epilogue

"If there is a trick,
there must be a trickster."

- Dorothy Richardson

         The next day, as she headed out of Utah towards Nevada, her eyes, her heart, her whole being was still filled with the wonder of simply being alive. Mile upon mile, the western landscape unfolded in its ever-changing, mesmerizing beauty. So beautiful here,"she thought. A prayer made visible. Her spirit was calm, as if her soul had been purified, erased of any of the sorrow or trauma she'd experienced in her past. 

         Her only worry was a nagging feeling of shame at having gotten lost in the desert in the first place. But it was over now. She had been near death, guided, tended by angels, and she had survived. It was all a miracle, really. The next chapter of her life now lay before her, an open road, an unwritten book, a new landscape full of promise.

         She had agreed to housesit for her friend Sue, who was going to Australia for a month. This was a bit of luck, as it would give her time to find a place of her own and to restart her publishing business in California. But when she arrived and had settled in, at nightfall she began having the uncomfortable feeling that someone, or some thing, was watching her.

         Sue's house in Lafayette had been broken into before, which was why she wanted someone there while she was away. The new security system was a bit of a comfort, but did little to ease the eerie sensation of constantly being observed. She wasn't an anxious person ordinarily, but she wasn't sleeping well. The feeling only got more intense as time went by, to the point where at night she pulled all the shades, keeping her shoes and keys close at hand, as well as a heavy flashlight near her pillow. Just in case.  

         Another dear friend, Carol, whom she'd known since junior high school, suggested she consult a shamanic guide. It sounded like an excellent idea. She'd been through a lot and it might shed some light on her anxiety, which now almost felt like post traumatic stress. The session went well, but at the conclusion the guide said, "There's something I need to tell you. There is an entity attached to you. It appears to be a Native American who, when you almost died, used you to piggy-back out of the desert."

         She almost fell off the therapy table. She had told the guide about being lost in Utah, and that she had experienced some trauma there, she hadn't mentioned anything about dying. She agreed to let the guide do what was suggested, to sever the entity from her body, and send it on its way to the other side. The guide then did a clearing ceremony, and that was that. She was so grateful! She immediately felt different and the sensation of being watched, the anxiety, completely went away.

         It gave her much to ponder, but she had little time to dwell on it. She had to find a place to live and new clients. Her days were jammed with meetings and looking at apartments.

         Just before her friend returned, she found a cozy little place in North Berkeley, in the same neighborhood she'd lived in for almost a decade before going to North Carolina. It had a fireplace, a private deck, a view of the Bay, and wonderful neighbors—everything she had envisioned would make her life comfortable and happy upon her return. 

         Then, something very odd occurred. She was attending an earthquake training session with some next-door neighbors and shortly after the meeting, she received an email from the neighbor who had hosted the training. He had something important to tell her, he said, but he needed her permission to access her Akashic records. She knew very little of such things, only that some believed there existed a "Book of Life," a vibrational library of every action and feeling in a person's life, both past and present, and that there were those who could "read" them.

         Nothing to lose, right? She told him to go ahead. A few days later, there was another email. It consisted of one sentence: 

The Native American who got you lost in the desert

did so on purpose, and he wants you to know

that he is . . . sorry.

         Her world suddenly turned upside-down and inside-out. The neighbor had known nothing about her trials in the desert, only that she'd been on a cross-country adventure. Questions overwhelmed her like a swarm of hornets. A Native American? The Native American that had attached himself to her? Who was he? Why was he there in the first place? Why did he need to get out? And, perhaps more critically, why did he choose her? 

         This new knowledge was disorienting, but after awhile it somehow made her feel much better. Admittedly, she was a directionally-challenged person, and she had made many mistakes that day in the desert. But now it seemed that getting lost hadn't been entirely her fault. She had known that something was desperately amiss that day. Now it somehow all made perfect sense. 

         Hallelujah! She was home at long last and she had come through the fire. She felt purified by her time in the desert, primed for her next adventure. What would it be? Somehow, she already sensed that it would lead her back to Utah. That it would bring her back in time, to the early 1900s to truly find out, was to become a complete surprise.