Six Lifetimes

Six lifetimes it took to learn.

During this one, the most I could hope to grasp was the barest foundations.

They were called Lessons, my nan told me. And they came in all shapes and sizes, and eventually lead back to the core, like a following a silver stream in the mountains to where it comes jumping out of a crevice in the rocks.

The form doesn't matter, said my nan. What matters is the essence. The idea will hit you, you'll swim with cool shivers, and then it will fit into your existing framework of knowledge.

You need to practice, she said one morning as we were weaving baskets by the shore. Practice keeping your mind blank.

I in my two braids, she in her wildest cloud of gray hair, under one blanket, breath making frost clouds. I had already had the first two Lessons.

They had come one after another, linking on each other in one bright chain. The first had come riding atop the backs of salmon as they leapt up a low waterfall, ready to become mothers upstream where they were born. The knowledge had hit me full-force as I gazed into the stream, the spray, the blood-red flashes that were the fish full of eggs.

And the last Lesson had been a female bear who came right after, lumbering out of the tall grasses to catch the leaping salmon right in her mouth.

Nan was right. The more I practiced, the more the fog inside of me cleared, and the easier it was to receive Lessons.

That morning I had told her about the first two, and she murmured "hmm"; surprised, I imagined, and a little delighted. She broke out into song after a few beats, one of our oldest, about the moose and the axe-wielding man who decided not to kill him. They became friends.

"My little daughter's-daughter has the Sight!" Nan exclaimed suddenly. "She's unlocked it and now is going to be a guide to her people!"

Guide meant helpful, of course. And during the four lifetimes after that, that's what I was.

Now my shoulders are imperceptibly stooped, though my body is young, by some people's standards. I stopped putting myself in crowds of people, of giving them advice from the corner of my mouth. I have a streak of gray right by my temple and my mind is piled high with responsibilities. I still collect Lessons, but they're far and few between. Every few months a new one shows up. The longest gap has been a year.

I live in the city. Traffic nor garbage ever stops. My mother (this time) sits off to the corner of her bed smoking a cigarette and huffing when I ask her why she no longer speaks to her brother and sisters. The stars can't be seen no matter how fresh and clear my mind mimics the night air.

The last Lesson was about how the purpose of all Lessons is to share them.

I sit at the dining table around midnight and cradle my head. No lights on. A cacophony outside, and the silence inside sliced into equal bits by the ticking of a clock. The ticking was once a Lesson. Just like the net total line in the last phone bill. I am tired of being reminded how much farther there is to grow. I dream of this particular childhood, ice cream sunrise days of petting cats and skateboarding, before someone took the liberty upon themselves to re-tell me what a Lesson is. My hair is still in two braids. I can't tell anymore what was yesterday or today. Nan told me that this exhaustion comes near the end. My scalp aches and I tug the ribbons, releasing the braids. Several lifetimes flash, their Lessons pool in my shoes and suddenly I'm cold and sharp.

The final one. Where are you, please come out into the light.

There is no light, the Lesson spoke. How do you expect me to come out into something which there is none of?

My muscles freeze. I glance about as much as I can, given the fixed position of my head.

I am here. It is for you to decide what I mean.

A Lesson had never spoken to me before. I had always fancied them a flash of insight, not more, to be digested, integrated, and worked with.

You are not alone. I will not leave you. But I also do not exist.

My hands numb. At my core is a bright sort of feeling, of pieces snapping into place.

There was no final Lesson.