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Spark and the Falcon
The Mystical Adventures of a Little Girl in Red Rock Country
By France Trudeau Balboa Press
Copyright © 2015 France Trudeau
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5043-4030-4
CHAPTER 1
My Friend, Rock
My name is Spark, and today I'm on my way to my favourite place, my temple. The climb is slow and steep, but somehow every foot forward falls on a natural step in the hot rock, as if each of my steps commands the presence of a stairway to support my trek upward. I sense the anticipation of being on top of the red mesa, and my spirit feels like a song reaching its crescendo. As my young legs finally reach the top of the red rock, the song releases its fireworks out loud to the valley. "I'm here!" I announce, with arms open to the sky and my legs firm on the big rock.
I've been coming to this red rock mesa for several years, first with my father and now on my own. My loving father passed away suddenly a few years ago. On my trek up the rock, I felt the warm comfort of holding his hand while climbing the magical stairs. How soothing his presence can be!
Those walks in nature I took during my youth, along with the meditations with my father, started my process of communicating with the natural kingdom and sharpening my insight abilities.
During our frequent hikes, we often met unexpected friends, like the rocks or the trees, who appeared immobile at first but came alive with wisdom as our conversations continued. During my many adventures with Father, he taught me to listen to the voice of nature, and slowly I started participating in the discussion.
Father introduced meditation into my life. As we trekked in the woods, we'd stop for a bite and take a moment to sit quietly. He never called those times "meditation", but rather he referred to them as "quiet-time breaks". A few minutes into the quiet time I would start to hear voices, friendly voices, like the high-pitched "Where is my stash of nuts?" from the chipmunks or the subtle "There are two two-legged in our domain!" from the fox. Then one day I heard the soprano voice of the sycamore tree: "Spark, you have the gift of remembering. Use it wisely."
Father continued to bring more educational experiences into my life over his few remaining years, especially the ability to recall intuitively where we had been in the past, under what circumstances, and the lessons we had learned.
Today I am back on the red mesa, a place of many gifts. As I stand on the mesa overlooking Sedona's valley, I look around and wonder where I can sit.
"Here," a voice says.
I turn around. I'm sure I have come alone. Who is here? I wonder. I listen for steps or voices ... all is quiet but the breeze.
"Here," the gentle, lower voice says again.
I suddenly burst out laughing. "Ah! It's you, my friend. You took me by surprise. Yes, I can sit on this spot today. You chose it especially for me, right?"
"Yes, indeed. Welcome, Spark."
"Thank you, Rock. You are a solid friend!"
So, as suggested by my friend Rock, I sit at the edge of the mesa, my legs dangling in the emptiness over the valley of greens and reds. The mesa world is full of life: chameleons hiding in plain view if you pay attention; an arachnid in the middle of the dirt road lifting and lowering its body if you dare get too close; and the nocturnal four-legged creatures awaiting the starry sky.
There is a bird in the blue morning sky carrying a rather large twig. I make myself comfortable, pushing away a few dusty red stones that are pressing against my skin. Ra is warm on my face; I can barely open my eyes to face its music. I immediately plunge into daydreaming, letting go of whatever is not needed here on the red mesa, while my spirit brings me to a land of many secrets, a land too easily forgotten.
Later on, a shadow passes over my closed eyes and takes me out of my reverie. A giant twig – carried by a bird again! Where is this bird going with this rather large twig? My eyes follow the bird until it lands atop one of the red rock sentinels nearby. All morning the bird repeatedly carries twigs to its newfound perch. He's building a nest, one twig at a time. How chevaleresque! But then again, birds have no interest in the meaning of words. Their attention is fixed on building a nest for their progeny, never asking for anything more. What if we human beings could live more in the present moment with simplicity and without worry? I wonder.
"I'll see you tomorrow, bird with a giant twig!" I say as I walk down the mesa to head home.
CHAPTER 2
My Meeting with a Bird
I come back to Rock's perch the next morning. It rained during the night, much-needed water for the parched earth. All of nature is benefiting: the greens are greener, and the red earth seems to be alive with activity and ready to spew out new shoots. On my way up the mesa, I notice a few water puddles here and there, a sign that four-legged creatures might not be so far away. There even is a multi-coloured arc reigning over the valley.
As I sit down on the same spot on the edge of the big red rock, I notice that Rock is silent this morning. With my legs dangling freely, I stop to admire the sight of the valley below as I listen to the sounds coming from it: birds chirping, the soft breeze. I catch a movement in the sky, but then I relax and get ready for another voyage with Spirit. I wonder where it will take me today. I have no time to think any further, as I hear a rustle nearby. What could this be? I slowly turn around.
"Hello, Spark."
There on the far edge of the plateau is a bird, a sharp and lean bird dressed like a member of the Royal Guard. Its wings are neatly folded around its body, reminding me of an English gentleman standing upright with his hands tucked behind his back. The bird's sharp eyes are on me. It has a rounded head with large eyes and what appears to be a dark moustache below its eyes. It looks like it is wearing pantaloons made of white-spotted feathers. The bird is standing erect on its yellow legs and big talons. Somehow I am relieved.
"My name is Sp – wait! How do you know my name? And what – what is your name?"
"You may call me Falcon."
I remain frozen in time. I wait.
"You know – the bird with the twig."
"Aaahhh! You are the one building a nest with those twigs?"
"Yes, indeed. My companion and I are in construction mode."
It is time to shake off my stone face. "Welcome, Falcon.
It is a pleasure to meet you."
Seedlings from another galaxy,
Green shoots ready for a long voyage
Through the web,
Transported by interstellar gardeners
To their assigned new home
On the Blue Planet.
Sequoia,
Sycamore,
O Silent Tree!
O Giant Tree!
O Ancient Friend!
CHAPTER 3
Trees and Their Gifts
A few days after Falcon's surprise visit, I decide to stop at my school's library. I read that peregrine falcons have been around for over five million years. In 1225 a Dominican friar penned their Latin name and later wrote about them. In Egypt the god Horus, a falcon-headed deity, was also known as "Lord of the Sky." Horus was depicted on many hieroglyphic stone walls in ancient Egypt.
My research at the library done and my head full of data on my new friend Falcon, I decide to make my way back to the Mesa. Questions dance around in my mind, and I rehearse which one will come up first.
I meet a few tourists coming down on my way up the mesa. Some are chatty and vibrant. Others, I can see, are still in their meditative states – something that can easily happen up on the mesa.
I make myself comfortable and look around the valley. It never ceases to amaze my young spirit as I look over the Sedona valley. In the midst of my contemplation, I hear the rustle of feathers. Falcon has arrived.
"Hello, Spark."
"Hello, Falcon." I lose no time jumping in with my questions. "Why choose to build your nest on the rocky sentinels? Why not in a tree? You have a valley of them here below." I spread my arms wide open.
"This high post is a perfect observatory, Spark. We use height to help our survival, to protect our nests and broods from mammals, and to appreciate the sight below our talons. Nature protects us wherever we are. Rain is welcome refreshment. The clouds are a respite from the hot rays of the sun. We have learned to live with Nature and adapt to her multiple facets. When you are in tune with Nature, Spark, all your needs are met."
"You mean like my grandparents did when they chose to live on their big farm where cows provided milk, horses helped with the heavy work in the fields, chickens gave their eggs, and Grandmother grew a beautiful vegetable garden? Or as in your case, you live where Nature provides twigs for your nest?"
"That is right. Trees are ancient friends, Spark, and they are an integral part of nature. They bring so many blessings. They serve as habitats to birds, squirrels, and other animals. They also provide oxygen to earth beings – the two-legged, four-legged, and multi-legged kinds. Trees are magnificent beings. They adapt to the seasons depending on which corner of the world they settled and where they were planted a long time ago by interstellar gardeners. The sequoia is the most ancient of them all. It's also called a redwood."
"I prefer 'sequoia', Falcon. I love the fact that all the vowels are present in a sequoia."
Falcon's head moves to a forty-five-degree angle, and he looks intensely at me. There is no denying the question mark in his eyes. "There are no vowels in the sequoia; its fruit is a cone containing the seeds ..."
"Okay, Falcon, let me rephrase," I say. "The vowels are in the word 'sequoia', not the actual tree."
Falcon's beak smirks. Then a scratchy high-pitched sound comes out of it ...
"Kak kak kaaaaak ... let's continue" he says. "There is another aspect to the trees. In fact, as you experience when you listen to the wind in the branches, your attention is then in the present moment, and in that present moment you remember."
"I remember what?" I ask.
You don't have a soul.
You are a Soul.
You have a body.
(Inspired by George Macdonald)
CHAPTER 4
Who Is The True Me?
"In that present moment, you are in touch with who you really are, Spark. You are being conscious."
"Oh! Like remembering my true nature?"
"Yes, Spark. Like remembering that your spirit is the true you and that your physical body is a temporary abode." Falcon's words remind me of my father's teachings. He continues. "Your true self is a gift from Creator. You are an extension of Creator, and through Her gift you experience living in a world of heavier matter. One of the main challenges of being born into a physical body is that it is easy to forget where you come from. With years of conditioning to the physical environment, in most cases it becomes normal to lose the memory of your true self. However, most children still have their memories intact when they arrive to this world. They still remember being in the Light, where there is no form, no negativity. If parents do not nurture those beautiful and sensitive aspects, they will be put aside and forgotten. It is important to ask young children questions or open the door for them to acknowledge their memories and to let them know that these memories are not imaginary but the basis of who we are. Your father helped you keep your memories intact."
Falcon gets me thinking. Dreams are another conduit for self-discovery and remembering. Many of my inexplicable dreams are usually a retrospect of my past lives' experiences, like when I was five or six years old and saw myself fall from high above into the sea, where the sun was shining on every ripple of water. This scene created a fear of water and high bridges – until it was revealed to me that these were the last moments of my last life as a fighter pilot. My plane had been shot down, and I was tumbling down into the Mediterranean Sea. The sun shining over the sea was my last conscious memory.
Remembering, studying, and learning from our past lives can help us better understand our purposes in this present lifetime. It helps to grow our self-understanding and propels us to more fulfilling lives. Past lives are also a reminder that we are responsible for our own choices, choices that we make every minute of every day even in our way of thinking. If we think that everything is a problem, then we attract negativity and everything we do is a struggle. But if we remember that we are Light, our everyday decisions will be made on the basis that nothing is impossible, that everything is working for our best or the best of the community we live in.
"Reincarnation requires individual responsibility," Falcon says. "When we choose to come back, when we make the decision, we can no longer deflect the responsibility onto something or someone else for what's happening in our lives. We must remember our choice and stand by our decision making."
"My father used to say 'Your claim to blame is in vain' whenever I came up with a poor excuse."
"Kaaaak, kaaaak, kak ..." Falcon agrees.
"Falcon, can you see the huge grey clouds at the horizon? I believe a thunderstorm is on the way. How will you protect yourself and your family?"
"We will take one drop at a time, one swift air current at a time, and I'll use my wings as a protective umbrella over the family. What will you do, Spark?"
"I'll probably hide under the sheets."
"Do you not enjoy the storm?"
"How could I possibly enjoy the thundering, the lightning, and the rain pouring over my head, Falcon? I always hide under my bedsheets during a thunderstorm."
"Tonight you could face the music, Spark, by using a different cover."
"Really? What type of cover are you referring to?"
"Tonight, when the storm arrives, you can lie down. But then instead of fearing it, you can pretend that you are listening to your favourite piece of music. The rumbling thunder becomes the beat of the drum; the striking lightning is the clashing of the cymbals. Keep your focus on the orchestration, and you'll see that in a little time your fear will dim away. The rhythm of the rain hitting the roof of your house will eventually put you into a relaxation mode, and you will restfully fall asleep."
CHAPTER 5
The Loss of My Father
Several months before the loss of my father, I was in my third-grade math class when suddenly an image appeared in front of my forehead, a picture of my father lying in his coffin with his head to the left of the picture. This vision appeared thereafter on several occasions, and it was always the same identical picture. During the vision, I would find myself staring at the sight, unaware of where I was, unaware of my surroundings. The vision usually appeared while I was in class and at the most unexpected of times. One time I was in the midst of doing a drawing in art class; I lifted my head off my drawing paper and immediately saw the vision. I was finally taken out of my reverie by a question from the teacher. After the vision disappeared from my sight, I would usually go back to whatever I was doing and not dwell on it. Although I was always aware of these visions, I was also detached from their implication, as if it were knowledge for me to hold and not act upon. I never questioned them; I simply went about my day and never mentioned them to Father or anyone else. But all the while my young heart was heavy with sadness.
Around the same time, I was bicycling my way back home on the main road when I saw a car coming towards me in my lane. I kept thinking it would pass the other car and move back to its own lane, but this wasn't happening, and I quickly decided to jump off my bicycle into the shallow ditch. The car never moved back to its proper lane, and as it passed by me I saw the face of an angry man holding the steering wheel with his tight fists. I came home, still unnerved by the incident, to discuss it with my parents. They were happy I made the quick decision to jump to the side of the road. Father casually said, "If you're going to die before us, you will let us know, won't you?"
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Spark and the Falcon by France Trudeau. Copyright © 2015 France Trudeau. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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