted she could have lived without once more looking into Dearman's brown eyes and feeling his gentleness as he held her to him,

Their bodies and spirits entwined as one.

After seeing the vision for the first and last time in her life,

Rowan crafted a knot of rowan leaves and dropped it into the pool,

A sacrifice to the spring,

For she knew without a doubt she and Dearman would always be together in spirit,

And they would indeed meet again.

Although perhaps not in this lifetime,

The sun was setting,

Beginning to dip behind the hill as the final light of the day caught the clouds.

The world was still and silent.

John climbed to the top of the highest pinnacle and surveyed the valley around him,

The river rushing below,

Gleaming in the dying rays of the sun,

And the starkness of the trees at the end of winter,

Yet with new life pulsating within,

Waiting to burst forth.

It was beautiful.

All so wonderful,

He felt his heart must surely burst with happiness.

He felt the sting of tears in his eyes as the overwhelming feeling exploded in his chest.

Unsure if it was elation or frustration or a combination of the two,

He felt heavy and he felt light.

In his heart he held the sadness of the world and the ecstasy of being alive.

A movement caught his eye,

As a hair bounded along the valley below,

Ears flat against its back,

Intent upon its quest.

John was filled with the knowledge of his life's destiny.

Sure his choice between duty and intuition was the right one.

He thought fleetingly of Rowan and Dearman,

Still certain Dearman would return to her.

Now was the time for John's final sacrifice of his old life for the new.

He had brought with him the spearhead,

So lovingly and painstakingly crafted,

But it was time to let it go,

Relinquish it to the land from which it came.

With a mind of its own,

His arm raised,

His eye aligned down the shaft of his spear,

And with a massive cry,

Deep from his heart,

Which echoed through the stillness of the valley,

He hurled the spear through the gathering twilight.

His special spearhead,

Knowing he would never again find it once it disappeared into the undergrowth,

But to wear it was his own personal sacrifice to the gods.

As it raced through the air,

John's cry embraced all the love and the hurt,

The pain,

The passion,

And the beauty of the world.

And as it arced high above him,

The spearhead caught the last of the sun's rays,

Causing it to flash brightly in the sky.

And as it was flying through the air,

It was caught by the light of the moon's rays,

Causing it to flash brightly for an instant,

Before turning towards the earth and its final destination.

Dearman had travelled across the countryside for several days,

Each step taking him further from Rowan and the sacred pool.

The tug of his destiny,

His stone circle,

And the people of the moors had been strong,

And it was only on the day that he saw the world without her silver light for three nights,

He realised he needed to return.

Of all there was in life,

Rowan mattered most.

Living without her was like facing a world without moonshine or sunlight,

Without the gentle falling rains or the scent of summer flowers.

As the day turned to twilight,

And streaks of gold appeared in the sky,

Dearman knew what he must do,

Becoming the swiftest animal he could think of.

He was heading towards the valley,

Moving as fast as he could,

Back to Rowan and his destiny.

As John's cry subsided,

Absorbed by the valley,

Becoming part of it and the great web of life,

Another high scream reached his ears,

Mingling with his own.

John wondered briefly if his spear had,

Quite by chance,

Found the hair he had spotted bounding along the valley.

And then he was running,

Running backwards through the undergrowth,

His feet not moving fast enough to keep up with his body.

With the knowledge he must run faster than ever before,

A feeling he could not recognise bursting from his chest.

But as he reached the spot where he knew with an uncanny certainty his spear had landed,

There was no hair to be seen.

Only,

Amongst the brown fronds of bracken,

The figure of Dearman,

Spread-eagled upon the ground,

The spearhead piercing his heart,

His eyes wide open to the deepening twilight,

The brilliant green and violet crystal lying at his side.