Requests module

The Old Sorceress looked to be 100 years old but her eyes held the clarity, sharpness and mischief of a lusty teenager. “The Old Sorceress” was her own choice of moniker. Her official titles were Doctor of Psychiatry, Registered Counselor, Reverend Minister and Expert Herbalist, among other things. Her office was encrusted with evidence of her many specialties., credentials and souvenirs. When I asked her how she had come to be a healer she literally jumped out of her easy chair, sprinted across the room and began to noisily empty the contents of a desk drawer onto the floor behind her in handfuls. She stopped when she was clutching a dog-eared manila folder with just a couple sheets of official looking papers. “This.” she said, “This is how my life was changed.”

The Intake:

She was sad. Not bitterly sad like some of the weary, homeless veterans who passed through the clinic where she worked as a staff psychiatrist. No, her sadness was like the frail, paling beauty of a flower, long forgotten in the pages of an unread book. The greatest pity was that she did not recognize her own sadness as such. If anyone were to ask she would say quietly with a shrug of her slight shoulders, “Life is up and down.” Her name was Serena, Serena Amelia Potter. It was Sunday morning. She’d come on shift at 6 a.m. when the last stars were still hanging on above the glowing rust and blush of dawn, though she did not notice. It was not her usual shift. Being an experienced and highly credentialed professional, she felt she should be beyond such “slave hours.” But since another young caseworker had burned out and quit, as they often did, someone had to take their shift. Second one this week and the subs were already working overtime. Serena was the only qualified staff available on Sunday. Well, that was OK, she had no plans anyway. She’d stopped going to church years ago. In fact, nothing much caught her interest anymore. She had no hobbies, no pets, no friends to speak of. She led a contained and proscribed life, preparing healthy meals for herself, reading, listening to some public radio, and watching the occasional video. It was mostly the respect she earned from her work that kept her going. So she went to work, to conferences, read the latest psychiatric papers, submitted a few of her own. None of it was really satisfying though, even if it did keep her mind busy. She had time to dwell on these details this morning. It was already 9 am and unusually quiet so she sat silently reflecting on her own boredom. Seeing no logical way out, she randomly picked up a journal, began to read and article and dozed off.

Buzzz!!! Her head jerked up with a start. The intercom buzzer was going off, red light flashing. She blinked a moment, watching the grinning image of a childhood friend fade from her consciousness. For a moment she remembered a time of happiness, before it all went to gray… She pressed the “speak” button. “What is it? Go ahead,” she said. “Yeah. We got one for you.” It was the voice of Jorge, one of the burly Mental Health Professionals the police called in when they had an apparent mental case; what they used to call “the white coats.” “OK, bring them in,” she said. She stood up, smoothed her long chestnut hear, straightened her lab coat and prepared to assume her professional role. A moment later, the patient was escorted into her office.

He was wearing a faded blue plaid flannel shirt and clean but well-worn green army dungarees. He was short, stocky and fit looking. Clean salt and pepper hair fell to his shoulders, framing a handsome brown face with a long, sharp nose and pure white bushy moustache. But his most striking feature was his shining dark eyes. They were the kind of bright eyes usually seen only on a bride on her wedding day, a happy child or the actively insane. “Yup,” she thought, “not a bride or a child. They’ve definitely brought him to the right place.” “His name’s Arturo. I’ll leave the report in the front office for you,” said Jorge, as he left the room, shutting the door behind him. “Thanks, Jorge.” “Alright, Arturo. My name is Serena. Why don’t you have a seat over there.” She pointed to a stiff but pleasant looking leather padded desk chair. The man carefully sat down, never taking his shining dark eyes from her own blue ones, a slight smile slowly forming on his full lips. “Don’t be sad, lady. It’s okay,” he said. This startled her, caught her off-guard but she swiftly took control. “Well, Arturo, I am fine. We are here to talk about you. Do you know where you are?” “Sure,” he smiled confidently. “We are in jail and I’m here to get you out.” “Oh, God,” she thought. “One of those He thinks he’s here to help me. This ought to be interesting…,” her native cynicism aroused. “Williams Center for Community Mental Health,” he spoke out. “You’re Serena Potter, psychiatrist, graduated Dartmouth in ’86.” Now he had her really off guard but she couldn’t let him see that. “This is correct. Did Jorge tell you that?” “No, ma’am, everybody on the street knows about you. They like you, feel sorry for you.” This was outrageous! It was crucial she take command now. “Yes. Now, what is your last name, Arturo?” “My last name is Martinez but my true name is Pipo, which means ‘Cloud Eater.’ I do not tell everyone that.” “Sure; what day is today?” “It is Sunday, June 15th, 1997.” “Good. Can you name at least three presidents of the United States?” “Really? Including this one?” “Yes.” “Clinton, Bush, Reagan. Unless you consider that Bush and the CIA ran the show for Reagan.” Serena was taking notes. “Suspicions of conspiracy,” she wrote down, a sure sign of psychotic paranoia. “Can you tell me why you are here?” “Ah, seniorita,” his eyes shone suddenly more brightly. “Do you really want to know? It is a long story.” “I mean today. Why are you in my office today?” “Ah, but it is the same thing! I will tell you a small piece and you can tell me if you want to know more.” “That’s good, go ahead, Arturo.”

Arturo broke into a broad smile and looked boldly into Serena’s eyes as he began his story. “I was sitting on the railing at the bridge. Though the air was cool, the sun was rising. It felt warm upon my face and I was happy. So many cars were going by. Most of the faces inside seemed sad and tired or cross. I wanted to cheer them up so I smiled and waved. A lot of them looked away or became angrier. A few laughed at me. I didn’t mind. To laugh is good. The children were best. They would look back at my eyes, smiling and waving back. Sometimes their parents would pull them from the window with angry faces; so sad! Then the policeman came. He was very sad. I could see a dirty yellow cloud around his head. I told him this and he brought me here.” Serena was almost taken in by this story until he mentioned the cloud. Hallucination for sure. “Tell me about the cloud.” “Ah, seniorita, sadly, it is not uncommon. I see things, things that others do not see. I cannot say why they do not see them but they are there. Around you I can see a bright light but it is hidden in a gray cloud. At first, I thought you were sad but I see you are beyond sad; you have lost your feeling. I can help you! That is why I am called Pipo, Cloud Eater.” Hallucination for sure. Delusional thinking, classic! And the personal tone he took with here! How dare he!? But she must not allow him to see her react. Yes, that is what he wants! So she tries to divert him. “Where are you from, Arturo?” “Seniorita, this is a very big question. I am from many places. Do you have time? Do you really want to know?” “Yes, I want to know. Where were you born?” “That is easy, Seniorita Serena. May I call you Serena?” “Sure.”

“Ah, Serena, I was born in the jungle. We were very poor but we did not know that and we were happy. I will not tell you everything but we had food to eat, we did not need clothes. My father and the men would hunt and plant the garden. My mother and the women would dig the roots, gather fruits and make the baskets to hold things. The children were always playing and helping the women. I had many aunts and uncles and they would tease me and tickle me. Then one night after many moons, I cannot say how many because we did not count them, my uncles came and took me from my bed. They cut me with hot knives and fightened me. They told me I was a man and could not live with the women any more. I would belong to the medicine man until he died. For many days I cried and would not eat, but the medicine man was kind to me. He told me it was good to cry, but I must cry harder, finish sooner, for there was much work to be done. Good work. Helping people. While I cried I saw him help many people. He was frightening, a magic man! But he was kind and the sick people went away better. Should I say more?”

Serena was startled. She realized she was becoming mesmerized. She was confused, intrigued. She had forgotten to take notes. She jotted down a few points, made a mental note to stay more aware and asked him to continue.

“As I cried all my tears away I became curious. The medicine man, Toa, did many strange things. He could reach into a woman’s body where there was no cut or hole and pull out a stone or a piece of bad flesh. He would speak to a lizard and it whispered things into his ear when he held it there. He saw my curiosity and said, ‘Good, you have cried well! Now you may learn these things. You shall be called Pipo, Cloud Eater! I have seen in my dreams that you will help people. That is why you are here. Come and learn!’ So he began to teach me. He taught me many things. I learned to speak with stones, trees and animals. Anyone can do this but I was taught how to ask the right questions. I was also taught the meaning of the energy surrounding the body. I see you doubt me but it is true! I can see it, it is there, but you do not see it. I cannot say why. But you will…”

What a fascinating case study! thought Serena. No wonder he’s insane, being raised on this crazy magical thinking! “How did you come here, to the U.S.?” she asked. “Ah, Serena. That will come. Let me tell the story.” “Sure.”

“I learned many things. I was becoming strong in magic. Maybe the old man would die in a few years and I would become medicine man. But then something happened. The ghost people came with their pale and reddened faces and strange colored skins on their bodies. Even there hair was strange colors! They spoke to us in meaningless sounds, screeching loudly and waving their arms. We could not understand and we pointed and laughed. But then we understood they were angry and wanted us to leave our beautiful village. Some of our men became angry too so they killed the ghost people, put on their strange skins and danced around the fire in laughter and pantomime, thanking the gods for victory over evil spirits. For several days we celebrated. The ghosts had brought strange breads and meats, which we ate. There were drinks, which brought confused visions. While we were still celebrating some new men came. They were brown like us but also wore strange skins, the colors of the leaves in the forest. They had sticks that made fire and killed all our men. I thought I was a man, but they did not think so. They took me away with the children. I do not know what they did with the women, but I can guess. I have seen many things since then. They took me with the children and the other young men and women to a bright place with no trees or gardens and many ghost people. I heard one sound many times. ‘Church,’ they kept saying, ‘church.’ It was a strange sound but they said it as if it was very important. I learned it was the name of my new home. I was probably 14 years old.”

Serena rubbed her eyes and nose and sniffled ever so slightly. She shifted in her chair, struggled to regain control of her emotions. A single tear escaped her vigilance, smearing the ink on the word ‘family’ where she had written “family and village killed.” “It’s okay, Senorita,” Arturo said. “Yes. It’s okay,” replied Serena, only very slightly releasing her guard. “How does this make you feel?” Serena, for the first time, seemed genuinely concerned for him. Shrugging his shoulders and smiling slightly he said, “It is sad for me, Serena. But it is my story and I am happy.” Leaning forward, here brow creased in puzzled lines, she said, “How can you remember this and be happy? I don’t understand….” “Let me tell you my story, Serena. You will understand.” “Okay, Arturo.”

“Life at the Church, the Mission, was difficult. They treated me like a child. They told me my language was wrong even though some of them spoke to me in it. They said that my gods were evil, demons. I will not tell you everything but I can say I did not like it. But a spirit man learns from all things, looks for the gods’ will in every situation. I did not like their religion except for one thing: this Jesus they spoke of was like my Toa, a magic man, a healer. It was strange to me how these people had such a powerful medicine man but he did not come to them, they couldn’t go to him. The missionaries worshipped him but they were not like him, they all had dark clouds around them, except for Sister Rosa. She had a bright light, like you!” Serena shifted uncomfortably but didn’t interrupt. “Sister Rosa was kind to me. She asked me many questions. She was the first white person who was more interested in what I could teach than in changing me. She wanted to know the name and use of every plant in the forest and I told her all I could. She asked many questions about Toa and life in my village. Where others sternly tried to force me to repeat their words, Sister Rosa lovingly told stores about her powerful medicine man, her Jesus. I wanted to meet this Jesus, become his apprentice! When I told this to Sister Rosa, she only smiled and said that I would find him in my heart. After only one year, in which I learned to read and write a little and speak Spanish very well, I was told I would be adopted.”

At this point, Serena had given up any pretense of taking notes. She was no longer thinking of commitment or restraint for Arturo as an option. She was merely engrossed in his story, barely containing her tears. “Do I make you sad, Serena? Do you want me to stop?” “No!” she said, almost too emphatically. “I mean, it’s okay. Please go on.”

“Joe and Mimi Martinez came to the Mission, in Peru, to meet me and take me back to California. This is how Pipo became Arturo Martinez. The Martinez’ were moderately wealthy. Joe, a cobbler from Mexico City, had moved to San Diego when he was 21 and opened a shop. He was clever, industrious and successful and 30 years later, he owned five shoe stores on the West Coast. He still worked in the original store, custom fitting shoes and helping his employees with problematic repairs. He kept a repair shop in every store and all shoes were guaranteed against defects. They lived quite well but simply and grew much of their own food. They were loving and generous and I grew to love them as I mastered the ways of the white man’s world. They were impressed by my interest in the Church; I never told them I was not truly a Christian, I had learned at the mission to hide my true motives, but thirsted to understand the healer, Jesus, and learn his secrets. I became a true and devout student at the parochial school, exemplary, a scholar.

“I learned to love my new country. When I was drafted to go to Vietnam with the Army, I was proud to go. Toa had taught me that a true sorcerer was a warrior with compassion. But it did not take me long to realize this war was unjust. What were we fighting for? I didn’t even know these people and they wanted me to kill them. In the middle of battle, I decided to lay down my gun and walk into the jungle to meet the people. For a couple of days I enjoyed being alone and naked in the jungle again and practiced being invisible. Then I walked into a village, was captured and taken to a prison camp with South Vietnamese prisoners. There I met a local medicine man, who immediately took a liking to me; he conveyed by gestures that I would be his apprentice. Through the use of humor and clever actions we walked right out the main gate together! I never learned exactly what he’d said to the guards, but he could tell simply magical lies! I stayed with Nyung for nearly two years and learned many things: I could speak three dialects of Vietnamese, use the jungle medicines, journey to the spirit lands in new ways and many other things. Some of what he taught was the same as Toa’s teachings but I also taught Nyung a few things. Mostly, though, he taught me the power of humor and joy. When the war was over, he told me I must go home and we both cried loudly. Then I walked 30 miles to turn myself in. In the confusion of pullout they thought I had been liberated from a prison camp and I never told them any different. I came home and have found many other teachers. I have helped many people to heal. I am here to help you.”

Arturo smiled compassionately at Serena, seeing the tears welling up in her eyes that she tried so hard to contain. “It is OK, Serena. This is my story and has made me who I am. I am happy.” He stood up and walked around her desk never losing his kind smile and looking into her eyes. Serena’s eyes widened in wonderment of what he might do. He simply placed a single hand on her shoulder and said, “Now, Serena, you must tell me your story. I will listen.” Serena suddenly burst into tears and began sobbing uncontrollably while Arturo lifted her up and held her close. She did not question herself, she only knew the waves of grief that flowed through her being as she buried her face in his shoulder and cried the tears she had held in for year upon year. She cried for the loss of her childhood, for her brother’s death, her parent’s divorce. She cried for lost puppies, for being taunted at school, for the ugliness she felt inside and for the emptiness and loneliness of her existence. Arturo said,” Cry, Serena, cry well. It is good to cry,” and he held her a long time until her sobbing subsided to quiet sniffling. He handed her a tissue from the box on her desk and took a step away from her. “Are you OK now, Serena?” “Yes, I am. Thank you.” Somehow she felt it was okay. Curiously, she trusted him, trusted him more than she had ever trusted anyone. She wondered if she was losing her sanity but was convinced that this man, this witch doctor, was really here to help her like he said he was. His kindness was palpable, strangely familiar and just felt “right.” “This is crazy,” she said out loud, emotionally confused, smiling a little through her sniffles. “Yes, it is,” he smiled. “Is this not the ‘nuthouse’? Now, will you tell me your story?” “Yes, I mean, okay. But not here. I mean, I get off work soon. You’re free to go. I’ll meet you at the vegan café down the street, just after noon.” “Are you sure? Are you alright?” “Yes, I think so. Yes.” “Okay then, I will be there, Serena.” “Okay.”

Serena stood up and went to the intercom; “Jorge? Mr. Martinez is free to go.” “Yeah? Okay, Miss Potter.” “Thanks, Jorge.”

After Arturo left Serena picked up the report from her desk. It pretty much said what Arturo had told her about the bridge. She wrote in a few notes, hesitating before she decided to omit any reference to the “clouds” and filed it away, for good she hoped. She caught up on a little paperwork, debriefed with the caseworker taking her place and headed out into the bright California sunshine. She felt so open and clear, as if her life was just beginning!

Inner Child: Serena’s Story

Serena took the long way around to the café and walked through the arboretum in the park, heading for a particularly hidden spot she used to frequent, passing collections of fragrant roses and azaleas in bloom. She’d forgotten how beautiful it was. When she arrived at her old refuge and her favorite cedar tree she was amazed at how much bigger and older it was. She burst into tears and sobbed freely for a long time. It was as if Arturo had turned a key in her heart, unlocking feelings that had eaten at her for years. She’d hid them there so long that she felt she no longer had her own key. There were times she longed to cry but all she could feel was a cold emptiness. It felt good now. Her shoulders felt a little looser. It was good to feel. She remembered Arturo’s words, “It is good to cry.” She smiled a little. “What is happening to me?” she thought. This man said he had come to help her and she believed him. It made no sense but she had to believe him. She instinctively felt she needed him. She got up, brushed the bark and leaves from her shirt and whipped her eyes with her sleeve.

Ten minutes later she spotted Arturo sitting in the window at the No Whey Café and sheepishly approached him. “Ah, Serena! You are here! Sit down, sit down!” he said exuberantly, pulling out a chair. “I’m sorry I’m late. I just needed to go for a walk.” “Oh, it is nothing, Serena. It is not easy to cry in a place like this and the forest has healing in it.” Her eyes grew big. How could he know where she’d been, that she had cried? “Don’t’ be surprised, Serena, Yes, I know things but I can also see your eyes and there are some cedar leaves on your sweater. One can know many things if they pay attention. Now I want to hear your story. I think you have a story like mine. I see you don’t believe me but this is why my story affected you. We are not so different as you think. Please, tell your story!”

Serena took a deep breath and smiled just a little. No one had ever asked to hear her “story” before. She knew he meant the whole story, everything. She would try.

“ I was born in 1960 in Los Angeles. I don’t know who my parents were, only that they were too poor to take care of me. They gave me the name Serena and left me at the hospital. Carl and Emily Potter were the only parents I’ve ever known. My early childhood was uneventful. If there was any trouble in my family I was unaware of it. I was happy and could easily occupy myself with my imagination all day. When I was four my brother Robert was born. He was a surprise to my parents; they had adopted me because my mother couldn’t get pregnant though I didn’t know it at the time. It never occurred to me that my parents paid little attention to me after Robert was born. They fed me, clothed me, made sure I got enough sleep. It’s just the way it was. I felt a little jealous of Robert sometimes; he was always sick and they doted on him but mostly I was kept busy in my head. Am I boring you yet?” “No, Serena.” Arturo was looking intently at her face. Very respectfully he said, “Please continue.”

“I think I became distant. I never felt entirely comfortable with other children. We lived in a suburban neighborhood near a forested park. I used to build houses for the fairies and talk to the trees.” She hesitated, said “you probably think I’m silly…” “No, no Serena. Did they answer? The trees?” “I, I think so. I don’t remember. Oh, this is silly!” “No, it is not Serena. But we will talk about it later.” “Um, okay. Well, I excelled in school, except for PE. So childhood was pretty normal. I went to school, we went to Catholic Church on Sunday.” Arturo grinned and she understood it was another thing they had in common. “We had occasional vacations in Baja, barbecues. Normal stuff. Until I was twelve.” She sniffled a little and was quiet a moment, gathering her courage.

“My parents loved Robert. I think he taught them about love in a way I couldn’t. It seems strange because now I think that should have been their job to teach me, but so be it. I loved him in my own way. I didn’t like him touching me or trying to hug me but I’d help him with his homework, watch cartoons together, show him turtles and stuff. I think he always loved me and I took him for granted….” A tear rolled down her cheek. “It is okay, Serena.” “Yes, it’s okay, Arturo. One day I was lying on a blanket on the front lawn reading a book. Robert was playing with a balsa wood airplane, laughing. I do remember loving him in that moment very clearly. Suddenly I was jolted by the blare of a horn and the screech of tires. I looked up and saw Robert looking right at me with terror in his eyes and, and…” Tears began streaming down her face. “It is okay…” “It’s not okay!” Serena cried out. Arturo replied “But it has to be. It is. We all have a story. I know it hurts but it is important to continue.” She smiled a crooked little smile, “Hey, who’s the psychiatrist here?” Arturo’s eyes smiled only a bit, “Continue.” “It happened so fast but it plays in my mind like an eternity, like there should have been time to help him. I just screamed and screamed. It was Saturday so both my parents were home. They just kept shaking me, yelling ‘What happened? What happened?’ I couldn’t speak for a long time.

“Our house was very depressing after that. My parents started drinking more, having parties. They were never that liberal, kind of uptight really, but they started having hippy friends over and smoking a lot of pot. Now they paid attention to me, keeping close watch on my and restricting my movements, keeping me away from boys. They didn’t need to bother. I just wanted to be along. I was sure they hated me, blamed me for Robert’s death. I don’t know if they really did, we’ve never discussed it. The children at school were cruel to me. They called me Serena hyena. My one friend was the librarian who encouraged me to go to college. School was always easy except for the social parts.

“In spite of my isolation and parental surveillance, I did make another friend in high school. There was an awkward boy, equally tormented by the other kids, with a wicked sense of humor. We would make up stories about our classmates and laugh ourselves silly. We pretty much only hung out between classes. A few months before graduation, Zane wanted to know my plans. He seemed strange to me, kind of sad and desperate. I went to give him a hug and he tried to kiss me. I shoved him and screamed at him. I refused to talk with him. I didn’t know why but I was terrified. I’ve often wondered what would’ve happened if I’d kissed him back.” She turned a little red and paused. “I’ve had relationships,” she said a little defensively, “a few, but I just never felt safe and broke them off to keep from hurting them.” “Did it work?” “No, I guess not but I thought I needed a reason.” “Yes. Continue.” “It’s funny that I took up psychiatry. It was so easy. I really care about people. I don’t get attached. I’m doing really well, really. But, but….” She burst into tears yet again. “I feel so empty, so empty….” Arturo took her hand. I will help you. You are not empty. You are full of light. I have seen it! We will remove the cloud and you will see. You will understand why I am Pipo.”

Sanctuary: Pipo’s Realm

Serena offered Arturo a ride home. He answered “Please, call me Pipo. All my friends do. I invite you to be my friend. Yes. I would love a ride. It will take 40 minutes. Is that okay?” “Sure, Pipo,” answered Serena, ironically. “It’s not like I have any big plans.” They walked back to the clinic together and got into her forest green Subaru. He pointed her east out the old highway and they traveled in silence past farms and vineyards. After a while Serena spoke up. “I did have one other friend as a child. In fact, I was dreaming about her when they brought you in. She was telling me something. What was she saying, something about change? Yes! She was saying, ‘don’t be afraid of change, Serena. It is time for a change.’” A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered the words out loud. Suddenly her life seemed surreal. What was going on? Where was she going with this strange man? But it felt good, like an adventure. Maura, her friend, and she would go on adventures when she was a child. “Even when we were children Maura would make these sudden announcements like it was a special bulletin. Sometimes she wouldn’t even remember saying them. But she was a great friend. We would make up stories, adventures, and they were so real! Her grandmother taught her all about plants and fairies and they were a part of our adventures….” She trailed off, feeling a little embarrassed with her outburst, talking about fairies. Arturo – Pipo – responded “The spirits in the forest are real. You may call them fairies, angels, little people, gods. They are there. They are there. They are the plants, the animals and the others. There is no shame to speak with them. No more shame than praying to your god. It is sad to forget them, to be so alone.” They traveled in silence a while longer.

He pointed out a turn off the highway through the forest. They traveled a couple of miles on pavement before making another left turn onto a dusty gravel road marked “Yellow Aster Lane.” Pipo pointed out a brightly painted mailbox, sky-blow with red and purple wildflowers and a hummingbird, and they turned into a driveway under an arbor covered in honeysuckle with real hummingbirds feeding. Serena was blown away by the scene that unfolded before her. He hadn’t told her anything and she hadn’t asked. She had half expected to drop him off at a hermit’s shack in the woods. What she saw was a wonderland of spiral gardens, fruit trees, ponds, sculptures, children and kittens running, people working and laughing together. In the center was a large structure built with whole peeled cedar logs that looked more like an immense sculpture than a house. On the southeast side was a big glass greenhouse. There was a huge porch with swings and wooden rocking chairs. It had a tower in the center with a big domed skylight and there were flowered vines twining up the porch poles and across the roof and planter boxes with more flowers and vegetables at the windows. There were several other colorfully painted smaller structures scattered through the gardens, all with windows and rain barrels under the gutter spouts. A vibrant, smiling woman with thick shoulder-length coppery hair in faded red overalls and a bright yellow tee-shirt waved from the porch with a bucket full of raspberries in her other hand. Pipo leapt out of the car like a young boy as soon as they stopped and ran to embrace the woman. “Rachel! Mi crina, my love! I want you to meet my friend, Serena!” Serena reached out her hand to shake but Rachel locked smiling eyes on her, set down her bucket, pulled her in close to her bosom and gave her a warm, lingering hug. “Welcome to Rosy Dawn Farm, Serena. Are you staying for dinner?” “Oh, no, I couldn’t….” “Please. Please stay, there is too much food for us. We’re having nettle lasagna, with raspberry pie for dessert and real cream.” “You don’t’ want to miss Rachel’s raspberry pie,” Pipo added with a grin. “Well, okay.” She agreed sheepishly. She felt sort of out of place in her dark blue work suit and starched white blouse, but really she wanted more than anything to stay a while, explore the gardens and soak in the peacefulness she felt there. “Would you like a tour?” Pipo asked. “Yes, I would love that,” replied Serena, generally enthused.

Following Pipo’s example, Serena kicked off her shoes and followed him through the garden paths. It was unlike any garden she’d ever seen before. There were flowers mixed in with broccoli and peas, blueberry bushes with violets growing beneath, art pieces and stone Buddha’s nearly hidden in flourishes of Indian paintbrush and monkeyflowers. Some plants appeared to be weeds but they were beautifully mixed in to give a wild yet artfully crafted feel overall. The soft, warm earth felt good on her feet. Children ran up yelling “It’s Pipo! Pipo’s home!” and he scooped them up, swinging them in circles until they both fell down laughing and dizzy. They walked up to a rocky hillside on the edge of the forest where a 30-something, muscular man with cinnamon red-brown skin and shortish, nappy black hair was working in just a pair of old cutoffs and tattered sneakers. He stopped his careful placing of stones and mortar and looked her openly up and down with sparkling, obviously approving eyes.

“This is Chiron,” announced Pipo. “He’s building us a waterfall as trade for staying here and studying with us. Chiron, meet Serena.” “Pleased, I’m sure, Serena!” he grinned. She stuck out her hand stiffly, still insulted by his blatant inspection of her body. Non-plused, he took her hand warmly and Serena felt constrained by propriety through she wanted to pull away. “Gotta keep working, the boss is watching,” throwing a glance of mock-worry towards Pipo as he let go of her hand. “I am not your boss, Chiron,” smiled Pipo. “It is your gift to work and ours to teach and share.”

They left him to continue their tour, tasting herbs and berries and watching birds and butterflies, all of which Pipo knew the names of in English, Spanish and Latin. He was a very different man than she had first thought that morning. He was truly a teacher and a scholar. She wondered if there was anything he did not know about. “This is all I know, Serena,” he startled her once again with his “mind-reading” though she was getting used to it. “I know plants, creatures, people, spirits, healing; things that are real and natural. It is enough.” She looked at him curiously a moment. She felt she had a lot to learn from him, that he really could help her. He smiled his kindly smile again. Then she remembered: Today was her birthday! She smiled back and said nothing.

Cloud Eater: A Healer’s Work

Serena felt giddy with the wild scents and the sense of freedom she felt today, such an incredible day. She was not done with the garden when she heard the dinner bell ring; at least, she assumed it was a dinner bell. Pipo had gone to do some chores and left her to sit by a little pond with a fountain spraying from a lotus held in the palm of a bronze mermaid. The sun was making a little rainbow in the spray as it warmed her face. Pipo appeared again with his hand extended to help her up. She took it and held it as they walked together towards the house. There were several other people walking to the house: an elderly couple walking hand in hand, a young couple of about 20 years and another woman around her own age. Inside, there were already four people at the table: Rachel, two children of about nine or ten years, and Chiron, whom, even with a shirt on, she noticed, still made her a little nervous. Rachel motioned for her to sit across from her at the end of the sturdy polished maple table. Pipo sat at the head on her right. The dark haired woman sat to her left across from the old couple with Chiron and the young couple to her own left and the children sharing the opposite end of the table. Rachel looked around the table and reached out for the hands on either side and the rest automatically did the same. It felt a little awkward to Serena but good until Rachel asked her if she would say grace. But how could she refuse? She did her best: “Dear God. Thank you for this beautiful day, for this wonderful food and for allowing me to share it with these people. Please bless us all. Amen.” At the end of her prayer everyone else said “Aho!” except Chiron who said “Right on!”

Rachel then announced “Since we have a new guest, Serena, we should go around the table and introduce ourselves.” The woman to her left spoke up. “Hi, Serena! I’m Jacinta, Rachel and Pipo’s daughter.” Chiron waved and just said warmly, “We’ve met,” with the same audacious gleam that disturbed her earlier. Next was Jack, who introduced himself and his girlfriend Sandy, grinning, “Pipo picked us up hitch-hiking when our van was broke down, six months ago.” And Sandy said quietly “Hi Serena.” Finally, the elderly woman said, “You can call me Patsy,” and the man exuberantly cut in “And I’m Harvey!” as he leaned over the table with one arm holding his bulky form precariously over the lasagna and the other extended to shake her hand. She took it and he chortled “Glad to meet ya’! Glad to meet ya’!” One of the two children, the dark haired boy, chimed in “My name’s Coby, I’m eight! This is Bayley,” pointing at the little red-haired girl. “I’m five,” she said shyly, holding up five fingers. “Alright then. Dig in!” said Rachel.

The lasagna was delicious and the conversations hilarious. Everyone was joking and teasing but very kind and polite towards Serena. She spent most of her time chatting with Jacinta about her children, growing up on a farm and her herbal business. As it turned out, the garden was mostly her project. She sold flowers, herbs, vegetables and products made from them at the market on Saturday while doing a little massage and bodywork at other times. Serena encouraged her to do most of the talking, easy for a psychiatrist...

THERE IS PLENTY MORE WRITTEN TO BE ADDED LATER. ALL IS STILL OPEN TO REVISION. WHADDYA THINK SO FAR? i'D REALLY LIKE TO FREE UP SOME TIME AND FUNDS TO WORK ON THIS TO ITS CONCLUSION. THE FIRST CHAPTER WAS WRITTEN AS SORT OF A ONE ACT PLAY: THE INTAKE. BUT SERENA HAS SO MUCH MORE TO LEARN. (AS DO I)