CHAPTER 16

Am I living the wounds of the Ancient Ones?

-- Quote from Michael coming out of a trance

The smoke from the dragon incense curled around Michael's body as he placed a cup of water on the altar. The cup was a pewter chalice he found in an old antique shop on Second Avenue on the Upper Westside of New York. His friend Marie was with him. She liked looking in antique shops for crystals. He followed with no particular interest or purpose but this particular chalice caught his attention. He remembered that she told him objects will call to him to be placed on his altar. These objects would be a representation of power, stories that will help him on his journey inward and protect his space. His altar was almost finished. He wanted a few more items. Still, it did not feel like a sacred space. She had also told him to trust his instincts, listen to his heart, sometimes his ways, will be different from what he reads in books, or teachings she has given him. There was something within him that would speak, would guide. She called this being a Watcher.

He waved his hand over the water and uttered sounds he didn't know was within him. He stretched both hands over the water. He felt energy pass through him, that caused him to inhale deeply and breathe upon the cup of water. He felt like his insides were spinning counterclockwise as a heat rose within him. As he held his hand still over the cup, a wound, like an eye, opened in the palm of his hand. He should have been startled but he wasn't. It seemed a part of him from a time not remembered. Though it didn't make conscious sense, his body had awareness. He felt like he heard someone else breathing within him. Three drops of blood wept into the water. The three drops floated separately and then toward each other moving as if in a dance before joining together and then moved in the water like a serpent. A sound rose from the water. The water turned dark. He thought of the abyss. He had a vague memory of a thick dark mixture, drowning within a darkness that was so thick no human breathe could be drawn from it. Michael's eyes took on a white glow. He sat motionless as the sound rising from the water became a decipherable voice.

The voice spoke. "The first War in the Heavens did not go well. The Dark was enamored of the light and wanted to reach out and enter it. The Light who is not a being with an adversarial mind, created a Warrior to thwart the advances of the encroaching darkness. The Darkness consumed the light energy of the Warrior causing it to fall into its embrace. As the Warrior was slowly being consumed, the Light sent another Warrior to rescue its brother. The Warrior was rescued from Darkness consummation but as it was returned to the worlds of Light with its brother's assistance, a part of the Light Warrior's essence remained in Darkness. And that essence has been lamenting for the light that abandoned it.

A knock at the door brought Michael out of his trance. Michael answered. It was Byron.

"Sorry, forgot my key again. I assumed you be home."

"What time is it?"

"It's 7pm. You've been sitting in front of the altar all day again."

"I lost track of time."

"Do you even know what day it is?"

"Yeah, it is..it is."

"It is Saturday."

"You've been sitting at that altar all week. I'm not pressuring you but how are you going to find a job? Rent is due in two weeks. You've been out of work for three weeks."

"I have some money in the bank. And I always meet my obligations."

"You've been in front of that altar praying, chanting and singing. You are freaking me out. I'm not comfortable here Michael. You need to get back to the real world. I mean it is cute and good that you want to know God but God ain't paying the rent; so less God, more work."

"I said I'll handle my business."

"Maybe you need some fresh air. Let's go out and get a drink."

"I'm not thirsty."

"Bet you're hungry for a man. A man a day keeps the madness away."

Michael stood like a lighthouse. His eyes seemed to send out a rescue signal. Occasionally, he'd sway back and forth to some music playing for his thoughts only.

A group of men stood near him. One in particular kept stepping back slowly, tossing back glances making the bait of his look more appetizing but Michael wouldn't bite.

You bite, you nibble. In the morning they'll say you ate too much. Feast is over but if you're hungry, you must feed again. He was interrupted by someone stepping on his foot.

"Didn't mean to step on your foot," said the Stranger.

"My foot will survive to tell the grandchildren."

"Oh you're a clever one."

"I think I'm more available than clever."

"Cain."

"Michael."

"Are you alone?"

"It depends on this conversation."

"I'm out drinking with friends."

Cain bought Michael a beer. He introduced him into his friend's conversation. As laughter made their attraction easier, Cain slipped an arm around Michael's waist. Michael suddenly adjusted his stance into a more submissive pose. Cain kissed Michael on the neck. Michael took a long swallow of beer. He then looked at Cain and smiled as Cain squeezed him. Michael's fingers touched Cain's behind.

"I have a hole in my pants."

"That could be dangerous."

"I hope so."

"I'm an explorer by nature."

"Someday you may kiss me there," Cain smiled wickedly, shifting his weight and standing with legs slightly parted.

"My, my Christmas came early," smiled Michael. An uneasy feeling passed through Michael. "You know I have this weird feeling we met before."

"Maybe in another lifetime."

"I only believe in this life."

"Maybe I'm the man of your dreams."

"I don't dream."

"We might have seen each other in passing."

"No, it's like I know you, but not you, in the sense of what you look like now, but know what's inside of you. I'm probably not making any sense, because I'm not making any sense to me."

"Then let this whole night be about not making sense. Let's just fuck until we can make some sense of sense."

"That doesn't make sense."

"But fucking does."

Small apartment Michael thought entering Cain's apartment in the Chelsea area. It was a six floor walk-up. The room was closet size and a single bed. A poor handyman's self made closet for clothes with a pint-size refrigerator with a two-eyed hot plate and the one window that looked out to a wall.

"Don't let the size of the room frighten you. It is functional. It was temporary but I've been here three years so far. Money's hard to save when you're working to pay rent. It seems my life focus has been on maintaining these four walls."

"You must starve for sunshine," Michael remarked staring out the window. "I'd have to paint a tree and a sun just so I can remember."

A hurt tone resounded in Cain's throat. He held it in. "I did the best I could for the moment."

"So are your neighbor's friendly, loud, and/or hostile."

"I don't know them. People say very little to each other here. If they catch you looking at them, they shift their body language immediately. This city is like a sea of islands."

"I haven't yet made friends. It's just my roommate, two ex-boyfriends who moved out here about the same time, and a girlfriend who have these otherworldly tendencies."

"You have nice looks. You'll have no problem attracting someone."

They walked toward each other. Lust was being painted over an innocent smile. Their hands touched each other's chest as their smiles descended and a kiss was exchanged. Their breathing wove in and out of a rhythm as two naked bodies twisted and turned into each other. Their clothes became like a mountain beside them. Later, a white stream of semen was bleeding from both their bodies as they laid quiet on the floor. Cain slept beneath Michael. Michael was hoping for sleep, not really satisfied, there's no substance here, no meaning, he's going no where. This place is as closed in as his ambition. He rolled over to his back. His eyes stared at the ceiling.

"I heard your lament. I am hiding my presence because my physical form would disturb you."

"I don't want to hear this."

"Let me be your consort. All I ask for is a child of light for my world. The light you sing about has not been seen in my world. We want this light you sing about."

Michael felt himself seething with anger. He imaged his curly black hair turning into serpents. A look of anguish crossed his face. A feeling of being violated physically, mentally and in other means coursed through him. "Wanting and getting are two different things," Michael said sarcastically. "Everybody wants a piece but not the responsibility."

"Your presence in our world could cause great unrest but a child from the two of us could bridge our worlds."

"You all want a child from me but not me. I am too black and comely for your world."

"Our world use to be in heaven. But this heaven descended and became hell. Raise us back. Let me bring a child of light to my world."

"And you think this would be fine for me to sit here in my madness and never see my child"

"I offer my services as long as you require it. I cannot enter your world in my current form but I can find a host body. Just choose a body you prefer and I will possess it."

"That's crazy. This conversation is crazy. I don't want to hear no more."

"It is written if your heart is not anchored you will become the Destroyer. You have already consumed many worlds and dimensions in your rampages."

"I do not need an accounting of my behavior." He felt the lower part of his body taking on a serpentine form but it kept wavering back from human to reptilian.

"Let me cease your restlessness."

"I am not restless," he hissed.

"Than I shall wait here quietly to see who please you, who causes your attention to linger and they shall be the one I possess. Then I will come to you, and you will know it is me. You can call me John Q. I will be the protector of your heart."

"Is there no hope for me in this chaos," Michael cried out. Tears fell on the floor.

Cain was snoring soundly and did not hear his outburst.

He left Cain sleeping and surrendered to another interior monologue as he dressed quietly and quickly outside Cain's front door. "I said I wouldn't drink anymore. Here I am bladder bursting with beer. My fingers are hornier than my friend dangling below. My eyes are staggering through my head. There's this breeze rushing in and out of my thoughts that feels like one side of me is leaning more than it should while my mouth taste like wood shavings and I'm walking down a street hungry for a touch."

Michael smelled his finger. Yuck! He wiped it on his pants. Where to now he thought as he staggered down another street. Matthew stays near here. I should call him.

His eyes caught something. He stepped back and peered into a vestibule of a building. A young man was leaning against the wall, head back looking into a single light bulb with a glazed look. Another man, on his knees, had his face buried in the man's crotch. Michael shivered. Don't want to be a glory story. He found a phone booth. Change fell on the ground. Stay there I don't think I can bend over in my condition. He searched other pockets. A quarter finally found its way to Michael's hand. Dial slowly. It's too early in the morning to wake up the wrong body. Five rings later – Matthew did not answer. "I see, replaced before my time. Well, next," he mumbled as he dialed Lazarus. Four rings.

"Hello."

"I know it's four in the morning. Don't get mad. I'm tired and a tad bit wasted. Can I crash at your place?"

"Sure. Actually, I'm still awake. I just got in from a party."

"I'll take a taxi over."

Michael hung up. He kicked the change on the ground. He looked up at the night sky. "Maybe hope for him yet."

A breeze passed over him like a lover's caress. He heard voices singing, "Uthra rise, Uthra rise!"

"Okay, totally wasted. Need some sleep. Maybe Lazarus's in the mood for a quickie.

He hailed a cab as he pushed the breeze away from him with his mind.