Letters from the Desert – 22 March, 2434

Dear Sarena,

So much has happened in the last year. I meant to write to you but words just didn’t come to me. I know nothing that could describe what I’ve been through. It has been amazing. The desert changes people. These mountains, this town, it transforms people.

When we arrived in Taos last year, Fly took me to the well at the center of town. It’s an old adobe structure built way back when the Spanish came. It’s been painted in bright colors with symbols. I didn’t recognize too many of them. Fly says they represent philosophies and religions from around the world. Fly tapped on the side and called down into the well. An aquatic figure rose up. It looked human but was translucent and definitely made of water. Zir name is Awen and ze aked me why I’d come.

That’s when it hit me. I did have a question. Why? Why is the world like this? Why did Joaquin have to die?

Awen’s answer startled me. It was long and eloquent. I don’t remember most of it but it seemed a complicated review of history. Pictures flashed in my mind of things I know I’ve never seen. But I came away with this hope that we can be so much more than this – a sense of all the best humanity can offer as well as the depths of cruelty we are capable of. We are the furies and devas. They are reflections of our nature.

Well, that seems a poor summary but it’s the best I can do for now.

The sun had set and the stars were bright in the sky when Awen finished and dropped back down into the well. Fly took me to his rooms and we talked until dawn. Then he said I could stay if I wanted. Fly is one of their guardians. He said we’d be a good match. It’s good to be part of a team again.

Few of us come, fewer stay. I’ll be staying though. I understand now why I was drawn here. I can be a part of this place and help protect our collective heritage from ourselves. That’s why Awen and the deevas exist, why the furies exist. Maybe someday I’ll come home to visit you. Until then, know I am at peace.

May you find peace as well, little sister. Be happy.




copyright 2014, Kimberley Long-Ewing, all rights reserved