Chapter 8.1 - Mastering Spirit

The garden slept soundly under a mountain of leaves in the unseasonably warm air of late November.

“You never painted this beautiful landscape,” Grandmother commented in a reproachful tone.

“Maman, you know that’s not what I do,” Claire tried to defend herself.

The carpet of fallen leaves glowed copper and gold in the sunset like a dare. A ray of light suddenly peeked from under a cloud and when it touched the ground it seemed to set it on fire: everything looked suddenly illumined from behind as if the essence of things had decided to reveal itself to the undeserving humans and gift them its spark, the spirit of being, the force behind the movements of existence.

She didn’t know whether she was allowed to see it, there are things in this world which are not meant for the human eye or the human spirit, but she did, and because she did she was enraptured. She couldn’t take her eyes off the strange glow which moved like a little fire across the golden landscape - the living spirit of things. She didn’t know why but it seemed essential that she held that fire in her hands to share its essence. She touched the  golden foliage with the tips of her fingers and the little fire moved quickly through them to reach her blood and meld with her essence.

“I thought that was not what you did,” Grandmother teased.

“Can you see it too?” Claire asked her in a daze.

“See what?” Grandmother chuckled.

“Never mind,” Claire responded, still trying to process the sensation of the little fire that had touched her being. 

There had been experiences in Claire’s life that defied explanation, things that she would have liked to share but there were no words to share them with, and this was one of them. How does one express the fear and awe of having touched the spirit of everything there is? 

“That’s why they invented poetry,” Grandmother smiled, content. “Or painting.”

“Is this…” Claire mumbled, choked up by emotion.

“Real? Bebelle, real is what you make of it.”

The pulse of all existence still vibrated on the tips of her fingers, she could feel the whole life surrounding her in its slow buzz, the grass, the oak trees, the birds in their branches, the depths of the earth, the heights of the sky, the soft silence of the pond, she could feel herself too as a part of this larger whole, just another piece of it no different from the others. Her entire being was held together by threads of light, thinner than gossamer, too fine for the eyes to tell apart, and she knew these threads connected her to everything and blended her into everything. There was nothing else, just the comforting awareness of dissolving into the wholeness of being. 

“When the spirit moves you…” Grandfather interrupted the scene, puzzled by the strange stillness of the women who seemed to have turned to stone in his absence. “What in God’s name are you two doing?”

“Hush, Joseph!” Grandmother chided. “We’re minding the silence.”

“As I was saying, when you’re done doing that can you come inside? Claire got a package.”

“What?” Claire jumped surprised. “From whom?”

“Doesn’t say,” Grandfather turned his back and walked into the house, followed by the women.

Claire opened the parcel releasing a strong scent of violets in the process, but there was nothing in it other than a thin layer of shimmery dust which left smudges on her fingers.

“Are they inviting her in now?” Grandfather exploded, revolted.

“Joseph,” Grandmother intervened. “Be reasonable!”

“Reasonable? You call this reasonable? Goofer dust?” 

“It’s not goofer dust and you know it,” Grandmother protested.

“No! It’s worse!”

“They’re family,” Grandmother tried to soothe him. “They mean her no harm.”

“They meant no harm to her mother either,” Grandfather said bitterly.

“Louise chose to go, there is nothing stopping her from coming back.”

“Nothing but the fact that she forgot everything and everybody! She forgot us! She forgot Claire! You call that no harm? That’s what the bloody dust is for!”

“I’m still here,” Claire wanted to interject the state of fact into this argument about hypothetical disasters but there was no room for it in the heat of the conversation.

“I’ll take those cursed mirrors down today if it’s the last thing I do!” Grandfather raised his voice.

“You will do no such thing! Not unless you let me and Claire walk through to the other side first! You’re not shutting the doors on our daughter!”

“You and your cursed kindred! I knew I was doomed the second I married you but I was too young and too stupid to care! Now we’re going to lose Claire too!”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Claire wanted to scream but her voice came out in a gentle hush.

“Like you have a choice!” Grandfather turned to her frowning.

“Of course she has a choice!” Grandmother replied in a tone so unconvincing it froze Claire’s blood. The latter closed her eyes for a second only to find herself face to face with the tall man who looked bored and gestured towards her to just ignore the whole conversation.

“Look at her!” Grandfather pointed out. “She’s gone already!”

Before Claire had a chance to open her eyes she got drenched in the scents of summer. The wind had brought in a delicious fragrance of violets and overheated herbs through the wide open windows, and the wet scent of rain.

“Oh, God, no, not again!” Claire took in the amazing summer landscape, so beautiful it made her cry. She could feel its spirit tug at her heart strings, those thin strings of light that connected her to everything. She tried to figure out what season it was, but there was no season, just the joy of being alive at the peak of life’s glory. She ran, barefoot, on the meadow in front of the house which was now carpeted in violets, and bent down to pick a strange one, the only one whose petals were speckled white and blue in a sea of purple flowers.

“Claire!” Grandfather’s voice shook her out of her daydream and brought her back to the house and the end of November with the pretty violet still in her hand. “What, they’re going to snatch her from the middle of the parlor now?”

Claire smiled to the image of eternal summer which was still occupying her brain.

“Stop smiling! Stop whatever it is that you’re doing to bring this about!” Grandfather demanded, exasperated.

“I’m not doing anything!” Claire protested.

“It’s that cursed dust!” Grandfather grabbed her hands trying to wipe off any spec of the nefarious substance, but it had already fused into her fingertips.