The Great Council
a short story about a possible future
Zay smiles. He is happy, even under these dire circumstances. The beautiful beings gathered around him are his best friends. What luck, what magic! His bare feet rest in front of him on the vital grass. In a few minutes his toes will gently scoot towards Helen, seated at his right. He cannot help but be close to her. He remembers very keenly how in another lifetime they were lovers. In a few minutes, he might even caress his ankle against the fabric of her skirt, made of softis, an imported, shimmering silk from a newly discovered star system. Zay is, admittedly, a bit distracted from the group conversation, watching her silk shift from blue, to green, to yellow, with birds appearing and disappearing. The frequencies of color and patterns of image correspond with desires left unfinished. Each color is an opportunity for the wearer to heal. Each image is a chance to do it better this time. Beautiful technology, he muses.
Straightening his spine, he presses his heels together in that ancient yogic posture they all learned as children: butterfly. He is fifty-nine years old, but on most days he feels like he is twenty. Seated in this healing position, he can feel the influx of energy flowing from his crown down his neck and torso, and then all the way down to his feet. One heel feeding life into the other.
He smiles and takes a renewing breath. He feels such gratitude for these beautiful beings seated in a circle around him and these upcoming twelve days of dialogue. Earlier this morning, fresh from his first night at the cabin, he stood on the balcony sipping Tulsi tea, noticing his heart chakra expand. This seemingly rustic cabin upon which he stands is actually quite an advanced piece of art. It was offered as a gift to the Council by one of Gaia’s leading architects. Zay especially loves the bedrooms: both the walls and bedframes constructed of interweaving pine and smoky quartz crystal. Indeed, the perfect vibrations for refreshing sleep, meditation, and deep emotional processing.
Seated to his left is the venerable Crow. His friend since their childhood in Montana. They were born the same year. Endless afternoons of prairie, sky, and laughter…always with ancient questions on their lips. In a way, they knew that there really was no point in asking, for the training in their past lives was like an inalienable guidebook, stored deep within their cells — but hey, it was still fun. Endless talks. Best friends. “Trust what you know” was their mantra then, and still is now.
Zay gently withdraws his attention from Helen’s amazing, ever-shifting skirt. It is Crow’s turn to speak. Although his words are grave, he smiles. “When there is an incomplete understanding of a situation, incomplete actions will be taken. Or, even harmful actions, as is the case now.” Crow’s palm is open, his thumb gently resting against his heart. “This virus,” he continues “is causing people to fear one another. No one is attending the Great Dances anymore, the atmas of faith are closing, and the sweet vistas of communion stand empty. The people are shutting themselves indoors, despite the beauty of our lovely Gaian spring!” At that precise moment, a butterfly dances a few inches in front of his nose. The council members chuckle. The understanding of synchronicity is built into their blood.
“Let’s all take a moment and feel this dreadful loss, my dear friends.” Crow closes his eyes and his friends follow. They give each other plenty of time.
Eventually, it’s Zay’s turn to speak. His words are preceded by a long sigh. “As you know, there are those in our high courts who sway the people toward fear. As we have discussed, they have been corrupted, using their incarnation to experiment with dark forces.” Zay pauses, noting the nods and rueful sighs of his friends. “We must ask ourselves: Why are our people believing them? What has been excluded or forgotten in our education system? We have made our best attempts at teaching our children the healing arts. We have made yoga and Reiki training available as early as the tender age of three. Everyone is taught how to love the living soil; everyone is taught the wisdom of brother owl and sister salmon. However, unfortunately, our educational efforts have been insufficient in some crucial aspect. Obviously! In these upcoming days, I hope we can come to some kind of understanding. I hope we can detect what flaw has occurred.” Zay pauses, allowing his words to echo outward. They gather gravity through silence.
“As a society,” he continues, “we may be producing Reiki masters as early as thirteen years old — yet many of our adults are afraid to leave their homes right now. They are even masking their beautiful smiles, at the behest of the corrupted ones. They are not trusting their own bodies, their own immune systems, their own sacred vessels of healing.” Zay’s voice shakes: a bit of frustration is here. “If this behavior continues, what will our beloved society look like in five or ten years hence? If this fear continues, what more de-evolutions shall occur?” Zay pauses, allowing his friends a moment of digestion.
“We must learn radical new levels of empathy — now. We are being challenged to understand these emergent shadows and, what’s more, to learn to love these shadows. Make no mistake: this so-called evil virus is the same as our Self. There is no separation.” Zay’s throat thickens. The normally pristine blue energy emanating from his vishuddha chakra feels murky now, like brackish waters suddenly swirling within an otherwise calm, clear pond.
“I hear you’re sad, Zay,” chimes Akasha, seated opposite to him upon their circle of grass. “We’re sad, too.” She rises to embrace him, her silver hair streaming in the wind. Crow follows her lead. After a few moments, these wise old owls are suddenly a heap of giggling, playful children. After they’ve had their fill of hugs, they return to their seats, breathing a collective sigh. A woodpecker alights on a nearby oak. His cap is brilliant red. Akasha notes the brightness of the bird and wonders: Am I dreaming? Is this real? Perhaps soon I will awaken from this terribly sad drama. Perhaps soon the curtain will fall on what was only our worst imagination. Perhaps light is ahead.
With tears streaming down his cheeks, Zay, their leader, their friend, their confidant, the one who roused them to mission long before choosing their mother’s womb, stands up. His voice has regained its steady, poetic tenor. “This recent chapter, my lovely Sapiens, has been about revisiting an old period of Earth. We have been reminding ourselves how far we’ve come, and why. In the old age, humans avoided death at all costs — at all cost to beautiful living. We have not lived that way for over two hundred years. The past few months have simply been a bad dream. We shall soon awake. Yes, the light is ahead.” He gazes at Akasha, eager to soothe her telepathic ponderings.
Helen stands now, taking Zay’s hand in her own, her skirt now a vista of coconuts and palm, back from the days when she held court as a princess of an ocean. That may have been a different continent, but her heart was still the same. Memories from that far-off place reverberate within her now: familiar, close, carrying forward a wisdom that can never fade. “This virus is merely an echo, my loves. It reverberates from humanity’s past, dreamed into our collective present. It reminds us of the majesty of our species. Pushing us to anchor the next level of evolution. We actually need to thank this virus!” A cascade of surprised laughter erupts from the group. Yes, she’s right.
Helen continues, lifting her chin towards the heavens, her voice both strong and soft, full of compassion. Her eyes allow (and do not apologize for) the tears that come now. “Yes, we are truly ready to find answers. This is why we gather. We are ready to forgive the corrupted ones, the lost ones, those in the high places who have sung the song of fear for too long. We remember what our ancestors learned and what we have never forgotten: Yes, even evil has a Divine purpose! Evil gives us motivation. It awakens us to a higher awareness of this cosmos and our place within it. Remember our history books: Our forbearers went through a similar ordeal as they entered the age of Aquarius. They emerged triumphant — and so shall we!”
The woodpecker continues her pecking. His eyes shine. The group listens for what he tries to tell them. There are many beings speaking now.
“In our remaining days here at this beautiful cabin,” Helen carries on, “may we be in receptivity of the answers. May our intuitive channels be cleansed. In tomorrow’s conversation we shall dive deeper into the practicalities, but please, allow me to provide an overview now.” Helen pauses, turning to smile at her beloved Zay. She wishes she was always at his side.
“Our society is in desperate need of updates. As I see it, we need to employ more death doulas, to ease the fears from both this virus as well as other myriad causes. We need to help people remember the true spiritual gift that death actually is. Also, we need to make sure that our educators and healers are truly in reception of the bounty of our Mother Earth. And, most importantly, my dear friends, we need to sing The Soul Song again. This is our highest priority! We need to be doing this day and night, as we bathe and as we sleep. As we eat and as we speak. We need to find that frequency again: to hold it, to bring it into our bodies, and be it. That is, I believe, the most important thing.”
Akasha leaps to her feet, her body moving like an exclamation point. “Yes, my darling Helen! Yes!” She laughs with the freshness of a young girl, almost giddy, her blue eyes piercing every clock and calendar, moving beyond the limits of time. “The Soul Song will help people remember that the virus is not a solid thing. It’s merely energy: Thus, we can mold it, shift it, and eventually dissolve it from our Universe. The Soul Song will help all of us, no matter how old or how young, to remember our immense power, our immense treasure, as human beings.” Helen and Akasha dip their heads together, resting third-eye to third-eye. Their shared smile is so grand, so all-encompassing, so intense, that the grass underneath the four seated members begins to gently vibrate, urging them to stand as well. So they do.
The woodpecker stops her pecking, its belly momentarily calm. It will surely start again, soon. Some of the bugs still crawl nearby his feet, content to transform. They don’t mind whatever happens.
The sun, for a moment, is temporarily blocked by a cloud. Silence overcomes the group. It’s good. They are now internally tuning to The Soul Song — vibrating both inwardly and outwardly, expanding to connect with all living beings.
The Soul Song tells the story of a future world: where human beings live and create with no limits or boundaries. It’s a life of pure, unencumbered joy. Heaven on Earth. This is what they’ve been training for. This is why they were born.
Zay watches Helen’s skirt change from red to green and he kisses her. Her lips feels like the woman he’s always wanted but wasn’t sure he could find. This was the moment. Her body warm, unconditional, sculpted together with love through so many lifetimes. The memories come rushing back to him now, as he holds her hips, both their long hair flowing in the Gaian spring breeze.
There is a shift in vibration now, a pulsing, something wanting to release. It wants to be expressed through their throats. It’s a truth of their making, yet also a resonance from the depths of whatever it was (the Unnamable, the Unsayable) that created them eons ago. It’s both theirs, and not.
A clear OM dissolves the silence. Their hands now bow in prayer, their hearts breaking through a seeming wall that was only a single, small chapter on their learning journey.
The OM comes again and again.
The OM comes now and always.
