Annalia's Simply Splendid Flight

Annalia’s Simply Splendid Flight (From Another Side of Day)

Author: Candace A. Croft, Ph.D.

Trafford Publishing, 2007 (2nd ed.), 244 pages, paperback ISBN: 1-55395-573-0

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Self-health novel - Explore the landscape of your heartmind and shift onto the path for an abundant life (with Guide for Personal Growth)

ABSTRACT

Annalia envisioned her life as paradise. Everything was heavenly until three hellhounds stormed into her world, center stage. A shadowy presence, they eclipsed life’s brilliance and made her plot a weedy mess. They invaded her dreams and chased her into a nightmare. Repeat performances took their toll until she stood on the brink of despair.

Enter Lazy Lapis, the Dream Magician, who arrives on the scene and escorts Annalia to the Forest of Perpetual Night where she must face the nightmare she dreads. Like the other Sleepy Noggins mindlessly wandering there, she encounters horrible happenings that shift the landscape, trap her in darkness, and keep her dreams form coming to light. Relying upon the help of her inner guide and messages contained in runes and hieroglyphs, she has seven nights to tap into self and master her nature or be stuck in the Forest forever.

A readers' guide is included for personal growth with questions for self-reflection. Perfect for individual study or book groups.

EXCERPTS

…I was on my way home and that lightened my heart and leavened my step. My happiness lasted only a few beats before it turned to dread. My eyes and ears were yet to spot them, but the very strength of their presence stopped my heart cold and sent an alarm rippling down my spine. Alert, I searched the area with the precision of a gem-cutter’s eye to find the line of danger I sensed. There, right in the middle of the field, blocking my progress, stood the very reason I disliked school. Wherever I went, they were there, waiting for me. Watching, expectant, the vultures circled looking for any opportunity to pick at me. They stood as one, whispering, laughing, and shouting nasty remarks. Their teasing and taunting terrorized me.

I considered my options. Walking by the trio would make me a direct target. Seeing me change course to avoid them, they would jeer my evasive action. There was no escaping the torment. For one more chance to make me miserable, those girls would remain all day. Lying in wait, they had positioned themselves squarely between me and my route home.

“Might as well get it over with,” I said under my breath. Nervous, I lowered my head in an attempt to pass unnoticed. Downcast eyes did not prevent the hecklers from seeing me, any more than they prevented my ears from hearing their comments.

“Hey, Annalia. Teacher’s pet.”

“Think you’re better than everybody else?”

“Could see all the way to Mars with those thick glasses.”

Words. They had been used across time by all civilizations for their inherent power, whether breathed in passionate admiration or raised for joyous exultation, whether whispered in privileged communication or sung with poetic inspiration. Perfectly aimed, those words struck full-force, wounding my soul with their razor-sharp edges. Each verbal missile struck the hollow of my abdomen where hurt and pain resided. Anguish ricocheted around that empty black hole, nourishing itself by eating away at my core.

“Nice clothes. Torn and dirty.”

“Spotted clothes to match your spotted face.”

“Not so special now, are you, An-na-lee-yah.”

I recognized the jealous tones and the frost of their words chattered my bones. I wanted to avoid an encore of the lunchtime scene when they had tossed venomous remarks my way and placed me in the spotlight, making me a laughing stock. Abandoning a half-eaten sandwich, I fled the cafeteria seeking solitude outside.

Not to be put-off, the trio had followed. With heightened confidence in their power over me and with much more daring, they had gone beyond teasing with words. They touched me. They poked my arms and chest, as if testing a baking cake to see if I would spring back. Unsatisfied, they engaged in a push-fest that ended with my being shoved into the mud. Dirty, bruised, and humiliated, I had cleaned myself up as best I could in the ladies’ room. Even so, when I arrived home I would be sure to go straight to my bedroom before my parents saw me.

There was no doubt about it. Those girls were monsters. Why couldn’t they just leave me alone? Pretend I wasn’t there?

“Don’t cry An-na-lee-yah.”

“Crybaby. Look, she’s gonna cry now.”

“Run home to mommy.”

They hurled insults from behind notebooks they held in front of them like armor, as if they needed protection. “I am the one who needs the thick skin of armor,” I thought wryly.

Those three gained strength by abducting my energy day in and day out in a contest that left me drained. I hated being a victim, but didn’t want to be a monster either. All the agony caused by the girls’ remarks lodged like a lump of lead in the middle of my throat that would not budge, a lump I could not swallow away. Tightly wedged, it made my eyes water.

Truth be told, the trio was right. I did want to run and cry, not because I was faint-hearted, weak-kneed or had cold feet. I longed to escape the ugliness that draped my world in despair. The very nearness of those three made me itch and scratch with a chafing rash. I wanted to find solace in a place far away from the girls, some place warm and inviting that would wrap itself like shantung around my soul. Yes, I wanted to run, but the girls would never understand. They would see my flight as weakness and that would be worse than their persecution.

Summoning all the nerve held in reserve, I forced my feet to walk, not run, home. Self-control made the lump in my throat grow bigger and tighter.

Reaching the other side of the field, I tilted my head for a backward glance. The garden had grown silent, waiting to see what would happen. Mr. Lester stood watching, solemnly shaking his head, his hands resting on a rake. The three furies, wearied of their game, marched away, reassured they would have a chance to tease me again the next day…

*****

Asleep to my own situation, I accepted their toxic ideas as my own. A vice-like grip tightened, crushing my skull. Fireworks exploded behind my eyes. Lungs, full of dry ice, burned with every breath. My agonized fingers curled into my palms seeking protection from the stinging cold. Hot pools of acid boiled beneath my skin, at war with my tissues. Nauseated by guilt and fear, my sloshing stomach encouraged me to pick my way carefully to avoid spilling it contents.

Had I been stronger, I would have shaken it off. More clever, I would have sprung to my feet and done something to best the beasts. More responsible, I would have averted the mess in the first place. As it was, I slogged through quicksand of regret that threatened to pull me into a morass of misery.

I stayed on my feet and kept moving, not sure where I was headed. My only thought was to increase the distance from the monsters. Unaware of my surroundings, I did not see others as I passed. Even if I had, I doubt I would have reached out for help. I had been taught to help self and foolishly assumed that meant going it alone. Deserted by family, friends, and everything good, I wanted to cry. Being smarter than the little boy, I knew tears of despair shed in emptiness never cleared the air. They did nothing for anyone, except make them wrinkled from brine and old before their time.

When I finally looked up, the landscape had changed. There was utter desolation. Good heavens, was this my life? Burning and hot, the earth’s skin cracked into deep fissures of discontent where the juice of life had been sucked dry. Parched memories lingered, the smell of life sustained for the briefest of instants before being snuffed by fear. An unsatisfying wind carried the putrid odor of unconsummated desires rotting on the vine. Spent trees with amputated limbs and decapitated trunks punctuated the vast emptiness mocking the area where a forest had been destroyed as if it had never existed in the first place.

Although my body seared with heat, an icy bitterness stole into my heart. “Lazy Lapis, a dire calamity has fallen upon me. Although my spirit feels it, I saw nothing and remember coming into contact with no one who could have passed this infirmity to me. Never have I experienced such pain. No illness on earth could cause more misery than this. If I contain a sacred seed, how could this happen to me? My heart and soul are on fire, my flesh quivers, and my limbs tremble. How can I be shaken by cold when standing in the middle of a desert?”

“Yes, yes, that is a perturbing perplexity now, isn’t it? Yes, indeed, a real cliff hanger. You see, you have stumbled headlong into the dark, cold night of your soul.”

“Cold? It is hotter than, well, you know where.”

“Yes, hotter than down under, and I am not referring to Australia, yet your bones chatter. Still, within every dire condition lies its polar opposite to keep hope alive.”

My forehead set in a crinkle. “I am colder than arctic ice and hotter than white fire. Sweat rolls from my skin. I shake like I’m trying to detoxify a great poison from my system. Is there much hope left?”

“Yes, how much hope indeed? The answer is so plain, even a Nogginhead could see. How much wood can a woodchuck chuck and how much hope can your situation hold? …

Sulfurous, yellow eyes glinted through blackness. Coiling my body, I prepared to hurl my self into the void. Don’t hesitate. Do it. Let go. JUMP! Again, I failed. Was I incapable of committing my self to anything? Even oblivion?

In that moment of hesitation, I no longer feared hellhounds, I frightened myself. That I was willing to cause harm to self left me shaking. I looked down to find the source of resistance. My red shoes doubled as grappling hooks, digging deeply into the earth, opposing me. Thank heavens my red shoes had the sense to give me roots.

I startled and nearly toppled into the great abyss when Lazy Lapis made a sudden appearance. “That is a fatal mistake too many people make.”

“What is?”

“Believing that death at your own hands is an avenue to new life. Good heavens. Can’t be done. Peace is never found in the abyss. You would only delay the inevitable by spiraling around in darkness. This kind of ending will only pose an additional challenge for a new beginning. For heaven’s sake, get a grip. You have been uprooted by life, you say, so what? Such is the human condition. Stop blithering yourself into withered submission. Learn your lesson here and now before coming by it the long, hard way around. What keeps you from jumping off the edge into the brink?”

“I don’t have the heart.”

“Impossiblous. The heart is deathless.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Now, believe. All children encounter demons that send spirits plummeting. Plating of conviction having worn thin, your core has little protection from hellhounds. That’s the fatal flaw of the forest.”

“What’s the flaw?”

“Death, child, death. You have reached the ultimate point of depression where death and darkness are walking companions. Completely severed from your true nature, you turn away from life because it seems alien to you.”

“What can I do to save my self?”

“I would suggest immediately coming to your senses. Put down the sackcloth, back away from the edge slowly, and no one will get hurt.”

It was a simple direction, yet I teetered on the brink of indecision.

Lazy Lapis asked, “The choice is simple. Why do you hesitate?”

“I’m afraid.”

“I can tell that from the cobblestone upon which you stand.”

Looking at the ground I saw a rune. “What does it mean?”

****

“Ow!”

“Excellent. I have found the location. The wizard massaged a sore spot on my chest as I repeated a triplet of statements. “Even though I fear living, I deeply and completely accept my self …” He tapped my body, twelve spots in all, while I repeated the phrase, “Fear living.” It was a curious practice, but when one travels with a magician, the curious becomes commonplace. Finished, he looked at me with an expression that suggested a response would be in order. I thought and thought and, oddly enough, found that I felt better.

“Completely better or somewhat better?”

I still felt anxious about moving into life, so he began another round of tapping. Addressing the sore spot, my script was slightly edited. “Even though I still have some of this fear of living, I deeply and completely accept my self …” Repeating the phrase, “remaining fear of living,” the twelve points were tapped. I felt remarkably better, cured in fact, and was excited about walking a path I wanted to avoid only a few moments before.

“There’s just one aspect that still concerns me.”

“By all means, let’s get to the specifics and send this fear packing, once and for all.”

“I am afraid that I might never have a good idea …”

“Marvelous ideas flow in a continuous stream from the source. Let’s get you connected.” A new round of tapping proved that, though I remained disconnected, I deeply and completely accepted my self.

“…that I will never be worthy…”

“You, like all children, were born worthy. It need not be earned.” We tapped away my fear of unworthiness.

“… that I don’t have enough of what it takes to be a success…”

“The universe is abundant.” We tapped to free me from all things I feared being without.

“… that I will never be loved.”

“The Master Gardener loves all blooms seeded in the garden.” We tapped into my need to be loved. “Is that everything? Are there any other fearful angles to be cleared?”

With a deep sigh, I took a moment to seriously consider the question and was pleasantly surprised with my answer. “No, I have freedom to move.”

“Perfectitious. Being liberated is an excellent feeling. While you are feeling relieved, let me ask this: You have no trouble holding your fear in full vision; why not give equal due to a happy ending? Or are you quite set upon a dreary life?”

“No! What a ridiculous thought. I don’t find pleasure in misery.”

“You must.”

“I don’t.”

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because you insist on repeatedly repeating it. Like old home movies, you play it over and again in your mind’s eye. Why, I have watched those worn tapes so many times I can lip-sync the dialogue, from anything but heart, I might add. Why hold on to something negative? When you do, you become defined by trauma and victimized at your own hands. Reliving your life does not relieve your life.”

“I want a happy life.”

“If you want to be happy, use the tools at your disposal to uproot the nightmare.”

“Release the sackcloth.”

“Costuming isn’t skin. If it chafes, remove it.”

I came to understand that life was a lot like trigonometry. I had to accept it for what it was, do the work, and trust that the proof would come later on. I raised the difficult question: What did I find rewarding about despair? Did I want sympathy? Did I want to be excused from participating in life? Was I preparing for failure while attempting to succeed? Did I want someone to rescue me? Or, did I reach the brink because the tribe had never taught me to clear anti-energy from my system? Anxiety rising, I tapped into my need to deeply and completely accept me for who I was despite my situation.

*****

…Darkness was punctuated with light from campfires. Some blazed openly. Others offered the tent a warming glow. Gossamer veils worn by tribal members kept identities a thin mystery, some more than others.

“Merhaba!” The woman shimmered as liquid energy across the sand, a strong, palpable pulse announcing her presence. I was captivated by the skirt of thin fabric tied low on her hips, the sleeveless shirt hugging her like a second skin, and the wood-and-beaded bangles that moved in unison with her spirit in sensual rhythm.

“And a grand welcome to you as well, Sophie, my dear friend.” Lazy Lapis greeted her with an enthusiastic hug.

“This must be your friend on the run,” Sophie said, turning to me. Did the entire world know about that party scene?

Introductions complete, Sophie escorted us around the campsite. Tendrils of sultry music wove through the air that dripped with the scent of amber, ylang-ylang, and jasmine. Spellbound, I assumed the enchanting tempo of the land. Its throbbing beat enticed my hips to sway and undulate like a serpent. I had entered a land of mystery.

“Mystery is a cosmic reality. We subscribe to the belief that a world which seems scary is simply the frightening reflection of a mysterious Self. What is known is rarely feared.”

We sat by a campfire and listened as a storyteller spun a tale about the universe unfolding as circles of light and dark. “Each circle of the universe contains dark mystery, just as does one’s personal nature. Each illuminated solution opens yet a deeper mystery to be discovered.”

Looking around, I had the impression I was the only one unfamiliar with the legend. Heads nodded in agreement. Murmurs underscored truth. Holding an onion, the storyteller continued, saying, “Personal mystery unfolds one layer at a time over lifetimes. Layer after layer after layer must be peeled before the core is reached. Mystery upon mystery upon mystery exposes personal truth. One layer, one mystery, a little at a time. That is all any child can manage.”

I was an onion? No wonder my journey out of the dark brought tears to my eyes.

“The storyteller made it sound like all life is mysterious.” I said.

“Show me something that contains no mystery and I will show you a Nogginhead.”

“What if I can’t solve the mystery? Solve it? Shoot, what if I can’t recognize it?”

Sophie politely hid a smile behind her hand, but Lazy Lapis was not shy about giving a more direct response. “Ask the guide. That is why we are here, for celestial’s sake. Take advantage of your resources. If you are gardening and run into problems, you consult a horticultural expert, don’t you? If you don’t know how to get the special effect you need, you seek a production whiz, right?”

“It seems the wise thing to do.”

“You don’t get extra points for journeying alone, when real assistance is at your side, any more than you get additional credit for carrying around suffering that is better left behind. If you want to be clear about mysteries, consult the guide.”

As the tale neared conclusion, music rose enticing listeners to draw near the fire. Women, men, and children danced, moving as their spirits led, with an overall effect that seemed beautifully choreographed. As they twirled, swayed, and leapt, shedding their skins, the tempo gradually increased to a fever pitch.

Sophie narrated. “Since the beginning of time, dance has been a tribal ritual symbolic of discovering Self. Sophie took my hand and lifted me to my feet. A shockwave jolted down my spine. I wasn’t expected to dance before the tribe, was I? She laughed as if reading my mind. “Come, my timid one. I am going to ease your fear of mystery. A man can get away with it perhaps, but no woman should be a stranger to the power of her allure.”

“I never thought of self as charming others.”

“You have an innate wisdom that, when unlocked, will empower you with inner magic.”

“Is that why I am a threat to the tribe?”

“You have power, but have not yet turned it on…

*****

…The pungent aroma of moss offset the sweet scent of orange and magnolia in the air. A slight breeze ruffled the edges of the carpet and jangled the exquisitely delicate rose quartz and jade green stones Rosa wore.

If someone had told me, I would have thought it impossible. The carpet rose softly from the ground and not until we had been lifted high off the ground did I realize what was happening. We flew along a stream of air that wound a channel through the land, the land of love as I was about to discover.

“I find that when I maintain a lofty perspective the choices simplify.” Rosa chimed with delight. “Through the channels of love all things are possible.”

Riding magic was exhilarating for its sheer implausibility. Catching my breath, I asked, “Where are we going?”

“Why, Lovey, to find the answer to your questions.”

“What questions? I haven’t asked anything.”

“The ones you ask constantly in your heart.”

“You can see into my heart?”

“I have been blessed with a special gift.” She explained that she traveled the channels of love with a pure heart. Because she sought healing power, but never personal gain, the spirits allowed her to see beyond the veil. While she spoke, I looked into the eyes of the universe.

“No heart is a mystery to me.” She gave a curious half-smile that left me wondering what else she saw in me. “We shall call upon the spirits to provide wise answers.”

I whispered. “They speak to you? From the other side?”

“We are already on another side of day, are we not?”

Approaching a group of villagers, I realized that the light I had witnessed across the land came not from an orb in the sky or burning lamps, but from the villagers. Had I met them on my own, I would have been wary of approaching, at least judging by appearances. Naked, their skin, if you could call it that, was translucent as if they were the seamless creations of Sophie’s veil. An inner radiant light gave the skin its ethereal glow and backlit an array of colored vapors swirling through and around each one, moving as the person moved with a soulful expression as individual as hair, eye, and skin color. The magic carpet paused, suspended at eye level. Kindred spirits, they knew Rosa and welcomed her openly. They faced me in silence, obviously waiting for me to say or do something. Unfamiliar with the ways of the land, I sat dumbly, except to look at Rosa.

“Since you want to know, ask your question,” Rosa said, prompting me.

Her tone was kind and her expression encouraging. I hated to expose her gift as a sham and embarrass her in front of her friends, but there was no question whatsoever on the tip of my tongue. She smiled mysteriously. The villagers nodded, their magnetism touching my heart and drawing the inquiry from me.

“Everybody wants to be loved. Where can I find it?”…

©2003, 2007 Candace A. Croft, Ph.D. All rights reserved. Any reproduction or use of this material without the express written permission of the author is prohibited.