The Fourth Bone - Niobie, My Teacher

It is said that when the student is ready the teacher will appear. Early in my spiritual quest I would meet my second teacher. Sara had been my first – and now on a cold winter’s morn the next teacher would arrive. She arrived in her own way, as spiritual teachers often do – and she shook me out of the complicity of my life – stirred the embers – and brought the blaze to full capacity. My grandmother’s passing, her dreamtime that told her of this passing, and the return of my recalling dreams of Sara paved the way for this teacher to arrive in my waking/dreaming state – and to meld these two states of consciousness.

The second teacher’s name is Niobie and this is how we met. It is the fourth bone I am retrieving as I create this book.

NIOBIE

Little did I know just how drastically my life would change on that cold winter's day in February. Sometimes I wonder now if I had known the changes I would encounter would I have continued my quest. I would like to think that I would.

It was a bitter cold day, and the sky was concealed with dark clouds that held the threat of the predicted snowstorm. The house was silent with all of the family members gone and I had the rare opportunity of spending the entire day with myself.

I cleared the morning dishes and straightened the house, and then gave in to the luxury of curling up by the stove in the family room with a book. The room was chilly and I realized that the fire in the wood-burning stove had gone out. Not being especially adept at fire building I somewhat grudgingly donned a jacket and walked to the woodpile. Returning with a load of wood I stacked it carefully on the hearth, and began the preparation for building a fire.

After several minutes the fire appeared to be ready, and covering myself with an old quilt I curled up on the sofa to read. The room was still quite chilly and I snuggled down into the quilt resting my head on a pillow. Although I had not felt the least bit tired when I sat down, I now found myself feeling drowsy and struggling to keep my eyes open.

"Oh, well," I thought to myself, "there really is no reason why I shouldn't doze for a few minutes. I don't have a pressing schedule, now do I?"

My eyes closed and I immediately drifted off to sleep. I'm not sure how long I slept, but suddenly I was aware that there was someone in the room with me. I sensed this presence, and with a feeling of alarm I opened my eyes and looked around. Turning my head I was startled to see the figure of an old woman bending over the stove, stoking the fire. The fire leaped and crackled as she worked with it, and I became aware that the room was no longer chilly, but cozily warm.

Despite the warmth of the room I felt a chill growing in the pit of my stomach, and I was immediately awake and alert. The house was still silent, and even my son's dog that was asleep next to the sofa, seemed undisturbed by this stranger's presence. "How unusual," I thought. The promised snow was now rapidly falling and the ground outside the windows was already covered with a blanket of white.

The chill in my stomach gave way to a churning confusion; how did this woman get in, who was she, what was she doing here, and why didn't the dog respond or react as he normally would? These questions rolled through my mind in rapid succession. It all seemed so unreal, yet so real. And my greatest astonishment was that I was just lying on the sofa watching this woman tend my fire. "What's going on?" I thought to myself.

The woman, apparently satisfied with the fire, put the poker on the hearth, closed the door to the firebox, and turned toward me. Until that moment I had been unaware of her appearance, but as she faced me my full attention was upon her. She was on old Native American woman. Her hair was streaked with white, and was worn in two long braids that hung over her shoulders. She was dressed in a long simple skirt and an old Pendleton jacket. Her face was lined and finely chiseled. Above her prominent cheek bones and straight nose was her most startling feature, deep set eyes that were like dark mirrors. I realized, with surprise, that her eyes were not brown, as I had expected they would be, but rather a deep dark blue, and in the shadows they seemed almost black.

She gazed straight at me, and then crossed the room and sat in an easy chair opposite the sofa. My amazement must have registered on my face and she smiled, revealing a row of beautiful straight, white teeth.

The dog changed positions in his sleep, but was still completely oblivious to this woman's presence. I shrugged thinking, "I really must be dreaming." And there was a dream like quality to all that was happening - especially in how I was reacting, or not reacting, to this strange woman's presence in my family room. But, yet, there was a reality to this situation, and I found myself feeling confused as to whether this was really taking place.

The old woman broke the silence, and sensing my confusion she said, "Yes, I am quite real. Reality is relative to your perception, nothing more. You perceive me others cannot or will not. So for you I am real, for others I may not be a part of what they call reality."

My confusion must have been quite apparent by now, because she laughed out loud. "It is really not so hard to understand. Dreams are a form of reality; in fact dreams can hold true reality, and perhaps the only dream is our waking lives."

My head was spinning, "Who are you? What are you doing here?” the questions rolled off my tongue.

"So many questions from one who seems to have just found her voice," she laughed aloud again. "I am here because you are a seeker on a vision quest. You have long quested after truth, and that quest has led you to many paths of ancient wisdom. But the path that has always been the closest to you is the Medicine Path. Remember your childhood; recall your fascination and interest in the Native American lifestyle. Remember your pride in your own Native American ancestry, and the legends and lore you learned at your grandmother's and great grandmother's knees."

I was astounded! How did this woman know so much about me? "How. . . how do you know that?" I finally sputtered. "I mean, I don't even know you, but. . . .but you seem to know a lot about me! And you still haven't answered my questions? What exactly are you doing here?" I could feel the anger rising with my confusion.

"I have told you why I am here. You are not listening. You are confusing your realities. You want to perceive me as a part of your waking world because I am too real to be a part of your dream world. You misunderstand your dreams. And because you misunderstand me, you are afraid and demand answers. I will provide answers, but these are truths beyond your physical reality."

"What I have told you of yourself, is that not truth." I nodded and she continued speaking. "I know much of you, because I have always been near you."

"Like a guardian angel or a spiritual guide, or something like that?" I interrupted. She had been correct about my being a seeker of truth, and I was quite familiar with teachings that included spiritual travelers and guides and expanded states of consciousness. In fact I was familiar enough with these teachings to, at some level, accept them as truths.

She nodded. "Yes, something like that. You see, even now, your reality expands, as does your awareness. This is good."

I nodded still struggling to understand all of this. "And," she said, " If you search your memory, going far back, I think you will remember who I am."

The old woman continued, "I am here because you have called me to you."

I started to speak, but she held her hand up to silence me. "You have called me to you with your quest. Look at the book that is lying beside you. Are you not reading about the Native American Medicine Path?"

Again I nodded, completely having forgotten the book. "And only a few days ago did you not express a desire to find a Medicine Woman?"

"Y. . . y. . . yes," I stammered, "but how did you know. . .," my voice trailed off. My interest in the Native American culture in general, and the Medicine Path in particular, had been at a peak for the past few months - ever since a trip to the southwest. I had relentlessly explored stores and shops that offered Native American made goods and artifacts. Slowly and gradually my collection of these things was growing. I had also made the comment regarding a Medicine Woman to a friend only a few days previous.

"It should be obvious by now that I know a great deal about you. I have waited a long time for your interest to return to your heritage. It is not coincidence that my appearance and your interest in the Medicine Path have coincided. I have waited until you were ready to encounter me. When you sent your spirit out on the waves of your thoughts and desires to find a Medicine Woman I knew it was time. I am here as your teacher and guide."

The mid-morning sun broke through the bank of snow clouds that had concealed the sky. The sun now sparkled on the newly fallen snow. It made strange, beautiful patterns as it danced over the blanket of white that covered the ground. The moving patterns mesmerized me and I felt as if I were in a light trance.

I became keenly aware of my surroundings. There was an unreal silence both in the house and outside. It seemed like the snow muffled all sound, and a perfect calm enveloped us. The warmth from the wood burner radiated throughout the room, and I felt secure and content in this warm world of quiet. For a while the only sound that punctuated the silence was the crackle and pop of the logs burning in the stove.

This content feeling began to slowly wear off, and once again the confusion rose in me as my mind struggled to make sense of what was taking place. "This just doesn't make any sense!" I blurted in exasperation with the situation.

The old woman settled into a more comfortable position in her chair before speaking. "For a brief moment you accepted my view of reality and were content. You let go of your rational mind and experienced this moment with your creative or higher self. The reality that I present to you cannot be grasped with the rational mind; it comes from a source beyond rationale and intellect."

The warmth of the fire was causing me to feel sleepy again, and I struggled to stay awake and talk further with this woman. Seeing my struggle to keep my eyes open she said, "Do not fight sleep. In the sleep state we learn much, but it is often difficult for us to bring this knowledge to our waking selves. Today you begin the journey of melding these two states of awareness. But now it is time for you to rest."

I started to protest; wanting to ask many more questions, but she silenced me. As she rose from her chair my head was already finding the pillow on the sofa. She moved silently toward the back patio. I intended to see her out, but I was asleep before she reached the door.



I awoke sometime later with a start. My body felt uncomfortably warm, and I looked around feeling disoriented at finding myself on the sofa in the family room. The room was cozy from the heat of the wood-burning stove, and the morning sun reflecting through the eastern windows was adding to the warmth of the room. I sat up throwing off the quilt that had covered me while I slept.

I looked around trying to gain my bearings. The ground outside the windows was covered with snow that must have fallen while I slept. My head felt fuzzy and I was confused. "How long have I been asleep?" I wondered. Although the clock indicated that it was well before noon, I realized that I had not noticed the time before falling asleep.

As I stood up and began folding the quilt my son's dog stirred from his spot next to the sofa and jumped up wagging his tail. He began jumping around attempting to get my attention, like he always does when someone is near to him. Suddenly, watching the dog, my "dream" experience poured into my waking, and somewhat befuddled, mind.

I sat down trying to recall exactly what had happened. I remembered the old Native American woman being in this room tending the fire. I was surprised that the fire burned so warmly as I seldom could get a good fire going. But the logs in the stove popped and hissed with the heat of the flame.

I also remembered the dog lying quietly by the sofa throughout the entire experience, and never once giving recognition to another person being in the room. I distinctly recalled my surprise at the dog's lack of response to the old woman -especially now since his obvious awareness of my presence.

Suddenly, like a movie being projected onto a screen, the "dream" experience became crystal clear for me, and I recalled in detail the old Native American woman and her words. Standing up, I laid the quilt aside, and walked toward the patio door. My last memory was one of watching her move toward the door to leave. I had intended to see her out, but had fallen into a deep sleep as she left.

"Well," I thought, "if she really was here then there will be tracks in the snow outside of the door." I recalled that the snow was falling during the time we spent together.

I approached the door with some apprehension, on the one hand hoping to find tracks, and on the other afraid that I would find footprints. If the prints were there then my bounds of reality certainly would have to stretch and change.

I stood close to the sliding glass pane, my breath leaving a steamy impression on the cold door. The smooth blanket of snow was broken in a steady line from the door onto the patio by prints. The prints appeared to be those of a large bird, who having hopped a few feet onto the patio had spread its wings and flew into the sky.

I put on my boots and jacket and let myself out the door. My feet crunched in the fresh snow as I carefully avoided stepping on the prints left by the bird. My breath came out in white jets of steam. I walked onto the patio and gazed upwards into a cold winter's sky. The clouds had parted and the sun shown through making me squint. Looking up into the sky I saw a large hawk circling, carried on the current of wind, far above my head.