Heroes & Heroines Contact Me



The pasture smells sweet of grass; the sun gently announces its presence. Glistening porcelain-white, a hop, step and a jump away, looms a bath tub, edges like the curled lip of a smile. No cows drinking today. Goody! I'm invited for a bath.

I climb in, no water yet; lush rust cupped hands encircle the drain. Up and off goes my smock--a soft, comfort blanket releasing its design smiling of crimson red and fluid cream. Uh Oh! No undies! Goody! Goody! The way God made me--and the way the Great Mother tamed and groomed me.

Water flows like tropical island rain. It moistens and evaporates. I wash and scrub each limb, the face, body whole, stepping out dry, smock donned. I bow to the Great Cleansing Gift.

"What's in store next?" I muse, knowing Cycle Dear, though still in her throes, loves passionately the return to its birth and she dallies only on curves. A shiny green-blue dragonfly hovers eye level, spinning its miniature helicopter wings. "Like a lift?"

"Sure, why not! (cute, friendly bug) Thanks." Within an inspiration, I'm deposited comfortably against a post at one side of the pasture, back resting, legs stretched straight out. Wow! What an expansive spot for contemplation--a panoramic view, exact from control center. I'll be funny. "Houston , come in."

Life is good. The sweet smell of grass enlivens my heart. The sun caresses me warm. If I could only stay here forever! --only in my dreams, I know. I acknowledge the magnetic pull of the ever returning Cycle Brigade, promising to pull me religiously until (if ever) I am beyond its grasp.

"Thy Wish Is My Command."

"What's that?" Interesting thought. "I welcome you."

"Thy Wish Is My Command."

"Well, again, welcome, Houdini, genie."

"Thy Wish Is My Command."

"Houston , I read you loud and clear."

"Thy Wish Is My Command. Try it."

"Try what?"

"Thy Wish Is My Command. Try it."

"I don't have any wishes. What would I want?"

"Thy Wish Is My Command. Try it."

What to wish. I gaze out over my legs, stretched out, feet to the sky. I honor them, staunch and loyal supporters in life; they evoke a memory and encourage me, "Hey! Give it a try. What the heck!"

"OK," I relent, "only because you ask. Here it is: I wish my left leg were the exact counterpart to my right. No trace of polio."

OK. I did it. I made a wish. So what's next, Voice?

The Powerful Softly-Persistent Voice delivers! I watch transfixed as my left leg begins to grow slightly and fill out until it exactly matches the right. Then the pelvic bone and the spine decompress and realign. This is a momentous experience! Who would believe it? What an amazing sight! I'm in the Maker's Hands! I Am In This State By Thy Will Only. No other possibility! This is beyond belief!

At some point, my friends--the thoughts--surface. I am the same as before; I'm still ME. However, the persona I am familiar with and its life purpose no longer fit the realigned body. 'The Deliverer' took the wind out of my sail; puffed anew. With one heretofore, unimaginable power puff, the Gentle Voice rocked my socks off. I could still try to follow the same patterns. But the life force will not be attentive. It does its own thing--seeks out what is immediate and direct for its purposes alone.

In this new 'normal' body, I don't need a persona that compensates for the many facets of left-right imbalance. Hey, ya' know what? This 'new' body is stunningly simple. It has no needs and it's light! But I have to be fair. I like the old body too. I don't mind the familiar old persona; it entertains me. And I can admire the 'old' body trudging and sauntering along mending fences. What else to do? Still, something new would arise.

What would it be like to stay with the newly aligned body, I wonder? I'm still ME; that doesn't change. The difference is that I am in a world of thoughts that are directly manifested in the physical world. This is not my ordinary reality. Yes, my thoughts manifest, but not in a grandiose way. It's more like, "I think I'll get up now and I get up." From this experience, it is clear to me directly that thoughts have the power to manifest in the physical in spectacular ways (through me or anyone) in concert with the 'Voice That Delivers,' the Powerful Softly-Persistent Voice. Maybe I could say the Higher Power or recite a thousand and one names.

What about choice? This present experience is not drug induced. I am not consciously choosing to have it; nor do I remember any conscious forethought of it. It is just happening--a spontaneous call and response happening. Now that I am in it, am I making choices? Yes, I choose to make a wish, to follow the Gentle Voice and "try it" after a short consultation with the body-mind. (You are probably thinking, you also chose to take an air bath and ride with the dragon fly, you nut case!)

What about surrender--an ultimate rendering or giving? The entire experience originates from surrender or it wouldn't be happening. There is also surrender that follows each of the conscious choices--to accept an invitation to bathe, to accept a lift (from a trusted friend), and to follow the gentle trusted Voice.

I'm not kidding myself into thinking that today I escape the magnetic Cycle Brigade (the rounds of birth and death) and remain forever in a treasured state. I say, "I'm ready to go and I'm ready to stay. It's all the same to me." Therefore, which one is 'going' and which is one is 'staying' when they are both the same? When every moment carries the mark (remembrance) of the treasured state, when am I not in it?

 More Stories

Read Separation from the Mother

Your beckon swirls, orangey on black, millions of tiny copper BB’s, firefly tails on fire in the dark. You welcome me return; like falling asleep, you sweetly draw me in. You knew me first and never forget. You beyond name--may I call you Great Mother?
More >>

Read In the Know
A quiet passing

In the last days we knew Grandpa was failing. He was born into a French Catholic family although he did not practice his faith. So Dad called a Catholic priest in the area and asked him to come over and talk to Grandpa.
More >>

Read Culture Shock

He wanted me to teach him English. “Of course, León,” I said, “tomorrow at eight o’clock." After all, I mused, that’s what I’m here for—to each anyone who wants to learn, young or old, tall or short, skinny or fat. And it isn’t my fault León is a beautiful man. More >>

Read Brendan and the Guinea Turd

Marianne and I are very good friends. I suppose that’s why she asked me to come over and talk to her son, Brendan. She said she was having some problems, but didn't elaborate.
More >>


©2005 Laurel Hovde HomeStoriesContact Me TraveloguesBook ReviewsPeace CorpsHeroes & Heroines