I went into the little kitchen and put on the tea kettle. While I waited for the water to get hot enough, I thought about all the things I had been learning the past few months in Lemuria. I smiled, thinking of Gail’s horses, and June’s trees, and Jill’s weavings, and Lori’s mandalas, and Thalia’s crayon rainbow, Imogen’s lilacs, Anita Marie’s friendly ghosts, Genece’s sleeping snow leopard, Heather’s “There’s a good lass!” encouragements, and so much more. It had been a rich season. I could sip from this Well of Mnemosyne many times and still find it refreshing.
I recall the joy of joining Soul Food Cafe, becoming a raven, winning a Laurel Crown. I dared to share a story, a piece of stained glass, wrote 3 identity poems, all different, all generously received and commented. And then, the gift of the muse, my were pen character – birthed by the Enchanteur’s Journey – discovered in the catacombs – and another gift character, Gravel Gertie, the wise woman, who met me at Mudjimba Beach…
But where was Gertie? I looked at her chair, but it was empty. There was her tea cup, still warm and fragrant with essence of tangerine, some wheat toast crumbs on a plate, but no Gertie.
“Looking for someone?” asked a familiar voice.
I turned, and there she was – my were pen.
“Have you seen Gertie?” I asked.
“Seen her? Kezza, I CREATED her. I brought her into this story, and I can take her out.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Everyone was liking her so much, they forgot about me. Even you – don’t deny it! – Especially you!”
“I thought you were on sabbatical, or resting…”
“Nice try, but no cigar. You wanted to get rid of me. Everybody likes the wise old crone archetype, a shortcut to the wisdom of the ages and all that. That Gertie was upstaging me – so - I wrote her out of the script.”
“WHAT?”
“You heard me. No more Gertie, no more wise woman. You’ve got to figure things out for yourself now. You are on your own, baby.”
“But how will I find my way without her?”
“You didn’t listen to her much. Gertie was all about telling you to trust your instincts, be true to yourself, you have what you need right inside you. Were you sleeping through class?”
“No, I, I was listening, I’m just scared.”
“So Gertie was wasting her time, you didn’t learn anything.”
“I learned so much!”
“You were supposed to learn how to trust your own creative voice.”
“How do YOU know what Gertie was trying to teach me? You weren’t here.”
The were pen lowered its voice and said, laughing, “Pretty good is hard to beat…”
It sounded just like Gertie!
“Slowly the light dawns. Yes, Kezza, I am Gertie, too. I guess you forgot about my shapeshifting abilities? I’m a were pen – I write fiction – I can be anything your imagination dreams up. You just have to use me to put your thoughts down.”
“You’re Gertie? And my were pen?”
“Yes. And we are both products of your creative imagination. You created us – so, you are Gertie, and your were pen, and anything else you care to think up – all rolled into one big ball of ‘What happens next’. Gift of the Muse and all that…”
I jumped when the whistle blew on the tea kettle. I poured water over a tea bag and sat down. “This is going to take some time to settle in…”
(c) 2008 Kerry Vincent
