CHAPTER

1

The Tragic Roots of a Tangled Past

T here was a nostalgic undertone to her thoughts that night, as she rode along in the crowded van. Her contemplative mind had trailed off into the coils of her memory bank, as she was haunted by flashes of herself gleefully running through the dense wild woods as a child, and of her dancing fancy-free with long tangerine scarves that draped around her and blew in the wind as she twirled. These were the faint ghosts of the person she knew herself to be... little fragments that begged to be rescued. Her grief over this soul-loss, caused a few tears to escape. She quickly wiped them away as she coiled upon herself by hugging her bent knees up closely so that she could rest her chin on them.

Elora, and everyone else, with all of their backpacks and folded tents (that made the already crowded van seem like an exercise in overcoming claustrophobia), were all being rocked by the rhythm of the jostling old stoner van. The van had engrained in it a permanent stale smell of molded floor carpets, body odor and weed that became tolerable, with time. It had been traveling for the most part of that rainy night, to take her and her friend Kendra, along with some other stragglers, to the "Spirit A-Flame Fest". This was her last ditch effort to break free, since her lackadaisical life lately, had become synonymous with monotony …

Admittedly, she had checked out a long while ago and was just getting by, day by day on autopilot. It was a glum life that had left her feeling jaded and vacant of any real meaning or purpose. When you live that way long enough, there is a part of you that starts to scream. It pleads for survival; so either you heed that call and do something drastic to change, or you wake up 2 or 3 decades later and wonder what the hell you did with your life. At that point, the anger towards yourself and the set ways that resulted from decades of ignoring yourself, are almost too much to confront ... Luckily for her, her drapetomenia – (that urgent and overwhelming sense of needing to run away), had finally reached a fever pitch and so she had no option but to heed it’s call.

She knew a lot of the things that lead her to where she was in life; had been the result of her own decisions, or lack thereof. She would not let herself forget that either. It had become an infuriating habit for her inner dialogue to berate her; as if being on a constant loop. "What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you do what the hell you want to do instead of going along with what everyone else wants from you?! Why are you even trying, you know it’s not worth it; not like it’s going to change anything…” and so on and so forth. Part of it was her ego taunting her and part of it was her soul cussing her out. Funny thing is, she would never talk to anybody else that way. It just wasn’t in her nature to do so.

No, she reserved that verbal spew of anti-compliments just for herself. It’s not like she was all that horrible of a person, or the female version of Shrek, for that matter. She was rather lovely, actually. Elora was 5 foot 4”, kind of lanky but had an adorable pudgy belly that made her terribly self-conscious; which being self-conscious made her somewhat clumsy. Her fawn and somewhat tawny complexion only whispered lightly of her Ecuadorian heritage from her mother’s side and since she wasn’t stereotypically Latina in any other way, people would really have to stare at her to be able to tell that about her. Her Spanish fluency and her middle name Yolanda were usually the only things that tipped it away. Her fine nose and cheeks were speckled with freckles. Her beauty, though, mostly lied in her long, coppery brown wavy hair... Hair so wild and bohemian, that no amount of religious conditioning would tame. Her beauty lied in her piercing teal sea-green eyes and in her spirit when set free. She had just not grown to see or appreciate that yet... she would, though.

Her blindness to her positive attributes was a side effect of growing up with all those same damaging messages that she now repeated to herself, being  screamed at and sometiems even beaten into her. Her parents were kind of assholes. Although they didn’t mean to be, they just were. You see, their marriage was out of obligation that, under any other circumstances, would have NEVER taken place.

Sometimes the metaphorical demons that we face in our lives are the direct result of generational conditioning. Unbeknown to Elora; she had just embarked on a journey towards breaking said cycle. Regardless of the pain she would have to endure to do so.

Elora’s family roots were tangled with generations of fundamentalism, loveless marriages, insanity and the systematic willingness to sell out your soul and autonomy for the sake of propriety. The truth is that it becomes hard to know yourself when all those factors keep shrouding and mangling themselves around you; trying to pull you into the fold; making it almost inevitable to keep from perpetuating the errors from those who came before you. It takes an insurmountable amount of courage and willingness to be vulnerable and to shatter open to break from said cycle. That’s why so many people prefer to remain blindfolded to the external and generational factors that run their lives.

‘How did Elora’s family become this cestpool of negativity?’ – You may ask… To know this we must first look at Elora’s Ecuadorian mother Mariana. Mariana was young and relatively pretty. Yet her world view seemed much more old-fashioned and traditional, as compared to her peers. Mariana was highly conservative and a staunch Jehovah Witness, just as her parents. This made for a volatile combination when mixed with her unstable bipolar disorder that that would go undiagnosed and untreated, for another two decades.

Mariana Ortega de Ballard, who grew up in a conservative middle class, Ecuadorian family from Quito, Ecuador. Mariana’s parents converted from Catholicism and became staunch Jehovah Witnesses when she was a toddler; therefore her upbringing was very rigid.

The demands put on Mariana to be perfect and ‘virtuous’, gave her severe stress and anxiety, which resulted in ulcers. All that pressure, after all, does make people crack and in Mariana’s case it wasn’t just physically, it was mentally too. When puberty hit, Mariana hit the wall, literally. She would punch holes in the walls and throw fits of rage.

Mariana’s parents were petrified at her behavior, but even more so at the prospect of being dis-fellowshipped and excommunicated after her tantrums and inappropriate ravings started occurring not just in the privacy of their home but in school and at public church events, too. They believed that Mariana was either possessed or under some a demonic influence. So, for years she underwent extreme measures to clear her from those “influences”. Which in the end, the “treatments” only succeeded in traumatized Mariana, even further.

Mariana’s spirit became docile and manageable. Yet it was inevitable that Mariana would crack again, and when she did, her parents saw Mariana as too much of a liability for them. They decided to send her off to live with her aunt in the United States who also was a Jehovah Witness.

When Mariana turned 18, she obtained a student visa and went to Mount Holly, North Carolina in the U.S. to stay with her aunt Teresa, as planned. Even though Mariana’s first summer months in the United States were consumed with resentment and her obsessively plotting out maniacal schemes to bring about her revenge for being rejected by her own parents; she eventually learned to stifle those feelings. Mariana decided that for the first time ever, she would attempt at being positive and hopeful, instead. This was a new beginning for her after all. Mariana’s new, small twinge of freedom allowed her to dream for herself, for the first time. So, Mariana planned to do as many Ecuadorians do, which is to go to college in the United States, live with a relative throughout the duration of their schooling and then return to their home country with a new title and skills to put into use. Mariana wanted to be a news anchor but she knew that to do so she would need to bulk up on her English and general education, to do so. Mariana hoped that this would allow her to be accepted into the Journalism Department at Prestige University; the only local university that offered that career path. So, Mariana enrolled into a community college first.

However, when she started school in the Spring of 1996; she made the random, yet fateful error of picking History as her elective during her first semester. All of her indoctrination and well-behaved intentions caved in under the pressure of culture-shock and the alluring charm of the significantly older, Adjunct - History Professor, Mr. Tom Oswald Ballard.

On Mariana’s first day of class, she found her way to the classroom that was already full of students. Mariana clung tightly onto her books with both hands and found a seat. She fidgeted impatiently, as her new teacher took his time to arrive to class. History was to be her very first class.

This, coincidently, would be Tom’s first time teaching at a community college. He had just reached tenure as a professor at Prestige University, yet his school was to be shut down for an entire school year due to the large-scale renovations that needed to take place on the 150-year-old campus that had begun as a tobacco plantation, prior to the Civil War. Tom fumbled through the disheveled contents of his briefcase to find the page with a map of the community college on one side and his class schedule printed out with the room numbers listed for each class, on the other side. He grabbed the paper and brought it close to his face. He scooted his glasses onto the top of his head so that he could read the tiny print. “Alexander Hall… Room 201 …” He read and mumbled to himself out loud. He looked up to see if he was anywhere near where he was supposed to be. He traced his steps back to the entrance and saw that the plaque by the doorway said – “…McNielson Hall.… so I am not in Alexander Hall … How do I get to Alexander Hall?”

It took him another 10 minutes before he’d be able to find said room. At this point, his hair started looking almost as disheveled as the contents of his briefcase, from ruffling his hair in frustration as he tracked through half the campus to finally get to his class. He tried straightening himself out a little before waltzing into the classroom as cool and nonchalantly as possible.

The second he walked into the room, Mariana’s jaw dropped. Tom’s scent, a musky blend of old spice cologne and pheromones, melted her into a puddle in her seat. Tom’s salt-&-pepper, trimmed beard and messy hair of the same color accentuated his piercing bluish-green eyes. His chiseled features screamed of rugged masculinity to Mariana. Tom’s somewhat old school yet dapper demeanor, that professors tend to possess, appealed to her more old-fashioned sensibilities. To her, it was as if she were viewing a fine specimen of manhood at the Smithsonian. Mariana, involuntarily, let out a whimper, which made the entire classroom and him look straight at her, in her rendered state.

He chuckled to himself as Mariana tried helplessly and very self-consciously to regain her composure. His flirtatious and taunting glare frazzled her nerves so bad that Mariana dropped her textbook onto the ground. She contemplated to herself if dying from embarrassment were actually possible; because if it were, she might just be living through a potentially fatal scenario at the moment. Mariana closed her eyes and begged for the earth to swallow her whole : -‘Tragame tierra, por favor!’ She held her breath in and wouldn’t dare open her eyes. She bent down and felt around for her missing book, not realizing that Tom was knelt next to her with her textbook, in hand. Unbeknown to Mariana, her face had come very close to his. She opened her eyes and yelped. He smirked and handed her the book, all the while peering into her eyes. Mariana gulped, tried not to whimper again and took the book.

Tom noticed that Mariana was dressed very modestly and that through her chestnut hair was naturally wild and frizzy, it was being beaten into submission within two tight french braids that looped around her head and came together in a bun in the back of her head; making her look more like a librarian from another era than a student. Being up-close, he could see that her pretty face, speckled with freckles, showed the fine features from her European heritage, interlaced with her Andean features. Tom found the combination to be both striking and intriguing. Her honey-glow skin and hazel eyes also caught his attention.

Tom slowly made his way to the front of the class. He sat down behind his desk and proceeded to give his usual spiel that he gave at the beginning of his courses; all the while maintaining his playfully taunting gaze upon her.

After a whole semester of flirting, eying each other intensely from across the room and taking any opportunity to touch discreetly; Tom and Mariana finally gave in. They threw her dogmatic restrictions and his teaching code of ethics out the window and ravaged each other in the supply closet.

During the next semester, in the Fall when it became evident that she was pregnant, the truth came out about their one-time encounter. Mariana was on the brink of being ostracized by her family and church. The only remedy was for her to agree to marry the father of the child. As for Tom, the well-established agnostic bachelor of 45, when news traveled to Prestige University about him getting a freshman student pregnant, he not only faced losing his tenure but also complete termination from his job; unless he was to marry Mariana. Surprisingly, “the good ole’ boys club” still had their clauses and loopholes in place for matters like these.

Though the honeymoon period of their abrupt marriage was lovely at times, the rest of their marriage was not. Reality started setting in pretty quickly. Truth is that being forced into a marriage with someone you barely know, only to realize you have almost nothing in common is a serious romantic buzz-kill. The more they realized just how radically different they were from each other and how much they each had to sacrifice to keep up this farce, the more resentful and neurotic they each became.

Mariana stopped going to school full time and settled for a part-time job at the community college bookstore. It took Mariana 5 years to learn how to manage juggling life as a wife, new mom, work and school, in order to gain her Associates degree which is something that usually only takes 2 years to obtain. Her original plan to get her associates so that she could transfer to Prominence University to pursue Journalism and become a news anchor, was lost. Mariana felt so slighted by her fate that her dream seemed like a silly distant whim that she was better off forgetting. Once Elora completed elementary school, Mariana decided to home-school her; so Mariana ended up staying home full time.

Though getting knocked up by her history professor in her first year in college and then having to marry him to prevent being ostracized was never part of Mariana’s plan; that is exactly what happened. Mariana carried that grudge until her dying day. She had no sense of self-worth, left. Unable to cope with what life had given her, Mariana would lash out and abuse Elora, in order to chastise her. While her husband Tom, the significantly older and very aloof American professor, who had never really resigned his former identity as an eternal bachelor; tended to dismiss and neglect both Mariana and Elora.

The child had unconsciously become the scapegoat for both of her parent’s frustrations, aggravations, and unfulfilled dreams.

Even though Tom did his fair share of venting in this way, he never physically hurt Elora; unlike his wife. He loved her inquisitive nature and witty observations and tried to encourage them by teaching her independent thought and to be outspoken. Yet, when it became evident that this was perceived as a threat to Mariana’s parenting approach, she fought every chance she got, to make him stop. All Mariana wanted to do was to cling to what she knew and be even more restrictive and overprotective with Elora in order to prevent her from ever suffering the same fate as she did.

So after years of being caught up in this parental battle, Tom finally gave in. He backed off and made the worst decision as a father that he’d ever make. He gave over all of the parenting decisions over to his neurotic wife and checked out, thus disconnecting himself emotionally from Elora.

It was shortly after that, that he began spending nights at his office, to sleep on the sleeper couch, rather than having to face going home. He grew tired of constantly waking up sore and with a crick in his neck from sleeping uncomfortably. Being it that he was a 6 foot 2 man trying to fit into a mattress that was clearly meant to fit a pre-teen, he opted to move out and get his own place. He let Marina and Elora keep the house. He never divorced Marina, knowing that that would be the last blow that would finally shatter her own contrived world. Other than paying child support and calling every month to check up on Elora, he completely removed himself from a life that he’d never wished for in the first place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The van hit a pot-hole, knocking Elora halfway off her seat. She readjusted herself and propped her backpack onto her lap and hugged it. She rested her head on the bag and slowly, her mind drifted back into her past to ponder over the baggage that she carried.

Elora remembered Emanuela, the live-in housekeeper. She was the only person with whom Elora had ever had a deep connection with, growing up. Emanuela was an old, indigenous, undocumented immigrant woman from El Pán- A tiny mountain village in the province of Azuay, in Ecuador. She was a plump and stout lady, whose permanent back curvature made her look like a roly-poly. Emanuela’s deep tawny skin was tough and rubbery, as were her calloused hands. Her somewhat rough exterior was the product from working the land in the Andean Sierra Mountains, from a young age. Her son Manolo, who had immigrated illegally to the United States, had sent for her after he established himself in Charlotte, NC. Yet after he suffered a sudden death from a car crash, she was left destitute and stranded in The United States. Luckily, since there is a decent sized Ecuadorian population in Charlotte, she was able to get in touch with a distant relative who happened to be a member of the same church that Mariana attended. Since Mariana grew up with a live-in housekeeper, herself, and had been struggling to keep up with Tom’s suburban townhouse; she jumped at the opportunity to have a live-in maid who could also help out with Elora. Though Emanuela came from the simplest of origins, she was kind and wise. She loved Elora very much and practically raised her from the time she was a baby up until Elora was 10.

Emanuela was taken away abruptly from Elora’s life the night that she stepped in to stop Mariana from beating her own daughter, uncontrollably. It all started when Mariana barged into Elora’s room, upset that the child was going to make her late for the Sunday night Prayer Meeting.

“Por que no estas lista? Vamos, apura!” (‘Why aren’t you ready yet? Common, hurry up!’) Mariana let out an exasperated sigh and stomped across the room to rummage through Elora’s closet. Mariana was trying to pick out a pristine outfit for Elora to wear. That familiar churn in Elora’s stomach started to creep up. She hated going to those functions and quite frankly she thought all the ideas with which they tried so hard to indoctrinate her, were pure nonsense. She was fed up with it. Her hand started to shake but she just couldn’t see herself going through one more of those dreadful evenings. She got off her bed and began to walk towards her mother. She reached up hesitantly and touched Mariana’s arm.

Mariana jumped and gasped “Uy!”- She turned around to lash out at Elora for scaring her.

“QUE? Ten! Ponte esto.” (‘WHAT? Here! Put this on.’) She then shoved the dress against Elora’s chest for her to take it.

Elora managed to muster up her voice, though it was still just barely a whisper- “Mom… I don’t want to go…”

“Do you want me to say it in English?” She said to her patronizingly, in her thick Spanish accent. Mariana stooped down to Elora’s eye level and shoved herself in her face. “Put the damn dress on NOW!”

Tears welled out the corners of Elora’s eyes, as she bit her hand to keep what she really wanted to say from escaping her lips. She just couldn’t take it anymore, though. – “NO! I’m not going! I hate it! I hate it! I hate IT!” She screamed every last breath out. Mariana’s fury brewed and boiled over. She slapped Elora’s face. Elora began to sob uncontrollably. This did not stop Mariana, it just fueled her anger. She grabbed her roughly by the arm and drew her close to her face that hovered over Elora like a werewolf, over its prey.

“Stop crying! Put on the dress. You’re making us both late. You will go because I tell you to go! Mariana flicked her hand away, tossing the child to the side, believing that she had put an end to all of that. She began to walk off when she heard a tiny yet defiant voice say: “No.”

Mariana held her breath and slowly turned around while balling up her fists. The sight of Elora’s defiant face unnerved her so bad that she charged towards her and attacked her.

Emanuela rushed into the room and placed herself between the flailing banshee and the child and endured some hits herself in order to take Elora away from her mother. Emanuela locked herself and the girl in the maid’s quarters, a room so small it made a nun’s bedroom seem luxurious, by comparison.

Mariana rammed and screamed at the shut-door – “ Maldita, desgraciada, HIJA DE PUTA! DEVUELVAME A MI HIJA! CARRAJO!!!” (‘You miserable, damn daughter of a WHORE! GIVE ME BACK MY DAUGHTER, DAMN IT!!!’)

Tom came home to the sight of Mariana whaling on the floor outside of the maid’s bedroom door; exhausted from ramming herself against the door and punching it. Mariana reached out for his hand and he helped her up and tried to steady her. He held Mariana’s hands up to study them as she bled from her beaten knuckles. Tom shook his head and kissed them. This was the first caring gesture on his part in over a year. Mariana soaked in the moment and buried herself in his chest.

He was still baffled but tried to comfort her. -

“Mariana, what’s going on?”

She knew she would have to explain Elora’s bruises once she came out and that would mean that this bonding milestone, in their tattered history, would be lost. She hesitated in answering. She thought quickly and replied- “That, that bitch! Tom, she took our child! Emanuela beat her in front of me and before I could reach Elora, Emanuela grabbed her and locked herself in the room with her! And she won’t open the fucking door!” Mariana lashed out and punched at the door again. Pain shot up her arm and she doubled over. Tom stepped in to keep Mariana from harming herself any further. He buckled her arms against his chest and held her closely. “Mariana, no! Shh… I’m going to fix this ok?”

His touch was like manna for her starving body, desperate for affection. Mariana kissed him and to her surprise, he kissed her back. Her tears of rage shifted into tears of relief. Tom peered into her eyes like he used to when they first met. He could see her pain. Tom made a commitment to himself, in that moment, that he would try to do better and be more present for his broken family; a family that was now crumbling, before him. Tom realized that his absent-minded neglect, was a contributing factor, in this; so he took action. He grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and shook it at the door in the direction of Emanuela – “Tell her that if she doesn’t renounce her job immediately and open the door and leave, I’m calling the cops and having her arrested for abducting our child!”

Mariana bent her head down to the side, to conceal her smile, nodded and then screamed. – “Si no abre la puerta AHORITA MISMO y se LARGA, renunciando su trabajo de inmediato, llamarémos a la policía para denunciarla por el secuestro de nuestra hija!”

With shaky hands, Emanuela held Elora tightly as she cradled her in her lap. Even though the pre-teen who had almost matched her in size seemed clunky and way too overgrown for her lap, she didn’t mind. Emanuela let Elora nuzzle up against her plump chest. She kissed the top her head.

Though the wailing of the distant sirens grew increasingly near until their howls seemed to pierce through the walls and windows, she refused to leave Elora. All she could do was to recite a little Latin folk spell – “Sana, sana, culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sana mañana.” – That she said over the child’s wounds. She then lightly rubbed them with sweet citrus smelling Florida-Water Cologne. Emanuela prayed that it may help remove the energetic sting of her mother’s rage.

Finally, the police battered the door in, pried Elora from Emanuela’s arms and took the maid into custody. The cops placed Elora into her mother’s frigid hands, not knowing that they were delivering her straight to her abuser. Mariana had pulled off her nefarious scheme by playing her cards right. Tom, who was already spending half the weeks, sleeping on the sleeper sofa, in his office and who was secretly planning on moving out by the end of the month, stayed for another 3 years. Mariana sat on the floor with her legs tucked to the side. She had Elora sit on the floor so that Mariana could cradle her, in a false attempt to seem mothering and nurturing to the police officers. Once no one was looking in her direction, Mariana tugged Elora’s head back by the hair. She leaned in and whispered into her daughter’s ear – “Si se te ocurre hablar de lo que pasó esta noche, te quiebro la nuca. Si me entiendes?” (‘If you dare speak about what happened tonight, I will break your neck. Do you understand me?’)

Emanuela was handcuffed and made to walk past Mariana and the petrified child sitting on the floor. Mariana gloated and smiled at Emanuela as she combed Elora’s hair with her fingers and sang a Latin-American lullaby –“Arru ru mi niña, arru ru mi mi amor…” Mariana knew that Emanuela, who could barely speak English, would be unable say a thing much less reveal the truth. As they carted Emanuela away, Mariana kept singing but to herself now; she was lost in her own world of daydreams. She thought about Emanuela’s imminent deportation back to Ecuador, of what lingerie she should wear that night for Tom and of how happy she was that everything went her way, for once. Elora cried silently. She never saw Emanuela again, after that night.

Yet there was another particular memory that kept continuously popping its glorious and thorny head to torment her that night. This moment had occurred a year prior to when Emanuela was arrested. It was the time she learned that magic was an intrinsic part of life. It was also the time she learned to keep her tail between her legs, lest it be chopped off.

CHAPTER

2

Euphoria

vs.

Complacency

It happened shortly after Elora had turned 9 years old. She and her parents had driven for half an hour in the rain to visit Elora’s Grandmother, Astrid. She was Elora’s grandmother on her father’s side. It was Astrid’s birthday and they had been invited over for one her famous soirées. The rain subsided as they pulled up in the driveway of her grandmother’s old Victorian manor-home. They parked the car along-side the other cars and headed towards the entryway. It was late afternoon and the sun had begun to cast rays across the mist that hung over the meticulously pruned front lawn. The manicured lawn and sculpted topiaries were quite a contrast to the unruly forest which nestled the large property.

Astrid and her 2nd husband Winston Sullivan, were the most prominent alumni benefactors of Prominence University, the school where Tom taught at. She presided over most of the University’s Alumni Society affairs and was the head of the local Rotary Club. Astrid didn’t quite know what to do with her unexpected granddaughter, since she never really expected Tom to settle down long enough to father a child. So, her interactions with Elora consisted more of pleasantries and courtesies, than any meaningful connection.

Astrid greeted them at the door. Her opulent dress seemed more appropriate for a gala than a birthday party. It was a midnight blue velvet dress, reminiscent of the 50’s, with a simple yet stately Elizabethan collar neckline. The dress sprawled out at the waist and cut off just past the knee. It had silver beading etched into an intricate star pattern, across the neckline and along the seams of the quarter sleeves that were made out of out of navy blue chiffon. The warmth with which she greeted them seemed more suited for greeting a business colleague than greeting her own son and his family. Yet they had all grown accustomed to her stoic ways.

-“Hello Tom, you’re looking rather handsome, in your ‘Sunday-best’…” She said approvingly of his light blue, long-sleeve button up shirt, a taupe sweater vest and kakis. She took the opportunity to jab at him lightly with the comment about ‘Sunday-best’; being it that she knew that the last time he had set foot in a church was on his wedding day and the last time before then was way back when he would attend the First Presbyterian Church of Charlotte, NC. Though he professed to be an Agnostic since the age of 13, his family still managed to drag him to church until he moved out for college when he was 17.

Tom caught the joke and shook his head but responded kindly “Thank you mother. Well, it is Sunday, after all… Happy birthday. You look quite lovely, yourself.”

Astrid replied –“Why, thank you Tom. How was the drive?” She asked as she leaned in to press her cheek against his, instead of greeting him with a kiss.

-“Well it rained pretty much the whole way but we made it.”

“So I see.” Astrid said as she eyed over her daughter-in-law and the simple tan, linen dress that she had on. The dress had about as much appeal as the muddy puddles that the rain had created on her driveway. Astrid sighed and thought to herself ‘Look at her dress… I honestly think it would look better on her if it were made out of burlap potato sacks! A nun would have more fashion sensibility than she does…’ The thought infuriated her and she dreaded having to introduce Tom’s mid-life crisis/ train crash, to the rest of her friends and acquaintances who were present that day. Astrid tried to force a smile in Mariana’s direction and fought hard to edit her facial expressions form showing too much disdain. Yet the way Mariana shifted uncomfortably and almost winced as she offered her hand to greed Astrid and all the while completely avoiding eye contact, suggested that Mariana was well aware of Astrid’s true feelings towards her.

Astrid hurried through her inevitable interactions with Mariana, trying her utmost to be polite through her gritting teeth. Finally, she had come down the line to greet Elora.

“Why, hello dear. How are you doing today?”

- “I’m well today grandmother. Happy birthday!” Elora said in a cute demure manner as she reached up to embrace Astrid. Yet Astrid held Elora’s palms in her left hand and patted them with the other hand. Elora felt a little slighted and thought to herself ‘Huh, that dress she’s wearing is warmer than she is!’.

Astrid noted that Elora felt a little put-off; so to compensate, she complimented her on her dress. – “That is such a pretty dress my dear. I love how pearl white looks against your complexion. I love the lace top and puffy skirt. I bet it billows out when you spin. Do a spin for me!” Elora gladly obliged and the skirt blew open like a parachute as she twirled.

Astrid clapped and said. – “That dress is just as lovely as you, my dear. Come here, let me look at it.”

Tension instantly mounted as both Elora’s and Mariana’s eyes grew huge.

Elora’s voice shook a little as she tried to find a way to refuse politely. “I, ummm…”

Mariana swept in and said – “Oops! I think I felt a little drizzle. We should all come inside before it starts pouring again.” - She put her hand on Elora’s shoulder to guide her quickly into the house, barging past Astrid. Astrid gasped and braced herself in indignation. ‘Huh! Well that was rude!’, she thought to herself. Mariana had dodged a bullet, since she had picked that specific dress to cover up the welts and bruises left from when Mariana beat Elora the previous week.

All the guests of the dinner party had settled in and were chit-chatting away in the living room. Astrid and Mariana went into the kitchen to finished working on getting dinner ready. Elora found herself in a corner, fidgeting and trying to breathe to calm herself down. The last thing she wanted was for others to see her marks. She felt the urge to run, to take off and runaway. Then she remembered the intriguing forest that ran across the backside of the house and that had always beckoned her. Elora knew this would be her only chance to explore it. So she devised a plan.

The servers carried out the appetizer trays with bruschetta, deviled-eggs and pimento cheese mini quiches They served them along with mint-julep and mimosa cocktails. Elora took this as her chance to sneak off to the study that had a back door. She looked around to make sure that nobody was coming. Then she locked the study door behind her. Elora rushed across the room that looked like a cross between an old library and a show room at an antique store. She unlocked sliding doors facing the forest. As she opened the door, the smell of petrichor, that aroma the earth has after it rains, filled her senses. Elora hesitated a second before letting her foot touch the ground but the moment that it did, she took off running into the forest for a good 10 minutes.

She came across a fallen log that crossed over a creek. She wasn’t sure if she should step onto it and cross it, since it looked rather rotten yet the clearing on the other side looked so enchanting, she took her chances. Elora then found herself in the clearing with moss, flowers, mushrooms and ferns that she had never seen before. The creek circled in around her. The smells of honeysuckle and the crisp spring mountain air were intoxicating.

She ran to the bank of the creek and took off her shoes before stepping into the water. It was so cold, it made her dizzy. And yet instead of jumping out, she took off all her clothes and jumped into the little swimming hole that seemed to have been made just for her. The water awoke every inch of her skin and senses. She felt more alive than she had ever felt.

Unbound by the weight of her own gravity, she felt weightless and unburdened by all that her aching heart had held onto and that plagued her. No child should carry that weight. The pain seemed to seep out of her bruises and be cleansed by the cooling touch of the flowing waves. She was filled with exuberance and a rapturous love and desire for the raw nature that surrounded her. So much so, that she lost all sense of time and civilized decorum. The girl went feral.

She pranced naked through the woods. She let out wild howls at the sky and dug her feet into the mud. When Elora saw how much she loved the sensation of sinking into the earth, she decided to burrow herself neck high into the cold embrace of the earth. There, she experienced something she would never, ever forget. Something that revealed her core self to her and that should have shaped her into who she would become; were it not for it being received so harshly.

As she lay in the ground, with the pressure from the wet earth all around her bare skin, she felt a pulsing. At first she thought it was her heartbeat. But the feeling got stronger. It was as if she had sprouted roots and she became intricately interwoven with Nature herself. With the earth pulsating its raw essence into her every pore…, the ecstatic joy of oneness hit her like fireworks going off inside of her body. - Elora lost all notion of where or who she was and forgot of all of the material bullshit that we are trained to fill our heads with from a very young age. She had reached a state of transcendence...

All that was left was a sense of Elora being at one with EVERYTHING, even God. She was just energy and so was everything around her. And it was ALL ONE: That same essence manifests in different forms.

When Elora came to, it was nearly dark. She heard her father’s angry voice shouting for her, piercing the serene stillness of the forest’s soundscape. The stark contrast was jarring to the bones and brought back with it a familiar sense of terror that once again started to take hold over her body. She dug herself out, jumped into the creek and washed herself off as best she could. She hastily threw her clothes on and ran through the forest back towards the house.

“Pumpkin, what the hell? Where have you been?! Look at you, you’re all filthy! ... Just get in the house.” Her father yelled, aggravated that he even had to deal with her. Her mother made it worse by shaming her in front of the whole family for her muddy hair and drenched clothes. She dragged her off to the bathroom to scrub her off and scolded her for being so un-lady like and embarrassing her in front of his family.

However, the severe displeasure and embarrassment that she had caused her parents became magnified, when she began to share her mystical forest experience at the dinner table, over dessert.

“Elora Yolanda Ballard! You stop that nonsense right now!” Her mother said to her from between clenched teeth and shot a death glare at her from across the table. “I’m sorry ... she must have hit her head and dreamt it all...” Her mother said, self-consciously apologizing on her daughter’s behalf to her very stern, intellectual and academic in-laws.

Not only had they never really accepted Mariana into the family, but they had always judged her as a failed mother for not having Elora in violin classes by age 5 and for filling her head with religious “mumbo jumbo” by insisting that she go to her “cultish church” with her every Sunday. - So you can imagine how judgmental they would be, seeing their only granddaughter spouting “crazy ramblings” about God, the Earth and feeling at one with everything! To them that was almost enough to have her committed! ... And it almost came to that.

Every time Elora would bring up the most profound experience of her life, up to that point, her parents would down play it, hush her up or discredit her by trying to find a logical and reasonable explanation to write it off. Yet she still believed her story to be true. Since there was “no way that this could have possibly been true”, according to her spiritually stunted parents; they began to worry that she was suffering from some sort of mental disorder. They thought there must be something that was causing her hallucinations.

So they took her to a psychiatrist who had the audacity to tell her that her experience and the empirical knowledge that she had gained about life, the universe and everything “was completely untrue and it was a delusion”.

He put her on medication that pleased her mom, because it made her quite compliant and manageable but it almost entirely squelched out her inner light. The medicine cast a shadow across the light that gave spark to her curiosity; her creativity and her awe for life; much like the pointless exorcisms, had done with her mother when she faced the onset of her mental disorder. So Elora learned to doubt herself and what she knew to be true. She learned that being her true, wild, untamed self was “shameful”. And she learned that in order to be accepted, she needed to be who everyone else expected her to be. Even if it meant denying herself...Why must some parents see it as their duty to clip their children’s wings?

These erroneous lessons were woven through most of her life and its conditioning unconsciously dictated almost every action she took; hence, her living aimlessly on auto-pilot, ever since she saw the doctor that day. Once her already absent father left the house for good, around the time she turned 12, she regressed even further.

However, there were some moments where she broke free from auto-pilot and her mother’s zealot norms. Though her light was dimed, it certainly was never squelched. There were times where she found the spark of life again; especially as a teenager. On top of being homeschooled, her life was highly regulated; as in: she could only go to the local school’s after-school activities and church social functions, if there was an adult present to supervise. Elora was not allowed to date and she could not leave the house unaccompanied by her mother. Yet no one could sensor the rush she got from the outrageous music on her iPod, or censor the silly, cynical and witty comebacks she’d come up with for her mom in her head. No one could change the way her heart poured out onto the page when she wrote poetry in her secret diary. No one could take away the hilarious scenarios and crazy friends she found herself with at Drama Club (when she was supposed to be at Piano practice instead).

CHAPTER

3

Two of the Instances

There were three occurrences in Elora’s life when her whims and fate collided, giving way to serendipity. These instances allowed for Elora to hold onto the spark of her inner flame, however dulled it had become. The first one occurred when she was 12, three months after her father had left. Elora went on a trip with her grandparents, which was not only recharging in and of itself but she also managed to sneak into a Hare Krishna Temple. The second occurrence happened when she was 16 and Elora met the person who would halt her downwards spiral into oblivion and catapult her into embodying the life she was meant to have. As for the third instance, it would come latter on as she entered into adulthood.

Though Astrid was beyond elated that Tom had finally separated from Mariana and seriously considered throwing a party to celebrate the occasion, she did become weary of the fact that her already somewhat distant granddaughter, might become even more so, now that she the bridge that had connected the two, was now broken. Though Astrid’s interactions with Elora did become increasingly few and far between throughout the years, she did make an admirable effort during the first year of Tom and Mariana’s separation.

After spending hours on the phone debating with the asinine, abrasive and overly protective mother, Astrid managed to convince Mariana to allow her to take Elora to a Garden Club convention she was planning on going to in Raleigh, NC. Elora who was eves-dropping in the other room was beside herself. She did a happy dance, covered her mouth to stifle her squeaks of joy and ran to her room to pack. Mariana hung up the phone as her defeat and scorn emanated out from her and filled the room like a noxious gas. By the time she started heading out the door to go find Elora and give her the news, Elora was already all dressed up and ready to go, with her bags by the door. Mariana gave up and called Astrid back and told her that she could pick her up now, if she wished.

When the doorbell rang, Elora kissed her mother goodbye, gave her grandmother the warmest hug which baffled the stoic grandmother but she accepted kindly. They both got into the car and took off for Elora’s favorite road-trip ever, up to that point.

They spent the night in a little town near Raleigh. Astrid and Winston decided to stay in a charming and quite picturesque little Bed-and-Breakfast Inn named Thornwood Rose. Elora even got her own room with a fluffy large queen sized bed that had its own canopy!

After a very pleasant dinner, everyone retired to their quarters. Elora began to explore every nook and cranny out of the room which felt like a time-capsule from another era gone by. She was intrigued to discover an old vinyl record player with a record already on it. When she figured out how to play it, an adorable little old-timey ditty began to play. Elora was enchanted. She jumped on the bed and proceeded to do a silly little dance, which though quirky, was not void of her innate lyrical grace. The music morphed into a ruckus Dixie-land Jazz number which drove her into a frenzy and she started jumping on the bed. Elora’s head went so high up that it reached the canopy and lifted it up completely for a few seconds before coming back down. Elora sucked in her breath and quickly settled herself into bed. She tucked the sheets around her neck in case anybody would come to see what the racket was. Luckily nobody came. As the record went into a melody so sweet, it could have easily been a lullaby, Elora was lulled to a peaceful slumber.

Elora woke up at dawn, with the sunrise. She decided to go explore the courtyard and gardens out back. The ivy growing on the back wall was a deep green which glistened into gold as the sun hit the dew on the rim of the leaves. She was surrounded by rose and peony bushes which hung heavy with flowers. The archways and that delineated the outdoor eating area, had clematis vines and morning lilies that blossomed before her eyes, to greet the morning sun. The smell of wet earth mixed with the sweet perfume of the flowers beckoned her to close her eyes and breath it all in. At a not too far of distance, she heard singing. Elora opened her eyes and turned her head in the direction of the sound. She heard an ancient sounding instrument harmonize with the melodic voices and the bird’s morning chatter.

Elora followed the music down the grassy hill behind the property. She crossed the street and came upon a temple that was unlike any place she had ever seen before. The dense smell of incense permeated the air. As she walked through the gates, Elora felt as if she were entering a portal which transported her into India. The doorframe of the temple was lined with marigolds that were stringed together. The architecture was a modest attempt to replicate the sacred temples in India with modern American materials but for Elora’s naïve eyes, it might as well had been the same.

She made her way into the main hall where ornate dark wood carvings accentuated the pews, wooden beams and columns. A circle of people dressed in everything from every day clothes to orange robes and saris were holding hands and circling around as they sang and danced to the music being played by the musicians, with far off look in their eyes, who were sitting on a rug to the side of the altar. They played the sitar, a harmonium and bell chimes that were so in-sync that they seemed as if to be in a collective trance state. Aside from the harmony being created in the room, the altar was the most beautiful feature there by far. It had a frame which was made out of elaborate wood carvings, painted in gold-leaf. Inside the icons of Krishna and Sita were surrounded by flowers which had been given as offerings earlier during the day-break ceremony.

One of the dancing women spotted Elora in the back of the room. She approached her as she bobbed her head side to side and concluded with her hands folding, as if in prayer while she bowed her head to greet the little stranger. Elora repeated the odd greeting, including the head bobble and the woman smiled and let out a warm laugh. She was dressed in a peach sari and an orange scarf draped around her head which made her look saintly and exotic. The lady removed her scarf the shade of tangerines and draped it over Elora’s shoulders and then extended her hand to invite her to join them. Elora took her hand and joined in the spiraling circle. She danced and chanted along-side ecstatic devotees. The girl closed her eyes and felt as the music carried her to that same place within herself that she had discovered while being cocooned by the earth, so long ago. She clung onto this reminder and savored this sweet moment of bliss.

She was invited to join them for the other events the temple had scheduled that day but she politely excused herself and ran back up the hill to the Inn’s gardens, right in time for Astrid and Winston to appear in the courtyard to sit and have breakfast. Elora took a deep breath to tamper her panting and jointed them at the table.

Though later on she would determine that she actually differed quite a lot from some of the Hare Krishna beliefs, she admired them profoundly. These were people who freely expressed their faith and devotion.

She was so jealous! She was jealous because they reminded her of herself, that day in the forest. They too seemed to have tapped into the same truths that she had on that day; only they lived out of that place. Their lives were spent rejoicing over something that she got scolded over and shut down for.

After having that experience at the Hare Krishna Temple, neither her mother, nor anyone at church for that matter, could affect her own thoughts about religion and spirituality; no matter how many prayer meetings and Sunday services her mother dragged her to. Mariana grew concerned about this and withdrew Elora from public school to home school her instead. Yet this turned out to be ineffective, since Elora took it upon herself to spend hours doing her own research at the library about Earth religions, Eastern world views and philosophy.

As the years passed, so much of what Elora did to remain herself was internal; she ran the risk of withdrawing fully into her inner world, never to return again. Thankfully, her friend Kendra came into her life towards the end of high-school and kept her from such fate. She wouldn’t let Elora get away with becoming a total recluse.

Kendra looked totally opposite from Elora; being it that she was an 18 year old bisexual and a gypsy-styled rocker. Kendra’s wood-carved gauges looked both feminine and bad-ass at the same time. She had symbolically placed a henna-inspired Lotus Flower tattoo on the inside of her right wrist, to cover up her old self-inflicted scars. Kendra topped off her look off with hot pink-fuchsia hair that was fashioned in a short & messy faux-hawk haircut; which flattered her square face, high cheekbones and ivory complexion. Kendra was 5.8 feet and had a slender and somewhat androgynous frame. Though seemingly different, she and Elora clicked right away. They both went to Drama Club but didn’t actually meet until one fateful day in the girl’s bathroom.

On that day, Elora had had it. It was near the time she would have to head back home and just the idea of that made her want to hyperventilate. She went to the bathroom to try to calm herself and so that no one else could see her braking down and crying over the fact that- just thinking about going home, made her cry. She turned on the faucet in the industrial type sink. She splashed her face, then cupped her hands to catch some water and drank it. The only light in there was the light coming in through the high windows on the side wall, giving the barren room a dreary yet also a somewhat comforting atmosphere. The multiple layers of paint on the white walls made an attempt at covering up the damage made with time yet only succeeded at drawing your attention to it even more. The strong odor of disinfectant cleaners and old farts had somewhat of a nauseating effect that made Elora’s stomach turn if she took-in too deep a breath. She looked back at the gaudy rust-orange stalls to make sure she was alone. She felt that just having to face someone in that moment would make her burst and shatter; which proved to be right.

As soon as Elora heard the toilet flush, she started hyperventilating. Kendra came out of one of the stalls after she was done using the bathroom and saw Elora sobbing and pacing back and forth as she muttered to herself.

Kendra remembered meeting the girl, back when she had introduced herself on the first day of Drama-Club. The students there were all circled around and were asked to speak about themselves. Also, everyone had to make a motion to represent themselves and that others could imitate; and by doing so, welcome each member into the group. The other people there hogged the limelight with inventive stories and came up with ridiculous motions for others to repeat, which resulted in roaring laughter. Yet when it was Elora’s turn, she offered a few stale lines about how she was a local home-school student and that this was her first jab at trying out the afterschool activities, now that the school they were in, had finally opened up their after-school programs to the community and not just to their students. She was excited, since this would be her first time doing an afterschool activity since the last she was in school in 6th grade. As for Elora’s movement, she anti-climactically raised her hand bashfully, waved and sunk it back down again as quickly as possible. Kendra read Elora’s retiring ways as her being a mousy, homeschooled girl that was kind of repressed. So when Kendra saw the same mousy homeschooled girl screaming “FUCK! I FUCKING HATE HER …. Sh…. @!%@#%$^ SHIT!” – It certainly caught her attention.

Kendra asked the girl, who was rapidly on her way towards becoming a wailing banshee, like her mother, what was going on. Elora tried to speak but couldn’t stop hyperventilating to do so. Kendra grabbed some toilet paper from the stall, came back and wiped Elora’s tears. Elora fumbled and tripped over her words as she tried expressing herself through the sniffling and the sobbing. She was unable to say anything intelligible other than “… life just sucks!”

Kendra desperately tried to stifle her laugh and failed. She pouted and gave Elora a sympathetic pat on the head and then took her hand. “Come here Eeyore, let’s sit down, I can tell this is going to take a while...” Kendra sat on the floor and gently tugged Elora’s hand to make her to sit next to her. Elora smirked and sat down. Though Kendra didn’t know her, she decided to drop everything and stay there as long as it took to make, this cute teary-eyed stranger, happy again.

Kendra tried coaching Elora so that she could find out what the matter was. – “Ok, now breath and tell me again what you were trying to say.”

Elora made an attempt at it but couldn’t find the words she needed and drew a blank. So Kendra “coached” her again and went into an absurd rendition of Lamaze breathing. “Now b r e a t h e … Hee Hee Ho, Hee Hee HOO”

“HAHAHAHAHA …”

That’s all it took for Elora to open up. She told Kendra everything and they shared their life stories with one another. Elora even told her about her mystical experience in the forest outside of her grandmother’s house and showed Kendra her scars; both the old and the new. Kendra was not only compassionate but opened up and shared about her hardships in life too. After a whole hour of sitting on the floor in the girl’s bathroom, they became instant friends.

Kendra’s the one who would fill Elora’s iPod and introduced her to the craziest music variety: Everything from 80’s Punk and Classic Rock, to Early Jazz, Indie-Rock and other random yet equally amazing music. She even helped Elora sneak out to go to Charlotte and see Amanda Palmer and Gogol Bordello when they came into town. Kendra would always help Elora find ways to sneak out for their epic escapades. They would go joy riding in Kendra’s beat up Chevy convertible. Its name, Gracie, was ironic in that it actually looked like it was salvaged from a junk yard. They would crash parties and then get everybody there to drive in hoards to the local ware-house store to carry out scavenger games in the middle the crowded store. That was just a small example of their little clandestine acts of random fun.

Kendra had this ability to set Elora free. Elora ADORED her for that and for just being Kendra. She was the wild, un-caged version of herself that she could never be. Anyone else looking in, would see that Elora had a major girl-crush on her. Her naiveté, personal insecurities and conservative programming however; prevented her from really being able to realize that, herself.

Of course, Mariana never found out about Kendra. Elora went through great lengths to conserve her friendship with Kendra. As if it was something sacred. So she kept Kendra and all of their shared shenanigans, a secret. She knew she’d be seen as a bad influence and therefore be forbidden to hang out with her; since, not only did she look like a mom’s worse nightmare, she had also emancipated herself from her family when she turned 16. Definitely not the example her mother would like Elora to follow. However knowing Kendra’s background, it is easy to see why she chose to emancipate herself. When her father checked out of the picture when she was 10, her mother became a raging alcoholic. She seldom even registered that she had a child who she needed to take care of, therefore Kendra had to become her own caregiver. So when she turned 16, she decided to make that fact official; she even went as far as legally changing her name from Margaret Cooper to Kendra Kahlo (as a nod to her favorite artist Frida Kahlo).

Kendra turned out to be an unlikely good role model for Elora. After all, she did what she wanted and said what she meant and screw anybody who would tell her to do otherwise. If only Elora could find even an ounce of Kendra’s bravery... she wouldn’t give a crap about what other people thought or said, either ... But she did care; too much so. She inherited her mother’s paralyzing anxiety and grew to prefer laying low and playing along, rather than having to put up with being ridiculed, lectured and at times even beaten.

When Kendra graduated a year before Elora did and moved to Asheville, NC, Elora regressed. She began reverting back into herself again and allowed her tendencies to lay low and to let anxiety dictate her decisions to become more of the norm, rather than just a tendency.

Kendra would come back and visit whenever she could and saw her friend get progressively worse. Yet, after a year of her being away, Elora herself had graduated and she didn’t have drama club anymore. That’s when Kendra really saw that Elora needed an intervention. So she stepped in and asked her one single question. “Why should being yourself, especially now, that you are becoming an adult, be a clandestine act?”

Elora realized that Kendra was right. She was tired of being mistaken for a retiring, complacent and lackadaisical mouse. She might have not know who she was, as of yet, but she knew she was not that. She was done with having to hide what brings her to life and being made to feel ashamed of whom she was, even though she was still trying to figure that out. She felt like the person that she portrayed herself as, at home and at her part time job that her mom had gotten her at the church office, was an empty shell of whom she was supposed to be. And she was quickly enmeshing with that shell. She was becoming = Complacency. And she couldn’t stand that.

So that’s what brought her there to the smelly van on an all-night road trip to a hippie-esque spiritual festival. Kendra, knowing her situation, had begged her to come, as part of her “intervention”. She even helped her to fabricate a cover story about going to check out college campuses with a friend and her mom over the weekend. She had just graduated high school, yet hadn’t gotten around to applying for any schools.

They finally arrived at the campsite where “Spirit A-Flame” was taking place. It was way past midnight and mostly everybody there were already tucked away in their tents. They shuffled out of the van and toted their stuff to the far side of the camp. They headed towards the top of the hill, removed from the tents there; since that was the only space that was left. Once they found a comfy spot next to two big trees that had outdoor string lights streamed across them; they set up the tent. Elora and Kendra did somewhat of a lousy job at it, since quite frankly they were too tired to really care.

Elora crawled into the sleeping bag and as she lay there in the cold with the wind pounding the sides of the tent ... she decided to write a little prayer in her journal:

To everything that is Divine and true

I pray unto you

Hear my heart’s cry…

Reveal and recall my true self to ME

Before it’s too late and I cease being me.

So mote it be? Amen?

… Whichever you respond to better, I suppose.

CHAPTER

4

DAY BREAK, DANCE & HOLI

The sunlight coming through the white tent fabric created a soft glow that filled the tent. Elora woke up feeling peaceful, calm and rested. Which was a huge change from her regular morning self; which usually consisted of being groggy, grouchy and sedated. She was eager to see what this new departure from normal life would bring.

Elora rose up to unzip the tent’s entryway and when she did, she gasped… She was overlooking the most beautiful and breathtaking scene she had ever witnessed. Swirls of clouds painted hues of lavender, gold and pink streaks across the morning sky. A sea of white clouds interwove themselves amongst the green mountain peaks; the sight of which was so surreal, she wondered if she was still dreaming.

Two trees grew side by side and were in full bloom. The pink cherry blossom tree and the Japanese magnolia tree, more commonly known as a tulip tree hung low over the tent with their blossom’s luring scent, enticing hummingbirds to swarm all around her. The ground was covered in pink petals, flowers and moss. She crawled out of the tent and onto this ornate ground. She playfully gathered the flowers and tossed them in the air. She breathed in deeply and allowed the pink petals to caress her, the light of daybreak to glaze over her and the breeze to engulf her senses.

Elora sunk down onto the moss’s cozy embrace. (And as she lost herself in the moment, she closed her eyes. In that instant she could have sworn that for a brief moment, she felt the earth beneath her pulsate, once more.

Kendra popped out of her tent with a blanket and the vintage picnic basket she got from the time she did WWOOF-ing* at an organic farm in France, last summer.

“Morning, Eeyore. Fancy a picnic, my dear?” She asked comically in a fake British accent.

“Yes! I’m ravenous! I mean…” Elora exclaimed and then cleared her throat, switching over to her best British impression “Why that would be lovely, how nice of you to ask.” They both giggled and proceeded to set up.

“So what are you most looking forward to, today? Kendra asked as she fixed herself a wrap with quinoa, kale, tofu scramble with tahini dressing.

“I’m really looking forward to the ecstatic dance*… I’ve never done that but it sounds really fun. Honestly, I’m just looking forward to getting away from it all. Even if it’s just for 2 days … to fill in the gaps … of my life. You know? I have no idea what all is going to happen…. But I do have a feeling …” -She sighed and smiled to herself as she nodded: “… that it’s going to be pretty freaking awesome. Hehe”

“Woo! Hehehe!” Kendra shouted as she went in for a high five. Elora leaned in to meet her hand midair, missed it and tumbled forward, knocking over the picnic basket as she flailed her arms out to break her fall. Kendra just chuckled and shook her head. She had grown used to Elora’s silly mishaps and had grown to see them as endearing. So she just brushed passed it and kept talking as if nothing had happened while she let her friend regain her composure and clean up the subsequent mess.

“I’m most looking forward to the Ayahuasca* ceremony tonight” Kendra said trying to contain her excitement.

“Um… I don’t know about that… Dubious shaman guy giving you an illegal substance and singing over you while you cry and scream… sounds scary.”

Kendra was quick to reply - “But where else are you going to get a chance to journey into the very depths of your soul and psyche? Transform your life to its very core and discover yourself and potentially reach Nirvana, all in one night?”

Elora pondered this a bit but arrived to the same conclusion. - “It sounds scary…” She said under her breath as she whisked off the last of the quinoa that had spilled off, from the blanket with her hand.

-“Yeah, but people have spontaneously healed from lifelong ailments because they tapped into themselves and addressed the root cause of their problems and healed it. Its intense shit, yeah; for sure. But it’s worth it.”

-“Again, SCARY…”

-“The puking is just a way for your body to purge out all of the energetic gunk that you no longer need.”

-“WHAT? Puking?! As in throwing up? Um… NO thank you. You know you just made the scary factor on the scale of 1 to 10; go from a 5 to a 9 right?” Elora laughed and shook her head.

Kendra realized this was not going to be an easy sell. - “Ok, Eeyore… but you are the one who said before coming that you wanted to take full advantage of anything and everything that could help you break out of - and I quote: ‘The daunting trap that my life has become!’ Unquote.” She bantered with her most melodramatic Elora impression, as she threw her hands up in the air and landed the backside of her right hand onto her own forehead as if she were a Victorian dame about to faint.

Elora looked at her with her squinty eyed, pouty, grouch face -“… Gurrr… I say unto you… GUR!”

-“Hahahahaha!”

-“OK! I’ll do it but if I throw up, I’m out!”

-“I’m not sure it works that way…”

Elora went back into the tent to change into what she was going to be wearing throughout the day and when she came back out Kendra’s jaw dropped. She never thought’ she’d look at Elora in any other way, than platonic but DANG. She couldn’t help but to gawk at her.

“Um… what are you wearing?” Kendra blurted out as she glared at Elora’s tiny hot pink bikini top and equally tiny pink polka dotted mini skirt and long black leather boots. The fact that it was HER wearing this outfit, was so incredibly inappropriate and adorable that she couldn’t help but be swooned by it, a bit. “I know you were sheltered and are trying to overcompensate here but common! It’s so pink and slutty! It’s like a wannabe dominatrix fell into a cotton candy machine!”

“What? ... I thought we’d match, see? It matches your pink hair…” Elora responded coyly. “I wanted to try something that I’d never done before!”

Kendra gave her a sardonic glare: "NO." She flicked her wrist at her and pointed towards the tent.

“Ok… I’ll go change…”

She came back out with a breezy lavender maxi skirt and a peasant top with pink vintage roses as its print.

“Much better… Oh shit! We’re going to be late for the first event. Let’s go!”

They headed down to the large billowy white tent with a large platform, which is where the Opening Circle Ceremony was about to take place. They were greeted by a regal and enigmatic woman with a twinkle in her eye. She was in her 40’s but her energy was ancient. Her presence alone was striking. Not only because she was beautiful physically, with her slender body, fine features and long amber hair. She, also had the air and the beauty of someone who had tapped into the unknown realm of the Divine and now shinned with that light.

“Blessings and welcome...” The mystical woman said in a soft, yet resonant voice that exuded grace and enchantment. “Would you like to be smudged, so that you may enter the sacred circle?”

“Um… yes… thank you.” Elora responded nervously, still mesmerized by this stranger. The smoke from the smudging sage enveloped her and seemed to evaporate the weight of her worries and of all of her incessant mind chatter, as well. She felt clear and present.

“Thank you!” Elora blurted out in a startled and baffled voice. She would later come to know this lady as Awen Delphine). The lady smiled at her knowingly and nodded as she moved on to smudge Kendra.

Elora stepped into the circle and was amazed by the hodge-podge of different faiths and cultures that were all gathered. There were Buddhist monks and nuns. There were witchy women, every day mainstream folks, earthy hippies, shamans, Gurus*, Native Americans, some Baha’i* and even a Rastafarian* or two. All in all, there were about 150 people. They had all come for their own reasons; yet the one thing they all had in common was that they were there to intimately experience sacredness and to do the work that their spirits compelled them to do.

A sudden hush fell over the busy-body chatter of those waiting for the ceremony to begin; as the Native American medicine man stepped forward. Awen brought the abalone shell with burning sage and sweet grass and placed it at his feet.

She stood and addressed the crowd:

“Welcome. We thank each and every one that has heeded the calling in their hearts and has come here today to take part in this quite spectacular gathering! Each of you bring with you a unique energy, a medicine, a gift, that only you possess. That gift and energy that you carry are an essential part of creating the experiences and in propelling the transformations that will take place in this sacred space that we are about to create. – Namaste.”

The shaman picked up the smudging shell in one hand and raised it to the sky, in the direction of the sun. In the other hand he shook a tribal rattle. He began to sing a native song which stirred the hearts and evoked a sense of deep gratitude and solemnity, in everyone. He then continued thumping his rattle to the beat of the earth’s heart-beat; as he proceeded to call forth the Directions:

He called on the Spirit of the East, the land of the rising sun, element of Air. - The spirit of new beginnings and open horizons. He called in the Spirit of the South, the place of Fire, creation and inspiration. He called in the Spirit of the West, the land where the sun sets. Place of Water. The time of Harvest and the reaping the fruits of life. He called in the Spirit of the North; the place of stillness, of time gone by and of the Earth. He called in the Ancestors and called upon their wisdom to touch every person present.

He called on the Spirit of Mother Earth and acknowledged her nurturance that sustains us and all beings that dwell on her. He called on Grandfather Sky and the Great Spirit; on the Deities, Spirit Guides and Angels of all who were there. He asked of all of those, who he invoked, for their guidance, wisdom, blessings and support. He offered recognition, sending out love and honoring their place in the scheme of life itself.

This invocation seemed so foreign to anything that Elora had ever experienced yet she found it to be incredibly grounding and inspiring.

Awen then, invited everyone around the circle to say their names and state their intention for the day. When it was Elora’s turn, she felt tempted to just give a generic answer like “Peace of mind” or “New memories” but when she opened her mouth, the truth spilled out.

“I am here to reclaim myself. To regain the intimacy that I once felt with God and the Earth. I came here to re-learn that I’m important too. I’m breaking free from everything that numbs my spirit. I want to know how to soar again.”

She felt so shaken by the feelings bubbling up as she said that; that her voice started to crack and her hands started to shake. This was a turning point for her. No longer could she afford to kid herself and not face head on how she truly felt. By making this public proclamation, she was committing to seeing it through. To see what needed to be addressed and be expressed and to do so no matter how frightening the prospect of that would seem. She finally got that she was worth the fight.

Kendra looked down, smiled and squeezed her hand in support.

A new lady stepped into the circle to introduce the first activity of the day which was an Ecstatic Dance, based on the 5 Rhythms by Gabrielle Roth. Everyone settled down and sat around the circle as she went over the guidelines like respecting yourself and each other’s boundaries. Dance with no shoes and no speaking throughout the dance which she called a dance wave. She then shared a quote that at first scrambled Elora’s brain but ultimately resonated deeply with her:

“Dance for the span of the Universe that you are... All we are, as humans, is a span of flesh and consciousness. We each are a tiny swath of the Universe where whatever energy it is that composes the Universe is alive in us, as us, coming to… life - through us. The movement of life expresses itself in every movement we make. Every movement we make shapes that energy, gives it form and sends it along.
To dance is to play with the movement that is making us. It is to cultivate a sensory awareness of how this movement is making us, and of how our own movements, as we shape and transmit the energy of life, are making us. To dance is to play with this movement in ways that allow us to discover and exercise our capacity to make our own movements – movements that align with our health and well-being. Dancing, we create ourselves. We become who we are. We are what we think and feel and do.” -Kimerer La Mothe

The facilitator gestured “Namaste” to everyone, as a soft smoothing melody began to play. People’s bodies instinctually began to sway and blend into the music, except for Elora. She was left, awkwardly standing on her own. She felt self-conscious and though she knew she needed to be there, she still heard her mother’s voice inside her head saying “Mi hija, dancing leads straight to sin and sin leads straight to hell. Your body is a temple. Don’t hump men like you are a dog in heat. If you are going to dance, dance like David did, for the Glory of God!” She never got that, and it seriously pissed her off that even though she didn’t agree, she still felt the shackles of those words binding her body and stifling her spirit. This frustrated her and just as she was about to give up, she saw a mother dancing with her little girl.

The mother sat on the floor as her toddler pranced around her. Then the woman held the child close to her heart as they danced in place. It was as if the whole world had faded away and all that was left was a tender peace; as if a pink fluffy cloud of love had enveloped them wholly. And Elora finally got it.

She was witnessing love in its true form. She saw God radiating throughout their dance; and came to realize that the body is a temple BECAUSE “The Universe is ALIVE in us, AS us. The universe is coming to life – through US!” We are as much its creation and the ones who create it.

She took a deep breath and allowed her hand to follow the throbbing beat. The pace of the music began to build up speed. Her movements started flowing along with the music; loosening up the invisible shackles. Before she knew it, her body had enraptured in its own process of self-renovation, flailing, twirling and swaying. All her bottled up emotions bubbled up and erupted out of her pores and each cathartic movement she emoted, helped her purge them out.

With each release she felt a little more open, a little more herself. Her body had hit its own "auto-correct button" and the more she danced, the more she felt her power and her freedom being regained.

A sultry flamenco song began to play. She swayed to the music as she got into the grove of the beat, gazed forward and that’s when she locked eyes with him. Mesmerized by the piercing gaze of this alluring stranger, with a captivating and somewhat wild and otherworldly air about him, she started to dance towards him. His chiseled yet refined features caught her attention, along with his greenish blue eyes that actually, matched her own. He had long lashes and smooth black-onyx hair which reached right above his shoulders and that curled in all directions, around the edges. His lustrous hair was highlighted by his fair complexion. The stranger’s build was slender yet muscular, nonetheless. He looked like he could be no more than 25.

Somehow, he seemed so familiar to her but she couldn’t quite put her finger on, as to why that was. His smile lured her to him, as if she were a nymph responding to a satyr’s flute. Her nerves and hormones were starting to mount. She felt a surge of lust wash over her as she made her way through the crowd of dancers. They had turned into magnets, inextricably drawn to each other. Once she reached him, they danced together, circling around one another; never breaking eye contact. He seemed bewitched by her. He was not intimidated by her new-found forwardness, at all. On the contrary, he saw her standing there in her power and thought she was beautiful.

Other men started being drawn to her like moths to a flame and gathered around her. They each took turns swooping in to dance fiercely with her, as her skirt and arms fervidly swung about and she stomped to the beat. Totally, giving into the moment, with not a second to pause and second guess herself. All the men danced and scattered away, yet the original man who had sparked this spontaneous outburst, remained there alongside her.

He took her hand, kissed it and then held it to his heart. She felt as if she had lost and found herself, all in the same breath. He took her by the waist and as the music shifted to a melodious and hypnotic mantra; their spirits soared. Their bodies and energies intertwined as they weaved around each other.

Their sensual connection peaked as their faces came dangerously close to one another. The music shifted once more and this time it was a sweet, whimsical little ditty that prompted a childlike wonder in both of them. There was a sort of magic being forged between them as the music carried them away. They both giggled, with mischief sparkling in their eyes. Without a moment’s notice they simultaneously took off, prancing, skipping and flittering about, around the whole dance floor. They locked hands and SPUN! With the whole world spinning around them, all they saw was each other. They laughed and hooted and fell on-top of one another. The most enthralling kiss burst out of the meeting of their starving lips.

She buried herself in his chest and together they lied there, breathing, as everyone floated on past them. Infinity had elapsed in his arms… Before she knew it, the music had stopped and everyone started to circle back up to share their experiences with one another. They grudgingly pried themselves away from their cuddly love nest that they had created on the floor and got up to join the circle.

After the sharing, an Indian guru with a cheeky sense of humor, stepped up and spoke about his tradition from Mathura, India. This was believed to be the birthplace of Krishna. Holi Festival had spurred out of several myths, however the gist, was that Holi celebrated light conquering darkness and deceit, as well as the love story of Krishna and Radha.

She really didn’t know where this was going, until someone started handing out paper bags to everyone and enclosed were different colored pigment powders. Before anyone could ask about them, the Guru unleashed a cloud of turquoise and blue, which instantly made everyone there look like Smurfs.

Elora and her fellow smurfs exchanged an impish grin and then pelted and smeared each other with yellow, purple and magenta dust. The sky above them exploded into a mirage of vibrant colors and soon everybody there looked like they had stepped out of a Technicolor acid dream. Even the most stoic of intellectuals present, reverted back to a primal state of rambunctiousness and relearned the value of running a-muck.