Camilla: Brother Pheasant's Journey 17

                                                                           Art by Jen Buckley

So many gates.

Pheasant looked around at all those different doors. Completely different worlds.

He had seen so much. Learned so much.

And he had had enough.

He was standing next to little princess surrounded by doors covering challenges, promises, miracles.

“Enough. Enough journeying. I really want some rest now. I am grateful for the invitation and all these encounters. However, I want to be in my own familiar corner of the world.”

Little princess landed in front of him and looked straight into his big, perpetually surprised eyes.

“That is perfect, Pheasant. You choose. If you are done travelling these worlds, then that’s it.”

He felt tired. He just…wanted to breathe for a while.

And so he did.

Breathe.

Slowly, deeply. Inhale, exhale.

He felt himself descend into his own heart. He was just sitting there, letting everything and everyone be exactly as they were. Even himself. Clumsy, loud. But also colourful and loyal. Whatever he was, he was. All of it.

Inhale, exhale.

Being and letting be became a point around which everything expanded. He could feel an unknown place within his own heart and when he came close to it, he felt like running, screaming, distracting himself with survival or doomsdaythinking.

But he was and he let everything be.

And so he entered the Heart of Hearts.

A tiny heart inside his own heart.

And he went down the spiral hole and found himself at the center of the Universe where everything was within reach.

He travelled through the Milky Way and could see Mother Gaia’s blue-green shimmer in the distance.

He was drawn to her and the more he thought of her and felt her, the quicker he got close to her.

He felt so much love and the love determined his course.

He was drawn into her atmosphere and everything became bigger as he got closer and closer and closer.

Continents swelled and offered countries and coastlines and yes…there it was, his little island.

His heart led him through a blue, cold December sky, to the dunes and to his Hawthorne.

He was home.