Janice’s Adventures / II-b

–XII– A Key in the Tapestry

The big tapestry was in a gentle state of equilibrium. It was not motionless, far from it, but it was like the shiny surface of a lake brushed by a soft breeze, with ripples gently growing inwards and outwards.

The mixing of their energies had been a wonderful exchange, and all were left with a feeling of contentment and replenishment.

At Rodney’s invitation, without any hesitation, Qixi had started by hallucinating a golden needle, with bobbins of maroon and dark blue cotton yarn. Gently, the needle started to fly as if moved by an invisible hand, and swiftly made a delicate background for the tapestry.
Excited by the image that started to form, Rodney came forward with another needle, avocado and raw umber coloured threads, and he threw his needle flying against the tapestry, which started to display some delicate trees.
Then Janice and Jacob, seeing that the background was taken care of, with moonlight and shadows being refined, settled on some embroidery threads to add some details to the picture.
All they did in fact was just play with these intangible waves of emotion, and it was as if they were played out on the tapestry, very subtly and changingly.
At some point, they did not even know whose emotion it was, because it was very much the same atmosphere from which they were drawing and dragging out these changing shapes.

But now, it was “finished”. They could release the input of energy, and the needles and yarn bobbins just disappeared. Even Araili and Yuki, who had been providing the anchoring point, had gently reappeared at one side of the glimmering picture. They were still in a state of mergence, fluttering around the tapestry in the form of a bright little golden dragon.
But the tapestry was still here, floating gently a foot above the carpeted floor.

And there were quite a few people noticeably present on the picture of that scene. It was like a still shot of a theater representation, with the actors rehearsing some drama.
The main characters, were apparently a dark-haired woman, with a raven on her shoulder, sobbing in grief, and a man, turning his back on her, heading to a group of people dressed as some priests of a cult of the Ancients.
The features of the characters were so exquisitely drawn that their expressions were easily readable. The man had visibly some reluctance written on his face, as well as some grief, but he behaved as if he was doing the right thing.
Behind some bushes, and trees, one could see a small village, and in front of it, very near to the main characters, was a farm with a couple. The woman had an old rusted key in her hand and looked like a stern owl, and her husband was a bit pudgy with an air of wildness in his eyes.
Around the scene, in the shadows, were many faces who felt familiar. And actually, when you looked at these faces, they were like Cyprus’, very rapidly changing from female to male to young and old, with dark or light half-transparent skins.

But more than that, and this justified the concern of Jacob about a possible distortion of the interpretation, were intriguing shadows cast by the moonlight at the feet of the characters.
They were not reflecting the persons real appearances, as if they had been placed here by mistake.
The shadow under the woman was shaped like a baby, and was cast by a campfire just near her.
Under the man, was the shadow of a tree, and when you looked closer, you could see a man hanged from one of its branch.

The shadows under the couple of farmers were even more intriguing, because they did not seem to relate at all to the narrative of the tapestry.
Under the stern woman was a shadow coloured in maroon, shaped as a balloon. And under the farmer was a shape that looked like a pile of dirt, or a misshapen pyramid.

The many details of the picture were so enticing, that looking at it without losing oneself in it was not easy. And the golden dragon and Armelle had to help the two children to keep their focus at times, as they were not as accustomed to these manifestations as the adults.

—This is quite fascinating, finally said Rodney, ending the religious silence full of awe.
—Yes, it is, congratulations Qixi, said Jacob.
Qixi would surely have blushed, had her dream-body allowed that. Instead, she simply acknowledged the remark with a smile.

Continuing the thread of Jacob’s thought, the golden dragon, with a voice that sounded like a concerto of strings, asked the children
—And what do you get from these, dear little ones?

Janice answered first
—Well, it looks like the scene we saw in the forest, but there are many more clues on the tapestry, things we could not see at that time.
—Yes, added Qixi, and I’m concerned about these clues, are they for real? I mean, the raven of my dreams, the baby, and the fire, the hanged man, what do they mean?

Here Rodney interrupted
—Yes, and I have many questions too. I didn’t understand why I was there at first, but it seems that farmer is one of my focuses.
—What do you mean? asked Jacob
—Look at that pyramid shape under the farmer, it looks exactly like this pyramid one of my focuses is obsessed with, you know, one of these funny archaeologists in the past. And I know what I’m talking about, because every now and then, I get wild dreams of goats and lemurs hovering with ribbons over this silly pyramid. At times, it’s more like a boy and his little sister in a big red, how do they call that already, yes, a big hot-air balloon. But most of the time, I get the crazy looking goats and lemurs.
—Oh, a red balloon, just like under the farmer’s wife, said Qixi dreamily. I don’t quite get why she has that key in her hand. That must be symbolic…
—Ahahaha, yes! cried Rodney with a gleam in his eye, that owl-looking witch must be the key.

—And would you pray tell, what do you have against owls? retorted Armelle who had stayed silent all that time, but not asleep at all.
—Oh!
They were now all looking at Qixi.

–XIII– The Old God in the Card

Fiona was feeling a bit perplexed to be so bemused. As if she were now in the middle of a carousel that was spinning too fast for her to distinguish the details of surrounding landscape.
Well, she did not put it exactly that way when she wrote an email to Quintin, but he could feel there were infinite layers of complexity in the portraitist’s words.

Most of the time, she told him, as she was doing her portraits, she would close her eyes and let her mind wander, and bring images back to her. She interacted with the images, always leaving them free to unravel before her mind’s eye, and never judging them. This, she thought, allowed her to connect intuitively with underlying aspects of the person she was painting, so as to hopefully give a deeper rendition and understanding of the mood and feeling of said person. And she had found that, in letting her imagination loose, oftentimes her “visions” were correct (to a T!) afterwards, in ways she would not have been able to suspect beforehand.
And her paintings had been reminders for her of the validity of this particular talent. That was why she also did such visualizations in other situations, and she had done some of them in relation to the group painting.

She told Quintin that she had been seeing herself seated on top of a cliff, on lovely grassy land, while she was having a picnic of sweet potatoes, and that a raven had been there too. And the raven was looking at her from the corner of its eye, and she was not really paying attention to it until she felt it was sick. When she took it in her hands and cajoled it tenderly, a soft breeze had blown suddenly that had made the raven disappear in a handful of black feathers. She had decided to move, because the weather was becoming dark, and found a little girl, with a red balloon in her hand, waiting for her. She was inexplicably drawn to her, as if the girl was herself, though her features were different and she had clothes that looked as if they were out of her great-aunt’s wardrobe. She took her hand and followed her on a path leading to a forest, but in the middle of the forest was a theater set, with people so oddly clothed, she thought she was perhaps as eccentric to them as they were to her, though she felt invited. And all she could remember was that there was a kind of party with the crew…

Actually she had sent this story perhaps more to entertain Quintin than to convince him of its reality. As an excuse to do so, she had asked for the meaning of the painting Quintin had talked about and of which he had sent a picture to everyone last night, having felt it was linked to a certain tarot card.

As for the painting itself, Quintin’s ideas were not much clearer than Fiona’s.
Moreover, his thoughts had been a lot more focused on his discussions with Yann, which had unfolded in ways he could not really understand. It was as if a bond had been created, that spanned so many interests that they knew each other’s thoughts before either of them had spoken them.

He did not have clear visions like Fiona’s, or did not get to be relaxed enough to have them —last time he had tried, he’d had a vision of a funny looking blue bull, and had dismissed it, not before telling everybody of course, just to give them a good laugh —which they did. Actually, he had been surprised to find a strikingly similar image the day after, but that was probably only a mere coincidence.
So he was more than interested in the bizarre stories told by Fiona, because in fact they were not really any more bizarre than his own dreams.
Especially those where he was with Yann, in some kind of joint exploration that was leading them through many periods in time and space, over many different intimate relationships.

So, he tried to sort out his thoughts before answering Fiona.

That felt a bit like a creeping remark he thought, but it was a genuine statement. So he just hoped that Fiona would accept it as a valid compliment,… or any other way she preferred, for that matter.
Just to clarify, he added:

Perhaps she did not know who was Nanabozho… Quintin thought. He himself did not really know why he had just linked the mythical Native American figure to his dreams… Perhaps she’ll know him, or she would ask…

Anyway, he continued:

He paused, wondering if she had seen the wolves. Yes, probably… Unless she had looked at the image upside down, in which case she would most probably have seen a wild boar or bear and thought him a crazy drôle…

Not that we know what he looks like after all, thought Quintin, but actually, that’s not the usual depictions of him…

(Why did he keep repeating “key” at almost every line?)

And with that, the email was sent into the vast web of digital information.

–XIV– The Black-Eyed Wizened Lady

Dover, 1800s and a few days later

May had been joyous to see Evan pay their family a short visit. Her parents too, and he had been invited for an impromptu diner.
He had always been affectionate with the children, having a gift or two in his pockets to give them. Sweets, most of the time, or like when May was ill, some unusual present.
May was always glad to see him, because he was always well inclined to hear the stories she shared with him. And unlike most adults she knew, her parents included, he paid great attention to the stories, as if they had some kind of magical importance.
And he was very encouraging for May to explore more about these stories.

In fact, they were not really stories in the sense of May making them up.
They were actual floods of images that at times flashed in May’s peripheral vision, and when they felt comfortable enough, May could bring them into focus and link them and re-create the full story. She had no idea what she was really doing in her imagination, but by linking them, or at times gently modifying some aspects she did not feel comfortable with, most of the time she felt relieved of some unknown burden.

She had been quite alright for some days, but somehow when Evan came, flashes of an old withered woman with big dark eyes came to her. She did not like the woman, so she tried to close her mind, but it was as if she was not coming from outside of herself, but from inside.

—Are you alright May? said Evan a bit concerned by the pallor of the child.
—Yes, I am, she managed to say. Can I show you something on your music box? she asked after a while, a good excuse for her to talk freely with the gentle man.
—Well, after the dinner perhaps? I don’t think your parents would appreciate us making them wait, do you?
—Oh, as a matter of fact, the soup is not completely cooked, said May’s mother with a smile, I think you can take some time. We’ll call you anyway.

When they were in the small children’s room May and her brother shared, it became obvious May was distraught and had no real intention of inquiring about the music box. So Evan waited for her to settle a bit, and asked her
—Is there something that annoys you? That you want to share with me?
—… Yes, I think so. But that’s so stupid…
—That is surely not stupid, or you would not have devised such a smart plan to talk to me in private, answered Evan with a smile.
May could not help but smile too. After a pause, she said
—It’s that I get some strange images since Frank told me that funny tale. And there is mostly that old woman… I don’t know her, she frightens me… She’s got big black eyes like an owl and she is even more wrinkled than Aunt Beth…
—Oh, she’s perhaps very wise, you know, the owl is Athena’s favourite creature, she’s the Greek goddess of wisdom you know…
—Oh no, I don’t think so, replied May. She doesn’t look wise, she’s like a peasant or something.
—Ahahah, and how do you know peasants are not wise, my dear?

May suddenly looked as if she had been rebuked. Evan stopped laughing and looked at her. She was visibly quite affected by that woman.

—Perhaps, he said softly, perhaps you can ask her to share something about her, that would help you to know her more. She is perhaps not as evil as she looks like…
—Yes… Perhaps… May answered after a few seconds.
So she closed her eyes and breathed slowly.

The images did not take long to appear.

—She does not really want to talk to me… said May
—Then ask her why she came to visit you? If there is no reason, tell her to leave.
—She says she is sad.
—And can we do something for her?
—… No, we can’t. Her baby’s dead.

At that point, May began to weep softly. Evan asked her if everything was alright. But May was right, she said, she was feeling the pain of the old lady.
She’d had images of the life of the old lady, and her husband. They had wanted a baby for a very long time. And finally, when all hope seemed lost, she had became pregnant. Her birthing had been very painful, and her baby, her daughter, had been stillborn.

—That’s a very tragic story, May, finally said Evan, a bit shaken that such a young girl could have such dramatic thoughts. But didn’t you say that she is very old? Why is she crying now?
—She says that’s because of the other woman.
—Another woman?
—The woman with the raven eyes, she said, something has happened to her.
—Who’s that woman?
—She says she would have been her daughter’s age. She says she has black hair just like hers when she was younger… She looked beautiful, added May her eyes still closed…
—And why is she coming to you?
—She says you reminded her of the girl. And that perhaps we could do something to help the raven.

—Perhaps we can change the story? said May suddenly back from her visions, remembering her brother’s conclusion to the tale.
—Oh well, yes… that sounds great… answered Evan dreamily. Just tell her that then, and wish her well. I think I can hear your mother calling for us.
—I told her…
—And what did she say?
—She said thank you and she flied away.

–XV– The Talk With the Brooding Dragon

Around the Wall-less Castle, a soft breeze was blowing, spreading a soothing sound of ruffled foliage into the quiet night that had fallen. Stars were shimmering in dots of iridescent colours against the indigo sky.

The change in the atmosphere had been almost unnoticeable, like a very soft shifting. So soft actually that it had seemed that there had been a discontinuous continuity between now and the previous sunny day in the purplish sky. Even when the sun had set, amidst a flock of eerie orange sheep-shaped clouds.

It had perhaps lasted less than a second inside the Caps, but for the people connected into them, it had been like a peaceful day unfolding both calmly and rapidly.

The small golden dragon was half-asleep, cuddled up against a nice fire it had blown into the hearth of the wall-less room. It had laid a glowing egg and was sitting on it lovingly. The shell of the egg was copper coloured, with dapples of luminous bluish green.

Armelle was perched on top of a cosy vintage armchair where Qixi was now seated, her small frame almost lost inside the swarm of cushions around her.
Rodney, Jacob and Janice were listening carefully, not very far from the tapestry that was still gently rising and falling in a smooth rhythm like a deep breathing.

Armelle had been quick to deflect the pressure Qixi had felt with all the attention focused upon her. The owl had helped the little girl gather her thoughts, and connect to these other focuses of hers, those most directly concerned with the mystery of the raven.

This was quite easy and natural for most people at that time, even in their waking states, and Qixi had been aware of some very closely related ones at a very young age.

The maroon shadow balloon, she had connected with it almost immediately in fact.
Some months before, she’d had an image that had stuck with her for a while, about a young girl approximately her own age in a past not far from the Ancients. The girl’s face was glowing and she held a red floating balloon that an adult had given to her. Qixi had felt very close to him. She was not completely sure that the image was an actual representation of an event, but it had seemed important.
Later, when she had tried to focus more on the adult face, she had seen him change and become a little girl too. And she had met Janice. Or Janice had met her. Both ways to put it would have been true.

She had felt a bit annoyed by the stern-looking lady of the tapestry; in the Castle, she had a hard time connecting with her, though she felt she was also one of her focuses.
Armelle had been explaining patiently that all focuses are not necessarily similar, because their purpose was to experiment, with many connections and ways of seeing things. As if to make things easier to swallow, she had said that Qixi/Armelle was in fact much vaster than what she had in mind.
As the idea was slowly making its way through Qixi’s awareness, she had been aware of some communication from that lady, and she felt she knew her instantly, understood her, and all her resistance fell at once. She was at peace with her.
Perhaps she even had brought to her some unknown present because it was as if she had heard the old lady say “thank you”.

But she was still perplexed by the raven. The raven was the most intriguing, because she felt it was linked to something dear, something she feared to lose.
Before, Jacob had been suggesting that the shadows under the main characters were possibly an interesting way to hint at probable developments of the story.
In which case, the future of the characters did not seem very bright.
Rodney had been very quick to remind them that everything was being acted out right now, in all of the directions they were looking at. And that what they were seeing in the tapestry was probably only the most probable development, but that nothing was unchangeable.
That had brightened Qixi up and she’d suddenly felt tremendously close to the man, who was Rodney for her, but also a dear brother, and a dear friend, and husband in others of their shared lifetimes. Again, she’d had the image of the little girl of the balloon, along with the old lady. That had made her a bit wobbly for a moment, until the soft snowy wing of Armelle had brought her back to herself.

Jacob had been perplexed too, because, he said, their focuses choices where not to be changed by another, even by others of their own focuses. They were each choosing their own directions, and there was at times much value for them in exploring tragic events.
For them, and for other essences observing them too, added Armelle, reminding them of the many flickering faces around the theater scene of the tapestry.

Janice was silent, very absorbed by all these discussions. Many of the symbols spoke to her, but she could not place herself so easily. As if hearing her thoughts, the half-asleep dragon said with a hint of a smile as if only for her
—Your impressions are correct, you are not focused in this story.
—Oh, really… Then how is that both the raven and the hanged man, and also the baby seem to mean so much to me?
—Because you do not need to be focused to participate; there are many other ways to participate and benefit from that experience.

She loved the dragon’s voice, it was so soothing, like a rich amber coloured balm on her heart.

—What do you mean, other ways?
—Words do not matter, dear. All you have to know is that there is no separation within consciousness. That what moves you, you really make it move for you, regardless of what you call it, regardless of how you are connecting to it. We are all one in so many forms.
—Yes, like Yuki can appear whenever I want him back. Even if you are already here.
—Exactly. We are you, as you are him. Though our current transformation has its meaning too, as everything always does.
—This is so complex, she finally said in a whisper.
—This is complex only if you want it to be. When you follow the flow, when you don’t deny the impulse, nothing needs explanations, it all falls into place, and words do not matter.
—Then, why do I feel they matter to me?
—Because they help you to manipulate your world, to play with it, with your own interpretations of it. You can create so many different perceptions of the same energy, it is what you are so fascinated with.
—Is that what that strange image means then?
—One of its interpretations, yes.
—So the hanged man in the shadow of the man, and the fire under the raven lady…
—Is only created as a drama if you want it to be that way. Verily.

Before closing his eye, he added

—Remember, your perception is very powerful, it is what literally creates your experience.

It was all very silent now, as if all had been participating in the talk with the dragon.
And slowly, as an elated feeling started to raise in the pit of their stomachs, something in the tapestry started to shift.

–XVI– The Dream of The Crawen

–XVII– The Stories That Could Have Been

—The Raven is undecided, it seems.
—There are many Ravens wandering now.
—How many?
—Countless, a flock in all directions.
—What are they doing?
—Seeking, expanding their choices along many many lines, all of them starting from now.
—What will make them come back?
—They may not, it is always thiers choice.
—Is that even a word?
—The Ravens are one. Do not be confused by words. “Their” is no more correct than “her” or “his”. Perhaps “my” would have been more accurate.
—Is this a riddle? What do you mean?
—They are all expressions of the same essence, of the same Raven. It is exploring many potentials at once to find the most fulfilling to all its parts.
—So how do we know what we can wish him?
—You cannot. Only sHey will know. You can wish sHem to find its more perfect creation, for it will anyway. Perhaps you will not recognize it as perfect when you’ll see one of its manifestations, but it will be, ever.
—Will it also be perfect then for the people in touch with the Raven’s focuses?
—It would be their choice too, to acknowledge it or not. But yes, it will be too. This is the magic of it all.
—Why do I have the feeling that it’s constantly changing?
—Because it is constantly changing. There are many stories for each of the Ravens.
—But one seems more probable
—That one was the one chosen as the prime directing drama. It has many ways of evolving. It needs not be dramatic any longer, if the Raven finds the way to align with its own fulfillment.
—Can you tell me about this prime story, so that I can see more clearly?
—I encourage you to connect with it on your own, for my explaining would not even be an absolute. Trust only your own.
—Will you tell me then?
—Tell me first what you see in that story.
—There are hints of a treason, from the man, because of a baby. I think he dies too, from guilt…
—Very well. Now, look closely at your interpretation, it will give you clues. What do you think would be the reason of this treason.
—The baby?
—We are not talking about such reasons. What would be the energy that would need to be transformed?
—The energy?
—Yes, the underlying aspect that is translated into external reasons. Do not be confused by the seeming external reasons. They are all translations of that energy.
—Oh, I feel like I get it.
—Yes, I see that you are.
—So the treason I perceived is only one aspect of that energy.
—In a sense, yes.
—I see that the man is confused by the woman, he does not understand her. He feels cornered perhaps.
—Yes. And that feeling of being cornered is reflecting what?
—A denial of his own choices?
—Yes. And for the woman?
—For the woman? The Raven woman? She does not feel understood. She is in a different world. She does not want to change her ways.
—Yes. And these are all reflections of what?
—Lack of openness from her?
—Yes.
—Now I see how it is all translated in many ways. They are in similar situations in fact. They are stuck in their understanding. They do not want to change their perspectives because they feel threatened by the unknown reflected by the other.
—Yes. Which is why they have created this drama. To bring to themselves an opportunity for a genuine acceptance of themselves and an allowance of their choices.
—To bring them to the edge of the cliff, so that they have no other choice than do something to resolve this stuck energy.
—In a manner of speaking, yes.
—Will they do it… Oh, I know your answer. This is their choice…
—Ahahaha. Indeed.
—What about the baby then? Is she pregnant and has threatened the man? Has she lost it and he resents her for that?
—Interesting question. Why do you think you don’t know?
—Because it hasn’t been chosen yet…
—Exactly.

–XVIII– The Choice of the Ravens

From one rim of the flock of ravens that spread like an immense cape of black velvet on the dark void-less void, a small golden light had appeared.

It was like an opening, from which light came pouring in, having the black velvet cape retract into a single huge Raven.

The Raven felt that entering the opening would be a leap into an unknown world.
It contemplated the light energy for a moment, knowing it could remain endlessly in the dark void-less void, but that the light energy was unlike anything it had explored yet.

As it was getting closer to the opening, blazing tongues of flames came gently to envelop it, bringing him into a safe space where a turtledove was.
The flames closed around them, shifting into a bubble of wavy bluish water and the two birds gently merged into one.

–XIX– The Golden Finch

In the Wall-less Castle, the tapestry had been moving gently at first. It had started with the raven on the woman’s shoulder, which had seemed to sink into the tapestry and disappear from everyone’s view.

Qixi had felt a tearing sensation in her, as if something in all of her essence had been touched by the vision. She almost gasped in surprise. The tearing sensation had spread in all the others, as if they were invisibly linked in many ways to the raven.

But their attention all came back to the tapestry when Armelle had said to them “Watch!”
The look on the man turning to the priests had started to change too, into a painful sadness.
But it did not stop. A tree started to appear beside him, beginning to engulf its silhouette into the bark. But another bird slowly appeared, as if growing from the man’s shoulder. While it appeared, the branches and the foliage receded.
And when the tree had disappeared, the bird was still on his shoulder. And the man’s face was resolute and serene.

Then, a sort of deep cracking sound like a blast resounded. But it had not come from the tapestry.
All had turned to look at the Castle’s hearth from which the soundless sound had come.
The dragon was now looking down at the egg which had cracked open.
A glowing golden light sprung forth from the shell taking the form of a radiant golden finch.

The golden finch then fluttered gently towards the tapestry, and whistled a fluted sound that shaped itself into a golden smoke. The smoke then gently penetrated the tapestry to envelop the baby shadow cast by the fire near the woman.
As if drawn by the light, the raven slowly reappeared from the depths of the tapestry, but not where it was initially. It was on the shoulder of the man, near the turtledove.

And all at once, as soon as the reappearing raven had formed completely and touched the turtledove, everything on the tapestry seemed to be swallowed in a whirl at the point of the contact.

–XX– A New Beginning

Livonia, 1560s

The young girl knocked at the wooden door. An old wizened woman opened and smiled at the girl.
—Hello, said the girl
—Oh, what a nice surprise Emilija. You’re getting as beautiful as your mother. And why do I have the pleasure of your visit?
—Dad told me to bring you plums to thank you for the eggs. We have so many of them, perhaps you would like them.
—Oh yes! How kind of you. Our old tree is almost dead, that’ll please Bendicks too. Perhaps we should meet at times, with your parents, you are a bit remote from everything in the woods…

Smiling widely, Janice closed the Babbling Book and returned it to the shelf of the Living Library.
She could feel Cyprus was looking at her and smiling too.

– Epilogue –

On the radio, a song caught Quintin’s attention.
He did not know why, but the song moved something deep inside him when he heard the words.

(Nothing Else Matters, Metallica)

- E N D – (till next time)

©2007 É. Lemoine

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