She awoke on the forest floor, eyes fluttering open. She sat up, and realized that she had no memory of what came before. She looked around and saw that the forest was vast. The trees tall, stretching towards the sky in a way that made her soul feel taller and smaller at once. An abundance of ferns spread all around her, comforting her in a way she could not put words to.

She stood up, and noticed that something was in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw that it was a small looking mirror. Not knowing why it was there or what else to do with it, she held it up to her face. To her shock, though it showed the beauty of the forest laid out behind her, it did not show her face. Her face and body were there, but her face was blurred. No matter how she moved it or tried to shift her focus, the reflection of her face remained blurred. A deep sadness welled up in her, and an uneasiness began to grow. For to not remember who she was, or to even know what she looked like, was a mystery she did not like.

So, she put the mirror away, back in her pocket.

Night had fallen in this forest in which the woman had awoken. A path meandered before her and led toward the edge of the forest, where a glowing clearing seemed to await in the distance. She started walking there, not knowing where else to go. The forest was dark, but not too dark. Glowing orbs of light bobbed and swayed gently above the ferns…some of them gracefully floating up or gliding down. As she walked, the nearest fuzzy dots of light swirled around her, like dandelion seeds. It almost seemed they were drawn to her, or perhaps it was an unfelt breeze.

As she approached the edge of this vast wood, she saw the glow dancing delicately upon the horizon and melting like warm swaths of paint from the sky above. Her breath caught and her feet stopped at the sight. The full moon hung high as a guardian lover over the whole world. Clear was its light, bright was its shape, comforting was its halo, mesmerizing was the field it illuminated under its ageless gaze.

In that moment, she noticed whispering coming from the tall and wide trees that stood guard to her right, her left, and behind her. These whispers did not startle her, for they were whispers that her soul could hear…whispers of those who loved her and knew her. She closed her eyes, that she might focus on their sounds.

Their words.

“Daughter,” they said as many, as one.

“Daughter, daughter, you have come.”

“Yes, I am here,” she responded.

The trees swayed ever so slightly, their boughs drooping toward her. The sound of crickets created a chorus behind her from within the deep wood, and the ferns rustled as the lights danced happily above them.

“But who am I?” she asked. “I remember not. And where am I? I know not.”

“Daughter, this is the place of your birth,” answered the trees. “And it is the place of your heart.”

She pondered on this, but her first question quickly returned. “But who am I?”

“It is for us to know and for you to choose. And when you choose, you shall know, and we shall be able to tell.”

“I don’t know what to choose,” she said. “How would I know?”

“As we said, you cannot know until you choose. Choices are only for times of choosing. Now is not one of those times. Go forth into the field. We shall always be here, for one can never truly leave a true birth place, no matter how far one travels.”

And because she trusted the trees as deeply as their deepest roots, she stepped from the forest and into the field of moonlight.

Grass and flowers were the carpet of this field, mysterious under the moon, open and free, wide and far. So she journeyed into the field.

She walked for some time, looking this way and that. But mostly, she looked there…towards the majestic lights painting the canvas of the sky. Northern lights, she somehow knew them to be. More mysterious than she thought she could ever feel. More beautiful than she thought her eyes could see. As colorful as all the flowers of the world distilled into colors for the gods.

She could not help but walk towards them. So she did, falling more in love with the colors, with the light of them, with each step. Until a sudden moment arrived, when the Moon flashed and a beam of pearlescent light shone up the woman right where she stepped. Shocked, she stopped, standing as a character upon this field of a stage, feeling as though the whole world must be looking upon her, though no other people were here.

“Luna!” the woman announced instinctually.

“Yes, it is me,” said the Moon in response, thrumming with light at each word.

“How do I know your name?” she asked.

“Because we share an energy…an essence of who I am is an essence of who you are.”

“Tell me more!” she exclaimed. “I don’t remember who I am.”

“You are she, as I am,” said Luna the Moon.

The woman closed her eyes at this statement, her hand going to her heart. She felt that sadness that comes with a longing you forgot you had, and the happiness of realizing you found it. Two teardrops fell for both emotions.

“She,” the woman mouthed silently to herself, as she smiled and the northern lights danced in response. The rhythms of her heart seemed to speak to these lights. “But what is my name?”

“It is not time for you to choose…just yet,” said Luna.

“My mothers, the trees…they told me a time of choosing would come. Surely you can tell me when this will be?”

“I do not know that time, but I know that it shall come…not when you fear to not know who you are…but when you let go of your fear to be who you are. Farewell for tonight.”

The moonbeam faded away. She stood there for a moment, thinking on those words. Not knowing what else to do, she resumed stepping among the flowers that dotted the grass, feeling drawn to the northern lights. Feeling a familiarity older than time, older than the trees, older than the Moon.

As she was letting this feeling swell within her body, a fox ran from out of the gray night and stopped at her feet. It looked up at her and said, “You are not she.” Words spoken with the authority of certainty, the fox disappeared back into the night.

And the warmth in her body faded into coldness. Such a statement felt wrong, felt confusing.

Then a snake slithered up to her and said, “You don’t belong here.”

More came from the night in the following moments.

“You are wrong,” said the weasel.

“You are deluded,” said the spider.

“You are a threat,” said the wolf.

Then they all left, as quickly as they had come.

She found herself on her knees, face in her hands, her hands wet from the tears.

There is a power in words of certainty…the kind of certainty that is spoken from the fear of uncertainty. And this fear can be contagious. For the quest for the guarantee of certainty is the thief of the wisdom of the heart.

For a time, these contagious words started to sink into her. Doubt and confusion started to spread within. But she stood, determined to not let this stop her. She turned around and looked back toward the forest. The tall trees were there, but they were but a small gray wall in the distance…too far to be of much comfort…though knowing they were still there was a little comfort.

She thought of returning to the forest, but she suspected, for reasons she did not understand, that she would not find her name there.

Still, the northern lights beckoned her. Thus, she continued her quiet walk northward. After a time, she thought she heard something behind her. She turned to look, and thought she saw a shadow in the night. Perhaps it was imagined. She resumed, spending much of her time walking trying to shake the uneasiness in her heart. The doubtful confusion hung like a fog within, but not enough to stop her.

A rustle to her left. Another shadow darting.

“We decide….” she thought she heard on the wind. Nervousness creeped in, and she picked up her pace.

A rustle to her right. The shadow had four legs she could see.

“We decide…” the creature said.

The woman stopped. “What do you want!? Show yourself!”

From the shadows stepped an animal darker than the night. A black panther. “Your quest is a fool’s errand,” the panther said. “We decide who you are.”

Fear struck her heart. She gathered all the courage she had in that moment. “No.” But the confidence in her voice did not reveal the fear that was spreading in her heart.

The panther did not run off. It did not shift. It stared, its glowing feline eyes locked on hers. It bared its fangs. “I will not leave until you see the truth,” it growled ominously and then slowly backed away into the shadows.

Panicked, doubtful, confused, she turned and hurried in the same direction, following her heart toward the northern lights. Yet, she could sense that the panther was indeed there, following just on the edge of shadows. The sound of its paws in the grass could barely be heard, and it raised her anxiety so that she quickly turned toward the sounds, shouting, “Leave me alone!”

A rustle and a swoosh sounded to her left, and she startled greatly as something gripped her shoulder. In that instant, an owl had arrived and had perched on her shoulder. It stood still, quietly, facing the panther, which could now be seen crouching directly ahead.

“It cannot leave you alone,” the owl spoke to her, confidently, knowingly, soothingly.

“What am I to do?” she asked, tears welling.

“They are all your fears…the panther the strongest fear…the deepest. They look to you.” As the owl spoke, all the other animals that had appeared before, began to gather around where the panther stood crouched, looking as though it might pounce.

“They look to me for what?”

“What do you want them to look to you for?”

“I don’t want them to look to me for anything,” she said. “They frighten me.”

“And so they frighten you.”

“I want them to go away.”

“That,” said the owl, “they cannot do.” The owl turned its head, its body remaining still, and looked directly into her eyes. “So. What do you want them to look to you for?”

She had not considered until that moment. And as she considered, a feeling traveled upward within, enveloping her heart. She did not understand the feeling, yet she knew what the feeling was. “I want them to see who I am. I want them to see me.”

The owl hooted with the deepness of the night. “A wise thing to desire, indeed. But have you told them who you are?”

“They would not believe me!” she cried.

“You may wish to look to them for such a thing, but as I said, they look to you,” spoke the owl.

“And I don’t even remember who I am!” She found her face buried in her hands, tears falling now, and she was on her knees, though she didn’t remember doing this. And somehow the owl remained steadfast on her shoulder, balanced with grace.

“Ahhhh,” the owl said discerningly. “Because you are trying to remember with your mind. But the mind has been conditioned by the voice…by the fears…until it did not remember what was within. Until it learned to look to those who are meant to look to you.” The owl stretched its wing outward until it rested above her heart. “Remember with this.”

So she trusted and she turned inwardly toward her heart.

“Now,” began the bird, eyes as golden moons. “I will ask you questions to which I do not possess the answers. Trusting your heart is the only way forward.”

Though hesitant, she nodded.

“What are you?” asked the owl.

She knew it was a time for answers and not for thinking. “I am woman, like the clear, bright moon.”

The owl bowed its head ever so slightly, in affirmation. “And where is your birthplace?”

“Among the trees…the woods, enshrouded by ferns.”

The owl then asked, “And before you were born, from whence did you come?”

Her heart leapt and grew warm. She stood up, knowing. She turned and cast her arm toward the sky, opening her hand wide, her palm facing the heavens where the northern lights danced. She held her open hand there for a moment…in greeting…in remembrance. “The Aurora,” she whispered from deep within.

“Yes, daughter of trees and ferns,” the owl agreed. “Perhaps it is time you tell them…” it said as it turned its head back toward the gathering of animals…“who you are.”

“I am she…Aurora Claire Fernwood.”

A harmony of natural sounds spread forth from the animals, and each of them, save the panther, laid down where they stood, peace washing over their auras. But the panther instead walked forward, eyes locked on Aurora’s as it did so. “I told you that you were deluded.”

“That is what you thought, because you looked to me for something I was afraid to see.”

“Because I looked to you to see what I needed to keep you safe from,” answered the panther. “Because I needed to lead them,” it continued gesturing with a paw toward the other animals, “in protecting you from yourself. I remember the times before…the times that you do not remember while you slept. I remember when you crossed the bridge into these lands. I remember hearing what you called yourself before that crossing. I remember how you carried the wounds of imprisoned years…slumbering in invisibility.”

Memories were flooding into Aurora as the panther spoke. Memories of the time before…memories of being called other names…memories of many paths. Her heart fluttered and her eyes were wet as she remembered.

The panther continued. “I remember the voices you carried in those wounds. And we, servants of the forest, took it upon ourselves to carry these voices for you…to let them into our hearts, so that your heart could finally be unburdened. You see, the Mother Trees and the Grandmother Ferns called to us to unburden you. They said you came from a land with voices that could not live here. They said only we could carry these voices in a way that protected the land, while they waited for you to awaken anew.”

“But the things you said to me before,” asked Aurora. “Why?”

“We were told by the forest that those of us who agreed to carry a voice would forget in the moment we took it. They warned us that we would not remember until you did. And so we were drawn to you, looking to you for remembering that we did not even remember we were looking for…speaking voices that were not our own, so that you could finally walk free.”

Aurora was overcome with the beauty and the sacrifice of it all. Then she remembered the owl and turned abruptly to look at it, still perched on her shoulder. “Then who are you? What of your voice?”

“I,” began the owl, “was asked by the Mother Tree of All Life to carry the voices of those who truly loved you before…who saw you. The voices of love did not make me forget, but they do respect the timing and freedom of your journey. It was for you to remember…not for me to tell.”

Aurora swept her eyes across all of the animals now, in great appreciation. “But what becomes of the voices now?”

“I do not know,” said the panther. “But I do know the Mother Tree knows. She will be waiting, now that you have remembered.”

And so they traveled back to where Aurora had awoken. The animals all followed her, the wise owl flying next to her. They soon came to a majestic tree, wide as a river and tall as a cloud. Aurora felt drawn…was overcome with the loving magnetism of the Mother Tree of All Life. She knew what to do and placed both palms of her hands flat against the tree.

And listened.

“Who are you?” asked the Tree.

“I am Aurora Claire Fernwood.”

“Welcome to your true home daughter. You have left the old lands behind and stepped into a place where all masks are removed…and all unloving voices cannot travel upon the winds or within human hearts. You have finally found yourself. The forest is your home. We are your family and your guides. The fields are your adventures, Luna is your bright guide as you traverse them, and the northern lights are your inspiration.”

Aurora let it sink in, joy filling her heart. Then, she turned her head to look upon the animals, who patiently watched. “But what becomes of the voices they have carried for me?”

“The voices cannot be destroyed, nor can they be chased away,” said the Mother Tree. “But you are a daughter of the forest now. What do you think we should do with the voices?”

Aurora thought of the animals and the sacrifice they had made in forgetting themselves that she might remember herself. “I would like to carry the voices for them, but I know they cannot dwell in my heart in these lands. Nor do I desire to carry them in my heart ever again. But may I take these voices in my hands and hold them for a moment?”

“You may,” answered the Tree.

Aurora then went to each animal, one by one, lovingly stroking the head of every last one of them. As she did so, she asked each one, “May I take the voice you’ve been carrying?” Each one agreed, even the panther as she came upon it last.

“You cannot hold these in your hands forever,” said the panther. “What shall you do?”

Aurora did not answer, but smiled. She clasped the voices between her hands, a hundred whispers emanating from them. Aurora gathered them all into one hand, closing it tightly, willing the voices to stay within. She walked back to the Mother Tree, placing her free hand back upon the tree, and made a wish silently. Turning back toward the animals, Aurora opened her closed hand and the animals saw that she held dozens of seeds. “Each voice is held in a seed now.”

For the next few hours, Aurora wandered through the forest, planting each seed thoughtfully, one by one. “These voices shall take root,” she said. “But as soon as their roots begin to grow, they shall be touched by the roots of the ferns, the mushrooms, the trees, both great and small. And once they do, they shall hear the voices of millions upon millions who live in harmony in this forest. The chorus of the interconnected voices within Mother Earth shall be far greater than the few voices I brought with me. Thus, these few voices will forget what they were saying before and will see the joy they have lived in fear of. They will see how they were fooled by the darkness…how they were blinded by living separate from the roots of Mother Earth.”

Aurora returned to the Mother Tree, placed her hands on her, and asked, “What has become of those who have crossed into these lands before me?”

“Why, look all around you, daughter. You are not the first to plant such seeds. The forest is full of many such trees that were once such seeds. And those who did the planting are out on their own adventures. But there are also those who wander, having been reborn but have not yet remembered. Some remember right away after they are reborn, as you did. Some take a little while. Some take longer. There are many we wait to return to us in remembrance, as you did. There are many who have not yet crossed into these lands to be reborn. Yet, we, the Forest, ever remain here to be Home, and to be in loving service to those who need it.”

“Then I know what my first adventure shall be,” said Aurora. “Thank you Mother.”

“You are ever with us, daughter of the woods. For once you remember who you truly are and see the voices for what they are, you can never forget again. We celebrate this, your new Day of Birth.”

Aurora hugged the Mother Tree and wept for a time.

When she was ready, she turned and saw that the animals remained, love in their eyes. “I am going to go out into the fields, to find those who have been reborn and do not yet remember.”

“I shall come with you,” said the panther.

“I, too,” said the wolf.

“May I come, as well?” asked the snake.

Each of the animals decided to come, for they remembered what carrying an old voice felt like, and they yearned to set others free.

“Those who have not remembered yet shall have animals of their own that have also forgotten. These animals are feral,” said the panther. “But I have seen some of them, and many of them I knew before they took a voice. We shall help you find them.”

Together, they walked to the edge of the forest, the grandmother ferns whispering to Aurora as she walked by, “Daughter, be who you are.”

As Aurora stepped into the field again, she heard a familiar rush of air as the owl perched on her shoulder once more. “May I accompany you on your journey?”

“Yes,” said Aurora. “There are many to find, and many more seeds waiting to be planted.”

The owl hooted in approval, then settled in comfortably on Aurora’s shoulder, ruffling its feathers and cuddling up against the side of her head. “Aurora?” said the owl.

“Yes?”

“I always knew you would find this land…your home. I always knew you would remember. And so did they.”

Aurora was about to ask who ‘they’ was, but she suddenly saw ahead. Many people…all those that called her true family…or would come to know her as such.

Her people.

Then Aurora felt something in her pocket. The mirror. Remembering it, she pulled it and held it up to her face.

She had looked in many other mirrors in her life, seeing a person, but never recognizing herself.

But now, in this mysterious pocket mirror, she saw something wonderful.

For the first time in her life, she saw her true face.

For a long time she wept.

And then she smiled like she had never smiled before.

 

*****************

And there were many bridges into this land.

Bridges from many different places, each place with their own fearful voices.

A bridge for every single person…to leave the old land.

Bridges built from self-love.

If you haven’t found yours yet…

…there is a bridge, a new land, a new birthday, a new mirror…just for you.