Amaca
Amaca loved to tell stories, but her favorite one was untold. It waxed and waned in her mind but never left her lips. This was true until that fateful evening when she chose me to hear this elusive tale. I spoke my poem clearly to her and her old eyes absorbed the words with a glittering sparkle.

“I love your poem Kargil, it demonstrates the beauty of life’s unending search for fleeting, intangible answers. What is the answer except a reflection of the question? For example, when did time begin? A good question in its own right. First what is time, that must be answered and second what is the language and words that give the answer? Finally what is the awareness that asks the question? This is the root of all questions...and the answer.

Amaca always spoke with wisdom and total eye contact. I couldn’t help but fidget under her eyes. Presently she gave me a critical look and then closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair.

“Oh Kargil, you always come to read your poetry, and then you return to your small house and your child.” Her voice cracked slightly, yet her words sounded young and fresh.

“But tonight you seem expectant. What is it Kargil?”

She knew me too well. I walked through the outer village into the valley and finally to the foot of the great Himalayas each week to seek this woman’s company. Her home was enchanting; full of relics of a nameless age and always smelling of jasmine and clove. But it wasn’t just her hospitality that brought me back.

From her whispy grey hair to her sweet refrain; tonight felt different.

“Everything that is, has always been, and will always be...”

That is how she began her story.

“In the beginning God said; there is none.” Amaca loved twisting words.

“So instead of starting nowhere lets begin about 16 billion years ago according to your time.

“What do you mean my time?” I asked.

I had an over all giddiness that felt hardly contained by my lips. I inwardly thanked my Lord Satriya for this story I was about to hear. Amaca was silent for a while, eyes closed, but I felt her probing me. Finally she said in an approving tone:

“No Interruptions!”

Joseph stirred.

“Where’s Daddy?”

His aunt was always fun to be with on Wednesdays when Joseph’s father visited Amaca, but tonight she seemed more interested in the vid-phone.

“Joseph, dear, just give me another few minutes and we’ll play Rollie Pollie.” Her eyes squinted as she smiled at him. She was stooped over filing her nails, and ignoring her boyfriend’s face on the vid-phone as she spoke to him.

“I don’t know exactly when he’ll be home honey, it’s different every week.” Amber said returning to her phone call.

“What do you think he does there?”

Amber could hear the suspicion in her boyfriend’s voice.

“I don’t know but it makes him happy, and I think it inspires his poetry.”

Amber, named after her rich hair color, had surprised her parents by popping out of the womb with a full head of hair. This was the first of many shocking qualities that had slowly chipped away at her parent’s sanity.

“At that time all the energy that now exists as the universe was churning with ever fresh potential.” Amaca continued.

“Following back the universe’s expansion, we come to this time of a new beginning. Do you remember this Kargil?”

I shook my head as if this kind of memory was as remote to me as the expanses of Antarctica.

“You will remember.” Amaca laughed.

Lifting up Joseph in a huge ball of blankets and feather pillows, Amber crashed upon the bed next to her nephew and then rolled him over her to the floor, where he landed in a pile of giggles.

“Rollie Pollie” he exclaimed like a leader boasting his territory.

Amber met his eyes with an expectant hesitation, and suddenly thrust him high into the air and then upon the bed with a bounce.

Darkness pervaded the eastern forest of the valley. The old looming trees bathed in it as their furry canopies shielded the sun. Following their crusty bark to the forest floor nothing seemed to be alive except pale mushrooms, and dry moss. Thorny bushes crept around the huge trees and bent at the faintest sunbeam. The craggy forest was floored by undulating slopes that rose to the bleak and frosty mountains of the north. It looked like a haven for lost souls but the one who called it home was neither dead or lost. He had a mission, a purpose, a clear and dark mind. It twisted and coiled like the thorny bushes and chalky shadows of his habitat. He actually looked like the forest. Mahogany cracked skin, stubby nose, deep crimson eyes, with a pale lifeless sheen. He went by the name of Ergot. His only companion was his pet emu. Totally unsuited for the forest its feathers were dusty and tattered and smelt like a mix of putrid milk and wet dog. The dampness of the forest seemed to cling to her body as she strode its underbelly with bright greedy eyes. All of the small animals scattered at the sound of her awkward tramping through the dead branches that lay scattered around.

In the early evening Ergot would scratch the emu behind its ears as it stretched its long neck out in ecstasy. This was the closest thing to affection that both of these creatures knew.

“No tasties for my feathered friend tonight? What about the nice little morsel we have in our pit? What about that, my wickedness?” Ergot’s pitch rose with each question.

The emu’s ears perked up slightly and it swooped its head to meet its master’s eyes expectantly.

She sat in a ball in the damp darkness, eyes chapped from tears and sniffles. Her daisy-ruffled dress was stained and shredded from the evil bird that brought her here. She clutched her last possession (a brown teddy bear with tan belly, pointy nose and glass eyes) with the last of her dwindling strength. She remembered playing hide and go seek with her friends in the cool shade of the forest as their game drew them deeper in. They knew they shouldn’t be in the forest at all but where else could Ileana and her friends find such a wealth of hiding spots. Under the moss covered boulder by an old sycamore tree Ileana waited nervously as footsteps had approached. As they drew closer they were accompanied by a foul odor and the raspy panting of a foul beast. The last thing she saw was the bright eyes, and drool infested beak of that terrible emu. Now she was alone and cold and she could think of nothing else but her mother and father. Oddly enough her only fear was for their torment in losing her. She didn’t want that and she was determined to return to them safely.

A pale flickering light above the stony pit suddenly pierced the blackness that covered her. It illuminated two shadows that peered down at her. One was the dark figure of a man and the other an outline of a big bird like creature. It must be that wretched emu, she thought.

“Well, hello little misses” said Ergot.

“I hope our accommodations have been to your liking this evening.”<

A cold laugh echoed down the pit and stung Ileana like a sudden light in her eyes.

Ergot threw the child into his personal study and then graciously opened the door for his pet to follow. As the screams began he pulled out an old parchment, delicately unfolding it, and suddenly becoming serious – read it:

Oh Sergotio,
You pull me in with your gravity
And I diffuse into the ecstasy
My field of electro-magnetic energy<
Collides with your dignity
Light-speed reactions of the most subtlety
Into the science of our destiny
Written in the stars

“Destiny” he muttered sourly, “I have a bone to pick with you.”

Ergot slowly refolded the parchment when a sudden noise made his ears twitch. Ergot was one of those people who twitched with every portion of his body, each twitch carrying its own discrete message. The sound was a muffled cry of a bird in pain.

“My corrosiveness!?” Ergot always addressed his pet in nicknames that reflected his most shining qualities. Opening the door to the study Ergot came upon an explosion of feathers and his dying companion bleeding in the corner. He ran to her forgetting the child who slipped out the door, tearing out of her prison and into the safety of the woods. Her gaze would not turn back that way for many years, she thought. She prayed for strength if it ever did...

Amaca’s story stopped. As she paused, her dwellings became deeply silent. A chorus of crickets and secadas broke the silence of Kargil’s trance. He was mesmerized by the story as it proceeded from universal events to stories of worlds and civilizations from the stars. He had forgotten where he was, the time, even that he was being told a story. The tale had unfolded for him like a vision, a cinema production, yet he felt very much a part of the story.

Amaca’s gaze brought him back to the room.

“Kargil, I must stop, I feel something is wrong, someone needs help, in the forest. Don’t be alarmed I will finish the story another time, you need to hear it. But this chapter is of the utmost importance my dear, and you will need more than your poetic skill to address it. So return to your child. Keep him safe Kargil. He is a sweet boy.”

Kargil recognized the standard pleasantries as a dismissal and he left with a bow and humble and clumsy smile. Back in the night air, Kargil welcomed the wind and the evening noises absorbing them quietly. As he was poetically trained, he would not put them into words, but surrendered to the sensations; nipping wind, soft grumble of loose stones under his sandals, the light scent of cherry wood burning in the nearby homes. His path brought him down into the valley of his childhood and to his small house in the center of it.

Ileana ran through the forest her cadence that of a fawn, dashing over logs, and darting between thickening oaks. As she ran an empty dull ache seized her stomach, and a firm dizziness shook her head. She stopped, wavered, and noticed bright spots in her vision. The spots now were in everything and they pulsated until the forest melted into them. She lost control of her body as darkness flooded her eyes. Some time later rising from a soupy and deep unconsciousness, Ileana opened her eyes to the same dark pit she had once escaped.

Ergot smiled into his large phial made of African tanzanite. Its blue and purple colors twisted in prisms and iridescent fractures that crept towards its core.

“Such strength of mind is extremely rare for a child, even for an adult. Who is this girl?” Ergot mused to himself

Ergot loved ensnaring people. He was born to do it, in this life anyway. Controlling people’s dreams and keeping them rapt in the strands of his illusory web were his favorite pastimes. His thoughts muddled on. She did not realize she was dreaming, and I did read some fear in her little thoughts as well as a name, Ileana. She will not escape my dark palace so easily, not until I have tested her strength completely and have broken her soul’s code. Ah, that sweet code unlocks so much power, so much...Words do no justice. It is that sparkling identity, the subtlest secret guarded in the depths of a human. His lips curled into a thin smile but his eyes shimmered with uncertainty and wonder.

The emu crept up behind Ergot and wedged its head between his shoulders.

“Looking for pettings? Not now. Go rummage the forest for some dinner.”

She gave him a throaty “cawe” and trotted out the door. Ergot again mulled in thought, leaned back and took in the stars through his hand blown sky light. If she can destroy my emu in her dream, it would be interesting to see her take on me, he thought.<

Amber was not one to frequent the electric clubs, and she felt detached from the bar scene, but she loved to dance. Much like my little nephew, she mused. Amber loved Joseph, and he crept into her thoughts often. Very few people can allow their mind the freedom of expression necessary for dancing to release its healing properties, but Amber was one of them. Many people take drugs; ecstasy, speed, amphetamines, strawberries, and a melange of different pills to overcome the idea that people are watching them dance, not to mention to have a good time. Then there is the essential issue: do you have rhythm? Amber believed everyone had rhythm, that it pulsed up from the heart beat, that it echoed in the bones and teased the mind, but she realized that most of it was untapped. Her favorite club for dancing was Frescos. The décor was simple, dark, and undistracting, and the music was hot. She couldn’t think of another word for the DJ stylings of Gemini, except dickhead for dating Kargil’s ex wife and Joseph’s mother. Dickhead or not he had a gift and the music moved her. She could feel it pulling her from the doorway past the bar to the dance floor.

Techno and funk were the foundations of Gemini’s music, but many flavors wove through the surface. Indian flute, African hand-drums slightly off beat, Moroccan symbols, and Latin steal drums all splashed through the multi-track mixes. Usually, the blends of various syntho records spoke to each other softly never competing for the ear or body's attention. The quick danceable pace of Gemini’s spinning would sometimes evolve into a spatial funk breakdown, which was almost climactically groovy.

Amber’s body slithered towards the dance floor following a hidden eye for movements with more grace and energy. Her body moved slowly at first finding the groove, clearing her mind, yielding to the bass, as her motions became more pronounced. She caught a quick glance from Gemini who had felt her presence on the dance floor.

A gaggle of girls, mostly Amber’s friends, sat drinking at the bar giggling amongst themselves. Adri spun back and forth on her bar stool listening to talk of boys, Amber’s dancing, Gemini, the elitist underground, then back to boys. Like Amber she became sick of the revolving conversations, but timidness kept her from dancing. She spun the ice in her Canadian whiskey and watched the throbbing dance floor, the spinning lights, and the smoky corners of Frescos. Adri noticed the giggling stop and turned to see her friends stare as Tonja, the morning star of Nepal, strutted past the bar. Adri’s gaze followed her as she walked up to Gemini and kissed him from behind, and then whispered in his ear. After a brief look to the bar she left the DJ stand and her boyfriend disappearing behind stage.

“Coke Slut” said the girl next to Adri.

“That girl is all attitude and no style, her pants get tighter every night, and did you see her eyeliner?”

“Sky blue, that went out after the 21st^st century” Adri responded blankly.

Her friends turned forgetting she was there.

“That’s what I be sayin’, that girl thinks she playin’ everyone, she be playin’ herself.”

As Amber danced the beat pushed her further and further, her muscles flexed effortlessly and she could feel her emotions and thoughts rise and then tremble out of her. She saw her boyfriend and his skepticism, sarcasm, and these images cleared her system like sweat through her pores, forming beads, and sliding down her body in a refreshing heat. She danced harder. The room became empty and she felt very distant from her body. The music unfolded in this deep dark space as she witnessed her body moving to it. Giddiness and expectation arose in her chest and expelled like her thoughts, all of these emotions flew away in circles of light upon this dark screen.<

Her eyes popped open back to the dance floor and Amber tried to hold back a bursting smile, and she began laughing. She turned to leave the dance floor and couldn’t help catching the light in everyone with her eyes.

Did somebody slip me ecstasy, she thought? Maybe mixed with L? She used to do drugs but hadn’t since her falling out with a girlfriend who was heavily inclined to party.

Kargil came home late that night to a note from his sister:

“Stayed till 11:00 then went dancing. Joseph is asleep and I will monitor him periodically through my tele set from the club. Sweet Dreams, Amber.

Nepal’s stratosphere had changed drastically since the new millenium of 2000. It went from a rugged eastern republic, untouched beyond the frequent trekker and hippy traveler to a political capital of the the new eastern regime. In the past thousand years, it had also expanded into a world class ski destination. The Himalayas, the world’s last untouched realm, had finally been transformed into ski resorts, becoming the best in the world. The influx of people formed resort towns and then finally cities. Katmandu, which once harbored 1 million people, now had 28 million and old hostles and decayed buildings were now sky scrapers and modern day castles. Castles had been a trend lately for some of the avant guard business moguls, and they littered the valley and mountains in a vain attempt to bring back some of the majesty and mystery lost in the previously untouched mountains. Some of its moutains and forests were still relatively untouched so it represented one of the last places on earth where one could explore the culture and lure of the micro cities and then visit a village that was living 1500 years in the past. This of course only added to its attractiveness, that and the air was the purest in the world at a time when clean air was becoming a commodity. >

This vast new technological kingdom did still harbor some relics of its spiritual past. Great beings still roamed the sacred mountains, and lineages of knowledge remained unbroken. In this new era of budding scarcity, many people were making attempts to move away from materialism, which sparked interest in many of the old teachings. Still, environmentalists continued to fly in private jets, run their homes with nuclear power, living in the constant supports of excess neatly established by modern society. With serious overpopulation, atmospheric and climate issues, environmental consultants found highly lucrative contracts from many governments, local and national.

Sir I, Excalibur, a self-named financial wizard had been one of the dominating forces in Nepal’s cultural trends into the medieval realm. His castle rested across from the famous monkey temple, and the playful creatures often lazed around its black gleaming turrets. 80 foot ceilings graced most rooms, and ancient woven textiles with golden threads streamed the walls. All of the technology and automation was hidden within the marble walls. From all normal appearances, this castle still used a well, open fire stove, and iron key locked doors. He had a personal advisor, a devilish man who made him laugh, and often took care of untidy situations and people for him. His name was Serge. He had the unique ability to appear in many places at once, or so it seemed. And he always carried a staff that was studded with African tanzanite.

“What should we do with this underground movement that has the gall to call themselves elitist?” Sir I’s eyebrow’s bristled as he stared searchingly into his advisor’s eye.

“They do not realize their own shortcomings, or your brilliance. They have people, two million strong, but they do not have expertise from Adromeda, now do they?”

“I personally assisted the take over of three major kingdoms, one of them on Earth, and they were more vast than U.S.A was during its hay day. This is the key to all power.”

Serge removed from his robe a small plastic model of a human brain.

“Reality is in the hands of everyone through this tool. Not the flesh of the brain but the creation of the mind. We, well Me anyways, have a way of controlling this tool, this reality maker, if you will.”

“Its hijacked knowledge that we are using, and highly dangerous, but that is apart of the whole appeal, is it not?”

Sir I laughed heartily, and bit into to his rosemary roasted chicken, with the amusement of a child.

“One thing master, I hasten to tell you that I have news of your long lost son. He and his bedraggled sister have amounted to nothing, they live a narrowly simple life in the city, your son is a poet and your daughter cleans houses.”

“They have no clue of their origin, and they fully except the family you found for them.”

Serge excused himself and sauntered into the west wing of the castle where he disappeared into the darkness.

Kargil woke up with Amber and Joseph in bed with him. She probably didn’t want to see her boyfriend, he realized in his hazy morning mind. He cautiously slid out from under the covers and took in the morning light through his window. Morning procedures were prompt and exact for this artist of the word. He brushed, flossed and waxed his teeth. Showered soaped and scrubbed his body after shaving and put on tea. His morning walk was as brisk as ever and it always led him in new directions. Winding between proud sky scrapers and small markets, he found peace in the stillness of a busy city. The random castle would pop up and jut out in lavish gardens and stone atriums, welcoming ones eyes into its stone dungeons of greed and glutony, Kargil mused. Street sweepers surrounded by wind blown trash bustled between travelers and homeless people who walked blankly by with steaming coffee filled with 4 packets of sugar. Many of the Buddhist monks were out. Crisply shaved heads, placid eyes, and burnt orange robes. They either smiled or appeared to look right through Kargil, as he took everything in.

He rounded his home stretch, en route to his writing desk, when he bumped into a tall girl clicking hurriedly with her high heels. She looked up nervously after their light collision and her smeared eye shadow eyes glimmered with a nervous recognition. It was his mysterious and elusive ex. Tonja, the dark star of Nepal. She looked like she had just run from scandal, an all night drama, or a 22 hour black jack session sprinkled with endless white russians. Kargil followed the urgency of the moment and spread his arms to give her a hug. The poor girl hadn’t seen her son in two months, he thought. She stepped in wavering, but then stopped. Her expression changed. To be exact, it hardened. But the welling tears which surfaced in the corner of her eyes told another story. The moment stretched, it elongated, and then became awkward. After one last desperate stare, she clicked on avoiding Kargil’s open arms and friendly eyes. As he headed home he noticed his heart wavering. Boredom had been one of her motives, and an inexplicable fire that seemed unquenchable even by the subtle intricacies of his imagination. She was so different...or was she? He had woven so many dreams for them and their son that they explored together into the wee hours of the night. They were graced by love and wine and the amazing food she made for them. She was so warm. Her heart was constantly budding with freshness, and most of all, beauty. She had chosen him years ago. And he fell deeply into her spirit, and she knew it. Her modest and earth born dreams had left her with her night life passion. Kargil often thought that she was consumed by the night, bedazzled by its darkness and its potential. She played it like no other, but her motives were no longer pure. He had known this for sometime. It had shown her the light in a dark manner. It had swept up all of her golden virtues, and most of all her deepest cherished asset in this world, her motherhood.

At his writing desk, faced with a blank sheet of handmade rice paper, he remembered her again and again. Satriya his goddess and supreme deity had taken a form for him he once thought, and that was Tonja.

Amaca prepared herbs for the children of her small village and often studied the Katmandu skyline with suspicion. She did not believe in omens, in impending evil. She had complete faith that only what was best, only great things, would unfold for all beings. But she had compassion, and a deep love to help those who suffered so. That is why she kept coming back. There was still some unfinished business in this world, and in the world of incarnation. Tirelessy, she was trying to save her soul mate who had gone astray. That being, she realized, had the most potential she had seen in a young soul, but now he considered himself old, so old and crusty. This was the only thing that perturbed her in the universe, and she was determined through the grace of all great beings to exist to make him see………..the truth. There