Bedtime Story: Reflections Of The Past: Spirit: Chapter 61

Relax into your evening, or fall asleep, to this recording of the sixty-first 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
Photo by Alina Vichenko

Transcript

Chapter 61 Samhain The first of what I came to call my days dawned fair, Even though it was early November and could have been cold, Damp and miserable. But it was as if the gods smiled upon us and sent warmth and sunshine to the early winter light, Giving the valley a feeling of new beginnings, And once again I felt the dots joining and the pattern of my life emerging. I arrived early, Although no one else would be appearing until mid-morning, Not even Dan, Joan and Cornelius, Who had all promised to help. I wanted everything to be perfect and needed to do it alone. As I walked along the path from the church to the chapel, The frost was fading from the ground, Remaining only where the grass lay in shadow, And any mist, Hovering over the river and in the folds of the valley, Dissipated fast. I clicked open the gate and my day began. The previous afternoon I had decorated the chapel with flowers and foliage, Fitting for the time of year, Bracken turning from green to brown, Branches covered in lichen, Berries of rowan, And candles all around. Samhain, All Saints' Day and even St Cletha's Feast Day seemed to be about remembering the past, And the chapel had even more than its usual air of peace and tranquillity about it. As I was to do many times in the future, I checked all was well and lit the candles, Their warm glow chasing away the last of the chill in the air, Giving the building a feeling of reverence. Outside the holy water ran swirling, Carrying its melodic song into the chapel and through to the lower well, And here too I lit candles in any sheltered crevices I could find. I set up everything for the day, After all I was a maiden of the well and it felt fitting to offer refreshments to those who visited. With a gaiety of the day, I set up a table and a tablecloth for those who visited. With a gas burner and a silver cauldron, I brewed hot spicy punch and placed out a tray of home-baked biscuits. Finally, I was ready and waiting. It was still early when I eventually sank down upon the wooden bench and surveyed the landscape around me, A landscape I had seen a thousand times, Yet never tired of watching, For it was never exactly the same. I felt comfortable sitting alone in the cool air of an early winter morning, The ravens calling overhead as though welcoming me back and wishing me good fortune for the day as I warmed my hands on my first cup of hot punch. I closed my eyes and waited. There was no sign of anyone and I tried to imagine how it would be when people eventually began to arrive, To traverse the pathway from the church, To visit the valley, To be welcomed, To find their own peace. I hoped they found their journey worthwhile. I hoped they would enjoy and find pleasure in everything I had prepared for them. I hoped. And then the doubts began to set in. What on earth was I doing, I wondered, Sitting here in the middle of nowhere on a November day, Surrounded by food and drink and actually expecting people to turn up? And if they did, What would they find? A perfectly ordinary woman who thought she was different, Who imagined she was doing something special but was very likely deluded and would end up looking a fool. After all, The inner voice which was taking an increasing hold on me whispered, Who was I to do this? Who was I to presume anyone would be interested? And how could I possibly organise such an event and be the right person to do so? There must, I finally concluded, Be a hundred other more worthy people who should be sitting here now. Not me, Rowena, Of parentage unknown, Who just happened, Quite by chance, To be given a chapel and believe she was the guardian of the well. I closed my eyes, Felt the prick of tears which I knew were about to fall, And was aware that once started nothing would stop them. For in the great scheme of things I was of no importance at all. I wondered if it was too late to run back to my cottage, Leaving everything as it was for anyone to find, Should they arrive, And if they enjoyed their visit all well and good, That it would be nothing to do with me. I wondered how I would explain my actions to Cornelius, Joanne and Dan, Who had been so supportive. And in that moment I felt all my plans were no more than sunlight and shadows dancing on water, Which could dissipate at any moment. The click of the gate rose me and I opened my eyes, But no one was there, Only a flurry of white wings in the distance and the rustle of a small animal in the undergrowth. Why me? I asked silently. How did I possibly think I could be the one to do this? And a whisper crossed my mind. Because you are the only person who can. You are the chosen one. I looked up again. Still no one around, Yet I had the sensation I was not alone, As if someone had passed behind the chapel in the direction of the holy wamp, And so strong was the feeling I rose to follow. Where the crown, Rowena, Where the crown? I paused. There it was again, No more than a whisper at the back of my consciousness, So soft and subtle I could barely hear it, But I knew I had. Where the crown, What did it mean? What crown? And all at once I saw myself as if from a great distance, Standing in the place I had loved so many times before, Over many lifetimes, And I knew this was my crown and I had returned to receive it. Everything which had happened all through the years since the beginning of time rushed towards me, As if on wings, And I realised I had been the maiden, The mother, And now it was time for me to wear the crown, The crown of wisdom, The crown of a job well done. My feet moving of their own accord, I made my way back to the holy well, Fully expecting to find my first visitor there, The words offering refreshment already forming on my lips, For in that moment I found my destiny, And knew without a doubt I was the right person, In the right place, At the right time. I stopped, My words dying even before they were formed, For no one stood at the holy well, Indeed there was no one around at all. Only on the granite arm of the well, Glinting in the morning sunshine, Lay a wreath of rowan, Hawthorn, Meadowsweet, Wild roses and honeysuckle, The dew fresh upon the leaves, Their perfumes mingling on the morning air, There lay my crown. You