Mountain Companions in the Rain

“Don’t crash,” he said, as he gathered up his instruments from the flute circle gathering.

“I won’t,” I promised. “I won’t crash. I’ll drive carefully.”  I said my goodbyes to all the people who had come together to play music on that Friday night.

I left the next morning by 8 AM. I had planned to leave later but I was ready to get on the road. The car was loaded; I just had to buy gas.

The trip before me was a long one but I wanted to see my daughter who had just returned from Tanzania. The very good news was the malaria she had contracted no longer showed up in the blood work that was examined by the infectious disease doctors. The good news was she was home safe and eager to pursue learning Swahili. The sadness of leaving her newly beloved Africa was in her voice. “I’m so excited to see you, mom,” she said. Cell phones make those conversations possible.

My nine-hour road trip was long and I was exhausted when I arrived. That night we had a wonderful homecoming celebration in Davis, CA. Loved ones came to honor this traveler; we laughed, heard stories, and saw photos that greatly extended our understanding of our world today.

Sunday morning was my designated time of departure. I said my goodbyes and Highway 5 stretched out before me for 357 miles.

I began on mile one.

I didn’t listen to any music for a long time. My heart and head were full of thoughts and conversations. Cities and turnoffs flew by. I stopped for coffee, restrooms and gas. After a while I thought, I need another route.

It was then I noticed the lighted sign on the side of the highway stating, Traffic halted. Prepare to stop.” For miles before me there was a a sea of metallic bodies, waiting. I looked to see a ramp within the next 300 feet, leading to Hwy 99. I took it, along with several huge trucks, leaving the stopped carnage of autos behind.

Hwy 99 was quite lovely.

By this time, Jimmy Hendrix and Jerry Garcia had joined me. They often invite me to sing with them, which I did. We sang loud and soulfully, the best performances ever, I’m sure. Car singing is the best. I often sing with the dead.

As I sung, I was aware of being caught up in incredible memories…ones I had thought I had forgotten. There were so many of them, and they came so fast.

There were precious memories of carrying my children on my back.

Memories of sweet honeysuckle vines and of a vase of flowers on a table, waiting for me.

Memories of fall and the smell of rain. Sitting inside of a tree, playing music. Walking down cobblestone streets, being in love. Laughing in delight.

And each moment remembered was full of forgotten details. I watched these pictures, caught up in this precious time.

After several hundred miles, the 99 Route led me back to the 5. I was soon to be coming up to the pass. The sky was black with rolling clouds. I glanced to my left and could see something out of the corner of my eye. This isn’t the type of “seeing” like when you go to the optometrist and you read specific numbers and letters. It was not this type of seeing at all.

This is the type of seeing that is more “knowing”… you can see it outloud, but if you were to tell someone, the wrong person, that is, they would think you were hallucinating. So often, when people “see” this way, they just don’t say anything. We have learned, as a society, to NOT see this way. It’s too difficult and doesn’t seem to fit in with the “normal” scheme of things, whatever that means.

But I did “see” something.

I saw beings, tall beings because they were as tall as my car, and they were walking along beside my car as I began to climb the mountain pass. They were walking, even though I was driving 68 miles per hour. They were, to me, somewhat transparent, but then again, they weren’t. They were shining beings, and I knew they were companioning me. They felt familiar to me, like I’d known them for a long time.

Then it began to rain. It rained quite hard. The lanes were full of cars and trucks, driving up a mountain pass, driving down a mountain pass, in the pouring rain. The car beside me, on my right, swerved. I swerved to avoid him. I then sought to correct my swerve. And then again, in a serpentine, to attempt to get back in my lane, attempting to drive straight, attempting…. again and again.

“Don’t crash” I could hear my  one concerned friend say, yet one more again.

“I won’t,” I said aloud. “ I promised you that I wouldn’t,” I said, again, grabbing hold onto the wheel. In a flash I remembered being in a car, another time, and the vehicle rolling over and over again. “I won’t,” I said again, not slamming on my wet brakes. “I won’t,” I said, not going over the edge. I felt a protection. I was at peace.   Eventually I was able to pull out of the skid and then the flood of what-just-happened, the full realization hit me.