Mountain of Fire

I wrote this in March of 2011 after a special pilgrimage to Bali that became a powerful initiation rite.

…

I was silent for the most part. Silent as I walked the steady incline of dark, pure soil. Soil from which any vigorous plant could grow. And as I looked around I saw that pine, frangipani, angelica and a multitude of sage-like herbs were growing prominently in clusters by the terraced road leading to the abandoned temple, where the path up the mountain was no longer human; it was cut by way of cooled molten lava.

We paused by the temple; four or five altars. Marigolds surrounded and saturated the temple grounds, and yet from the lower half of the plateau I could only see two orange or yellow heads of proud sunlight. I knelt beside the orange flower and I spoke with its soul and essence. I said quietly, “Would you like to come with me and I will make of you an offering?” These words have come from my lips and mind more than I can remember; it is like breathing to me. The flower assented and I plucked its glory from its green stem. I took a hair from my head in exchange and wrapped it into the plant. I remember who taught me this, and in each and every time I take a hair I celebrate her divinity and wisdom.

I knelt beside my companion and sat cross-legged in the ceremonial dress of the island. My body began its natural rock as the deep breath of air funnelled through my being. So many thoughts…and yet as the shining star, moon and sun became one within my own shining self, the thoughts cleared, the disarray of mind-chatter ceased, and I came to the stillness within, the centre of peace. And then, as if beholding me beholding her, my beloved dadong arrived. But never like this. Never smiling erratically, as if a child of ten years old; never looking so youthful or nubile. And she came with the grace of a swan or perhaps even that bird of prey the eagle. She descended stairs from heaven; flanked by the majesty of crowned Nagas, with wide, toothy grins. She came and there behind her was a king, tusks flashing in the iridescent light. She bowed to me, as I did to her. I rose then, and taking the orange blossom I walked once with the sun around the tallest of the altar-shrines, tracing blue flame in the wavering air. I bowed to each direction and scattered petals to the winds. I held open my arms in reverence and invocation and there came a peacock – emerald and deep blue bowing from above. She said to me, “Follow the peacock”. And I knew and smiled. The kris appeared again…

The mountain way was like a serpent buried in the soil. The mountain was of black, red, white, green and brown. Colours and hues that spun themselves into a web that smelt of pine and the wind that carried the faint sounds of gamelan and prayers from the villages below. In my mind I began to call this trail the road of pine and angels.

In my shirt pocket I had a piece of porous stone and a small pinecone. I had left another stone at the altar, now far beneath me. As I came to the crest of the peak, and walked out onto the precipice, I knew clearly that these objects were symbols of power; symbols of my service and my spirit. Like the song that my soul sings ever-eternally, so did I know the next words to speak to the emptiness of space and time as I stood at the edge of oblivion:

“Years ago I swore two gifts to my fellowship with the Mystery. Endurance, which is this stone, and sacrifice, which is this pinecone. I remember these things; they are so much a part of who I am and how I live my life. And yet I make new promises to myself, and I give new gifts, because I am deserving of them.

I give the gift of Love. That raw, earth-shattering Love that fills the heart and breaks it, only to swell it again. That Love which rivals the romance of ancient stories and challenges even the most stoic.

I give the gift of prosperity. May it come to me in mind, body, spirit and heart. May it be rewarding; may it be abundant and over-flowing in my life and the lives of those I touch.

And I give the gift of adventure so that I may with whimsy and abandon, touch, penetrate and pierce the Mystery of All Things in all places…

These are my new gifts to Self in Mystery.”

With the closing of words, I gave sacrifice to the abyss below, and I let the stone and pinecone fall. They are still a part of me even now, but I no longer need to hold to them, or they will become heavy weights stripping my soul of all its strength.

Then, to higher still and around another peak. I began to chant: words revealing themselves in naked honour before the altar of my mind:

“Wherever I am – that is where I am. Here and Now. This place forms the Circle of Life around me. I am its Holy Centre. I am the meaning of its circumference. And now I am awakened.”

These words formed a litany to the spirits and I realised it held my understanding of the Circle that is Life. I realised then that there I was, in place and time, and yet unbound and free to embrace the Centre that is Me. I felt God Herself; I felt the Weaver’s strands pull ever more closely together. I am woven into the Fabric of All.

At my companion’s behest I sat again, upon the hot earth of a mountain of fire still breathing steam and smoke. I took in the heat through my base and felt the orange-red power surge through me. I channelled the mana and it flowed into every call.

I closed my eyes again to see my dadong. The one being, perhaps more than any other, who has led me to myself. Who has revealed for me the purpose of finding the Centre and honouring that communion. And yet there she stood…as she had in that photograph given to me years ago as a child. And her expression was silent; the edges of her lips even; no smile. But there was wisdom; there was peace. I knew then, as the tears rolled down my face, that she was leaving. I do not know and can not pretend to know where she is leaving to, or why. But as I heard the words, “You do not need me anymore” I saw a green world open, which then gave birth to many more colours – colours and sensations I had never beheld, or perhaps have newly-forgotten. Yet now they were clear, vivid and visceral. Lines of women, with pyramids of fruit resting on their heads, processing to the peak of the mountain. Gods and spirits shining and laughing. Behind my grandmother’s flashing serpentine eyes, aflame with the fire that forged the world, wings of butterfly, of dragonfly, of hummingbird, unfolded in rainbow light and the crowned Nagas came for her. She became fire and like a star rocketed into the vault of stars.

She bathed me in sweet water. Ganesha opened the gate. The pink light of her womb she poured over me as the Tiger that had always signalled her presence leapt from her chest and entered my body, wildly, roaring with unparalleled delight. I fell. I awoke. And though the Circle of Life spiralled around my human body, I felt a sorrowful elation. I do not know if I will ever hear from or see my grandmother again…or if I will feel her close by me…but in my heart I knew that I would tell my children and all those who would listen, the stories that filled my innocent’s mind – of a woman enshrined by the Gods, whose magic was strong and shining, whose eyes were of the angels and whose wisdom was as ancient as the mountains. I could see then, that this was her home, this mountain of fire. And as the warm steam came up from the deep crevices like clouds of incense, I embraced that pink warmth of her womb that proved to me that I would always know her.

I do not need her anymore. My grandmother and this Mountain of Fire. I do not need them. And yet they are a part of me; as surely as that rock and pinecone I threw down from the precipice are a part of me. Remember, the wind said to me. Remember who and what you have come from, and when you do, you will know what you can give to the world.

But first… I must walk down this mountain.