The trip to Mudjimba was uneventful. I was grateful. A nice peaceful boat trip with no pirates and no trouble was definitely a good thing. When the bottom of the boat ground against the sandy shore of the island, I rolled up my pants cuffs and stepped out into the foam at the water’s edge. I shouldered my pack and made sure I had all of my things with me. I didn’t know where I was going next and I wanted to be prepared, come what may. I looked around.
The island was silent except for the sounds of the waves and the wind. I turned back and asked my guide if this was really the place. He nodded and assured me that it was. “But you need to go into the center,” he said with a smile, and indicated the jungle in front of me.
I sighed and trudged through the sand to a nearby rock, where I dusted off my feet and put my socks and boots on. When I looked up again, my guide and boat had disappeared. Well, that did limit my options. I started looking for a gap in the heavy growth so that I could “go into the center.”
About a quarter of a mile down the beach, I found a small opening, framed by flowering vines. I ducked in and followed a narrow path deeper into the jungle. I could hear birds around me and saw bright flashes of color in the trees nearby. A small creature ran across the path in front of me, and sweet smells from flowers and fruit danced into my nose. It was cooler here, too, which I appreciated with my heavy load. After about half an hour, I heard a faint roaring noise.
The noise grew louder and louder, and I thought I must be near a waterfall. That was odd, because when we were approaching the island, I didn’t remember seeing any hills that would cause a waterfall.
I came out of the jungle into a sizable clearing. Luxurious green grass carpeted the ground and surrounded a large pool of water in the center. In the middle of the pool was a huge rock, with water pouring down all of its sides; this was the noise I had heard. It wasn’t a waterfall, but an enormous fountain instead. The pool was surrounded by rocks, set flat and smooth in the ground. A series of stepping stones went from the edge of the pool to the fountain at its center.
Was this what the guide had meant by finding the center? I scouted around the clearing. There were several benches at the edges and flowers bloomed beside the jungle, but I couldn’t see anything else. There were three more entrances for paths; they seemed to be roughly north, south, east and west. I almost went down one, but then I decided to look around here some more first.
I took off my gear and my boots and socks and after making sure I had my bag from Enchanteur and my piece of red coral, I stepped carefully out onto one of the stepping stones. My balance isn’t the best, and I teetered a bit, but then I steadied myself and took another step. About five steps out, the rock I put my foot on wiggled, and I went splash! The water wasn’t deep or even cold, but my dignity was a bit strained and I was glad I was the only one here. I stood up and waded the rest of the way to the rock in the center.
All I could see was a rock with water cascading down it – lots of water. If I hadn’t been wet already, I would have been after checking out that rock. I felt it all over for holes and openings, even for places my piece of red coral might fit, but there was nothing. It was as solid as, well, as solid as a rock.
Defeated, I waded back over to the edge and sat there, dangling my legs into the pool and dripping. As I sat there, a bird flew past me in a bright flash of green. He spiraled up and around the rock fountain. A second bird, a blue one, joined him. Then came a yellow bird, and a white one, and a red one. They were all darting and weaving around the fountain like feathered ribbons – it made me think of a Maypole dance, or perhaps Japanese cord braiding. I lost myself in the beauty of it. The sparkling water, the darting, dancing birds and the soft lap of the water around my legs distracted me and relaxed me. I forgot my frustration and started to smile and enjoy the show.
And as I did, something happened. The fountain disappeared; its roar softened and gentled into the singing of the birds as they flew in their intricate patterns. The water around my legs went away and I was sitting on a bench, looking at a path into a valley dotted with small buildings. Even the vegetation had changed – it was no longer a jungle, but a rich forest with all sorts of trees and bushes in it.
The birds suddenly darted off and I was alone again. There was only one thing to do. I stood up and started down the path. The sun was warm, and fortunately for my bare feet, the path was grassy and soft. I could still hear birds calling in the distance and a soft breeze brushed by me. I headed for the first building.
It was a small hut, with just enough room for a table and chair in it. A woman with long white hair and a cheerful wrinkled face sat there, looking out at the world and humming. She seemed to be quite content just to be – I wished I could be that serene.
“Well, my dear, I see that you found the way in. The center is the center of yourself, of course – silence and stillness and just being are the ways to find that, you know.” She smiled at me.
“The birds are to thank for that. I was all about action.” I smiled back ruefully.
“No, if you had not been able to stop and see the birds and relax and enjoy them, then it would not have worked. You were ready. You just needed a small prompt. Now, then, can I see your coral?”
I fished the coral out of my pocket and handed it to her. She nodded and placed it in a pouch at her side.
“Can I offer you some dry clothes? A bite to eat? The spinners and weavers will wait for a bit, you know, and you’ll be more comfortable if you change and eat first.” She was leading me farther down the path as she spoke.
“Ahhh…sure. That would be nice,” I answered as she led me into another small building.
She looked at me carefully and then rummaged in one of several chests in the room. “With so many spinners and weavers here, there are always spare items of clothing for our visitors. You’re lucky you only arrived wet. Some of them are much the worse for wear. I remember one who had fallen out of a tree trying to see into the top of the fountain. Her things were in tatters!” The woman chuckled, and then emerged from the trunk with a cobalt blue caftan in her hands. “Here.” She thrust it at me along with a few other things. “Go and change over in that room,” she nodded at a door in the wall behind me, “and then come back out and we’ll see about some lunch. Then you’ll be ready.” She nodded decisively and gave me a gentle push in the direction of the changing room.
I happily peeled off my wet clothing and put on the things she had handed me. Silky soft underthings went on first and then the dress itself which was flowing and comfortable made in my favorite shade of blue with a delicate pattern in a lighter shade of that color. There was a brush in the room, and I untangled my wet hair and fluffed it so it would dry faster. Then I hung my wet things on hooks to dry and padded back out into the main room, where a table had appeared. It was set with a light lunch of bread and cheese and fruit and a fragrant tea to drink with it.
My guide joined me, and when we were done eating and chatting, she winked at me and poked around in the pouch she carried. “Ah, here it is!” she exclaimed, and pulled out two bars of chocolate. She handed one to me. “Chocolate finishes it perfectly!” I agreed wholeheartedly, so we enjoyed our dessert before setting off again.
We passed by several small cottages before we came to the one I was to visit. It was a perfect little place, with a thatched roof and stone walls and flowers spreading out from it like light from a lamp. Birds fluttered all over the garden, and butterflies rested on the flowers. I was charmed.
My guide simply smiled and opened the door, letting us both in. We entered into a large open workroom. The first thing I saw was a spinning wheel with a bobbin half-full of spun fibers. I looked at it more closely – it was fine and smooth, the colors in it changing and sparkling in the sunlight that shone in through the windows. My guide sat down at the wheel and took the unspun end of fiber which had been tucked around a hook on the wheel.
“You?” I asked, my eyes growing large.
She laughed heartily, “Yes, me. I am your spinner, your weaver. I wanted to walk with you and chat with you before you knew who I was. Now you can observe me!” She started treadling the wheel. I was confused, because there was no basket of prepared fibers there to spin. But before I could ask, she put her right hand behind the left one holding the spun fiber, as if she were drafting more to spin. And when I looked between her hands, I could see a sparkle of something. I could almost see fibers there being drawn out to the right thickness before the spin from the wheel ran into them. Then there was a flash as she let them run between her fingers and wind onto the bobbin. I could see colors of all sorts running onto the bobbin, which was filling amazingly quickly and smoothly.
“I am spinning from life, from experience, not from wool or silk or cotton. It is a special thing to be able to spin.” She looked up at me and smiled. “Today’s spinning is colorful and smooth. Other times, it has been dark and lumpy and scratchy. One moment, and I’ll show you.” As she spoke, the bobbin finished filling.
I rubbed my eyes and looked at the full bobbin unbelievingly. She laughed again. “Do you remember the saying, ‘Seven knitters for one spinner, seven spinners for one weaver’? I have to be able to spin quickly to keep up with myself weaving!” She pulled the bobbin from the wheel and put it aside for now. Then she led the way to the largest loom I had ever seen. I had seen looms with no harnesses, with four harnesses and with eight. This one seemed to have countless harnesses. Every time I looked at it, there seemed to be more. I shook my head to clear my eyes, but still it changed. The woman had seated herself at the loom, and with her feet playing over the foot pedals like an organist playing an organ, she began weaving. The shuttle flashed back and forth like lightening, the reed darted back and forth, and fabric flowed from the weaver in intricate patterns and designs. After she wove for a few minutes, she stopped and stood up.
“Yes, this section is light and beautiful. See the sparkle in it? Your fabric almost always has a sparkle, even when it grows dark and rough and uneven. You like to look for the good, even if it is only one little thing in a great huge time of darkness. This is a good thing, and binds your fabric together with joy.” She unrolled some of the finished fabric, showing me different sections and the patterns in them. “Never lose the sparkle, She Wolf. There will be times when it wants to go away, but you must always look for it, and if you do, there will be at least a fine thread of it in your fabric. It is important, that little bit of sparkle. Always look for it, no matter how hard it is to find.” She traced the sparkle with her forefinger. I nodded, unsure of what to say.
“I’ll try,” I said finally.
She nodded. “That’s all anyone can do, is try,” she answered gently. “Now come with me once more.” She led the way back to the spinning wheel, where she put a fresh bobbin on to be filled. Sitting down, she spun for just a few moments and then stopped. There was only a tiny amount of thread on the bobbin, but it was beautiful – colorful and filled with the sparkles of joy. She took out the piece of coral I had given her and wound the thread from the bobbin onto it, tying it off when she was done so it wouldn’t unspin itself.
“Take this with you. This is the thread of your time here. You may want it, or need it, down the road. It is yours to do with as you will, and do not hesitate to use it if you need to or even just want to.” Then she presented me with the thread-wound coral.
I took it, marveling at the beauty of it. “Thank you. This is a priceless thing. Thank you so much.” I looked up at her and smiled.
She smiled back and said, “You are welcome, but it is truly yours. Just don’t forget that the best things in life, the truly priceless ones, are the ones that you share with someone else. And never forget about the sparkle.”
As she smiled at me, she looked me in the eyes, and the sparkle that was in her eyes surrounded me, drew me in, and filled me. When my eyes cleared again, I was standing by the roaring fountain and the pool once more. I held the coral with its precious thread wound around it in my hand. My clothing, now clean and dry, was folded on the ground beside me.
I stood there staring at the coral in one hand and smoothing the other over the dress I now wore. If it had just been a dream, I would not have had either of them. And yet my time there had a dream-like quality. I ran my finger over the thread, remembering. Then a bird swooped down and pulled at my hair, jarring me back to here and now. I thought about the woman, the visit…I put the coral in my pack, picked up my things, and walked back into the jungle, lost in thought.
-She Wolf © 2008
This mermaid has been calling us to rest before our trip on to Triton’s Lair.
I don’t remember waking up — awareness simply flooded over me and I was fully alert. I was still sitting on the sand, where I had stumbled and fallen. I saw the tracks where the women had dragged Albion washing away in the incoming tide.
