Rhythm of Faith and Hope

Rhythm of Faith and Hope

The earth is alive and always growing in Reconcavo on the coast of Bahia, Brazil. Tomas Budiao softly plays his berimbau. The music is full of lush melody and rhythms.

His eyes are soft and glowing, like a dreamer's. Listen as he shifts the twanging bow and gourd from high to low, octave rumbling:

Jshing – Jshing – Jshing –

Jshing – Jshing ---...

Relax. Meditate on the rhythms.

Reconcavo is an area of quiet, restful solitude. Brooks and streams flow with a steady smoothness around and through the mountains at all times. No natural disaster can be remembered by the old men of the region, nor has one ever been recorded. It is a paradise on earth.

He longs to pull every last drop of morning sun into his body as he stretches and hears the vibration of the berimbau echo off his body at the large lake in front of his family home.

Tomas's land is rich with garden plots of vegetables that multiply effortlessly and orchards of fruit that grow luscious with nectar. The clear, sweet water of the reservoir is jeweled plentifully with fish of all kinds.

He sits very still with his eyes closed. Rhythms drone chasing one another between constant shifts of the bow and the flat rock manipulated to change tones.

There is a slight silence for a brief moment.

Then the rhythm starts again. His eyes are fixed on the water as he feels the warmth from the new sun radiating through his skin into the very core of his being, warming his thoughts, his soul. He falls into half-consciousness.

The rumbling of the berimbau is continuous as if the sound, environment, and rhythm are one.

He's been playing since dawn. He feels light as the vibrations bellow out of the gourd onto his chest making him not only musician but instrument as well. Prisms of color begin to soar in his mind's eye from his head, heart, throat, gut then suddenly whir and muffle together.

A strange animal with glistening dark eyes appears on the water in front of him. He recognizes the eyes. The animal's form, muffling too, begins to change into an ancient old man with the same soft smiling eyes, long flowing hair, beard, and robes. The ancient one is leaning on a well-used walking stick.

It begins to speak but Tomas's mind wonders, wanders. The prism begins to separate again into various hues: red, green, blue, yellow, orange, violet. The ancient being lifts his hand and focuses on Tomas. The colors merge again leaving Tomas's mind and body free to truly see. A mist of white light has emerged from the ancient one's shoulders, brow, and head. “Walk with me, by my side,” says the glowy-eyed presence. Tomas appears before himself, yet his eyes are still focused on the sparkling ripples of water and his physical body is still sitting and playing his berimbau. The vision calmly walks toward him. They begin talking side by side leaning into each other while walking into the forest, “Take this black book. It is yours now. It will lead you on a quest of hope and faith.”

Tomas continues to gently tap the berimbau, his eyes shining into the sparkling reservoir. Purring sounds utter from his throat in conjunction with the vibration of the melody.

Time passed. The drone still chimed, rumbling, mumbling. Suddenly Tomas stopped playing. He dropped his berimbau and reached out toward the wave. “No!” he cried.

The vision was over.

He sat on the shore with head in hands and wept. A small black book at his side.

Opening his eyes, he saw the book in his lap. Smiling, he remembered the old man's words. Although he shuddered in remorse at not having the ancestor's presence with him anymore, he felt honored being gifted the book and the reward at the end of the journey given in it, that is if his faith and hope would win out.

Tomas's eyes lifted as he clutched the leather book to his chest. He took a deep breath and gathered his things then headed toward his cabin. It was dusk. Purple-hued air obscured his dark lean silhouette making him barely noticeable from shore to porch. The large trees of the forest cast their black lace shadows onto the violet-blue sky.

Sitting on the front steps he looked out over his land. He was the only living Budiao left of the long line who had cultivated the region. His heart grew full with love and thanks for their wisdom and sacrifice. He could see clearly the security this land and his family had secured for the people of the area. His mind had been muddled earlier but now it was crystal clear. He was determined to faithfully trust the ancient guide he knew so well by following the instructions given in the book. He would prepare and go on the journey at sunrise.

Tomas walked into the house, opened the yellowed pages of the book, and saw the beautiful scrolled writing of a forgotten alphabet. Although he wasn't familiar with the words, they were read with ease: "Son, my dearest boy, You are the last of our line. Many years ago your kinsmen hid an enchanted treasure that would only be found by the last of our line if he be worthy of it. Follow the northwest path just beyond the valley of streams to a stone cove of clear water. Look to the left immediately entering the water's edge. If you believe, you will see the entrance to an underground cavern. Find a leather purse hidden among a mound of blue rocks. Your task is to invest in yourself and your land, wisely. My blessings are with you."

He slept with a calm heart, deeply, then woke early.

Tomas knew his property from clearing to valley, inside and out but had never seen an underground cavern. Without hesitation, he steadily set out into the forest on a northwest path. A residual rhythm from yesterday's berimbau permeated his being, driving him, giving him solitude and endurance for the journey ahead. He found the cove singularly fitting the description given by the glowing presence.

The air was unusually clear and bright in the cove. As he entered the water, he turned and looked to the left amazed to see an opening in the mountainside he'd never seen before. He had no fear, only a sustained knowing, his faith, ribboned with hope.

Stepping into the cavern his eyes met pink and blue flowing streaks whimsically dancing across the glassy service of the wall, a large opening lit by the bright sky in the upper corner of the room cast shadowy yet clear outlines of the underground creek and dripping cones from ceiling and floor. Tomas searched carefully for the mound of blue stones. There they were! The matte softness of the rock in contrast to the glistening walls. Walking closer he saw a soft leather bag cinched closed. He knew his fortune was inside. Remembering with love the words of the ancient one, he knelt down gently opening the pouch,opening and found glistening gold coins inside. A message included read: “You are worthy. Invest well. We trust in you, trust yourself. Take the steps to grow.”

His faith and hope were rewarded. The gold was worth $20,000. He invested it by tripling the plots and orchards. He married and had several children. The Budiao line would continue. The people of the area were as blessed as he was. The region flourished again.