Hidden Heroes
The bells jingled their happy welcome one afternoon while Jesse was in the kitchen preparing the evening's dessert, and Julia arrived in the foyer in time to see the backs of their
parents heading out the door.
"Wait...where are you going?!" Julia demanded.
"Eh, this isn't our kind of place --- we'll go on out to the place on the highway." Garrett said in his typically dry manner.
"Oh, for heaven's sakes, you will not! Get back in here, both of you!" Julia directed, "I'm so glad you're here." At her command, the pair returned to the foyer for hugs from their daughters.
"Hi mom, hi dad! How was the drive? Boy this feels strange, doesn't it? You guys are usually the ones greeting us. How's Sedona?" Jesse thought her parents looked great.
"Oh, just fine. Your dad is in a band!" Claire announced.
"It's not a band. It's just a bunch of worn out old cusses, don't have nothing better to do than strum, drum and twiddle their thumbs!" Garrett Mason rarely had anything positive to say, but no one paid much attention to this.
"Dad! That's great." Julia encouraged.
"Hmmffggth. The petunias on the west porch need water." He walked out of the room, and they heard him go into the bar and get a beer, then heard the door to the outside shut behind him. They were accustomed to him extracting himself quickly from pleasantries that he rarely considered pleasant. Garrett Mason knew he was a bit crusty around the
edges and admitted to no one but himself that he never found a way to polish it up a bit. Youth had itself been a sheen that faded with time, and the folks around here wouldn't have recognized the cocky, dapper young man that now moldered away beneath his white scruffy beard. His virility was not quite as invincible as he bargained. Time passed faster than he had gambled, and was one bet he would have lost. And he'd bet on just about anything, if you had a dollar. He loved numbers. He loved to crunch 'em, mold 'em, manipulate and play them for all they were worth, and he could get them to do just about anything he wanted.
He interviewed for a vice president position of a company years ago, and when the honcho behind the fancy desk that was later his asked him, "What's two plus two?" Garrett replied without hesitation, "Whatever you want it to be." Every once in a while he'd let one of these stories slip, and his kids or his wife would raise their eyebrows as though the story he told and the man they knew didn't jive. Garrett Mason was a man who held everything in. His passion, his talent, feelings and dreams, all stayed bottled up inside, mixed with carbonated confusion that escaped occasionally in effervescent outbursts of anger that sprayed whoever happened to be standing nearest. Alone outside with the flowers, he could hear the lively chattering of his wife and
daughters and experienced a rare moment of nostalgia, wondering if he should have played his hand differently, not that it mattered now anyway. He knew his station in life didn't merit him many accolades from his family; they thought he was just a garden variety drunk that didn't want to grow up. Made no difference to him; the truth is the truth whether everyone knows it or not. And it only sets you free if you want to be free. And at first, it's likely to piss you off. He took a swig of beer, sat down on the bench facing the river, and lit a cigarette. This was his favorite spot on the whole planet, especially at sunset, which would be hours away, but the sun was on his face now, and he soaked up the rays like a true Leonine cat for a few minutes before getting the hose.
Jesse watched as her father tended to the flowers and absently listened to the conversation between her mother and sister. She wasn't especially close to him, but didn't know anyone who was, including her mom. He was a hard man to know, yet if you asked him a question, he would give it to you straight between the eyes. There was something about him that kept you from asking, though, and as Jesse looked at him now just as a man and not her father, she wondered who he really was and what it was like to be him. She tried to see him differently, and imagine what his gift might be.
They probably wonder why I'm an angel, he thought. He knew why. So did the Big Guy. The rest was details.
"So, Mom, how do you like retirement? Hey, did Julia tell you that Conrad and Mary are coming in a few days? Claire was overjoyed, and as usual her first remark was, "Isn't it just great they've been together so long?!" Julia and Jesse exchanged sideways glances. The one area they had unequivocal agreement, their brother: the golden child. Translated, this meant, "Why can't you girls hold onto your men?" Jesse recognized it was unconscious; that was the problem. She had to hand it to her mom, though, just a baby herself when she fell for the man who made her laugh, but rarely laughed with her, and stood alone not just on the porch watering petunias, but on whatever ground he put his foot. He exasperated her endlessly with some of his antics, and to a Leo this is audience enough. She loved him the best she could and when the polish of youth wore off, the charisma fading into crankiness, and the streaks, dents and marks of hard times began to show up with wrinkles and sags, she stayed on despite the cries of women in her era shouting about oppression. "We aren't oppressed. We're loyal. You dance with the one who brung ya."
Something about the phrase stuck with Jesse. Dance with the one who brung ya. During a meditation one evening after a visit to her folks a few years back, Jesse could not shake this "mantra" so she stayed focused on it. Dance with the one who brung ya. She took its message beyond the matrimonial perspective, and realized its universal implication. We are here to do God's business, not our own. We get really greedy and selfish, and think we're pretty hot stuff because we have a body, free will and waltz around irreverently as if the universe is our private playground. But from where did these goodies come? We're visitors here, guests even, Jesse believed. We miss out on incredible blessings by following our own small, personal agendas and desires. Like demanding hot dogs at a smorgasbord. No, not everyone is destined to be a Gandhi or Michelangelo, but the power that is in them is in all of us. It may look different on each of us, the way a dress or suit will uniquely frame each wearer, but it's the same power in a different vehicle. Gasoline works in a Volkswagen as well as in a Jaguar. Jesse recalled an illustration of a water hose. The water may be turned on, but we don't notice our foot on the hose stopping its flow, and then escalate the drama by accusing the source of the water for the error (blaming God). We all contain the seed of greatness, it need be only as teeny as a mustard seed and from it we shall move mountains.
Do we get this at all, she wondered? Frankly, even as I have skeptically dipped my pinkie toe into the divine waters of this truth, I am humbled, Jesse thought,
thinking, not me. Yes, me. Yes, you. Yes, all of us. We are all one. How many more messiahs are we going to demand show us? We have been given the same truth in different packaging (language) for several thousand years. What is it that we still don't get? What is it that I still don't get?
Her parents presence and the business of the inn kept Jesse fully occupied, and with the upcoming visit from her brother and his family, she had very little time to herself, which she desperately missed. The tension between
her and Julia had ebbed for the time being, mostly due to all the distractions, and by appearances they worked like a well oiled machine. Claire commented several times a day how well the two sisters ran the place together, with Julia beaming while Jesse silently cringed. Her negative attitude was getting on her own nerves, her energy was lethargic, and she hadn't meditated or exercised for days. A warning sign Jesse recognized, but ignored.
The whole family had not been together for years, and there was lots of laughter, activity and joking for the first two days.
We do laugh well, Jesse noticed to herself one evening as she cleaned up the kitchen, but wondered how long it would last. The answer arrived on the afternoon of the third day, while they were all sitting on the porch sipping cold drinks, teasing one another and competing in the usual wit and parry contest. Jesse saw the question come to her mind, and before she had a chance to decide whether or not this was a good idea, a bolt of Uranium jolted her and out it came.
"Hey, Con? When did you find out about being an angel?" She said it as casually, as if she had asked him where he had gotten his socks. Julia nearly spit out the sip she'd taken, and no one else moved a muscle.
"I've always known. They tell you before you're born. I thought everyone knew." In his breezy, cavalier manner he spoke candidly to his sister, as the others watched as though at a tennis tournament. Everyone was so hush-hush about this whole angel thing, and he had never understood this, Conrad remarked. Who doesn't want to know they have a direct link to the creator of the universe? That in fact, we're co-creators.
"You guys make a big deal about it, but it's really not. I would think you'd want to know. It stands to reason, though; we're told in every language that we're children of the universe and we don't act like it, so I guess being told we're angels wouldn't have any more of an impact. I remember when I first realized not everyone knew. It was at Nanny's funeral. She was there, but no one was standing near her or talking to her. I was only six, but it confused me. Mom kept nagging me to stay with you guys, and Nanny would just smile at me and wave. I'd go over next to her, and she'd smile down at me, and mom would drag me back. You were all crying and staring at a box with a body in it, but she wasn't in the box. I didn't figure it out for a couple of years. I used to walk around the house telling mom, ‘I'm an angel,' and she'd say, 'Sometimes yes, sometimes no.' I'd say to her, ‘No, I'm always an angel, they said.'
Jesse interrupted excitedly, "You remember what it was like before you were born?"
"Yeah, well, not as much any more. I used to a lot when I was a kid. Mostly, I just remember everyone being really nice, and things felt totally peaceful all the time. And it was never dark."
"That's it! I've had enough! Everyone! Sit. Stay." The straw on Julia's halo just snapped, and Conrad tried to back away into the safety of the house, but Jesse grabbed his arm.
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