Guardians and Angels | Chapter Four (Part 14)

Whatever you do in life, if it's worth a damn, you must open yourself up and pour your soul into it. You can't do it with your hard head or with your big heart; no, you must pour yourself, your true self, that part floating in the center of you, pour that part out into the world, and know some of it won't ever come back home with you."

~ Carol Arlene

~

Carol prayed constantly since the night she went blind.

At first, it was mostly screaming—screaming at God. She was so angry at Him for doing this to her. She felt so helpless that she couldn't help but stand in her own darkness and scream at Him like a pulsar beam blasting forth into the center of the universe. Screaming into a void, some would say, but she knew better than that. Yeah, she knew better. He was there... He was listening to her. He knew what had transpired, what He allowed to happen to her. She couldn't help but scream at Him, "Why!?" over and over and over until the quaking light from her aching voice reached the deepest depths of the darkness she now inhabited alongside Him.

"Why, God!?

Why!?"

She screamed violently, and He heard her silently. He was there, though, and she would never believe otherwise, no matter what He did to her. He couldn't hide forever. She kept everything bottled up tight inside so no one in this world knew she was screaming at God. Her screams were a message in a bottle, floating on cosmic waves through time and space to the One who created her.

She hadn’t signed up for this. She wanted to appeal. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She had a little boy and a little girl to care for. I thought You were loving????

Every word she thought in her mind, every emotion she felt inside, every fear squeezing her tightly—she wrapped them up into one word and screamed it outward:

"Why!?"

Screams of "I have to see my children! My God! How could You do this to me!?" simply became...

"Why!?"

The message in the bottle she sent to Him floated upon the cosmic ocean, filled with a pulsar beam in the form of an everlasting scream, sent from a sweet soul who inhabited a small town in California. Her bitterness was cast inside a cell so it didn’t infect those around her. She couldn’t let it loose upon her loved ones; no, this was meant for the One who did this to her. She would not turn her heart from Him in the darkness though; she would seek Him out and grapple with Him among the manzanita trees until they were both covered in dust that caked into mud as it mixed with their sweat. She would grapple with God. She would find out why she had to do what she had to do— and why she had to do it blind.

~

Carol didn’t feel guilty for screaming at God. She was angry and she was being honest with Him. That's how she saw it. Maybe this was what He wanted. Men need so much attention, you know? Opening her heart up to Him was her only hope, no matter His reasons. In her mind she pictured her heart as a chamber where she was locked inside, the lights turned off, screaming through a keyhole into another darkened room. Waiting for Him to come home, to shine a light on her again.

She remembered her mother reading Bible stories to her as a child. She knew Jacob had wrestled with God and it fascinated her. She thought of God coming down and wrestling with someone and would ask "Why would God do that?" Her question would float above her unanswered, a golden halo spinning, as she drifted to sleep with thoughts of a shiny man made of sparkles wrestling in a garden with someone who looked like her father. She didn’t know what God looked like, but she thought He must be as pretty as the opals her mother wore to church. She figured He had to be made of something, and it might as well be something as beautiful as opals—shimmering and sparkling in waves of formless color, catching the light and shifting into vague shapes while staying firm as a stone.

She loved opals, and she loved God, and now she knew the answer to her childhood question. She knew why God had wrestled with Jacob. It was to shut him up. To quiet the "Whys" he kept screaming without end. She thought at some point Jacob believed he deserved an answer so intently that God got up and confronted him, a father lunging at a disobedient child,

"How dare you!"

She believed God meant to strike Jacob down and quiet him into obedience—"Never question Me!"—but was met with "Whys!?" over and over again. A constant barrage of "Whys," like a machine-gun staccato, rippling and tearing forth into the heart of the matter. Each "Why!?" followed with another "Why!?", until God was forced to pull them off of Himself—sticky, elongated questions, oozing and uncomfortable inquiries. The answers He gave were met with more questions, compounding into more "Whys" until He finally lost His temper and...

Disappeared.

He left the inquisitor alone, inquisitive, standing in the darkness, covered in God’s perspiration. God withdrew not because He was close to defeat or unable to answer, but because He realized it was the same answer over and over again and it could only be lived through. The answer was always "Because I said so," and His children would never accept it in His presence....so maybe they would find the meaning in His absence.

That is why she screamed at God. Because He was absent. He left her alone, in the darkness. Alone, defenseless. She screamed "Why!" inside herself so her children couldn’t hear her. She screamed from somewhere inward, from the center of herself, but cast it outward, hoping He would show up in Cotati, California one night and tell her to "shut the fuck up!" When she kept screaming "Why!?, over and over , she wanted to at least hear Him say, "Because I said so," and then maybe she would quiet down.

Maybe.

Until then, she sat on her front porch with her black Labrador, a guide dog named Cinca, smoking her menthol cigarettes while listening to the radio with all the gadgets and knobs that Christopher bought her. The tobacco smoke swirled around her like ghostly ribbons of lace in the moonlight—a drowning bride floating in a darkened sea. She would turn the volume up on her radio during certain songs, not because she loved them, but because they allowed her to scream a little louder, to pour her soul out into the bottle within herself a little more, hoping it would not break open as Christopher came home through the rabbit-filled fields of Sonoma County.

And that was when "it" happened.

It was on a Friday night a little over a year ago — a summer night, magnolia breezes, crickets chirping. The grapes heavy on the vines. She was on her front porch with Cinca, praying to God with a different voice than the one she constantly screamed with. This voice was her everyday voice, the one that pleaded for Christopher to always come home safe with: to not get hit by a car crossing the 101 highway, to not fall into the creek when it was rushing violently during the winter, to not come home bloody, needing stitches in his head from another BMX bike trick gone wrong. She prayed for those things even when she was able to see him with her eyes; now she prayed for them with a new level of fear and anxiety. She would only hear his cries, she realized—she would never again see Christopher's tears. His wounds would be described to her, and she would have to envision them as they sat in front of her, hidden. She had to trust the reality around her, as it was told to her, not as she witnessed it. It was unbearable, the fear and the helplessness... and the darkness

Right before "it" happened, she remembers a song coming on the radio, beginning with a slow, otherworldly rise and growing louder, like a spaceship taking off in the fields in front of her. The sound seemed to rise upward from behind the old oaks on the edges where Christopher would usually emerge from as he arrived home. It startled her at first, the sound, and she turned her face toward where she believed the edge of the field began, met only with darkness, a blind woman at night with her eyelids closed.

The sound shimmered around her as it grew louder from the radio, making her feel as if she would begin to float. Through a growing crescendo a pounding drumbeat crashed forward and startled her back into reality. It thumped steadily, like an angry man pounding on the dinner table demanding his hot meal, silverware clinking with the beating, startled from its setting. An electronic voice emerged from her radio ... a robotic voice, muffled and buzzing forth from another realm as if was gargling through a talk box at a drive-thru:

"Waw. Waw!

Waw waw Waaaw Waaaah!

Waw. Waw!

Waw waw Waaaw Waaaah!"

The steady thumping continued, a relentless pounding as the bass line pushed back upon her like a trampoline pushes you upward. Guitar strings crashed forward, like waves on Bodega Bay cliffs, and keyboards tinkled alongside them quickly, seaspray explosions of sound. "Living on a Prayer," a song by Bon Jovi, rose into the night from KREO, the local radio station out of Santa Rosa. She had heard it before, but never like she was hearing it tonight. Everything was more crisp sounding. Sleeker.

Maybe it was the fat full moon hanging over the horizon. Indian summer moons were known to be very special in these parts. Just over the mountain was a valley named "Valley of the Moon," where the ancient people of this land believed not one, but many, moons rose from the valley during certain times—orbs of light rising from behind the Sonoma Mountains, causing the animals to freeze in place for hours like statues and the winds to stop blowing all at once. Time would pause, some would speculate... stand still to watch the beautiful orbs shimmering like opals rising into the night, destination unknown.

One of the most famous tales from the ancient people of Sonoma tells of a wildfire set on the mountains around the Valley of the Moon during a full moon one Indian summer by a rebellious faction for unknown reasons. As the story goes, the moons still rose from the valley, unstoppable, and the wildfire froze in place; the flames became like living glass, mirrors as hot as volcano rims, frozen in time, radiating glowing heat from their stillness.

"Waw. Waw!

Waw waw Waaaw Waaaah!

Waw. Waw!

Waw waw Waaaw Waaaah!"

People who grew up here and knew the tales always speculated about the legends and what the moons were, what they meant. Some of them became enthralled with them. The author Jack London chose the Valley of the Moon as the place he would build his home when he finally settled down from his many adventures. Most say it was because it was one of the prettiest valleys in the world—and why not?—but locals knew it was because of the legend of the moons. Jack had discovered the legend during his travels across the deep parts of the West. Out of all the places in the world, he chose Sonoma, California, nestled in the Valley of the Moon, to ponder his life as the hourglass sand ran low. There's even treasure hunters who believe he left behind a lost tale before he died. A tale only a few men were allowed to read before it disappeared from history.

Some say the orbs (or moons) are aliens, of course. But that’s wrong. Carol knew deep inside it wasn’t due to aliens. All her friends growing up would claim to have seen orbs of light and call into the radio shows to report them as UFOs or Flying Saucers, but she had a better idea -- she thought they were something far more special.

She believed they were... angels.

She couldn’t describe her feeling in words. She didn’t think there were words for the feeling, it was akin to nostalgia about something you don't know yet. It wasn’t a premonition though—she didn’t like that word at all. It was more like remembering, as if she always knew, and when the tales were told around campfires in the woods to scare everyone as kids she would know deep inside that she didn’t need to be afraid. There were angels doing strange things nearby for some reason—some special reason. She stayed quiet about it and didn't tell any of the other kids. Maybe she was the only one who had figured it out. Maybe she was special.

"Waw. Waw!

Waw waw Waaaw Waaaah!

Waw. Waw!

Waw waw Waaaw Waaaah!"

In the background of her daydream she heard the noise of Jon Bon Jovi's voice begin his melodic tale. As his words fell forward he filled in the plot lines; Some boy named Tommy who worked on the docks for the union was down on his luck. He had a girl named Gina who was working for love.

"It was tough—so tough." he sang

"Damn, that sounds familiar. George hasn’t worked all year."

"Wooooow!

Woooooooooooow!"

The robot voice emerged from the radio, a swarm of bees forming shapes in unison. The robot voice swarm turned into the shape of a face and it turned and looked at her, wide-eyed, as if it were reading her thoughts and taken aback. How could you think such things, Carol? She quickly removed the negative thought from her head. No negative thoughts about him, no disloyalty.

"So touuuuuuuugh," the singers voice continued, stuck in time, charisma crackling in his melancholy voice.

Hard times, good people—just trying to make ends meet, right Carol? But what happens when the ends meet and they are too frayed from the journey—too frayed to connect, unable to wrap around one another as they look at the damage caused to their edges?

"Woooooooooooow!

Wooooooooooooow!"

(Shut up, Carol! No disloyalty!)

"Whyyyyyyyyyyy!?

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!?"

She stood up and looked toward the edge of the field. The guitars crashed louder around her and the keyboards twinkled like constellations not yet named. The chorus of voices pulled her upward out of her chair, yanking her forth as she titled her head back and opened her mouth. She opened her mouth and screamed as loud as she could with her own voice finally, opening up the message in the bottle inside her and unleashing it into the night, unable to contain it anymore. The rock singers on the radio united behind her in unison as their voices rang out, guitars screeching with their vocal chords.

"We’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got!!!

It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not!!!

We’ve got each other, and that’s a lot!!!

........for loooooooove!

She clenched her fists and squinted her blind eyes and screamed into the cosmic ocean with everything she could find inside her. Shockwaves rippling through space-time tearing stretch marks upon the universe.

"Oooooooooohhhhhhh!

We’re halfway theeeeeeeeere!!!

Ooh! Oooooooooohhh!

Living on a prayer!!!!

Take my hand! We’ll make it, I swear!

Ooh! Oooooooooohhh!

Living on a prayerrrrrrrrrrr!!!!

That’s when "it" happened.

She saw something, something other than nothing, for the first time in a three years— Her blind eyes burned for an instant as a shimmering light pierced through the darkness—a firefly flicker exploding into a star twinkle, trembling closer.

She SAW IT.

She SAW HIM!

"Christopher is home!" she cried aloud, her heart bursting open into a million butterflies as the worry of a thousand nights unfurled from her cocoon. Cinca sat up alarmed, 'whoofed' into the night, alerted by her owners outburst.

"I can see him, Cinca!

"Cinca!!!... I can SEE HIM!"

Cinca froze, whining softly, as if she saw it too. Then it clicked. She could feel her guide dog launch forward off the porch and bolt toward the faint light as it came closer and grew brighter, more defined. It was Christopher for sure—she would know his shape through a mountainside—and so would Cinca, but it wasn’t his whole being approaching.

Just his outline

Just the edges of him

As he approached, she saw electric ropes of white light with soft purple tinges crackling and fizzling and sparkling as he came toward her. Within the white-hot outline of her son she saw the most beautiful swirls of movement, like neon koi fish swimming under frozen ice at midnight—not swimming erratically, but swimming in stories. Pink with a faint electric blue and the most beautiful glowing hot purple she had ever seen. The swirls were telling tales with their twists and relaying legends with their turns. She saw a billion words tumbling within him and connecting their beginnings and ends into long strings that began to be woven into rich tapestries. Tapestries with storytellers telling stories to other storytellers woven upon them.

"Oooooooooohhhhhhh!

We’re halfway theeeeeeeeere!

Ooh! Oooooooooohhh!

Living on a prayer!!!!

She almost fell to her knees as Christopher approached her quickly, sensing something was wrong. She caught her balance and stumbled forward from the porch toward him, descending down the three stairs. Tears cascaded down her face as she reached her arms outward toward his electrical outline which sizzled in front of her, three years bigger than when she last 'saw' him.

"Mom! What’s wrong?" Christopher shouted as he rushed toward her and caught her in his arms before she collapsed to the ground. His voice cracking, hands trembling as he grabbed her, unsure what was happening. He was growing strong but he wasn’t expecting her weight to fall entirely upon him, and he half-caught her as she slumped downward into his arms. He pulled her upward with a tug and embraced her face-to-face, heartbeat to heartbeat, mother to son. For just a moment her eyes glistened and flickered and he saw what looked lie fire opals burning and twisting and roiling like plasma, only to blink out into darkness again. Her eyes searched his face frantically as if she were seeing him though; he could feel them connecting, tugging... her unseeing gaze somehow felt like an invisible umbilical cord between them, snapping taut and pulling tight.

"Mom! Mom! What’s going on!? Are you okay!?"

She gained her feet below her, stood up on her own accord, and pulled him even tighter to her bosom. She squeezed him with all her might and then pushed him away to 'see' his face once more in disbelief. Before her, the outlines of Christopher's "edges" rippled like white-purple constellations, sparkling with billions of grains of opal-like shimmers flittering and flowing with sparks that crackled like fireworks.

Ooh! Oooooooooohhh!

Living on a prayer!!!!

"I’m okay, baby!" she cried out as she began kissing his electrical waves, causing comets of light to shoot off into the night sky as she made contact with his skin.

"God heard me, baby... God heard me!"