The Nagalands. Deeply red and gasping orange leaves fall gently around me. The low clouds obscure the canopy. It’s chilly but I am not cold.
I’m on the rough worn trail that leads to the granite boulder. I can hear the swelling river nearby. Other than the leaves, there is no movement. I appear to be alone.
I feel the steady gaze of a hopeful observer. Kir shyness speaks louder than the river. I do not feel threatened. But I still do not know who, or what, is watching me. Only that there is a strong sense of familiarity.
A few steps down, a turn around a tree, and I see the granite boulder. No tracks surround it, yet the boulder has been wiped clean. My hand slides unfettered over the worn surface.
I hear something move between me and the river. I look quickly in that direction. I hear something small and numerous suddenly clink near my resting hand. I look back and see a mala coiled a finger’s length from me.
I know these beads. They are a duplication of a mala I have in the Waking. The duplication is accurate down to the plastic markers I added. The scent of the buffalo horn teases as they warm from my handling.
Why here? Why this? Why now? I remember when last I had these here. When she was free to come and go. When she was still my teacher, and lover. But I know my observer is not her. I know that should we ever meet again, the strict caste system would ever place her below me.
I would come here to wait for her at times. At others, to rest and meditate. Heh. Meditation. My mind won’t hold still long enough now. I finger the mala in forgotten motions. I guess I can’t call it such now. At the time I obtained it in the Waking, I was following the example of fluffy peers. They all had malas, bowed to each other saying “Namaste.”, and spoke of the colors of the chakras. Looking back, I realize they had no understanding of what they tittered back and forth.
No matter what I call the string of horn beads, it means something to my silent observer. I lazily climb onto the granite boulder and watch the river beside it. I look up into the cloud hidden canopy and watch the random falling leaves marking the deepening of autumn.
I don’t know when I fell into deeper sleep. Only that my eyes suddenly opened at the sense of a nearby physical presence. The beads had been wrapped around my right wrist tight enough not to fall away, loose enough not to cause harm. I was curled up on the large boulder. My back was suddenly cooling, as if something large was resting beside me and left.
I felt shyness from my observer, and a thin shimmer of apology. “I didn’t snore, I hope. I did not mean to fall asleep.” I looked about me as I spoke. “If I have overstayed, please let me know.” The sense of sorrow deepened even as the apology faded. My observer remained hidden.
I could feel the Waking world pressing on me. Better a graceful exit than a shearing tear, I thought. I removed the beads and coiled them on the granite boulder. “For next time.” I slid off the boulder, noting there were still no tracks other than mine, and headed up the trail away from the river. Shortly after turning at the tree, I woke up.