Your Mother's Necklaces

The sounds of your car locking beep twice. You gaze across the beautiful blue skies and breathe in the crisp mountain air. The same air you return to every October to backpack. The babbling brook by your side follows the long and familiar trail. The aspens seem to be there only for you. Every hue of red, orange, and yellow calls to you like a long-lost friend.

But as you begin, you swear the creek led up the northern face of the mountain. Today you walk further along into the west, dominated by the pines rather than the aspens. The previous trail markers have all been replaced. Has the trail been rerouted? The new marker says Mother's Trail. “It used to be the Wonderland Trail.”

As you walk along the pines, the notes of sage and cedar infect your nose. You see two deer standing up ahead staring right back at you with the sun shining right behind their heads. The call of a crow jolts your neck behind you, and you find some rope that had been woven into a cord hung in the tree almost like a necklace.

Your head turns slowly back to the deer to find they are no longer there. The hairs on your arms tingle and the sun hides behind the changing sky's clouds. You turn back to the corded necklace. “It does seem rather nice,” you say as you look for the owner and reach for the rope. You always admired the handiwork of weaving rope. “We will find your owner,” you say as the rope goes around your neck. But there's another? And another? And another? “You've been rather busy tying the necklaces out here.”

You note this seems to be a path of rope-tied necklaces, some with more knots than others. They go on and on. The trail has disappeared below your very feet, and all that remains is each necklace hung from branch to branch through the dense pine forest. The smell of sage dives deeper into your nostrils and you see smoke rising in the distance.

You see the opening emerging with each step you take and each necklace you grab welcoming you back to where there might be people again. As you emerge from the dark timber, you find an open field with a farm and three mansion-sized cabins.

Your eyes scan the entrance of the biggest wood cabin to find an old friend sitting at the end of a long picnic table with placards that seem to be on it. You can't even remember the last time you saw Jasmin, but now you see her across the field waving for you to come. As you get closer, you note that she looks untouched by the years that have passed. As if nothing had changed at all. 

Where have you been? It has been so long! It must be true to see that it's you.

You have your name tag? Yours is right between Marg's and Dave's. You don't mind the smells of sage and burnt cedar? Of course not. In fact, you love them. You always have. Remember, all that you see and all that you hear here is sacred. You waited so long to come back.

Everyone is so glad that you came. Zane never thought to see your face here again. What you don't remember doesn't hurt you, now, does it? Your face is so delightedly crooked that you must not remember. You think he forgot about rope, don't you? Don’t be silly. You came here with nowhere else to go. Everyone appreciates how much you gave for this place. After all, your time is the most precious thing to us. Why are your teeth chattering?

You can't remember. Of course, that's okay. Your mind is failing you; that's why you have us. Your face is so cold. Your eyes look so droopy. Remember, all that you see and all that you hear is sacred. You are one of us. You have nowhere else to leave to. All your memories fade into one. You came to us, remember? Here, take some more rope. You shouldn't have come back. Hmmmm, your eyes are flickering now. Take a drink. It's from sacred barley. You can't be late… Rest now. You have much to do. You are to serve and be of service……….

Rest. Rest. Yes, yes, let your eyes slide down into the spirit of the Mother.

Your clothes… No, the Mother does not need those.

Father Zane tied every knot you can see for the Mother.

The mountains will give you everything you need.

And the Mother on the mountain needs you.

She has walked the sands and swam the sea.

You don't know what you want until you find what you need.

You will tie the knot, and there is no key.

Your rope has everything she needs.

Carved into stone, you are feeding her truth.

She will call to you like the river's cascades.

Now you must wake up. Cedar and notes of sage gently waken the soul. You always loved that smell. The fire in the rooms sparks the light in your eyes. You see, here we all give and receive. You see the rope? Name tags woven into rope hung on the cabin walls. The Mother sees your needs and will take your suffering. You have now seen. But have you felt it?

You feel so young. As if you have stepped out of a fountain. But the hands. The hands are tied to the rope around the neck. They show wrinkles and skin that is drooping like melting wax. Your hands, your thoughts, your mountain, your Mother on the mountain. Your rope is our rope, tied by the hands of time. 

You too shall walk with the Mother. You hear that now? Another is walking the same path as you. The boundary of the mountain is what you always needed. Now it is your turn to welcome yourself fully in. You remember: Father Zane has the rope, and you, the name tag. All that you see and all that you hear is sacred. 

“Do you have your name tag?” You point to the placards tied to the rope. “You can find it right in between Marg and Dave.”