The Sorcerers' Crossing: Chapter 13.

The Sorcerers' Crossing - A Woman's Journey ©1992 by Taisha Abelar.

Chapter 13

I awoke hearing Clara tell me to sit up.

It took me a long time to respond; first, because I was totally disoriented; and second, because my legs were numb.

Seeing my difficulty, Clara held me under the arms and pulled me forward, then propped some pillows behind my back so I could sit without her help.

I was in my bed and I had my nightgown on. From the light, I could tell it was late afternoon.

"What happened?" I muttered. "Did I sleep all night?"

"You did," Clara replied. "I was concerned about you. You went off the deep end into a perceptual limbo. No one could get through to you. So we decided to let you sleep it off."

I leaned over and rubbed my legs until the prickling sensation stopped. I still felt groggy and strangely enervated.

Clara said in her most authoritative tone, "You have got to talk to me until you are yourself again. This is one of those occasions when talking is good for you."

I had broken out in a cold sweat and my limbs felt limp and rubbery.

I plopped back onto the pillows and said, "I do not feel like talking. Did Mr. Abelar do something to me?"

"Not while I was looking," Clara replied, and laughed jovially at her own joke.

She took my hands in hers and rubbed the backs of them, attempting to revive me.

I was not in the mood for levity, and demanded, "What really happened, Clara? I do not remember a thing."

She made herself comfortable on the edge of the bed.

Clara said, "Your first encounter with the nagual was too much for you. You are too weak.

"That is what happened. But I do not want you to focus on that because you become discouraged so easily.

"Also, I do not want you to read between the lines, as you are apt to do, and come up with the wrong conclusions."

My teeth chattered as I said, "Since I do not know what is going on, how I am going to read between the lines?"

Clara sighed, and said, "I am sure you would find a way. You are exceptionally adept at jumping to conclusions; unfortunately, the wrong ones.

"And it does not matter that you do not know what is going on. You always assume that you do."

I had to admit I hated ambiguous situations because they always put me at a disadvantage. I wanted to know what was going on so I could deal with the contingencies.

Clara said, "Your mother taught you to be a perfect woman. By observing the surroundings, perfect women infer everything they need to know, especially when a male is involved.

"They can anticipate their man's subtlest wishes. Perfect women are always aware of changes in his moods because they believe that these changes are caused by something they themselves said or did.

"Consequently, they feel it is up to them to appease their man."

Having seen myself, by means of my recapitulation, acting in such a fashion again and again, I had to admit, to my chagrin, that Clara was correct.

I was well trained. I only needed a look or a sigh or tone of voice from my father and I would know exactly what he was thinking or feeling.

The same was true of my brothers. They had me jumping at the most subtle cues.

And worse still, I only had to imagine that a man did not like me and I would bend over backward to please him.

Clara nudged my side gently to get my attention, and with a most annoying smile she said, "If you and I had been alone last night, you would not have passed out so dramatically."

I replied, "What are you insinuating, Clara? That I find Mr. Abelar appealing?"

"Precisely. When a man is around, you undergo an instant transformation. You become the woman that will do anything for a man's attention, including passing out."

"I beg to differ with you," I said. "I really was not trying to play up to Mr. Abelar."

Clara said, "Do not just defend yourself. Think about it.

"I am not attacking you. I am merely pointing out to you what I used to feel and do myself."

Deep down I knew what Clara was talking about.

Mr. Abelar had such a charismatic charm that, in spite of his age, I found him utterly attractive. Yet I chose not to acknowledge this, either to myself or to Clara. To my relief, Clara did not pursue the subject of my feelings for Mr. Abelar.

She continued, "I understand you perfectly because I too had my John Michael Abelar. He was the nagual Julian Grau; the most handsome and debonair being that ever lived.

"He was charming, impish and funny. He was truly unforgettable.

"Everyone adored him, including John Michael and the rest of my family. We all kissed the ground he walked on."

As I listened to Clara rave about her teacher, it occurred to me that she might have spent too much time in the Orient.

I had always been disturbed by the obscene adoration that students in the karate world felt for their teacher; or 'sensei'.

Those students literally kissed the ground their teacher walked on. They brought their heads to the floor in obeisance whenever their master entered the room.

I did not say this to Clara, but I felt that she was lowering herself by revering her teacher so much.

Clara, oblivious to my judgements, went on, "The nagual Julian taught us everything we know. He dedicated his life to leading us to freedom.

"The nagual Julian Grau gave special instruction to John Michael Abelar; instruction that made Mr. Abelar qualified to become the new nagual."

I wanted Clara to see the danger and fallacy of too much veneration, and I said, "Do you mean, Clara, that naguals are like kings?"

She answered, "No. Not at all. Naguals have no self-importance whatsoever. And it is precisely for this reason that we can adore them."

I adjusted my previous question, and quickly asked Clara, "What I meant was, do they inherit their post?"

"Oh, yes! They certainly inherit their post, but not like kings. Kings are sons of kings.

"A nagual, on the other hand, has to be singled out by the spirit because unless the spirit chooses him, he cannot set himself up as our leader.

"A nagual to begin with is a person with extraordinary energy, but it is not until he is taught the rule of the naguals that he actually becomes a nagual himself."

I followed Clara's explanation, but I felt inexplicably ill at ease with it.

I realized upon deliberation that the part that bothered me was that the spirit had to make the selection.

I asked, "How does the spirit decide whom to pick?"

Clara shook her head and said softly, "That, my dear Taisha, is a mystery beyond mysteries. All a nagual can do is fulfill the spirit's biddings; or fail miserably."

I remembered that Clara had said that Mr. Abelar might one day be a nagual to me. I thought of him, and I wondered what bidding the spirit had in mind for him.

I tried to sound casual as I asked, "By the way, where is Mr. Abelar?"

"He left last night when he realized that you were out for the count."

"Will he be back?"

"Certainly. He lives here."

"Where, Clara? In the left side of the house?"

"Yes. At the moment, he lives there. Not at this precise moment," she corrected herself, "but nowadays.

"At other times, he lives with me on the right side of the house. I take care of him."

I felt a pang of jealousy so potent that it charged me with a surge of energy. I had a most disturbing twitch in the side of my mouth as I asked, "You said he was not your husband, did you not, Clara?"

Clara laughed so hard that she rolled backward onto the bed out of breath.

She sat up again, and assured me, "The nagual John Michael Abelar has transcended all aspects of being a male."

"What do you mean, Clara?"

"I mean, he is not a human being any longer. But I can not explain all this to you because I lack the finesse, and you lack the facility to understand me.

"The way I see it, my inability to explain things to you is the reason why the nagual gave you those crystals."

"What inability, Clara? You speak perfectly well."

"Then it is you who does not understand perfectly well."

"That is idiotic, Clara."

"Then how come I can not convey to you what we are, and what we have in mind for you?"

I took several deep breaths to settle my nervous stomach.

I fell prey once more to panic, and I asked, "What do you have in mind for me, Clara?"

She began, "It is very hard for me to explain.

"You and I belong to the same tradition. You are an integral part of what we are; and therefore, we are compelled to teach you."

"Whom do you mean when you say 'we'? Do you mean you and Mr. Abelar?"

Clara took a moment as if giving herself time to answer correctly.

She said, "As I have told you already, we are more than two. In fact, I am not really your teacher, and neither is the nagual John Michael. Someone else is."

"Wait, wait, Clara. You are confusing me again. Who is this other person you are referring to?"

"Another woman like yourself, but older and infinitely more powerful.

"I am merely your usher. I am in charge of preparing you; of getting you to store enough energy through your recapitulation so you can meet this other person.

"And believe me, her presence is much more devastating than the nagual's."

"I do not understand what you are trying to say, Clara. Do you mean she is dangerous and will harm me?"

Clara explained, "Your words illustrate the problem of my trying to answer your questions. You get confused because you and I have only a superficial connection.

"You ask me a question, expecting a clear-cut answer that would satisfy you; and I give you an answer that satisfies me and throws you into confusion.

"I recommend that you either do not ask questions, or that you take my answers without getting into a dither."

I wanted to know more about Mr. Abelar and this other woman's plans for me. So with the hope of getting Clara to tell all, I promised that from then on, I would weigh all her answers with due consideration, but with no panic or agitation on my part.

Clara tentatively said, "All right. Let us see how you take this.

"I am going to tell you what the nagual told you last night before you passed out on him.

"But, since I am not a male, you no doubt are going to react differently to me than you did when the nagual talked to you. You might even listen to me."

I protested, "But I do not remember him telling me anything before I fell asleep on the mat."

Clara paused and searched my face; I supposed for some spark of recognition.

Although I was tring to appear as calm and attentive as possible, and I even smiled to reassure her, Clara shook her head to denote she found no spark.

Clara began, "He told you about all the beings that live in this house. He told you that they are all sorcerers; including Manfred."

At the mention of Manfred's name, something inside me clicked.

I blurted out without thinking, "I knew it."

I found the idea that Manfred was a sorcerer perfectly believable, yet I had not the vaguest notion of why it should be so.

I told Clara that at one point I must have already entertained that thought, although I still did not know exactly what a sorcerer was.

Clara assured me with a broad smile, saying, "Of course you do."

"But I tell you, I do not."

Clara looked at me bewildered, and said, "Are you sure you do not remember the nagual explaining this to you?"

"No. I really do not."

Clara, with an air of formality, said , "To us a sorcerer is someone who through discipline and perseverance can break the limits of natural perception."

We were on different trains of thought. Clara was talking about people I had not even laid eyes on, and I was talking about Manfred.

"Well, that does not make things any clearer," I said. "How can Manfred do all that?"

She seemed to appreciate my confusion.

"I think we are having a misunderstanding again, Taisha. I am not just talking about Manfred.

"It has not sunk in for you that all of us in this house are sorcerers. And not just the nagual, Manfred, and myself, but the fourteen others you have not yet met. We are all sorcerers; abstract beings.

"If you want to think of sorcery as something concrete involving rituals and magic potions, all I can tell you is that there 'are' sorcerers who are as concrete as that, but you will not find them in this house."

Only now after Clara had told me so directly did it strike me that she, Mr. Abelar, and the elusive others to whom she had repeated alluded were all sorcerers.

I remembered her advice and rather than ask any more questions, I thought it best I remained silent.

She went on to elaborate that abstract sorcerers seek freedom through enhancing their capacity to perceive; while concrete sorcerers, like the traditional ones who lived in ancient Mexico, seek personal power and gratification through increasing their self-importance.

I took a sip of water from a glass on the bedside table, and I asked, "What is wrong with seeking personal gratification?"

"Leave it to Taisha to side up with the concrete sorcerers," Clara said with a look of concern. "No wonder the nagual gave you those crystal darts."

In spite of my promise to stay calm, at the mention of the crystals, waves of nervousness ran through me.

My stomach began to cramp with such intensity that I was certain I was coming down with an intestinal flu.

Clara said, "It is nearly impossible for me to explain to you what we do, and even harder to convey why we do it. You must ask those questions of your teacher."

"My teacher?"

"Were you not listening to me, Taisha? I have already told you that you have a teacher. You have not met her yet because you do not have the necessary energy.

"Meeting her requires ten times more energy than meeting the nagual, and you still have not recovered from that encounter. You look green and pasty."

"I think I have a case of the flu," I said, feeling dizzy again.

Clara shook her head, and interjected, "You have a bad case of indulging.

"The nagual could also explain anything you ask him. The only problem is that you think of him as a male, so if he talks to you for more than a few minutes, rest assured, you are going to fall into your female mold. That is why your teacher has to be a woman."

"Are you not making too much of this male-female thing?" I said, trying to get out of bed.

I felt weak and my legs were trembling. The room began to spin and I nearly fainted.

Clara caught me by the arm in the nick of time.

She said, "We will soon find out if I am making too much of it."

"Let us go outside and sit in the shade of a tree. Maybe the fresh air will help revive you."

Clara helped me put on a long jacket and some pants, and she led me like an invalid out of the room to the back patio.

Clara and I sat on some straw mats under the enormous zapote tree that shaded nearly the entire patio.

Once before, when I had asked Clara if I could eat the fruit, she had hushed me and then she had simply said, "Just eat, but do not talk about it."

I did what she told me, but I felt guilty ever since; as if I had insulted the tree.

Clara and I sat in silence and listened to the wind rustling the leaves.

It was cool and peaceful, and I felt relaxed and at ease again.

After a while, Manfred sauntered over from around the side of the house where he had a room with a large swinging panel cut into the door so he could come and go as he pleased.

He came up to me, and began licking my hand.

I looked into his soulful eyes and I knew we were the best of friends.

As if by an unstated invitation, he eased himself across my lap, making himself comfortable. I stroked his soft silky coat, and felt the most profound affection for him.

Gripped by an inexplicable compassion, I leaned forward and embraced him. The next thing I knew I was weeping, for I felt so sorry for him.

Clara demanded, "Where are your crystals?"

Her harsh tone brought me back to reality.

I said, "In my room." I let go of Manfred to wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my jacket.

Manfred took one look at Clara's disapproving stare, jumped off my lap, and moved across the walk to sit under a nearby tree.

Clara said, "You should have them with you at all times.

"As you already know, weapons like those crystals have nothing to do with war or peace.

"You can be as peace-loving as you wish and yet still need weapons. In fact, you need them at this moment to fight your enemies."

I sniffled, "I do not have any enemies, Clara. No one even knows I am alive."

Clara leaned toward me and she softly said, "The nagual gave you those crystals to help you to destroy your enemies.

"Namely, if you had the crystals with you at this moment, you could make your sorcery passes with them and that would help dissipate your nagging self-pity."

"I was not feeling sorry for myself, Clara," I said, on the defensive. "I was feeling sorry for poor Manfred."

Clara laughed and shook her head. "There is no way to feel sorry for poor Manfred. No matter what form he is in, he is a warrior.

"Self-pity, on the other hand, is inside you, and expresses itself in different ways.

"Right now you are calling it 'feeling sorry for Manfred.'"

My eyes began to tear once more as I realized that in addition to my insecurity, I did have a bottomless pool of pity centered totally on myself.

I had done enough recapitulating to realize that I had learned this reaction from my mother, who felt sorry for herself every day of her life, or at least every day of my life with her.

Since I never knew any other personal expression in her, that was what I had learned to feel myself.

Clara went on, "You should hold the crystal weapons in your fingers and make your sorcery passes at the heart of your elusive enemies, such as self-importance.

"Your self-importance comes to you disguised as self-pity, moral indignation, or righteous sadness."

I could only stare at her in dismay.

She went on to accuse me of being weak, and of falling apart the moment a little pressure is put on me.

But what hurt me more was when she then told me that my months of recapitulating were meaningless.

They were nothing but shallow reveries, for all I had done was to reminisce nostalgically about my marvelous self, or I had wallowed in pity remembering my not-so-marvelous moments.

I could not understand why she was attacking me so viciously.

My ears were buzzing as I experienced a surge of fury.

I began to weep uncontrollably, hating myself for having allowed Clara the opportunity to devastate me emotionally.

I heard her words as if they were coming from far away.

She was saying, "...self-importance, lack of purpose, unchecked ambition, unexamined sensuality, cowardice. The list of enemies that try to stop our flight to freedom is endless, and you must be relentless in your fight against them."

Clara told me to calm down.

She said she had just been trying to illustrate to me that our attitudes and feelings were our real enemies and that they were just as damaging and dangerous as any bandit armed to the teeth that we might encounter on the road.

She said, "The nagual gave you those crystals to round up your energy.

"The crystals are extraordinary for gathering our attention and fixing it. That is a quality of quartz crystals in general, and is the specific intent of these crystals in particular.

"To accomplish this, all you have to do is perform your sorcery passes with them."

I wished I had the crystals with me then.

Instead I looked at Manfred's sympathetic, shiny eyes. The thought occurred to me that they were reflecting light just as the quartz crystals had done.

For a moment, his eyes held my gaze. And as I stared at them, an irrational certainty popped into my mind.

I knew Manfred was a sorcerer of the ancient tradition, a sorcerer's spirit that had somehow gotten trapped in a dog's body.

The moment I thought that, Manfred let out a sharp yelp which I took as an affirmation.

I wondered, too, if it was not Manfred who had found the crystals for me in a cave, and had led the nagual to them the same way he had led me to my favorite lookout point in the hills overlooking the house and grounds.

Clara interrupted my mental speculations, saying, "You asked me once how it was possible that I knew so much about crystals.

"I could not tell you then because you had not yet met the nagual. But now that you have been introduced to him I can tell you."

She took a deep breath, leaned toward me, and said, "We are sorcerers from the same tradition as those of ancient times.

"We have inherited all their esoteric rituals and incantations. But although we know how to use them, we are not interested in making them work."

I forgot that I had not mentioned to Clara my speculations about Manfred, and I exclaimed in sincere amazement, "Manfred is an ancient sorcerer!"

Clara looked at me as if questioning my sanity, and then she laughed so hard that the conversation stopped.

Manfred barked as if he too were laughing, and the eerie part was that I could have sworn that either Clara's laughter had an echo or that someone hidden around the corner of the house was also laughing.

Clara did not want to hear my details about light being reflected in Manfred's eyes.

I felt like a complete imbecile.

Clara chided, "I have told you that you are slow and not that intelligent, but you did not believe me. But do not worry; and rest assured that none of us is all that intelligent either. We are all arrogant, dumb, thick-headed apes."

She gave me a rap on my head to bring the point home.

I did not like being called a thick-headed ape, but I let the remark pass.

Clara continued, "The nagual has many other reasons for giving you those crystals, but he will have to explain them to you himself. The one thing I know for certain is that you need to make a pouch for them."

I asked, "What kind of pouch?"

She said, "A sheath made with whatever material you feel is right. You can use suede, felt or quilt, or even wood if that is what you want to use."

I asked, "What kind of pouch did you make for yours, Clara?"

She said, "I did not get any crystals myself, but I handled them at one time in my youth."

I said, "You speak of yourself as if you were old. The more I see you, the younger you look."

Clara laughed with childlike abandon, and replied, "That is because I do plenty of sorcery passes to create that illusion. Sorcerers create illusions. Just look at Manfred."

At the mention of his name, Manfred stuck his head out from behind the tree and stared at us. I had the uncanny sensation that he knew we were talking about him and that he did not want to miss a single word.

I automatically lowered my voice, and asked, "What about Manfred?"

Clara said in a whisper, "One would swear that he is a dog. But that is his power to create an illusion."

She nudged me, and gave me a conspiratorial wink. She said, "You see, you are absolutely right, Taisha. Manfred is not a dog at all."

Manfred was sitting up, and he was definitely listening to every word we were saying.

I could not tell whether Clara had been simply coaxing me to agree with her for Manfred's sake, or whether she really meant what she said; that Manfred was not a dog.

Before I could find out which, a shrill noise from inside the house made both Clara and Manfred jump up and rush in that direction.

I began to follow, but Clara turned to me, and said gruffly, "You stay where you are. I will be back in a moment."

Clara ran into the house with Manfred close on her heels.