Jacob’s Return, by Andrew Tertes

I came from the seed of that sleeping medicine man and through the form of that sleeping woman. Sheila’s spirit eyes moved from the figures of Isabel and Leo White Crow and took in that of Jacob. I am bound to this sleeping man, with water and fire as my witnesses. Portals and ties. Tides and time. How constricting this room is, how deathly this building. How can my spirit sing inside a web of electricity?

Images of Rachel and Adam floated in Sheila’s mind. Two fledglings in the nest. What big plans this year has in store for you. My daughter, so close to bravery, while believing her wings clipped by fear. Under my care, will she accept how much she has learned of plant and dream? What does her program of study matter? It will be the conduit for the manifestation of her wisdom.

Tenderfoot, take the steps as only you can. The wind of her desire took Sheila beyond the confinement of walls and electronic beeps. She could feel the ebb and flow of waves on sand. Gallop with Willow. Remember you are formed of Spirit. The memory of Rachel sharing secret words from her diary became a focus for Sheila’s spirit.

She felt herself condense into a desire to hold her pained daughter. We each have our journeys to find self and partner. Even bound by love and promise, there could be years of discovery. When you turned from love of plants to love of chemistry, I didn’t see that the prize was the same, only the doorway different. Bind yourself to Spirit’s language that you understand as your own. You will always be a daughter of Salt and Grass. Your mother tongue is the one inscribed inside your heart.

Now you explore loneliness, but that can free you to experience a life that knows you are never alone. With or without me. The way you read to me today was how you will read to your daughter. Your voice was a vessel in which questions can flourish. A chamber for pain and wonder. When your hair is a silver braid upon your back and a grandchild sits on your lap, you will teach her my medicine filtered through the weavings of your times. By then, your times will have transformed your losses into jewels.

The glittering will lead her to her path. You came to the earthworld with a challenge. Your spirit opened to the gifts of others’ prayers. Your feet are masterpieces. Listen to their stories as you walk. There will always be tales breathing from rocks and reeds and marshes and streams.

There was a flash in Sheila’s mind. She glimpsed her daughter racing away upon a steed. There was an image—Adam’s face. My baby hawk. You have begun to fight even while you swallow our chewed worms. Soar with your music. I would fly you in my arms if I could, but the bridge is in view. The island I thought I would come to after a long life is now in reach. Kamitzee’s voice and the breeze are one. She calls for her grasshopper.

Flailing in the water between the land where she found herself and the island that was her destination were dozens of figures. My students! My teaching is unfinished. Each fledgling in their nest or cave or burrow. Each with their spirit animal. Without life in a tribe, will they ever understand the deepest uses of their spiritual gifts? Will they have the strength to draw upon the everlasting that dwells inside them? Your ancestors live inside you. Call to your cells to awaken. You must let the story of how you were lost inspire and guide your return.

Sheila’s spirit felt the bonds holding her to the world loosening, unraveling, stretching into dust, or unhitching, click by click. A hand gripped her hand. A shell was pressed between her palm and his.

There you are, Jacob, on the cot. Jacob, clinging to the temporary. Delude yourself no more. You have ancient bones. From here I see your line stretching across lands and waters. The logic of our love is clear from this hovering place. You are no fledgling, you are full-grown. Your garden of exile is laden with fruit. There may be no salt grass or tule in your garden, but from here I see olive and carob and pomegranate and grape. How I would have loved to eat from your harvest and drink your ferment.

Jacob, my sweet, in your heart you never swayed from your pursuit of justice. Even disappointment and despair could not break your true dedication. Drop the smoke and mirrors of your travel writing. You are Jew and you are frog. The first to fall in an unjust world. Maybe one day you will explore the land issues your people face. Your support for my tribe’s claim to our indigenous land was unending. You saw how I clung to my spirit even with our land stolen from us. I tried everything I could to have you wake to your rage at what was stolen from you, but too much comfort kept you from hunger.

I see you now, in our first class together. Your look asked me, May I live on your land? For that unbroken plea for permission, I forgive you all your mistakes. For so long, you’ve been granted that permission. Now live! Make me proud! Hold Adam and Rachel in the palms of your heart. Remind them constantly of my love through you.

No matter how much they may break, it is you I worry about. They have their tribe down south. You have not yet connected them with your tribe, truly. You have not let yourself connect with your God. A tribe is not a club you can quit. I did not mean to leave you now. Even so, I release our land treaty. Our tie is now only Spirit. Bless me with your Jewish God as you send me to the island across the bridge.