White Wolf by Gayle Clayton

< All their activities ceased, and then a vibration shook the floor. I thought perhaps their ship, hovering over my pasture, was causing these phenomena. Their movement and the rustling noise began again, and I renewed my effort to move. Movement might break the paralysis. I concentrated on my right hand index finger.

Now, I had to move my finger. I redoubled my efforts and finally moved the digit through dogged concentration. Many seconds later I extended my finger, and reached out to touch the animal on the bed. As I touched his coat, I inexplicably was able to open my eyes.

There, asleep on my legs and facing the bed’s footboard, was what appeared to be a large, longhaired, white dog. He moved as I touched him, and turned his wolf face to me. His eyes had white light for irises that radiated pure hypnotizing love to me. My whole being was fascinated, and I forgot about the visitors, who left without my noticing them. As I sensed a vibration of a "ship" leaving, I got the message "Go to sleep." So I did.

However, I didn’t forget the experience. In fact, I began tracking down everything I could. One day, I noticed an ad in the local paper announcing that the Quest Society was sponsoring a talk by Chief Medicine Bear that evening. If I hurried, I had just enough time to make the seminar.

The Quest Society met in an old run down motel that rented one of its dining rooms for meetings. Approximately 50 people had gathered to her Chief speak passionately about the land, his heritage, and current events that challenged them. His speech ran over the allotted time that did not allow for questions.

Something about this man gave me the sense he could help me so I followed him out to the parking lot where he had gone to have a cigarette. I waited impatiently as someone else was already talking to him. “Now I have to go,” he stated and headed for his car.

I couldn’t be put off and I summoned enough courage to tap on his closed car window. “Please I need your help and I don’t know where else to turn,” I pleaded. The old man looked at me and rolled down the window. “Yes.”

“I had a white wolf come visit me and I don’t know what it means.”

I gave him the short version of the story.

“The place you will find the answer is a sacred Cherokee place where the quartz rock stands guardian of the merger of three flowing waters.”

He started to roll up the car window. “Wait, please. There are thousands of acres in the Cherokee reservations here. Can’t you please help me narrow it down?” “Near here.”

Was his only reply as he rolled up his window, put his old rusty brown Pontiac in reverse and sped away. I was devastated. To make a long story short, I spent the next weekends driving through the reservation areas within range of my home.

Months later, I was no closer and the passion to know subsided. However, years later, on a buying trip for semi-precious stones, near here by the way, I stopped at a roadside park where I had heard there was a delightful picnic area. Guess what I found as I drove in the parking lot?”

“Three rivers?”

“No silly, there were no rivers in the parking lot, but a huge quartz boulder standing like a lighthouse guarding the wooded trails to the picnic area. I later learned that the stone belonged to a wise woman who encoded her wisdom within it when she was forced to leave her sacred land during the Trail of Tears,” Cynde added.

“Anyway, the presence of the quartz rock was interesting and alerted me to keep my eyes open. As I crested the small rise in the path, I noted that there were two streams merging under the rustic log bridge I was crossing.

Stepping off the other side into the fern glade, I noted that there were actually three streams merging together at this point. All the hair on my body stood up as energy rushed through me. I was there. Though my car was the only one in the parking lot, I could now hear the youthful bantering voices on the cliff above me.

Allowing my inner senses to take in the scene, I realized that this was an initiation site for Native Americans-sacred to women. And that’s where I’m taking you today. Besides, we can shop for crystals or gemstones nearby.”

Abigail drove in stunned silence for several minutes. “That’s quite a story. I mean, I do believe you since you have no reason to lie to me. But don’t you find these kind of things also happening to you strange?” Abigail skeptically asked.

“I learned as a child not to tell people what I knew or of all the paranormal events in my life. I was afraid they would lock me away. Until I met Raja, I thought I was alone in that area. He’s the only one to date that has been able to relate to me in a way I understand. So, while you think I’m getting everything he does, I find that he is just putting words to what has already been happening to me. For the first time in my life, someone might be able to help me understand why these things happen to me.”

Cynde lapsed into silence. The one man who might be able to help her had just made a pass at her. That seemed to be a major violation of ethics of a so-called spiritual teacher. Maybe these paranormal events weren’t real and they both were crazy.

“Hmm, maybe I’ll get Richard a crystal. Raja said that they hold wisdom-just like in your story.”

Abigail continued to drive winding mountain two lane roads leading through sparsely populated towns. They were approaching one of these towns whose ruby and sapphire mines produced a regional market for all types of gems.

“Let’s stop here,” Abigail impulsively pulled into a storefront parking lot. She parked, and gathered her pocketbook and keys. Then she noticed that Cynde seemed to be in a trance. “Something wrong?” she was somewhat concerned.

“Atlantis,” was Cynde’s reply. “Atlantis is three down, and seven over. Write that down for me so I don’t forget.” Cynde then shivered to shake off that strange feeling. “O.K., let’s go in, but just so you know, I’m not one for shopping.”

Abigail, on the other hand, was. She exclaimed over the great selection of amethyst geodes, then she sorted through the natural rubies to find just the right one, and finally she headed to the jewelry counter where items that are more expensive were displayed. “Could I see those?” she pointed to a small assortment of extremely clear crystals. “What are they?”

“These are phantom crystals. Look at them in the natural light.” The shopkeeper held it up to the sunshine streaming into the storefront windows. “See, inside them is another six-sided crystalline shape. A phantom crystal, if you will.”

“I’ll take this one,” Abigail made an uncharacteristic quick selection. “It called to me. And also, can I have one of those beautiful carved wooden boxes for my tarot deck? And then you better check me out before I blow the month’s food budget.”

The saleslady rang up a total for her and began to wrap her purchases carefully. Abigail asked that she not wrap her phantom crystal. She took it from the lady, and withdrew a silk handkerchief from her purse and wrapped it herself. Then she placed it in the wood box before it was inserted in the store shopping bag.

“All done,” she announced to Cynde. “The crystal’s for Richard who probably won’t understand it, but I’m giving it to him anyway.”

Back on the road again. They turned off an ill marked road at the center of the town. Just around a mountain curve, there was a sharp cutback leading to a small picnic park. Abigail turned smartly and parked in front of the huge quartz stone. Getting out and carefully locking the car behind them, she walked directly to it. Abigail didn’t understand why, but she wanted to put her hands on it. When she did she was surprised since it seemed alive beneath them, not cold and glossy as it appearance belied.

“It has energy,” she remarked with a bit of awe. When she felt that the contact was enough, she noted that Cynde was holding her bag of purchases. “I’m not sure why, but the crystal you bought for Richard wants to go with us.”

“O.K.,” Abigail thought as she rummaged through the bag to retrieve the phantom crystal from the Tarot box.

“There’s magic here for women. Young girls became women here. I’ve never shared this place with a man,” Cynde found herself saying things she wasn’t sure about. But she knew it was time for a making.

She and Abigail walked the path through wildflowers just coming into bloom. Blues and yellows dotted the sun patched path bordered by fiddlehead ferns. They found their way to a waterfall, hidden from casual view.

“Here,” Cynde instructed, “is where we can wash our face and hands to purify ourselves.” She untied her walking shoes and removed her socks. The pool beneath the falls was shallow and sandy, but very cool. She made her bath quickly. Abigail followed suit.

Then just as in meditation, a song sprang out of her subconscious. A song taught to her by an astral Native American.

“Earth, wind, fire, and water. Carry me back. Carry me back. Grandmother Rock, Grandfather Sky, Remember me to all my relations.”

She sang fearlessly though she knew her voice was not a singer’s instrument. Then song repeated and then she knew what Abigail must do.

“Take your crystal and follow the upward path from here. You will find a place where a trio of trees stands with a place for you to stand in the center. Look for trail sign 14 but I bet you will feel the energy before you see the marker. Stand there and ask the trees for your hearts desire.”

Abigail followed instinctively as Cynde’s voice had the underlying knowing. She followed the instructions and found the sacred site with ease. She left the path to stand among the three tall trees who responded to her presence by giving her a rush of energy. She began to pray, “I want a child. I want a child. Please I want a child.”

She repeated this mantra over and over while she heard Cynde singing at the waterfall. She paused only when she heard the song end and Cynde made her way to her. “Bury the crystal in the dirt at the base of these trees. That is, until your wish comes true.”

Abigail did not hesitate. Using her manicured fingers, she clawed into the rich dark earth and made a cradle for the crystal to lie. She covered its grave with lime green moss, protecting it from random passersby. They were done; the ritual was complete. They had only to return home.