Off the Coast of Wonderland by Amber Poole
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Chapter III
What had come into being since the bombs had stopped was more than a simple silence. There was a complex system of impressions: a celestial peace, a range of sounds, as if the earth were groaning and from this groan would come a sudden rush of air, a rumble, a rustle or whip crack that disturbed the silence but that did not threaten. It could not be fully explained, this relationship between disturbance and tranquility, though if one were to try, one might say that the earth and its nature, its primordial authenticity, that which gave itself vitality and that which hosted humanity, was recreating itself. Earth was giving birth again to the rain forests that had been destroyed, the orchards that had been obliterated; it was renewing the fragrance of the coffee plantations, yielding its small, jasmine-like flowerettes, and replenishing the rice fields, poisoned by greed and the misplaced power of the exterminators.
Mrs. Barnes knew these things because the angels and dream figures were known to visit her in visions, and while she slept, they would send the gift of precognition. The beloved mother earth was once more coming to life, along with everything she valued. The medicinal herbs and flowers and large rivers and warm springs, the volcanoes, jungles, and wild animals, the very foundational support for a healthy and happy planet was being reborn.
And now, suddenly, off the coast of this wonderland, a child was pressed against a wall, clinging to a doll. Her body was visible with the pain and trauma imprisoned within it. She carried a shattered heart, broken into uncountable pieces. Could it be mended? How could Mrs. Barnes approach the woundedness inside of this child without causing more harm? She was scarcely able herself to adapt to the unprecedented circumstances under which she awakened each morning. Nothing within this new world was less than unimaginable. Nothing of the ordinary remained. She had to learn how to maneuver each moment with great patience, starting with a pause before an action, and to do this, she relied on her own suffering life before The Great Tragedy. Ultimately, she depended on the abounding grace of what cannot be articulated - on the wisdom of the Cosmic Mother, the Black Madonna.
She decided to sing, even though she was not optimistic the child would understand the words. She was confident, however, that the sound of the music would bring comfort, for it was a song sung to Mrs. Barnes when she was a child, one that her mother frequently sang as she busied herself with Saturday morning chores. This song brought back strong memories of hope and promise. It was a tradition among her ancestral grandmothers to sing these songs and lullabies to their babies after they arrived by slave ship into the Chesapeake Bay hundreds of years ago.
The Great Tragedy had been a long time in coming. The exterminators and the children they bred were born with disease in the liver, but they adapted. They adapted to their hearts born without red blood. Such ones were especially predisposed to malevolence, the ones who had the power to sustain wars and inflict cruelty upon the poor.
Sam and Martha Barnes had come from a long, familial line of slavery and poverty, and even though they were both afforded a decent education, there was a time when Martha remembers her mother employed in the house of an exterminator. The pay was good, and her mother was alone, raising Martha, so she yielded to what was offered her. Martha grew up in the church, where she enjoyed singing with the choir and had aspirations to someday play the piano. It so happened that in the exterminator’s house, there was a baby grand piano. Martha’s mother asked the mistress if she would consider piano lessons for the child in exchange for a lower salary. The mistress was offended by the request and said that Martha would always be a poor, uneducated girl with nothing to offer the world; therefore, it would be a waste of time and money. She never did learn to play the piano, but it didn’t stop her from singing like an angel.
She sat in a chair by the window, remembering the song her mother sang to her as a child.
Children, we all shall be free
Children, we all shall be free
Children, we all shall be free
When the Lord shall appear
We see thе pilgrim as he lies
With glory in his soul
To heaven he lifts his longing eyes
And bids this world adieu
Children, we all shall be free
Children, we all shall be free
Children, we all shall be free
When the Lord shall appear
Give ease to the sick, give sight to the blind
Enable the cripple to walk
He'll raise the dead from under the earth
And give them permission to fly
Children, we all shall be free
Children, we all shall be free
Children, we all shall be free
When the Lord shall appear
Soon, the large wings of the yellow butterflies propelled themselves throughout the room, along with tiny hummingbirds, wrens, and finches, each adding to the wonder inside the Lighthouse. The sound of Mrs. Barnes singing and the chirping of the birds was joined by the sweet smell of cakes being baked, cooled, and frosted, which came into view, set out as a banquet, a gift for the child to indulge.
There were flowers and honey bees, pots of cream and sweet juices. There were bowls of oranges and vases of spring water filled with mint leaves and narcissus. The perfume in the air competed with the freshly baked cakes, and the gold in the light shining throughout the room suffused both the heart and the soul of Mrs. Barnes and the wounded child.
This was how Wonderland received the weary pilgrim, with cake, song, and beauty; always with beauty, but a beauty unknown to those whose eyes had been blinded by a gluttony for themselves alone. Their vanity had caused them to forget the simple joy of a patch of wild violets in a springtime field or a glass of refreshing lemonade on a hot summer day.
Gold in the light. Was the world becoming a spiritual one again, or had it always been so but without witness? The only known survivors of The Calamity were here inside The Lighthouse. Were there others elsewhere witnessing the tremendous love and generosity of the Great Mother?