Audience Profile

 

Cynthia C. Whitehouse

 

 

Prologue

In the liquidy lull of a forever dream, one that returns again and again, she comes to me whispering, always whispering, "It is time, Karina, it is time."

I cover my face, fighting not to look into her eyes. Her eyes, as bottomless as the depths of space, as knowing as the eternal flow of creation, eyes that see everything and in-a-flash will show it to you, if you're not careful. I've looked into them before and wished that I hadn't.

I desperately want to not look. I want to go directly to that place in my mind that always welcomes me, if only I can find it. I try. Caught in the murky texture of the dream, I fail. Like my other dreams, the ones where someone is chasing me but I can't run, the ones where important words are written on a piece of paper, but I can't read them, like my other dreams, this one controls me and I turn to look. As a magnet being dragged toward steel, my eyes draw to hers.

"No," it comes out feebly. "No," I say, but I look.

This time, what I see is different. Her eyes are warm and their energy is strong, pulsating. Maybe she isn't just a goddess, I think. Maybe she is all the gods and goddesses merged together. Maybe she is the creator of existence.

I look into her and see myself. It's as though her eyes have focused to become a screen for the movie of my life. Unwillingly, I fall into the film.

I see myself in a lavender dress decked with ribbons and lace. I am a golden haired little girl with green-brown eyes. A puppy named Misty is nipping at my knees. She jumps up and snatches a piece of ribbon, untying it and tugging it off me in the grip of her sharp little teeth. I am laughing. Standing on the porch, Momma, however, is not. I feel her disapproval move straight through me, and I tremble, becoming that child again.

The scene changes. Now I am an adolescent. My body is still petite, but strong like a gymnast's. My hair is browner than before with golden highlights. My eyes are more challenging. This time I am late coming home from a date. Momma, again, is on the porch. The same look of disapproval stains her face. The same sense of foreboding takes hold in my gut.

I sit down in a rocking chair. A low afternoon sun warms the sky. I look down and catch the glint of a diamond reflecting off my finger. I remember I am married. I turn my hand and the sun catches the cut of the rock, splaying a rainbow onto the wall.

Momma is sitting in the rocker next to me. I could be imagining it, but I think that her face has softened. I think she is actually smiling.

I wake up sweating, knowing I should tell Momma about the dream, as I should have told her about all the others. I'm sure I could do it more easily, if I thought there was a chance she would really smile.

 

 

Chapter One - Red

Passion Pursued

 

 

Momma is in the kitchen with Auntie Connie and Gramma. They don't think I'm listening, but I can hear them.

"June, you have to be careful to watch her breathing," Auntie Connie says to Momma. "Remember what happened to Aunt Elena."

"Elena wasn't ready for the journey. She was too impatient to wait for the dream," says Gramma. "Karina will be fine."

Somehow I don't find Gramma's words very comforting. She doesn't know what's going on inside me. No one does, since I rarely talk about my problems. It seems the more people know how weak you are, the more they try to control you. And I don't need any help screwing up my life.

"Let's not forget what happened to poor cousin Cura," says Auntie Connie.

I know these stories, which is why I'm afraid of this journey. Aunt Elena died during her journey. Just stopped breathing for no known reason. Cura went crazy. She hasn't been able to find her way back to reality. Although everyone says she still might, it's been over ten years and no one really believes it.

"Karina is a strong girl. Always has been," Momma says. "Anyway, living without the dreams is like swimming in emptiness, and I won't let Karina spend her life like that."

Momma has used her "that settles that" tone and I know there will be no more discussion. Gramma and Auntie Connie are here for moral support and to cook and free up Momma's time so she can concentrate on me. Actually, being the oldest crone, Gramma is the Overseer. Momma is my Guide. But the journey is really for me. I want to try to remember that. It's my journey. Gramma and Auntie Connie will be here for the entire thirteen days the journey takes, chanting and singing strange songs much of the time.

Entering into the journey room, I sense a change in the atmosphere that makes me catch my breath. It's not just the circle Momma has formed, both for concentrating the magick and for protection from outside influences. It's not just the stratus cloud layers of incense hanging heavily, which cleanse and ready the air. It's not just the light that has dimmed to the glow of a candle's flame and the little circle of space just beyond it, creating a world separate from the glare of normal reality. It's not even the moan and lilt of the sounds coming from Momma as she invokes the Goddess' powers, urging her to release her insights into me, teaching me what Momma cannot. No, it's more than those things. It is the play of these elements as they skirt from and merge with each other in a way that seems sacredly tempting-even to me-that has me both seduced and frightened by the invitation of this journey.

I step forward and reach to hold the Crystal Goddess in my hands. She feels cool and heavy in my fingers. For just a flash, I think I see the statue's eyes focus. I feel her presence touch me, like the force of a stranger watching from across the room, only without the distance. A chill goes up my spine. The already wild thump in my chest steps up a beat.

"Karina," Momma says. "It's time to begin your preparations."

I don't want to begin. I'm not sure how I got into this, but I'm sure that it's not entirely my fault. I used to be sure I would never take the journey. I was secure in myself. Sure of what was right and who was wrong. Now all of that's a little hazy. I didn't get this way alone. By myself, I'd be okay. It's with other people that I have a problem. In general, I find people very difficult. It's not that I don't like them. Usually they're all right. It's just that they can twist you up inside. Momma says this is because I haven't taken the journey. The journey is supposed to enlighten me with dreams and visions of my inner self, to ground me in who I am. Personally, I have my doubts. As far as I can see, the process has no scientific basis.

Although I have to admit that science and I have parted ways on occasion, I admire, even covet the structure and the security of science. I want the order and clarity of science in my life. I just have trouble believing that the unexplainable doesn't exist, because if that is true, then my whole family and I are probably mad.

It gets worse, if the journey does really reveal my deepest self, I'm not sure that she is someone I'll want to know all that well. Then there's the Goddess herself. She comes to me at night and whispers strange yearnings. I resist her, but still she comes. I haven't told Mamma about all her visits. I hoped if Momma didn't know this, then she wouldn't force me to go to this place or time or reality that no one could explain.

But, the women in my family have always taken the journey, and so I am obliged.

Anyway, it so happens that, at this particular point in time, I have nothing better to do with my life. My divorce was recently finalized. My job has been downsized out of existence. And my friends are all hopelessly addicted to the illusion of health they get by spending most of their time at the gym.

Momma has seen this, and used it to persuade me that now is the time for my journey. Momma sees everything, so there is no use pretending that I have something better to do. Still, I'm scared.

I carefully set the Goddess back on her rainbow-colored mat. There is a tingling in my hands, like a little magnetic force, urging me to pick her back up. I rub my hands together, trying to erase the sensation. Statues of the Crystal Goddess have been fixtures in my family for as many generations as anyone can remember. Each woman in the family gets one when she has her first menstrual period. Then, we wait for the Goddess to visit us in a dream. Sometimes the Goddess visits early in life, sometimes later. Some say they never have the vision.

Momma says, "of course the Goddess has come to them, they've just ignored her." I was hoping the Goddess wouldn't visit me, but, naturally, she did. She came to me in all the wonder of her spectral colors, pulsing with the power of her endless vibrations and urging me to follow the torch of her trail. Urging me to follow her through some enchanted wonderland that could leave me strong and solid like Momma and Gramma or leave me lost forever like poor cousin Cura.

 

Now, there are people who think we are a family of Matriarchal Witches, but Momma says that we are Spirituals. All I know is that I had to learn an awful lot of rhymes and meditations to take this journey. When I ask Momma what the difference is between rhymes and meditations, and spells and incantations, she just wrinkles her nose. I think there's a lot she doesn't tell me because of my skepticism.

The first step toward journeying is taking The Bath. Momma has drawn the water and perfumed it with special rose oils. I also smell sage, lavender and a trace of gardenia. The scent is slightly intoxicating. The water is hot against my skin. Sinking into its heat, I feel a welcome refuge. The bath is a symbolic cleansing of my worldly problems and attachments. The roses are supposed to reflect the "thorns-go-with-beauty" theory everyone seems to have bought into. Momma says it's immature and naive of me to think this isn't true. I disagree with her, silently. Silently only because we have had this discussion before.

I say, "Beauty can stand on its own. It doesn't need thorns to bring it out."

She says, "It's all about balance, Karina. Light is the other side of darkness. Without darkness there would be no shadows. No shadows, no forms. No forms, no way to even define beauty, but especially no beauty."

Then I say, "If there was no division of light and dark, then wouldn't the result be nothingness? And isn't that nothingness the ultimate nirvana that everyone is trying to achieve? So, by that definition, beauty without thorns is nirvana."

Then Momma says, "Karina, you don't understand balance. To learn about balance, you must take the journey."

It always comes down to that. I know nothing because I haven't taken the journey.

 

The journey through the Crystal Goddess is a sacred ritual of what Momma calls our "Timeless Coven." The Goddess has many names. Some call her Isis, some Diana, some Earth Mother, others Mary; it really doesn't matter. What matters to Momma is that there is an unbroken thread of honor and belief that has been sewn through the generations of our family coven. Each new generation has to demonstrate their trust in the Goddess by becoming vulnerable and opening themselves to the lessons of the journey. In return for this, the Goddess showers the believer with insights, protection and blessings. Momma says that I then bring the gifts I receive into the coven, that we are all connected in some way.

If I don't take this journey, I will be the only one in the coven's history to have broken the thread. I will miss out on the blessings and, I think, screw up the blessings for the rest of the coven, as far back in time as it goes. Of course, I could be wrong about this, but I'm afraid to ask, in case it's true.

It's a lot of pressure and a pretty confusing predicament for a girl who was raised half Spiritualist and half Catholic. At the time of their wedding, Momma promised Daddy she would send whatever children they might have to the Catholic Church. Momma honored her promise, even though Daddy left us long before I would have known the difference.

Nana, Daddy's Mom, told me once that Daddy had been enchanted with Momma in the beginning; but that, over time, he grew to find her Spiritualism "creepy." That's why he left.

"Did he find me creepy too?" I asked, only five years old at the time.

"No Honey," she said. "He just never looked back."

The heavy scent of frankincense, which Momma is burning in my journey room, is wafting into the bath and mingling with the rose oil mixture, creating a poignant aroma. It brings me back to the present. I know that it's time for me to dry off and begin the journey. Momma rubs me with a towel and wraps me in an ancient black silk robe. It's embroidered with pentagrams and crescents, stars and suns in brilliant reds and oranges, yellows, blues and every other color in the rainbow. We go into the journey room. Candles are lit and set in a circle and frankincense is burning in each corner. In the middle of the room I see the mat where I will sit. Next to it, the Crystal Goddess stands coolly on her rainbow mat, waiting to fly me, metaphysically, through her pulsating wavelengths of color, through the wonderful waltz of electromagnetic energies.

Most people don't think color waves influence us much, but they freak out completely about X-rays and microwaves. Momma says societies only acknowledge sensitivities based on what they think they can control. She also says my current insensitivity comes from the lack of control I exert over my life. I say I'm just not that interested in being sensitive to a world that is crass in its treatment of coexisting life. Momma smiles that smile that means she knows something I don't. She thinks I have created my own problems in this world. She thinks that I actually like conflict.

 

Which brings me to Jake. I wonder if I would be doing this if Jake and I were still together. The loss of our marriage is still fresh in my psyche. I can smell it like the lingering odor of freshly baked bread. Knowing that I will never taste it again is a constant frustration. Of course, living with him was a constant frustration too. He had changed so much since we'd first started dating. It was his job. Gradually the influence of police work seemed to seep into him and take over the more sensitive, gentler parts, the parts that I loved so much, the parts that touched something in me so deep that I felt he had dug a well from my soul into eternity. When we first got together, I was sure that he was my one, true soul mate, that I had known him for as many lifetimes as I had lived, and that I had always gone to bed at night cuddled into his all-encompassing spirit.

Then, one day I woke to find I was sleeping with a robotic cop. It got so that I began to think I could smell violence on him whenever he walked through the door. Smothered by his overprotective dictates and starved by his emotional stinginess, I just couldn't take it anymore. Jake would never have approved of this journey, which is partly why I agreed to it.

I breathe in the frankincense as though it were a joint of the great herb. This is my last chance to run and hide, but I know that if I do, I will have to hide from Momma forever. I take my seat and Momma takes hers.

"Remember to beware of the Fire Tunnel." Momma warns for the hundredth time. I'm still not sure of what the Fire Tunnel is, but I know that if I see it, I'm supposed to stop and wait.

"One more thing," Momma says. "Don't touch the tunnel walls."

"Touch fire walls? Of course not," I say.

"Any walls," she says.

Momma begins her chant... "Heiyo hay o yea o..." and I begin my rhyme to the color red:

 

 

* * *

I pick up the Goddess and she is cool in my hands. Gradually, she becomes burning hot against my skin and I want to drop her. But I know I don't dare. I'm becoming dizzy. I think my eyes are still closed, but I can see that I'm standing in a dense, red fog. All around me is the color. It is so thick that I can't breathe. It's closing in around me. I remember Momma saying to listen for voices and follow them. Everything is silent.

Out of nowhere comes a low, steady voice. "Hi," it says. I want to hop on it and ride it out of here. I focus my eyes in its direction and a man appears.

He has red hair and ruddy skin. He looks as though he belongs here.

"I am your guide into this color," he says. "Take a deep breath. You're going to be fine." He's offering me his hand: the hand of a stranger.

I want to believe him. Something in me trusts him, though much of me does not. Still, I'm lost and he seems to know the way. Cursing my own weakness, I take his hand, thinking that I'm sure to regret this later. On principle I try not to let men lead me by the hand. But, since I am lost....

The red begins to fade into the background. It's still here, but not as oppressive. He walks me toward a fountain. As we get closer, I see that it's a structure made of glasses, crystal wineglasses. And the liquid bubbling through it is wine, red wine. The man steps over and removes two glasses, fills them from the fountain, and hands one to me. We toast.

"To your journey," he says.

He knows something about this. I have so many questions I want to ask him, but after I take the drink I become sleepy and have to lie down.

I'm in a restaurant. The menu says "The Villa Capri." I'm dining alone at a table. My mind is a little hazy and I'm not sure why. Everything in here is red, the carpets, the table clothes, the walls, the menu, but there are green plants. Thank God for green plants. The waiter comes over to take my order. God, he's handsome. He is my dream man. His eyes are like perfectly polished aquamarine stones. His hair is dark and has those natural waves women pay big money to duplicate. If it weren't so fluid, I'd swear his body was sculpted out of marble. His nametag reads "Jake." He looks really familiar, but I can't remember from where. Actually, I can't remember anything. I don't remember coming here, and I don't know why I'm eating alone.

"Good evening." He flashes me a smile and my heart begins to pound. "Our specials this evening are prime rib, served rare; spaghetti in marinara sauce and boiled lobster. May I take your order now?"

"I'll have a tossed salad, green, please. And the lobster, is it fresh?"

"Straight from the trap. Flown in on ice." The trap, I think, the trap. I can't help but feel that his words hold some sort of warning.

That may be because I would believe anything he says. His smile is quite mesmerizing. Still, he looks out of place in this restaurant, but I don't care. I want him, and I'm not leaving without him.

I take off my sweater. It's really warm in here.

I eat the salad and some of the lobster, sucking the tendrils when he is looking, for effect.

"Will there be anything else?" Jake asks, handing me the check.

"A kiss." I don't know what made me say that. It's just that I feel a heat coming up inside me. It's giving me an oddly aggressive energy. But I like it. It makes me feel strong.

He looks around and suddenly I'm aware that there are other diners in the room. One table in particular looks like a party of mobsters. I don't know how I know this, but I feel they are violent.

"Why don't you give me your phone number?" Jake asks.

"I can't do that. I have a policy about strangers," I say stupidly. "Why don't you give me yours?"

He pauses for a moment then says, "555-1970. What about your name, do you give that to strangers?"

"Karina."

"I see." He says. "Well, Karina, I'm afraid you may have to take a rain check on that kiss."

I look in the direction his eyes have drifted and see a man whom I assume is the proprietor at the register. He is watching Jake, but not like a demanding employer watching an employee, more like a nervous conspirator.

"No," I say. "If you want me to leave, you will have to kiss me." This is pretty bold for me, but I'm feeling bold, if a bit edgy. The tension in the room seems to be building along with my expectation. Jake motions me to follow him toward the front of the restaurant. Then, stepping beside a sprawling fica plant, he pulls me into him and kisses me softly, parting my lips and sharing his moisture with mine. This is what I've wanted, but now I want more. When he releases me I am mush. The tension in the room is melting along with my lips.

"How about a last name?" he asks.

"Andrews," I lie, mostly out of habit, and I curse my friend Yollie for making me so paranoid. But, I have his number, so there's nothing to worry about.

 

I have been dialing the number he gave me for two days now and it is still being checked for trouble. My apartment is comfortable, but I've used way too much red in decorating. What could I have been thinking?

That's it! I'm calling my friend, Cindy, who works at the Telephone Company to have her look into this number. I can't think of anything but Jake and that kiss, and it's driving me crazy. I should have given him my number, or at least my real name.

 

The phone rings, then rings again.

"Hello."

"Karina? Hi. It's Cindy." I know it's Cindy. I can hear the chattering of voices behind her, operators speaking to their customers and to each other.

"Thanks for calling me back," I say. "I hated to bother you at work."

"No problem. I checked that number you gave me."

"And?"

"And I want you to promise you won't tell anyone that I told you this. Actually, you shouldn't even tell anyone that you know."

"Know what?" I'm trying not to let the frustration in my voice seep out, but I hear the edge developing.

"The number is a decoy, for the police. They use it if someone is trying to verify their ID, like when they are undercover."

"Undercover police? Well, that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"I've never been attracted to a waiter before. Not enough risk, I guess. Thanks, Cindy, I don't know how I'll ever repay you."

"Just don't tell anyone you got this from me. And be careful."

"I promise. Good-bye."

 

I know I have to go back to the restaurant, but I need a plan. Will I tell him that I know he is with the police? No. Then I would lose my advantage. I've found it's best to have an edge when you're dealing with men.

I pick up the phone and dial.

"Hello, Mark?"

"Yes. Karina?"

"Yeah, hi, Mark. I'm calling to see if you'd like to go to dinner with me at the Villa Capri. I have an passionate craving for their prime rib."

"Sure. Tonight?"

"Yeah, tonight's great."

"I'll pick you up at seven o'clock."

"All right. Seven o'clock. See you then."

This is really unfair of me. Mark has had a crush on me for a long time. He asked me out once. I said, "I don't want to ruin our friendship." Then he looked at me with those sweet, sad eyes and never mentioned it again. Still, sometimes, when he thinks I'm not looking, I see the way he watches me. It makes me sad. But, right now, I'm desperate. The passion that's driving me is speeding off course; and the strange part is I really don't care. Anyway, what's that cliche'? "All's fair in love and war."

 

Mark picks me up in a red car and he is wearing a red sweater. I am wearing a sexy little red dress. "Designed for love," the salesgirl said.

The Villa is a red brick building with a large gold and black sign. There are two small windows in the front, and none in the rest of the building.

As I walk up the sidewalk leading into the building, I can feel that Jake is inside. I feel the pulse of his heartbeat. I hear the whisper of breath moving in and out of his body. I even smell the musk of his cologne, mixed with the heavy scents of garlic and cooking meat. It was a mistake to bring Mark. I know that now. But I'm committed. My body won't let me turn and leave, even though I know it's the sensible thing to do.

The host seats us and I notice that someone has removed all the green plants. Nothing else has changed, including the diners. That same table of violent men is sitting across the room. They're having spare ribs. Red sauce is dripping from their faces and fingers as they hold the meat to their mouths and gnaw at the bones. It's disturbing to see, but I can't turn away. One of them looks at me and winks his big, evil eye. That's enough. I can turn away now. Jake is coming to our table. I feel him behind me before I see him.

"Good evening," he says. "My name is Jake and I'll be your waiter tonight." As though I didn't know. As though every molecule in my body were not suspended in mid-air and doing a pirouette to celebrate his presence.

I look at him, and the blue in his eyes is the only thing in the room that isn't red. I smile, and he smiles back, politely. Mark orders the prime rib and so do I, although I'm not the least bit hungry for food.

The meal arrives while Mark's gone to make a phone call.

"You're number is out of order," I say to Jake.

"You don't exist." he says to me.

Touche'. Well, at least I know he tried.

"I'm sorry about that," I say, "Reflex. Care to try again?"

"What will your friend think?"

"This is between us, isn't it?" I ask.

"It's never that simple, Karina. I think you know that."

Something in me snaps. "It's them," I say, "Isn't it?" Pointing to the mannerless group of men at the other end of the room. Immediately his demeanor changes. He becomes like a soldier on alert. I shouldn't have reminded him. I should have talked to him sweetly and kept him with me. Now he'll leave to fight his battles with the world and I'll be here alone, or with Mark. Either way I'll be lonely.

"Anderson," I say to him. "I'm in the book." And he is gone.

 

The phone has been ringing for a while, but I can't find it. I hate cellular phones, especially red ones. They blend with everything. Here it is.

"Hello."

"Karina. It's Jake. Are you all right?"

"Jake! Yeah. I'm hot, but I'm okay. I'm really glad you called. I've been thinking about you, a lot. Can you come over now? I'm going crazy without you."

"Karina, there's no time. You have to go now."

"To go? Go where? No. I can't leave now. I just found you. I have to have you."

 

There's a knock on the door. When I open it, it's Jake. But he's not coming in. He's offering me his hand, and I know that I have to take it. It's way too hot in here. He leads me down a long, narrow, red tunnel. The red of the tunnel is so bright and alive. I start to reach out to see what it's made of, but Jake grabs my hand. He shakes his head "no." The familiarity of that motion, that side-to-side swirling disapproval wrenches my gut back to another reality.

There is a white light at the end of the tunnel; I can hear Momma chanting.

I open my eyes to find Momma wiping my forehead with a cool cloth. The candles are merging together as one large flame. Everything else is blurry. The smell of frankincense is assaulting me. It's too strong. I begin to cough. Momma passes me some mint tea. It's like an elixir to my body. I feel it quench the fire in my throat. It even seems to help my nausea. I am back with Momma and without Jake. Just like real life. Of course, this is real life - or is it? I'm still pretty confused. Momma is caressing my hair, and somehow I know that this is what's real.

Momma looks at me for a long moment. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks.

"Not now," I say. The feeling of loss is too fresh and I'm afraid I will cry. What did it all mean? I am so tired. "I just want to sleep," I tell Momma.

"Not yet," she says. "You have to stay awake for a while. If you go back to this dream now you may never wake up." I want to tell her that I really don't care, but I don't have the energy to fight her.

"What did the tunnel look like?" she asks.

"The tunnel?" I say. I've just lost Jake again and all she cares about is the tunnel? "Red. Everything. The restaurant was red. My apartment was red. The tunnel was red."

"Good," Momma says. "Would you like to go for a walk with me?" I'm focusing better. I can see her clearly now. I can tell that she is as exhausted as I am. "No. I think I'll go alone," I say. She can stay here and rest. Anyway, I don't feel like talking to her just yet. Momma means well, but she has a judgmental streak in her. No matter what I do, I would have done it better if I had just done it her way.

Walking past my car, I'm tempted to get in and drive over to Jake's place. Then, I remember that we aren't friends anymore. What happened to us anyway? Did he really become such a bastard? Or was it I, wanting him to be everything, to be perfect? Of course he wanted the same of me. Strange how people like to love their gods but can't find much compassion for each other. When I first met Jake I thought he was perfect: A God. Actually, I didn't decide that he was human until after we were married. Boy, did he become human then.

As I pass a neighbor's house, a loud, guttural bark assaults my ears. I turn to see a huge German shepherd. Max. He's fenced in, but I still don't like his attitude. My head is clearing now. I am definitely not going to Jake's, although I may call him later. He did look really good in my "dream."

 

Gramma and Auntie Connie made pea soup, a large Caesar salad and homemade dill bread for late dinner. I'm suddenly ravenous.

After dinner Momma says I can go to sleep. "Tomorrow will be another big day," she says. "But don't forget to write in the journal."

* * *