Who they were in the 16th-century

Madeline is the narrator.

Cordelia was the dishwasher and invited her to accompany her to England.

Somara was the bookkeeper for the Monastery.

Cyndy was the shepherd for four sheep.

Jill tended to the hens and chickens & the flower gardens.

Caren was a potter for the monastery in a separate building.

Mary Jo was in charge of the appearance of the chapel.

Karin was a counselor to the distressed brothers, but was exposed and expelled for deceiving authorities.

New characters introduced as women who had descended the stairless path and who they were in the 16th-century: 

Mary was Abbot Richard Whiting, the head of the monastery, who was partially hung, tortured, finally killed and buried at the top of the Tor. 

Gloria was Brother Roger James who was beaten up when he went to a meeting with the henchmen of King Henry VIII and later was hung to his death on the Tor.

Anne was Brother John Thorne, an assistant to the Abbot who was hung to his death on one side of Abbot Richard, with Brother Roger on the other. 

Previously: The ladies have made it to the summit of the Glastonbury Tor. As the ones they were headed for were grabbed by someone else, Cyndy scoped out some unoccupied benches part way down the path of the labyrinth. Cyndy had all along expressed a desire they all walk the labyrinth.  It appeared they were going to be doing just this.

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As we rose in ceremony from our resting benches, I was compelled to ask a strange question. “Does anyone else hear low volume flutes, or is it my tinnitus. I know I often have varied tones of buzzing in my ears, but this sounds different.

Mary Jo, Caren and Somara simultaneously responded saying, “I thought it was my tinnitus. Yuh, I thought the altitude was affecting my tinnitus, and I thought my stress was agitating mine.” 

Evelyn said, “It is faint, but I don’t think it’s your tinnitus.  Let’s wait to see if it gets any louder.”

“Good idea. Then it may become clearer.” Cyndy and Karin agreed with Evelyn.

Cyndy suggested we continue walking along the nicely manicured section of the labyrinth.

As the subtle sounds increased in volume, Caren did a few twirls, joined by Cyndy, who was in her glory, finally able to set her dancing feet on the labyrinth path.

Mary Jo stopped, tilted her head, bent lower and said, “Are my eyes deceiving me? There appear to be lights floating below us. No, wait a minute, now they are changing directions, swerving in columns hither and yon like a river.” Her voice increased in pitch as she progressed in her announcement.

Cordelia enthusiastically was experiencing the same vision as Mary Jo. “Oh I see them now.  They appear to be ascending through deep tangled grass, areas showing less attention to the upkeep as here.”

“They look like a lovely swarm of lightning bugs, that I might see outside my home on a summer’s eve.” Somara was waxing poetically. She might have chosen a different metaphor for swarm, that sounded more ethereal, but it was off the cuff.

Next, we heard loud explosive sounds echoing, bouncing off the Tor, and through the valley. However, they did seem to be following a pattern and rhythm.

The flutes grew in volume. Had we walked through another portal returning to the 16th-century? It was clearly Renaissance music with Renaissance musical instruments. I dared not mention it to the others. They were probably in their own nightmare of wonder. 

The anxiety was growing as we stood there. Cyndy suggested we return to our benches to see what was to ensue. We all agreed and followed her lead. Not much more dancing took place within our hearts nor our footsteps.

It seemed like hours that we sat there, motionless, fixated on the lights approaching from the base of the long hill.

Hearing the harps made us wonder if it had anything to do with the fact we'd all been beheaded in the 16th-century. There has always been a playing of harps after someone was dead, in movies, anyway.

Evelyn was the first to speak. “This is more than eerie. If we didn’t have the same benches we sat on earlier, I would worry we’d gone back into the 16th-century.”

Evelyn had opened the sluice gate. She expressed everyone’s fear, and/or terror. There were mewls from several.  

Cordelia expressed her greatest dread. “I do not care to relive even a minute of the 16th-century.” 

Karin added her extension. “Or any aspect of medieval times, not one second of it.”

Then I recalled the horrible events in Karin’s life as she lived through the hell doled out to her, as 16th-century Brother Abraham, the one who helped everyone, but in the end was expelled in shame and condemnation.

Cyndy was worried she’d once again be scorned for losing her precious sheep, who she affectionately name Stewy. “She was my responsibility and Abbot Richard never let me forget it.”

In an effort to comfort Cyndy, Karin reminded her of who we had recently discovered the Abbot to be in this lifetime. “I’m sure if you were to talk with Mary, formerly Abbot Richard, that she would absolve you of any wrongdoings.

Caren confessed something that had been smoldering. “I don’t think I could create any more 16th -century pottery after the luxury of the techniques I have become accustomed to in this century.

Another confessant, Mary Jo spoke. “ I also would never want to go back to spend my days attempting to see anything in the clouded darkness of that chapel. It’s a wonder I didn’t lose my eyesight. Although, I could never determine my degree of visual accuity. I never had to. I was like a mole, unlike most of you who got to be out in the fresh air.”

“Any light and fresh air I happened to steal was a teaser." Somara begrudgedly reminded us. “Answering the door and accepting money with the next order for penance to be undertaken for the donor’s intentions, afforded me my snatch of daylight and pure oxygen.”

“I miss my harp soooo much.” Cordelia moaned. “Those catgut harps could hardly be called harps. I don’t ever want to see one, even in a museum. And like you, Madeline, I may have developed an aversion to wet wood. Bwaaa.”

As the smoldering air around us extinguished, I noticed another sound. “Bells! Does anyone else hear bells or has my tinnitus gone into overdrive?” 

Evelyn reassured us. “No, those clearly are bells you are hearing.”

“I see heads beginning to appear.” Cyndy pointed in the direction of the chanting, flutes, drums, harps and bells on some kind of rack.

We were wary as one of the dancing maidens motioned for us to join them. The whole thing was too bizarre. We looked at each other, shrugged and rose from our self-established safe space.

The scene was likened to a page torn from a book containing Escher paintings, as we accepted and joined the invitation to become a part of the optical illusion.

As they processed, with us in tow, it occurred to me, as a friend once said, ‘what goes down must come up.’ The procession was headed back down the hill they’d come up.

I wanted to get a communication of cupped ears going. “If we continued to follow, we’ll have to walk all the way back up. We’ve already done that once today.”

The first to hear me was Cyndy. “I’ll pass it along. I hope it doesn’t end up getting messed up as in the game ‘telephone.’ We should head back up toward the steeple.”

I hoped that was everyone’s wish. I know when one of the descended women, Gloria, told of the floor within the steeple  having foot indentations where the two opposing Michael and Mary ley lines crossed, Cordelia was very interested.

Observing our group, little by little pulling back and turning about,  I was assured our project was a success. 

Standing at the entrance of the passageway through the steeple, I got on my proverbial soapbox. “This whole experience from beginning to bitter end has gotten me to reflecting upon Enlightenment.  This concept is sometimes accompanied by the phrases, ‘Chop wood, carry water before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water after enlightenment.’ 

“We don’t change our tasks, lightening our burden from lifetime to lifetime, we change our perceptions. One fact is clear to me, things will continue to become easier. 

Such horrors as the Inquisition would no longer be tolerated. Life for us will change, and we will improve and grow closer to reaching enlightenment as we progress from one new lifetime to the next. 

Hopefully we will recognize some aspect in each other within various lifetimes. I suggest we each do as the Native Americans have for at least 14,000 years, strengthen and bring the spiral of our lives into balance.

“I am going over, now, to stand where the harsh, dark Michael line and the fluffy, light-filled Mary line cross. With my feet planted firmly, I will bring the harshness I have experienced in my past lifetimes and in this lifetime, into light and balance.”

As I scanned the panorama of greens of hope and browns of conviction, I knew for certain, my life was in balance, and I’d be okay.

THE END OF THE STORY  (In this Lifetime)