It was dusk, and the light rapidly slipping away outside the cave. I lay naked on the cave floor, surrounded once again by a pentacle of stone bowls. This time, though, there were bits of things floating in the water.

I recognized the little purple flowers in the bowl by my head as vervain. In the bowl on my right floated shavings from the split ash tree, and on the left were flakes of flint. I couldn’t see what was in the bowls at my feet.

The otter was much too busy to put up with my curiosity and chirped at me to lay still. She pulled a gourd from her pocket, and my nose wrinkled at the medicinal scent of whatever was inside. It tingled, as she smeared the paste on the bottoms of my feet. It felt like walking on springy grass.

She drew a line on my forehead with the paste, and my mind was refreshed, a cool air blowing through it. At first anyway. My mind continued to get emptier and emptier, until it was so empty, it slipped out through the line she’d drawn.

The otter nodded to herself and continued smearing the paste, drawing lines and whorls, which I quickly recognized as the dantians and meridians in my body. I felt distant from my physical self and barely registered any discomfort. I could see, though, that my skin was turning red under the paste, like it was being baked.

She brought out another gourd and made a tablet from the water, which she used to scan her handiwork. This time, disassociated as I was from my body, I could look over her shoulder.

Sugar on a cracker, it was sci-fi. The tablet showed a map of my meridians, along with several layers of other spiritual structures, including some I didn’t recognize. It was these unknown structures in which she was particularly interested.

The otter looked at my spirit hovering over her shoulder. She chirped a question. Ready?

I nodded, and she took my hand. We went together to dive into the pool of water outside.

###

Now dressed in jeans and a white button-down shirt, I stood inside a circle of redwoods, five of the giants stretching up endlessly towards the sky. The ground underfoot was loamy, the area between the trees filled with bracken and ferns.

My heart sang. I recognized this place. Helen and I loved hiking along the Oregon Redwoods Trail. The park was located right at the border between Oregon and California and was the first trip we’d taken together.

We went back often. Even after she died, I visited just to sit in our favorite meadow and remember. The meadow was… I oriented to find the direction, and stopped.

Mi abuelo grinned, pleased to see me surprised, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling. He also wore jeans and a white button-down shirt, but his hair slicked back like he was going to church. I wanted to say something, to run to him and leap into arms, but I was frozen in place. There was no sound in this place. No birds. No wind. All I heard was the blood rushing in my ears, the beat of my heart.

My grandfather nodded. He understood, and his smile turned gentle. He stepped closer and took my hand. Suddenly, I could move again, and I embraced him. He patted my back, like I was still a child, and I didn’t mind. I just missed him so damn much.

After a while, and when I was done sniffling, he pulled away and pulled me to the west. Holding my hand, he led me between the trees and into the forest. There was still no sound, but I felt the forest air pressing against my skin and the warm strength of my grandfather.

At the meadow’s edge, my wife Helen waited for me. She was young, 8-years old, but I’d seen enough of her childhood pictures to recognize her. Even without them, I would’ve known from the way she stood, the way she smiled, and the way her love shone through her eyes and gestures. I flew to her and wrapped her in my arms; swung her around in joy and delirious happiness.

She was so small! And her hair was in pigtails! She wore a yellow cotton dress with a patch of Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman stitched onto the front. The dress must’ve been well loved. The patch was faded.

If I missed my grandfather, there was no way to describe how I felt reunited with my wife. My world was complete again. Yes, I’d felt her presence in the Blessing she gave, but that was nothing compared to being able to look into her eyes and feel her in my arms.

It was eating posole on a cold winter morning. Climbing Fuji, breath steaming, as we watched the clouds break against the mountain. Holding Alex and Daniel, each birth its own struggle, and feeling so proud of her. A lifetime of memories, each one precious and singular, and yet also part of the whole that was us.

There were tears in her eyes too. Happy, sad, and a million other emotions too subtle for me to name. She pulled me to a fallen log and sat me down, never letting go of my hand.

Helen leaned against me, and we watched as the wildflowers swayed in the breeze. Slowly, my heart eased, and the peace of the place filled me. I squeezed her hand, and she squeezed mine. I don’t know how much time passed, but it wasn’t enough. It never could be.

A burrow opened in the middle of the meadow, the dirt moving aside to clear a passage. From within stepped my grandmother, Consuela. She wore a white dress embroidered with colorful flowers. Her long black hair was tied back, and around her neck was a necklace of small bones and carvings. She surveyed the meadow, nodding in approval.

She walked towards me, put her hand on my cheek, and gave it a little pat. There was a faint smile on her face. I think she was pleased to see me, but she always played her cards close to her chest, my grandmother. Not an easy woman either. Firm and strict, but I always felt safe with her. In a different way than mi abuelo. Very, very different.

She was a bruja, you see. A witch. And she took the work seriously.

Her hand reached inside my chest and withdrew the flint handaxe I’d made. Her eyebrows rose in a mixture of surprise and, Oh, really? This is what you have inside you?

I couldn’t hear Helen, but I’m pretty sure she snickered.

Mi abuela patted me on the cheek again, this time with sympathy. She gestured for me to follow, and we walked to the edge of the meadow opposite the way I originally entered. The way was blocked by two trees grown against each other, and my grandmother used her hands to tell me to cut them down. Then she framed her hands like a door.

My head quirked, not unlike a certain otter, and my grandmother’s eyebrows rose into their Oh, really position again, only with a lot more Oh, really this time. She handed me the axe, and I started chopping.

Could spirits sweat? Because it wasn’t long till the sweat poured off of me. My hands hurt from slamming the flint axe against the first tree trunk, and my shoulders burned with fatigue. But I couldn’t stop with my grandmother watching. Helen was there too, nodding in encouragement. And my grandfather. Somehow he’d gotten hold of his rifle and was peering deeper into the woods.

The light didn’t change, even though I felt like I hacked at the tree all day and all night. Eventually though, the first came down, and the four of us dragged it to one side. Then the other fell, and we dragged it to the other side.

My grandfather stood in the gap with his rifle at the ready. My grandmother stood next to him, her gathering pouch slung over her shoulder. The two of them stood guard, while Helen told me to keep working to make the planks necessary for the doorway.

I looked at her and wondered if this was really necessary.

Helen looked at me, and I realized she had an Oh really face too. She was always a quick study, my Helen.

I started chopping. Partway through, I needed my other tools, so I reached inside my own chest and pulled out the adze and drawknife I’d made. Well, if my grandmother could do it, why couldn’t I?

Helen gave me a thumbs up, which was adorable and made my heart swell.

The going was slow, so terribly slow. The one advantage was that the tools didn’t dull. I never had to re-knap the edges. I could chop, hack, and cut as much as I wanted. All that was needed was work, and I knew how to do that. In spades.

Eventually, I cut away enough of the wood to form the equivalent of four 2x4s, along with a wider piece to use for the doorway’s header. There were still a couple of stumps in the ground, but there was no way we were going to be able to pull them out. Instead, I smoothed the tops to make a platform.

The hard parts done, all that was left was to trim the pieces and assemble them. I didn’t have nails, so I reached inside myself again to pull out a coil of braided rope. At this point, I was getting pretty good at lashing things together.

Helen helped lift the finished door frame into place. I marked where the bottom beams touched the stumps with a bit of charcoal--thank you, weird spiritual storage space inside my body--and hacked out a couple of holes for them to fit into. I smeared the inside of the holes with pitch, and slid the beams into place.

When I was done, I stepped back to admire my handiwork. It was fantastical--a mysterious empty doorway at the edge of a meadow, leading into a dark forest beyond. I grinned and turned to my family.

They looked...let’s be generous and call it skeptical.

What did they expect from flint tools and braided cedar bark? I was pleased with how it turned out, no matter what they thought, and gave the doorway a good thwack. And it held. It actually held.

Helen shook her head at my antics and pulled me down from the stumps. Her smile faded, and her eyes turned serious. My grandfather and grandmother came to stand beside me, the three of them forming a triangle with me at the center.

My grandfather started by pulling the flint spear from within me. My grandmother took the flint knife, and Helen pulled the bow and five arrows.

Again, my grandfather started--he placed the spear diagonally across the doorway, barring the way. My grandmother slammed the knife between the stumps, embedding it into the wood, which, by the way, was totally badass.

Helen placed the three brown arrows in a triangle around the knife, the arrowheads facing outward. The bow and remaining orange arrows, she pressed into my hands and pointed through the doorway.

I raised my eyebrows at that. It was dark on the other side, and there was the hint of something moving in the shadows of the trees. Really? I mouthed.

She leaned in and whispered, Really.

I stored the feeling of her breath against my skin in my heart.

Well and well, if Helen thought it was necessary, then it was necessary. And it wouldn’t be a deeply mystical experience if there wasn’t some element of danger, right? But there was no way I was going in just a shirt and jeans. I reached inside and pulled out the Patchwork Chain Shirt, Hawaiian Style.

Armored and bow in hand, I moved the spear aside, stepped over the knife and arrows, and walked through to the other side. It was the oddest feeling, like crossing the boundary to Ikfael Glen’s territory, except with more teeth. The weapons prickled against my skin and only let me through because they recognized me.

My three beloved family members all smirked. They knew exactly how cool that was. I shook my head, turned around, and walked into the darkness.