We Stand in the Middle 14
We Begin and End in Water
“Like water, be gentle and strong. Gentle enough to follow the natural paths of the earth and strong enough to rise up and reshape the world” - Brenda Peterson
I woke suddenly a little before dawn with my legs tangled in a sheet and my left arm dangling off the sofa where I’d spent the night. So abrupt was my return to consciousness that it took me several seconds to realize what had awakened me. My eyes were open but my mind was still grappling with whispered conversations spoken in a language I couldn’t follow.
“Bentley, cut that out,” I said, moving my hand away from his tongue. Not to be deterred, he belly-crawled forward and resumed licking my palm. It was clear he’d been at it for a while because my whole hand and wrist felt damp. “Okay, that’s gross,” I protested, pushing myself upright. “Why does my hand need a bath?” In response, he put a paw on my leg and whined. “Oh, you want to go outside,” I said as I finally got the message. I got to my feet and padded barefoot to the side door of the kitchen to let him out. There I saw Plutarch and Gracie peering expectantly through the glass. Clearly there was a morning ritual I was not yet privy to. “Off you go, Bentley,” I said. “And as for you two, you’ll have to wait until I’m dressed.”
I returned to the living room, pulled the last of my clean clothes from my pack, and headed to the bathroom. There, I regarded my tired face dotted with mosquito bites and sunburn across my nose and cheeks with a mixture of amusement and dismay. My shoulder-length, red brown hair stood out in spikes around my head, and there were pale purple half-moons beneath my eyes. “You’re a mess,” I said to my reflection, to which my sober, brutally honest inner self replied, “Yeah, so why do you care?”
”Good question,” I thought with a smile. I took a quick sponge bath, brushed my teeth, and pulled my hair into a ponytail. The reflection in the mirror still looked tired but at least I was presentable.
A glance at the grandfather’s clock in the foyer told me it was 5:45 am. Sunrise was at 6:16 and I didn’t want to miss it. I went upstairs to check on Evan and was relieved to find he was still asleep with the Meenie Moes keeping watch. Then I went back to the kitchen, filled everyone’s water and kibble bowls and carried Plutarch, Gracie, and Bentley’s food out onto the wooden deck overlooking the lake. The deck faced east and was the perfect place to watch the sun come up.
At this time of day, the air was still moist and cool, full of early morning scents - damp earth, dewy grass, and flowers waking to work. The lake itself stretched out in front of me like burnished glass, its surface unbroken except for ripples created by insects skimming the surface and the occasional flash of a belted Kingfisher diving for fish. Behind it all, like an enormous choir clearing its collective throat, were the cicadas, crickets, and frogs - their amorous calls rising and falling in euphoric waves. I took a seat in one of the Adirondack chairs and took a few deep breaths.
Across the lake, D’s cabin could be seen emerging out of the early morning fog rising off the water. It was flanked on one side by thick stands of white and Loblloly pines and on the other by a pile of limestone boulders that partly obstructed and slowed the flow of the stream. The slower water collected and moved in sluggish swirls around the stones, forming a shallow pool where cattails and lilies flourished. These in turn offered places for the turtles and frogs to hide and sunbathe. It was here, as the sun was just beginning to peek above the treetops that the seven women appeared.
Barefoot and dressed simply in white, knee-length shifts, they walked slowly but purposefully in single file to the water’s edge. There the first paused, knelt, and used the palms of her hands to inscribe two opposing circles across the water’s surface as if cleaning or polishing glass. Then she cupped her hands, filled them with water from the pool, and tipped them over her upturned face, allowing the sparkling liquid to trickle down her cheeks. When her hands were empty, she waded deeper into the pool and turned towards the rising sun.
Each of the remaining women followed the first’s lead, repeating her ablutions then joining her in deeper water. When all seven were standing side-by-side, they touched the fingertips of their right hands lightly to the center of their chests, then sank slowly beneath the surface of the water.
They were underwater only a few seconds before re-emerging and turning to the north. Once again, moving as one, they touched their hearts and sank slowly beneath the water. The same ritual was then repeated to the south. When they made the final turn westward, I was able to view their faces clearly for the first time. I was startled to see that all seven faces were identical. Seven sculpted visages with high cheek bones, aquiline noses, and full lips. Dark, wet lashes formed half moons beneath their closed and upward slanted eyes. But the most striking feature of all was their skin. Completely devoid of lines, freckles, scars, or any defining marks, it was as smooth as clay that has been shaped and turned on a wheel. I couldn’t tell if they were aware of me, but as they touched their fingertips to their hearts and began their fourth descent, a part of me ached to join them.
Within moments the only sign of the women were seven expanding ripples on the surface of the water. I waited, holding my own breath as the seconds passed. How long had it been? Seconds, minutes, more? Time seemed to have lost track of itself, and if my own lungs hadn’t been screaming for air I might have stood there indefinitely mesmerized by the sensation of something brewing, percolating and fizzing just beneath the visible surface of the morning.
Then as abruptly as it paused, time restarted. There was an enormous audible gasp as the women burst through the surface of the water and inhaled, mouths agape. It took me a moment, as I too drank the air, to register what I was seeing. Seven women had disappeared beneath the water, but eight had emerged. Gone were the expressionless faces that had reminded me of masks. In their place were the now familiar colors and symbols of the Cherokee clans I’d seen on Evan’s back. But it was the eighth, standing slightly in front of her sisters, who made my heart pound.
I recognized her instantly. Beneath the broad and angular contours of a woman’s face - a face lined and sculpted by living - glowed the features of Ursus - the great black bear. One moment I was looking into the smiling eyes of an elderly woman, the next fighting panic as I realized I stood squarely in the sights of an apex predator. Several long moments passed as I fought the urge to run before the woman’s features solidified and the obsidian black gaze of the bear faded away. A gentle, almost tender expression crossed the woman’s face as she looked me in the eyes and nodded. Then she turned and rejoined the others who had started walking back towards the shore. “Wait,” I whispered, getting to my feet and taking a step towards the water. “Don’t go.” When she didn’t respond, and I saw the first women emerge from the water and melt into the shadows of the trees, I shouted, “Wait for me!” and walked to the edge of the deck, curling my bare toes over the rough wood, fully prepared to jump. That’s when Evan grabbed me from behind, pulled me back, and barked, ”Enough!”
As we stepped back, Evan forced me to turn and face him. “What were you thinking, Maddy?” he demanded. In the harsh, early morning light the bruises and cuts on his face looked vividly painful. “The water is only a few feet deep down there. You would’ve broken your neck if you jumped.”
“I was trying to stop them,” I said, twisting my neck and looking back over my shoulder to where I’d last seen the women. “I want to go with them.”
“Stop who?” Evan asked, looking puzzled. “What did you see?”
“The women,” I said. “The women from the clans.”
“Wait, what?” Evan said, sounding startled. “This is important, Maddy. Tell me what what happened.”
“But the women,” I protested.
“They’re already gone.” When I shook my head no, he turned me so I was facing the lake. “Here, see for yourself.” He was right. The water of the lake, sparkling in the morning sun, was empty. I was suddenly very tired and thought I might cry. “Okay, so please sit down and tell me what you saw,” Evan said, guiding me to one of the chairs and dragging the second over so he could sit in front of me. Bentley, who’d been watching our exchange with concern, laid down between us and put his head on my foot.
“Hey there Bentley,” I said, reaching down and rubbing behind his ears. The musty, damp dog smell and the feel of his thick, rough coat were familiar and comforting. “You have to promise to believe me,” I finally said, looking up at Evan. “I didn’t have a psychotic break or anything.”
“Oh, I’ll believe you,” Evan said with a smile that clearly hurt his swollen lip. “Living with Richard made me shockproof. I’m immune to disbelief. I just need to understand what happened. I think it might be important. So, spill.”
“Okay, so it started last night after you fell asleep.” I described tiptoeing up the stairs to check on him and seeing the tattoos on his back for the first time. “When Bentley woke me up at 5:45 this morning I decided to watch the sunrise from the deck.”
“And that’s when you saw the women?” Evan asked.
“Yes. There were seven of them, all dressed in white.” I described the ritual they performed and how they sank beneath the surface of the water for a few seconds. “The first time they were facing east. The second time it was north, and the third time they faced south. When they turned to the west they were facing me.”
“The ritual you’re describing is called going to water,” Evan said. “The Cherokee believe rivers and streams are sacred and have the power to heal. Every morning we immerse ourselves in running water to wash away illness and bad thoughts and to ask Unetlanvhi, the creator, to protect our bodies, minds, and spirits.”
I nodded. This was nothing new. I’d read about the ceremony in James Mooney’s book, History, Myths, and Sacred Formulas of the Cherokees. “Yeah, it’s what happened next that really got to me,” I said.
“Go on,” Evan urged, reaching out to touch the back of my hand to offer encouragement and support.
“Okay, well first there were the identical faces,” I said, swallowing hard as I described how they looked. “Then, when they touched their hearts and went under water again, time sort of stopped.” I described how seconds seemed to stretch, how I wanted to breathe but couldn’t, and the strange anticipation my body felt. “The sensation was like a champagne cork that was about to pop,” I said.
“Okay, go on,” Evan said.
“Then the women came up for air and instead of seven there were eight.”
“Wait, what? Eight?” Evan asked, sounding startled and excited.
“Yes, eight,” I said firmly. “And that’s not all.”
Before I could chicken out - because by this point the whole thing sounded pretty far-fetched even to me - I described how the previously blank faces now bore the symbols and colors of the clans. When I came to the eighth face and described how the elderly woman transformed into the countenance of the bear, Evan blinked and said, “Holy shit.”
“What? You believe me right?”
“Oh I more than believe you,” Evan said. “I think something important happened and we need to pay attention. Do you know the story of the bear clan?” I shook my head no. “All you need to know is that a little boy from the Ani’- Tsa’guhi clan decided he wanted to become a bear and convinced his whole family to join him. As he and his family were leaving the tribe and heading into the forest they promised to always help humans in need.”
“So all bears are actually Cherokee who decided they didn’t want to be human anymore?
“Pretty much yes,” Evan said. “But here’s the kicker. For years before he died Richard talked about a new clan that was forming - a new clan called Ursus.”
“And you think what I saw might be Ursus - the bear clan?”
“Could be,” Evan said, sounding excited.
“Well I’m going to stop you right there,” I said. “First of all, that doesn’t explain what seven - correction eight women - were doing taking a bath in my lake…”
“Going to water,” Evan interjected. “It’s a sacred ceremony performed…”
“Whatever you want to call it,” I interrupted him impatiently. “I still don’t understand who they were, how they got here, and why I saw the things I saw.” I was beginning to sound cranky and resentful even to my own ears as my mind raced to make sense of everything that had happened. Evan must have sensed what was going on because he got up, pulled me to my feet, and wrapped his arms around me. His skin smelled of Castile soap, the iodine tincture I used on his cuts and scrapes last night, and Bentley’s damp fur. Beneath my right ear I heard the steady, reassuring lub-dub, lub-dub of his heart.
“It’s okay to feel overwhelmed,” he said, stroking the top of my head. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but we’ll figure it out.”
Much to my embarrassment I felt a lump form in my throat as my eyes filled with tears. “I thought it was just a house,” I said hoarsely.
“I know,” he said soothingly.
“I thought Richard was just D’s partner - someone with AIDS.”
“I know,” Evan said.
“Oh God, I didn’t mean that!” I exclaimed, pulling away and looking up at Evan in horror as I realized how my words must’ve sounded. “I know Richard was much more than a victim of AIDS.”
“Maddy, will you stop?” Evan said. He drew me back into his arms and kissed the top of my head. “I knew what you meant and I understand why you’re upset. You’re in shock. But I think what’s happened is a good thing. D would never have given you the Light House if he thought you couldn’t handle it.”
“You think?” I asked, daring to relax into his hug.
“I do,” he said with a smile in his voice.
“Then do you think you could do that thing again?” I asked.
“Do what thing again?” he asked, pulling back so he could look at my face.
“Kiss the top of my head,” I said. “If it doesn’t hurt too much.”
“I think that could be arranged,” Evan said as he bent to kiss my lips.
“That’s not the top of my head,” I pointed out.
“Oops my bad,” he laughed. “Let me try again.”
Copyright 2024 by Jena Ball. All Rights Reserved.
Links to the 14 previous chapters
Resources
History, Myths, and Sacred Formulas of the Cherokees by James Mooney
Sponsors
Lynne Berrett, Co-founder, Ageless Mind Project: https://agelessmindproject.org
Ginger Caldwell
Aleks Haecky
If you would like to become a sponsor of this project, please reach out to Jena: JenaBall@CritterKin.com
The "Going to water" ceremony gave me chills So beautiful, Jena!
This was exquisite. Thank you.