Transcription
Around the Cosmic Campfire by Tony Wright
Chapter 20: Brother-Son Sister Moon
Martha, I’m going to the mall today,” she knew I hated them all. She was genuinely curious. My response seemed odd. “I have to find Saint Francis.” “What? I have to find a statue of Saint Francis.” I had a powerful dream last night that I’m supposed to put Saint Francis in my yard. “Uh, okay.” There was a polite pause. It was a typical telephone conversation for us. She was also always trying to figure me out.
Martha was a long-time friend and neighbor who was raising her kids as a single mom, as was I. She had three, and I had one at the moment. I knew it was true that God only gives you what you can handle, and that’s why she had three and I had one. Let me retract that; my one girl was equal to her three. But who’s counting? I already had my one really, really wild one, and he was already grown and experimenting in communes and ashrams around the country, so I really had two, but only one at a time.
Martha, or Maude as I sometimes called her, knew I was wired a bit differently and that I got messages through from time to time, so she just smiled and let me talk. Messages through from where was never quite clear to others, but they always seemed to be true or pertinent in my life, and they were always good. “I know it’s weird; I’m not even Catholic, and I know nothing really about Saint Francis, but it was quite clear.” So the conversation went. It was true; I had a powerful dream with actual details forgotten about Saint Francis, so I went on the hunt for a statue. I knew that Saint Francis was the saint of our wonderful animal kingdom, and I figured I was supposed to have one for my retreat and acreage to keep my forest animals safe and protected. I didn’t know it was speculative, but it sounded logical.
Months went by with my searching gardening stores and specialty shops around Nashville, and nothing came up. I take that back; I found a couple of heavy plastic yard-style chews that were not for my organic taste at all, although I didn’t really know what I was looking for or why. I knew it wasn’t going to be acquired in plastic. Eventually, I gave it up for other priorities and left it to God and the universe. As I always said, “If it’s mine, it will come to me.” Reputedly, I would thereafter feel free to go about my business and give myself permission to rest in it after a reasonable time had passed. It just takes it right out of my court. I never mentioned this quest to anyone else as it seemed inappropriate, and soon I never talked about it again.
That summer I planned a trip to Sevierville, which is a town in East Tennessee at the base of the Great Smoky Mountains. Martha consented to taking the journey over there with me since I didn’t like to travel alone. It was a lovely, historic little place, and out in the far reaches of that country was nestled very quietly the home of an ashram where my son Russ had been living. I loved going over there to see him when he was there, and even after he vacated to explore another place, I continued to go over there just for a walk through the mountains. I’d go to see people I had met, especially Shank, the owner and teacher, and to meditate and pray, to just feel the energies of the mountain area and eat organic food and chant. That was quite a spectacle for an ex-little old Isle of girl. I’d never seen anything like it until my son brought me to this doorstep. It was so peaceful, and to me, it felt like God everywhere.
On this particular trip, it was a Sunday. My plan was for us to leave Nashville and get off the interstate exit to Pigeon Forge in time to get a statuary I knew about where I was certain there should be a Saint Francis statue. He seemed pretty darn popular, as nearly as I could tell, and I figured surely there would be one there in concrete—something much more organic for my yard—and I was pretty excited to search for him again. As usual, I refused to give up. Maude—Martha—it was with me when we arrived at the statuary. It was closed. “How dare they do that!” I tried to laugh about it. I was heartbroken when I saw the chain-link fence all locked up with its gate closed, and I thought it was pretty unfriendly of them. After all, I was on some secret and very important mission. I had to shrug it off, and we left for our 20-minute trek to the ashram on skinny roads, no map, hoping I would find the way again without any trouble. I did.
When we arrived, the plan for recreation that night at the ashram was watching a movie. Wow. We had never done that before. It was Brother Son Sister Moon, actually posted on the board. They couldn’t believe I had never seen it or even heard of it, even though it was produced in 1972. I certainly had many opportunities to see it or hear of it in the 25 years after all; I was a spiritual woman of the world. Nonetheless, I was looking forward to sitting with this crew of gentle folks after the chant and some veggies and a plop of tofu. Truth, I never could eat the tofu, but it was going to be a good night.
Our host, Shankar Sharya, the owner and our master teacher guru of American descent, was busy when we arrived. I was usually waiting for him to know I was there and to greet me before making myself at home, so Martha and I found a place to sit in the living room and decided to wait until he could see us before I made the approach. One thing I learned was that respect for the ultimate guest—you could give him—for welcoming you into his home, onto this mountain land, for letting him feed us and house someone, even a stranger, and he asked for nothing in return. All was gratis. Although it was a very temporary segment of time visiting the ashram, it was actually a very beautiful time for me. As he was freed up, he came in the living room and saw me and grabbed me for a hug, and I looked around him in our embrace to see the statue sitting at the front door—just sitting there. It was Saint Francis. It was so beautiful; it almost took my breath away.
“Shank, Shank, there is a Saint Francis sitting over there!” He could not escape my excitement, and without missing a beat, he said, “Yes, it must be yours.” “What? What do you mean?” I squealed back at him. Poor guy, I was always the funny, silly guest, but I think he liked it. “Yes, yes,” I squealed at the guru, right jumping up and down. He explained, “A woman came here last night traveling through and wanted to experience the ashram and spent the night. When she was leaving, she called me to the car. She opened the trunk and said to me, ‘I don’t need this anymore; do you want it?’ It was a very old, still with old moss on it, concrete Saint Francis, and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from him. He had responded to her with, ‘No, I don’t really want it, but I’ll take it, and it will be perfect for someone who shows up here.’ He took it into the ashram and left it by the door.” Had he not done that and just left it outside near a bush or put it in the storage shed, I would never have seen it.
More than likely, an end-stated fact about me was I’d been the woman in the country hall of where I live who had rescued deer in the past. I had quite a love and attraction to deer and had the privilege of rescuing a fawn about two months old and keeping her and healing her until she decided she was ready to leave about two months later. One day a year after her departure, she appeared in the backyard with a dear friend of hers, and I knew it was her. She had almost all of her hair grown back into several places she had been injured and stitched by a local vet for me. I knew those markings; it was her. Failing all I could do was watch her and tell her, “Phalene, I love you so much; thank you for everything.” It was quite an experience to hunt for her perfect greens in the forest and feed them to her. I did that for weeks. It’s a story I seem to tell over and over again and is also in this book.
Cast at the foot of the concrete, weather-age Saint Francis statue was a resting fawn. Of course, I cried, and of course, that night the movie Brother-Son Sister Moon was the story of Saint Francis of Assisi, and that was the most beautiful day I had ever had. We could declare it was another day of affirmation that God is working with us all the time. We must learn to trust, to enjoy, to just be, and keep watching for what we desire to manifest right before our eyes. I say bravo and thank you to God, to Christ, to the universe, to all the loving powers that be, and to all the things we still don’t know for sure and for sure don’t understand. Thank you for helping me tune in my brain’s radio station into what I call the God station and some interesting life music and having this much fun transmitting and receiving, transmitting and receiving. Thank you for this delicious ride. I am still, decades later, out on the land in my woodlands supplying salt licks for the children and grandchildren of Phalen and her dear friends and family. Perhaps I am Sister Moon. As to my mossy Saint Francis, he still sits out back holding vigilant watch through the woods that I adore, surrounded by wild ferns and the love of all my critters who will pass this way.