Heaven in a Wild Flower

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And Heaven in a Wild Flower,

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,

And Eternity in an hour.

- William Blake -

"No, No, No, Cedar, not like that, you look like a constipated leopard, stop pushing and just let it happen." His shrill voice told me.

I stared blankly back at my young tutor, the unwanted image lingering.

Timmy was nine, but not like any other nine-year-old you have ever met.

He pointed his small finger at me.

"Have you ever seen a constipated leopard Cedar? They're all like eeeeeee, Eeeeeeee." His little face contorted in closed eye effort as he pretended to push and strain, blond hair flopping down to cover his eyes as he shook his head from side to side in mock effort.

"That is what you look like, Eeeew," he said, continuing to shake his head from side to side.

"No, Timmy, I have never seen a leopard, constipated or otherwise, and where did you?" I responded dryly.

"That is not important." My tutor said matter of factly, stabbing the air with his finger.

We had been at this same exercise for hours each day, and his frustration started showing again.

As I said, Timmy was nine, but he was not just nine, he had a near-photographic memory and could recite Shakespeare forwards or backwards without skipping a beat, but like anyone, his attention span had limits.

Timmy uncrossed his skinny legs from where he sat beside me, standing he started to pace the small spartan dorm room before coming to stand in front of me.

There was not much here, one wooden table, one wooden chair and a bed.

Moving in front of me, he took two small fingers and thumped me yet again between the eyes. "It is not here where you need your focus." He said.

"It is here," he said, waving his small hand above my head.

"Right now, you are trying to force the sight open without having the energy to do it. It's like…" Timmy paused for a moment, searching for an analogy.

"It is like trying to push the doors of an elevator open, with the power off," Timmy said, nodding, floppy hair bouncing in time to his nod.

I nodded back at him.

"You understand?" He asked, shrill voice raising to ear-splitting heights, eyes wide and hopeful.

I continued nodding, "Not at all."

"Cedaaar… It is not that hard." He said, extending my name in that whining, painful way only a child can.

Oh, by the way, magic is real. I might have forgotten to mention that.

The Harry Potter kind, as opposed to the Harry Houdini kind, you know the really real kind, but this place was no joy-filled Hogwarts.

My name is Cedar Jones, and I am a wizard in training.

No, really, a wizard, stop laughing. It's fine, I wouldn't have believed me a month ago either, but there you go.

For now, just take my word for it. Magic is real, the nine-year-old with the mental fortitude of a college professor is my teacher, and I am in training to be a wizard.

At least I will be if ever I can get this damn magic sight to work.

Timmy clicked his fingers next to my ear.

"Focus, Cedar, your mind is wandering. I can see it." Timmy's too young voice snapped.

Actually, Timmy's real name was Tyrian, but after a very one-sided fight with another student here, a fight where I had the holy living hell beaten out of me, Tyrian had stepped in and saved my life.

I mean that literally, by the way.

I guess it is true what they say, never bring fists to a magic fight.

Alec, the sixteen-year-old psycho hell spore, had held me down with magic and had broken me.

Three years younger, and about 30 pound lighter than me, he had cracked my ribs, broke my nose, and spat in my face. I had not even realised how powerless I was till then.

I'm not a big guy, about average with the other seniors in my regular school, but I am strong and ridiculously fit, and I have trained in MMA for about as long as I can remember.

Alec broke me. He had started performing an unnecessary, no antiseptic, tracheotomy when Tyrian's soft-spoken voice had reminded him that the Master still had plans for me.

Timmy couldn't have stopped Alec either, except he had. He'd put himself in harm's way and reminded Alec that there were bigger bullies around than him.

In that broken, unconscious haze, I had called him Timmy, and it had stuck.

I think he liked it. I think the pet name was a tangible sign of our friendship.

Timmy shook his head, floppy hair now going side to side, and lightly bopped me on the crown of my head.

"Here," he said, then tapped again between my eyebrows, "Then here."

"But first, you need the energy to power the machine, get it?"

"Timmy, don't, I really don't… I am sorry, I just don't…." I replied.

I drew in a long breath and puffed it out again, shaking my head and looking up at him for help.

"Okay, let's start again," he said. "Let's keep the analogy going."

"How do you open the doors of the lift?" he asked

"I push the button." I answered.

"Right." The young boy piped, "And do you have to strain, or do you just do it?"

"Timmy, it is not the same… This is" I started to whine.

The nine-year-old boy cut me off with a click of his fingers, which ended with him pointing and glaring down at me, not bad for someone who normally stood shoulder height to me.

"Answer the question, please, Cedar," he prompted, Timmy had been exposed to magic for more than half his life, as you bend reality, it tries to bend you right back, you either shape your mind to deal with it, or you break, Timmy hadn’t broken.

"No, I do not need to think about it. I just press the button."

"And why is that?" he asked.

"Well, because that is how buttons work, you press them, and they…." I trailed off.

"They work because that is what they do," I said slowly.

My mind-wandering down the complexities of a simple elevator button.

And just like that, the nine-year-old was back, giggling at me.

"Right," his high pitched voice exclaimed, "And the power for those doors is not in the doors themselves. It comes from here." He said, reaching up on tiptoes to wave his hand over my head.

"A secret is hidden here, Cedar." He said, lowering his voice to a stage whisper.

"Here is where you draw in the power of the universe. Here is where you power your elevator doors to open your sight. Try again." Timmy Said, hair flopping in time with his knowing nod.

Sitting crossed-legged on my bed, I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes as I began to run through the familiar instructions.

Moving my attention and my breath moving first to the third eye, then to the crown, then above it, to the hidden vortex of power Timmy insisted was there.

My breathing slowed, and my mind became calm as I entered that place of spacious awareness.

I stayed in that void, seconds stretching to minutes. Eventually, I would feel that energy above my head. I began to picture energy or light being drawn into a vortex over my crown.

"Stop pushing Cedar," The whisper was soft enough not to break my concentration.

"Let it flooooow to you, without pulling on it," He elongated the word.

I tried, but every time I became aware of the vortex of power above me, I would notice, how amazing and warm it felt, and it would all fall apart.

"That's it," My instructor said gently, "You don't tell your hand to push the button. You just do it."

I could feel the warmth above my head, pulsing and glowing.

When I mentally had a firm grip on it, I pulled the energy through the top of my head and into the space between my eyes.

For the briefest second, I saw... something. For the briefest second, it was as though my eyes were open to the fullest brightest light.

A supernova of energy and light coalesced in my hand, outlined in the shape of an enormous feather, then it was gone.

"Eeeee, Eeeeeee", Timmy said again, screwing up his face in mock exertion.

"I am going to start calling you leopard soon, Cedar."

"Timmy, how can I do any of this without thinking about doing it? It makes no sense!" I said for the hundredth time this week.

"Stand-up," he barked.

I uncrossed my legs and stood from the bed, shaking out the pins and needles from cramped muscles.

The little guy came up to my shoulders and was skinny for his age. I think he had said he was Romain, but you would never have known it, he looked more Nordic. In that, Timmy could have been my little brother. Same blond hair, blue eyes, same Nordic features as myself, though he would need to fill out more.

"You're a karate guy, right?" he said

"Umm, sure, sort of," I answered.

"And in Karate, when you kick, where does your power come from?"

"Well, it depends on the kick. I guess I mea….' He stopped me short with a glare that would have cowed a drill sergeant.

I breathed out and responded, "From your base, from your balance, from your centre,"

"Good, that works," Timmy said as he took a step back and lifted his small hand over his head.

The little hand came up to level with my nose as he said, "Kick my hand."

I looked at him, and after a moment's hesitation. I took a half step back, into a lazy stance, leaned back, extended my left foot up to gently touch his little fingertips with the softest roundhouse kick I could, pulling the power before impact.

"Good," he said, "Did you have to think about that?"

"No, not really."

"Okay, do it again, and this time recite the alphabet." He said.

"What?"

"Just do it, Leopard." He said, exhaling emphatically.

I started the familiar song every English speaking child learns.

"A, B, C, D" I whipped up my leg to the proffered target, and without skipping a beat, "E, F, G."

"And don't call me leopard," I said as I adjusted my footing into a more formal, stance.

"Good," my tutor told me.

"Now count for me the Fibonacci sequence, starting at 8."

"What? " I asked.

"You know, Fibonacci, Italian mathematician, that which has come before, shows the way to what is next."

I stared blankly at him.

"Come on, Cedar! 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8," he said quickly.

"Oh, that guy, right, 5 + 8, 13, 13 and 8, 21.." I said, rolling my eyes up as I added the simple numbers.

"Just the answers, please, Cedar, no workings."

Shaking my head, I stared at him.

"8, 13, 21, 33…. 54" I leaned back slightly, planted that same kick on my his hand, "88", I grinned hesitantly at him.

"87 Cedar, but the point is the same"

"You were able to use your power, that energy, without thinking about it, in fact while doing something that is the opposite of kicking, right?"

He paused a moment.

"That is how you open your sight. You will notice the energy above, it is YOU, it is YOUR energy, to see what comes next, look what has gone before, as above, so below."

He paused a moment more, "Your kick, you didn't forced it, you just do it, right?"

I nodded. It made a sort of sense when I tried to grab at the energy, force it, it moved away.

When you try and force a kick or think about the mechanics involved, it is fails. The only way to do it is to do it.

"Okay," I said slowly, gently closing my eyes, weight balanced in my stance.

This time I didn't reach for that energy. I was just aware of it, observed it without pulling at it, the same as when you fight, your balanced, poised, aware of your energy and power, but not thinking of it, just ready to react.

"Good Cedar," Timmy said, and his voice seemed deeper, "let me give you a little boost." his said voice dreamy deep, and slow.

Through closed eyes, I was aware of his hand moving over my head, though it felt larger?

Timmy breathed out gently through pursed lips, blowing the space over my head.

Flecks of colour spat through my awareness, twisting and turning, dancing and spinning. Was I doing it? Wait, are my eyes still closed? I wasn't sure, I could see the wall in front of me, but… Suddenly, my vision warped and split.

There was a cracking noise like a cricket bat had hit my forehead, and I was laying on the ground, clutching my skull, head pulsating.

I heard someone screaming, it was only after my throat grew horse and raw that I realised it was me.

It was as though someone had shoved a pickaxe into my brain.

I groaned, palms of my hands to shove in my eye sockets, too bright light still flooded my closed eyes, retina burn for the brain.

"Oh, my bad," Timmy said apologetically.

"Masters wards are a terrible thing for you to see first time out, way too much energy, way too much 'go away magic' there, sorry Cedar, my fault."

He took my hand from where they compressed my eyes and gently forced them down to my bare feet.

"Here, keep your eyes closed and ground out the energy. The earth would be better, but this will do." He said.

I felt his small hand over the base of my skull, moving down my neck and then slowly down my back. As he did, blessed relief followed.

He stopped just below the small of my back.

"Stay there. I'll be back."

I heard his little feet patter out of my room.

"Damn," I said to no one, eyes still closed as instructed.

I think I did it. I mean, I had seen something.

I think I had used magic sight.

Timmy was back moments later, my hands still on my feet. I opened my eyes to look up at him.

He was holding a white flower, no I don't know what type it was, but not a rose, other than that I got nothing.

"Look at the flower," he said.

"Yes, Timmy, it is a flower."

"No, silly... LOOK, but just flower."

I looked up at him hesitantly, the memory of that pain too close.

He just smiled and nodded encouragingly, that damn floppy hair bouncing its rhythm.

"It'll be okay this time, I promise."

I exhaled and closed my eyes, moving into awareness quicker this time. I found the sun-like presence overhead still charged and again I felt Timmy's hand reach out and lend me yet more power.

The shift happened smoother this time and no pain. Three or four long slow breaths I could see the flower through my closed eyes, my awareness had shifted to the sun above my head and to the space between my eyebrows at the same time.

'Hooolyyyy, Shiiit.' I said, elongating each syllable.

'You see it, don't you?'

'Yeah, yeah, I see something.'

What I saw when I looked at that simple flower defies words, you should get a poet to describe it, a Walt Whitman, a Shakespeare, a Pablo Neruda, "I love you without knowing how" someone better than me, someone skilled with words.

It was like a hallucinatory language of light and love, colours and sounds, tessellating patterns, emotions mixing with the layered sweetness of a simple flower.

Shapes, swirling and dancing in odorous wonders mixing and mingled with the geometry of life, rhythms so profound as to make me weep, which I did. I wept without knowing why.

Two words kept repeating in my mind.

So beautiful, so beautiful, so fucking beautiful.

Worlds were created and died, in the patterns of petals, wonders, tiny bee footprints, buzzed and broadcast that life had marched boldly over this place, creating, contemplating and dancing the dance of Gods symphony.

Pollen had been taken and left behind, as life marched on, the power of an orgasm, the purity of a sunrise, the song of the flower washed over me, washed through me, was me.

Tears streamed down my cheeks unashamedly.

Lights danced over and around the flower, coming and going. Sparks born from her fragrance, her perfume.

I could sense where a spark would be born, for each spark was a birth, a spark of light and life that circled the flower in auras of perfumed wonder.

I knew where the spark was destined, why the flower had brought it to being, and to whom it called.

The flower sang a song to the sun, sang to the field, to nature, it sang in soft subtle tones of harmony and urged a sick world to be happy.

It sang, nature knows best, sing with me Cedar, sing the song of nature, dance with me tree brother, dance the song of the sun.

The sparks of light would merge back to the source, to die the death of a spark, to be reunited with the source, the source that was the flower. Then another spark would be born to sing again, a new song, a song the flower had sung all its life, of rain and happiness and temperate days and being caressed by mother earth and loved by father sky.

A thousand sparks were born each minute and died a moment later. The cycle continues; life and decay, two sides of the same coin.

Nature knows best.

Colours danced and spun inside the wildflower, in my mind and in my heart, I danced and spun with it, the rhythm of life urging me play.

Dance with me, Cedar, it called without saying a word.

Life! I was seeing life in and around this beautiful, magnificent creation, within this simplistic flower's form and everywhere! Everywhere, its perfume sparks kissed, a new song was sung, a song of sparks, of wonder, of life, of death as its fragrance merged with the unknown, then faded.

The sparks, the aura, the perfume, the dance of life, wandered, perfuming, spinning, and then died with grace, knowing it had done good work this day, that its purpose was fulfilled.

And just like that, I knew there was a God and that God wanted me to know beauty.

'Oh' was all I managed. More than that would have been a blasphemy.

Reaching a hand forward, I caress this beauty, caress the essence, and she caressed me back. She was aware of me, the perfume that hung in the air, wrapped around my hand, caressing me, infecting me with her life, she whispered to me more secrets, she told me how to relax, and what a wonderful night sleep might feel like, how warm a bed could be.

She sang the song of the sleepy. She knew that if I cared for her the right way, hanging her upside down in a window facing the morning sun would be the best, the petals would revel in their decay a new quest. She knew that she could serve me in more ways too, but one secret at a time, tree brother.

Dance with me, tree brother, let me share my world with you, she sang and repeated.

She knew she could help me sleep. More than that, she wanted to be of service. This was her new mission, to serve.

'Oh… my… God…' I said, in speechless awe.

Tried and true, the clichés exist for a reason, I was blind, but now I could see.

I looked up at Timmy, my sight still open, and saw... a nightmare.

That is the only way I can describe it.

Horror, malevolent violence, decay, death, shadows wrapped in the coldest deepest hole of loneliness and solitude.

Standing sentinel behind my young friend, was a shadow made manifest.

A nightmare.

Worse. The fragrance of the flower, her sparks were afraid of it. They could not dance there. Her sparks were consumed, perverted and corrupted there.

And, as I observed the darkness, the darkness observed me back.

It spoke to me, spoke the way the flower did, loudly but without words.

Its song was of darkness, force and gain, consumption, a world of fire and ash.

Images flashed through my mind, were implanted, death, torture, rape, force, pleasure, a bloody symphony gore and carnage. Nothing pure existed within the shadow.

And the flower was afraid for me. She could not help me there.

As I stood there being observed by darkness, it reached for me, outstretched hands of claws, and smoke, and clay, and death.

An arm cloaked in fear and corruption was reached for me.

I scrambled back away from the shadow, away from my friend, tripping over the bed and landed clumsily in the soft covers.

"Oopsy," Timmy said, extending his hand back to the space above my head.

A kaleidoscope of colours drained to his hand, and my sight closed as I slumped forward on the bed.

"Timmy?" I called, voice soft. "What the hell was that?"

"The flower?" he asked innocently.

"No, Timmy, not the flower."

"Nothing," he said.

"Timmy, that sure as hell was not nothing".

Hell, I thought.

"Cedar, you are going to have to trust me, it was nothing, and nothing is all I am going to," he paused, "all I can say about it."

"You are my friend," he said, "You can trust me," he said, "Please don't ask me again, okay?" little eyes coming up to meet mine, he was holding his breath.

"Trust," I said slowly.

The shine of fresh forming tears had gathered in his eyes as he nodded up at me, pleading wordlessly for me to understand.

"Nothing," I said, nodding slowly.

"Right, nothing." his small voice whispered.

I continued nodding to myself, such beauty and such darkness, two sides of the same coin?

The dance of life and the Macabre.

Yet, the beauty of the flower seemed so overshadowed by something impure and terrifying. By something that was aware of me.

I could see magic, but now I was not sure I wanted to.

--- End ---