The Healer

When the sun set and darkness began to consume the sky, pushing away the reddish tint of twilight and showing forth small dots of stars, she reached into my heart with her mind and healed me.

It was one of the healer's greatest works. She was skilled and strong, but my illness was long lasting, and had festered into my soul. She stayed in my heart till the break of dawn, and exhausted, fell into my arms mumbling she had been successful.

I carried her weak frame from before the dying hearth to my unadorned room in the small cottage, a place built for me by the village I grew up in. My home was simple, and only recently well kept and attended to. With no objects of my illness strewn across the floor, I put her to bed easily.

I watched the healer sleep, and the rise and fall of her chest in perfect rhythm entranced me. Did she continue the practice of ivki, the art of unceasing prayer as taught by the Hramvi, even when she was unconscious? While in the land where shadows dominated mankind did her mind rest in her heart and keep her free from the delusions of the night? I wondered where she had learned the practice, who her teacher had been, how long did it take her to master the art, and would she teach me? I knew the answer to the last one was no, for I loved her, and had loved her for a long time now. Healers could not be with another that way.

The healer had been struggling with me for longer than I could remember. My parents called for her, begged for her, and she agreed to help me though they had no money. For this alone I can love her, for she loves with purity.

I was a madman, tormented by visions and voices, apparitions and violent trembling. She worked with me slowly, unable to do much because I had lost contact with the world and reality. After a while, I began to recognize people, and even remember, and then the real work set in. She fasted with me for three days at a time before she would reach her mind out to my heart and do her work. It seemed years had passed as we did this together, and I loved her more and more each day.

A mockingbird sang outside the open window of our hut, its variety of melodies entrancing me. The feathered bard had picked the best hymns, and gave me quite a performance. But the healer began to stir when noon came, and I lost all interest in the feathered entertainer.

"How are you, beautiful," I asked when she opened her eyes.

"You must not call me that," she said.

"Forgive me."

"Do not worry, my friend. That is part of the healing. My soul merges with yours, and yours with mine, and that is how you become stronger. These feelings will pass."

I wanted to tell her I loved her, but felt ashamed and embarrassed. Ashamed, for it was a mark of deviancy to love one so pure. Embarrassed, for she would not return my love, which was only temporary.

"I want to be with you," I confessed. Blood rushed to my face.

She turned her head to the side, closing her eyes.

"It cannot be," she said.

"Then teach me. Make me your student."

"You must stay here with your family. Your new health will bring them joy. They suffered for you and from you. If you want to learn what I do, learn to love them, and you will be on the right path."

I stood up, put on my tunic, and walked to the window. Outside the fields were waiting for harvesting, the golden sheaves of wheat bending with the wind. I thought of the years ahead of me, of planting and gathering, no children to console me or wife to comfort me, of seeing my parents off into the next life, of being alone as one of the ancients of the village and dying with no one to look after my rites. If only she could be here with me, I might endure. Tears came to me, but I forced them down.

"You have learned much already," she said behind me. I turned.

"How?"

"You wished to cry, but controlled your emotions. Your mind sought your heart, though you did not realize it."

She knew me and had the sight. It did not startle me she perceived my struggle without looking at my face.

"You taught me how to seek out my heart with my attention," I said, "Maybe it is only natural."

"If you wish to see me again, if you love me, enter your heart and there you will find me."

The healer stood and tied her hair back and with nobleness. She laid her snow white cloak around her with the fluid grace and self control of a true Hramvi. The cloak never showed any mar or trace of uncleanness, as if it represented her soul. She walked out and vanished into the fields. More than a memory, she became the only remembrance of goodness and life in my time of chaotic suffering as a lunatic.

The years have passed, and I sought my heart with all my might, but never did we meet. I am old now, and alone. The people of my village respect me as a man of compassion and wisdom, but this must be because a part of her merged with and became me.

I sit now on my favorite stool, head bent, following my breath into my heart, praying with all my strength. My heart beat ever so slightly thumps and keeps time with the words of the ivki prayer. I breathe one prayer in, one word per heart beat, and one prayer out; again each heart beat in time with a word.

I see something. What is this light? My mind is filled with brightness, and I see nothing, not a shadow or thought. I open my eyes, and the world has become transformed into pure radiance. I see light everywhere, and everything is light. I too have become light, my being transformed.

There she is, coming to me, my beautiful, my healer, my love. She touches my face with loving hands and I feel her go into my heart. There is so much supreme exaltation now reaching to pure ecstasy. I reach out and I enter her heart and meet pure and zealous adoration.

"Then you do love me," she says.

"Yes, with all my heart."

"I love you also. Now we shall be together forever."

The End