The Return

Someone once asked me, "What was it like, what was it like when you arrived on Earth? What were your first thoughts?" And in one breath, I replied, "It was an eerie feeling being all alone. The breezes whispered to an empty world. The morning glories climbed in abandon over disheveled old houses. No lights were on. No music echoed from the open windows on their porches. The cars seemed to be parked in eternity, with flat tires, chipped paint revealed rust, and broken glass was everywhere. Deer were always by the front steps munching on tulips. It must have been spring, and I might add, at last. A decade had passed since my parents had stepped foot on the Earth. The story began here as flowers were blooming and trees were turning green, Earth was still spinning, and new life was beginning in the wildness that humans had desecrated. And of course, I found myself here all alone. I was very afraid.

Life was evolving. There were no planes crossing the sky or bulldozers leveling trees, there were just birds flying by and other critters moving along, doing their jobs. There was a balance being found, what was lost in progress. And yet, off in the forest, a miracle was unfolding. A rather large egg was hatching. The egg was tucked away in a cave nestled in the ancient Blue Ridge Mountains. There was a place once called the Linville Gorge. It was a paradise that had once been protected. In the early spring, thousands of daffodils bloom there. They had been planted by someone who disappeared, yet the flowers remained. Not far away, inside a small rock-formed cave, was a giant egg hidden from view. It had been there in waiting for what seemed like eternity. Many baby foxes had been born in this cave with this egg, thinking it was a rock. It blended into the stone walls and floor like it had been there before. Perhaps the egg preceded the cave. Long, long ago, it had been safely harbored there, without a note, a message, a trace, or maybe it was an accident, a terrible tragedy of being left behind, when all else is lost.

Lost is a feeling of not knowing your way, and also it is an awareness of not knowing who you are. My grandmother found a letter in an old attic on my great grandparents' property. It was written many years before my birth. It was somewhat a map of finding my way to who I am. It was a collection of notes on the history of being human. Human was, for all intended purposes, wiped out on Earth in 2035. For a decade, the planet was empty of human life. There were birds of every kind, animals of every possible description, there was sea life and blue sky. And there was a quiet, so quiet you could hear a heartbeat, and nights so dark, and the stars were so brilliant that they reflected off the calmest sea. And I felt alone here. So I continued the history of human by telling how I came to be. Unlike the Adam and Eve story of a garden and a snake, my garden was not about knowledge, I already had that. It was about survival in the most beautiful place in the universe...where there was no one like me.

When I was about three years old, my parents and I were floating in space in a ship called Doomsday. My parents had left Earth shortly before climate change was at a point of no return. Few humans were still alive. My dad was a privileged white man. He had the means to save us, our family, or so he thought. They boarded the spacecraft, and I was born in space seven years later. For two and half years, we floated in outer space, or what my mom grew to call "The great loneliness." One day, my parents decided to land on Earth again. It had only been ten years. The ship separated into single mini space cars designed to land via GPS. Each space car was fully stocked with the best technology and resources to last up to twenty years. There were audio books on every subject, every future, every past, and it was like a school for me. As I grew up, I was able to teach myself to read, to add, to subtract, multiply, and divide, and I became an expert on reading maps. I was only three years old as I flew through space. I was headed for a home I never knew. I saw the pale blue dot grow closer and closer. I saw water and trees. I saw blue sky. And as I grew closer and closer, I saw land. I saw mountains. And with a thud, my space car landed in a forest. Flowers were everywhere. Yellow flowers. Thousands of them. I looked around and realized I was alone. Where was my family? We were to land together near our old house. I saw no houses, no roads, just a deep green forest. I sat there for a long while, and no one came to find me.

All life is miraculous, but the egg that was hatching was an extraordinary occurrence. Not in millions of years had anything quite like this happened on Earth. In the gentle quiet amidst daffodils and honeysuckle vines, a baby was emerging from a giant egg. A perfect green dinosaur was opening his eyes to the world. He shook his magnificent head, and slowly looked around in a startling awe as he shook off pieces of broken shell. He felt his legs move underneath him, and with an innate longing, he clumsily rose to his feet. He felt unbalanced and awkward, but almost as if he was being lured from the cave by his mother, he started stumbling towards the light...as if by magic...he was drawn out of the entrance of the cave into a world he had never seen.

I listened to my great grandmother's journal about this spot. She described the Linville Gorge as a sea of mountains, with coral reefs of wild flowers, rolling waves of rhododendron, and tidal pools laced with waterfalls. She said in the spring, the sun was higher and the days were longer as clouds lingered in the mountains like ghosts floating in fishing boats. She said if she closed her eyes and listened to the wind across these ancient mountains, she could hear the ocean. It was, to her, almost a sacred gesture that these mountains could be so magical and so gratifying. They were filled with mystery and yet, whenever possible, she would hike to some lonesome ridge and sit with her legs dangling from some rock outcrop, and she was sure God sat with her. She would gaze into the misty blue-gray mountain range and watch the flight of hawks as they whistled midair. She knew this was home, and no matter where in the world she traveled to, her soul would lure her back to this place, this place that knew her thoughts, her dreams, and listened to her heart like no other. My own story begins here, the place of my ancestry, in this garden that man had betrayed. I was a toddler, wandering in wilderness alone, until I ran into this creature, this green creature walking lost and haphazardly through the woods. It was a large baby creature, and it stopped and was staring at me. I stared back. I then said in my calmest voice, "Do not be afraid, I will not hurt you." I put out my hand and slowly walked towards a baby dinosaur. I cautiously, yet ever so gently, put my arms around the green baby's neck. I don't remember much after that except the fact that it was love at first sight, in a beautiful place where I was all alone.

The two of us became inseparable. Although we could not exchange words with one another, we created our own way to communicate. I called my friend Gabe, after the angel. We spent days exploring and foraging for food. There were mushrooms and nuts, berries and persimmons, there were things I had never seen before. And we survived. Gabe grew and grew. I could climb up his tail if I became tired or found terrain too difficult to cross. In the summers, we would sleep under the stars. I knew somewhere, my family was looking at the same stars. I would return to my Doomsday Car and study maps and materials on file. Occasionally and frugally, I would eat prepared meals stored in the cabin. Often, I would turn on the stereo and turn up the volume as Coldplay, an old favorite group of my grandmother's, would echo off the mountains...

A flock of birds

Hovering above

Just a flock of birds

That's how you think of love

And I always

Look up to the sky

Pray before the dawn

'Cause they fly always

Sometimes, they arrive

Sometimes, they are gone

They fly on

I became one with nature, the sunrise, the sunset. The change of the seasons. The flight of geese. Sometimes, I was afraid of the darkness. I would snuggle closer to Gabe, he would sigh and stretch out to make room for me at his chest. This gentle giant was all I was not, and yet, we complimented each other. Sometimes I thought he smiled at me, or maybe it was all projection, maybe it was me smiling at him. The years passed. We grew up and lived like descendants of the great forest. One morning, I told Gabe, "I think we can find my family." He looked at me with his big eyes. It had been a cold winter, but I sensed spring was looming. I told Gabe, "When the yellow flowers bloom, we will leave our paradise and find the road to Asheville." He seemed to understand. As we sat by the fire outside the cave, the cave where Gabe hatched, we witnessed a shooting star. I believed it was an omen, a message that the universe had cradled me in its belly and lifted me on its ridges, and now it would lead us home. I found on the Doomsday Car an audio book my dad had left there, and highlighted by hand in bright yellow were these words in the old hardback copy...

The mountains were his masters. They rimmed in life. They were the cup of reality, beyond growth, beyond struggle and death. They were his absolute unity in the midst of eternal change. – Thomas Wolfe

I prayed my dad and my mom were home again, and I would carry this book with me and return it to the only man I had ever loved, my father. Look Homeward Angel became the words I read aloud each night before closing my eyes. The book had belonged to my great grandfather. Gabe would listen as if he understood every word. He would drift off to sleep. I would close the book, and as if it is possible to tuck in a giant green dinosaur, I would. I would snuggle close to him and whisper, "I love you, Gabe." Hours later, the sun would rise above the mountains, and the birds would sing. The forest would come alive. We belonged there. And as we wandered down to the Daffodils Flats to gather breakfast, we arrived at the old homestead, where we saw daffodils breaking ground. It would not be long before we headed out on our journey. Our search for home. Not just mine, but Gabe's, our hearts were but one.

So with everything planned, we waited for the daffodils to bloom. And bloom they did, by the thousands. We decided to leave in two days. I fell asleep that night with an eerie peace. Then overnight, I awoke to the hush of the world. I tiptoed to the entrance of the cave. The stars were covered by dense, heavy gray clouds. Snowflakes were softly covering the trees, and the ground. It looked like a fairy tale. It reminded me of my time here since I became separated from my parents. I missed my parents and yet, my soul was at peace here in this cave with a green dinosaur. In this place, I found home. I thought that maybe home is in us, instead of a place. I sat and watched the miracle of Earth transform before me. I wondered what happened to humans. Why did they destroy such a place? After awhile, I curled up next to Gabe. I fell asleep with a new plan.

The next morning, Gabe walked to the door to the cave and looked for a long minute. Gabe was a warm-blooded dinosaur. In many ways, he was like a huge bird. He even had quite a few feathers. He seemed to understand words, and so my conversations were not pointless. He turned to me after looking at the snow and shook his head "No." I said to him, "Good, we agree. I have a new plan! Let me read this letter from my great grandmother that I found in the files on the Doomsday Car.

Dear Jean,

I had a wonderful time at our annual Christmas Eve gathering at the old inn. There is something about the old rock walls, the huge fireplace, the enormous great hall, and the lights and the greenery that remind me of home. Our gathering is a certainty that I look forward to each Christmas season. This year, with so much uncertainty in our lives, it was extra special. The lights twinkling in the trees, the songs we sang by the fireplace, and when I danced with your father, there was a feeling I had not experienced. The knowing I was a species on the verge of extinction. I want one more Christmas. One more night like we had last week.

Let me know your plans in the near future. I hope if we leave Earth temporarily, that we all agree upon our return to meet on the terrace and look over these mountains on Christmas Eve, that somehow they will lure us back.

Much love,

Grandmother Rho

"I think we travel in such a way that we arrive at the old rock inn on Christmas Eve," I told Gabe. "If my family is alive, they will be there waiting for us." So I got out maps and started charting our course. It would be my very first Christmas celebration if all my dreams came true.

So Gabe and I decided we would wait for the leaves to change, and as they began to fall, we would depart into the unknown. The days came and the days went. Summer turned to fall. Our home was exploding in color. The trees were brilliant shades of autumn. The night air turned crisp. We packed our needed essentials, locked up the Doomsday Car, and started our journey. The terrain was more difficult than expected, but the beauty of our path was exhilarating. We took our time and stopped when we felt tired. I began to see Earth as a paradise. I could not reconcile its demise. We wandered upon a structure. There were wide gravel paths leading up a winding trail. There were benches and signs. It looked like they were expecting a lot of people out here in the woods. Suddenly, we found ourselves confronted by a series of waterfalls. We could hear the water racing towards its grand entrance as it dropped into a pool of water. Ancient water that had endlessly been recycled. As I watched Gabe drink from the pool, I knew this same water had passed through his ancestors. The place was silent otherwise, except for the birds. It felt quite liminal. It had that lonely feeling, a feeling of ghostliness. It was as if we expected to see someone, but there was an emptiness. I felt it when I first landed on Earth. We were searching for answers, but only found deer moseying along, living fearless in a destiny of sorts. We kept walking in awe at every turn. We found a road with signs. It too spoke solitude. We knew we were heading in the right direction...

Asheville: 58 Miles.

The road was narrow and curvy. There were spots to stop and look out over the countryside. We started seeing structures off in the distance. I was seeing my first view of human life, or remnants of human life, and I was fascinated. The landscape was dotted with rooftops. We traveled on. We were high on anticipation.

Days turned into nights. We stopped to climb to the top of Mount Mitchell. It too felt very liminal. It was as if humans took this lovely spot and built wide paved paths, fire pits, and artistic endeavors, and for what reason? I thought about it, and wondered why humans felt it necessary to disrupt the natural landscape. Most things are beautiful on their own. Untouched. I considered that Earth had become a thing rather than a living, breathing planet. In destroying themselves, they destroyed their home. Growing up alone in the forest with Gabe, I only loved what was, who I was, where I was, and whom I was with. Beauty surrounded me, and so I loved that beauty in us, in all life. It was all simple. The Earth, and life, had apparently become way too complicated for humans to process.

The next day, I was overwhelmed with joy. We stumbled upon Craggy Gardens. We walked a beautiful short trail up to the top. The views were endless, berries were on trees, the sky was a shifting of clouds in white and shades of gray. The clouds flew past. On this day, I had an epiphany. I fell deeply in love with where I was. I never wanted to return to space. I walked down the mountain with Gabe. I loved him. I loved our differences. I loved the diversity of the planet. I loved life, and we were maybe three days away from the old rock inn.

It was getting colder. There was an excitement in the air. I had never felt this level of anticipation. As we walked into Asheville, there was ruin everywhere, but in the ruin was a calling, a purpose, and an awareness I had not felt. Street after street of disheveled structures. In the broken windows, the collapsing roofs, the open doors there was an invitation. We kept walking. We found ourselves at the bottom of a hill. At the top was a large rock building with a red roof. Rock steps slowly twisted and turned up the hill. It was dusk. There were lights flickering around the building and in the trees. In the endless blue hour, the lights cut the darkness. We could hear music drifting down toward us. It was the birdsong of humans. Gabe and I looked at each other and tried to climb the hill. As I got closer, I heard voices and laughter. We walked faster, and at the landing before our final ascent, I saw a tree covered in decorations with lights of every color. I saw my mother look up and then down at me. Her face had aged, but it was my mom. I thought how beautiful she looked standing there in old jeans, a tattered sweater, and her long hair in a knot at the back of her head. Wisps of gray hair framed her face, and her deep brown eyes were captivating. I started to cry uncontrollably, and Gabe nudged me. I walked up the stairs with my gentle giant, and my hands were trembling. My mom said, "Everett, it's Lorrick. Lorrick is here. She is with a green dinosaur. Please hurry, our baby is home." She never took her eyes off of me. When I arrived on the rock porch, she held my face in her hands. Tears fell and love embraced. My dad stood watching in awe. I reached out and handed him the old book. He looked at it, and tears fell down his cheek. Gabe stood watching love unfold. This is our why...yes...what we did not know yesterday, we know today. My Grandmother Rho suddenly walked onto the porch, and all she could say was, "Lorrick?"

I thought to myself, "Thomas Wolfe, if you are out there, swirling in these mountains, the ones you so loved...well yes...you can go home again. So can I. I can return to the ghosts of my past, the generations before me, who so loved this place. You see, Thomas Wolfe, even daughters who are lost, and daughters with an unusual friend, a green dinosaur named Gabe, with an unknown past, and even in such a time that is now...all of it can return home. We did, and I called it sacred for the rest of my life. "Merry Christmas," I thought. I looked over the terrace, snow was beginning to fall, not in a fury, but in a gentle dance. It fell so softly that Earth began to glow. The full moon illuminated the old inn. I knew deep inside, we would begin again.

But why had he always felt so strongly the magnetic pull of home, why had he thought so much about it and remembered it with such blazing accuracy, if it did not matter, and if this little town, and the immortal hills around it, was not the only home he had on earth? He did not know. All that he knew was that the years flow by like water, and that one day men come home again. – Thomas Wolfe