Mismatched Striped Wings

I awoke from a bad dream. My head was aching. I made coffee but then went back to bed. Echos of the dream reverberated in my brain so I got up, took coffee to the beach and sat in the sand allowing the residual fear and anxiety to drain away. This was my last full day in Chicamacomico and gratefully, I’d established an agenda for myself.

I drove to Frisco, which is about 38 miles south of Rodanthe, to go horseback riding. I hadn’t been on a horse since I was a teenager. But strong memories remain. I loved everything about being around horses, even the smells — leather mingling with a horse’s sweat, the hay, the manure, the sweet feed, the horse’s breath.

I arrived at the stable in Frisco and was met with the familiar smells. I felt like I was home. Horses are in my blood somehow.

The horse I was to ride was named Bo. As soon as I met him, he began kissing my face. Not licking it. He gently pressed his muzzle up against my face and held it there for a seriously long time. He never tried to lick me or nibble on me. He just nuzzled me with his muzzle. Prickly whiskers, nostrils flared and snorting air, musky horse breath. For way too long.

I mounted Bo and thanked him constantly for bearing my weight on his back for two hours. I was acutely aware of the fact that the reigns in my hands were attached to a bit in Bo’s mouth. The saddle cinched around his belly and the stirrups hanging down his sides were instruments I used in conjunction with the reigns to make Bo do what I wanted him to do. It seemed an unbalanced alliance. So I offered many thanks, much praise and a few I love you’s as he walked in sand and through woods to reach the ocean.

The path through the woods was narrow with lots of obstacles for him to negotiate: hills, tree roots, water holes. But once we reached the ocean and Bo could run, he seemed happy. I was happy, too.

Like I said, I hadn’t been on a horse since my teenage years. I had forgotten all the muscles that are used in riding a horse. I’m feeling them after the fact.

After my ride, I went to the Frisco Native American Museum. This was an odd place. It was established by one man from his own personal acquisitions and it really seemed more like a collection, less like a museum. There were beautiful Native American artifacts from across the United States and a bit of general information on groups of items. I had so many questions and the only person working there was a woman in the gift shop. I imagine she could have answered all the questions, but I did not want to distract her from her post.

It is hard to look at items that come from people that my ancestors annihilated: items that had been made with intention, that carried a meaning and purpose of which I was not cognizant.

There were a couple of clubs that I fixated on. I wanted to look away but could not. There was a life to them that spoke of conflict, of counting coup, of the sacred bonds of community and the desire to secure that community’s interests. Could it be there is a reason for violence? This was a question I was not comfortable with, and I lingered looking at these clubs for longer than I did any other item in the museum. One of them had a demonic-looking face which I could not fully see because of the light reflecting off the glass. And from the expression on his half-hidden face, I got the feeling he wanted it that way.

There were so many incredible creations: kachinas, beadwork, sand paintings, and of course, masks. I held a sustained discomfort as I lingered over objects, photographing some of them.

I lingered in the gift shop, looking at jewelry. One of the jewelry makers was there talking with the person behind the counter about the properties of different stones that she uses. When she mentioned that carnelian is a courage stone, I replied that I have a carnelian bracelet that I shall need to call upon in that case. She asked what I needed courage to do and I said, “I need to speak my truth. And live according to my own dictates.” She nodded thoughtfully. And then she showed me a stone, a hematite tiger’s eye or tiger iron. She said it dispels a lot of negativity while bolstering you with courage. And she offered it to me, this beautiful stone. It is hard for me to accept a gift. But I felt comfortable accepting this one. I was so deeply moved by her generosity. I will take this stone with me everywhere.

After leaving the Native American museum, I went in search of the Cape Hatteras lighthouse. My phone wasn’t getting any sort of signal and I got turned around when operating by my internal exploratory gps. I decided to turn around, go back from whence I came and skip the lighthouse.

As fate would have it, I was driving along Highway 12 when I saw a sign for the Cape Hatteras Light Station! Silly me, I had passed by the entrance hours ago and it hadn’t registered. I followed the road that the sign pointed to and it lead me to right to the lighthouse! I was happy to be reunited with the it. I’d had the opportunity to climb it as a teenager when it was in its original location closer to the ocean. Now, it sits a good way back from the ocean and it was not open for climbing. Still, it was really good to see it again. It is such an impressive structure.

I left the lighthouse, and headed back toward Rodanthe. I drove through the stretch of land that held no structures save a row of poles by the road. I was struck by their vulnerability’ of the row of poles lining the road. How quickly and completely this island could be removed from modern conveniences. One major storm could destroy one’s quality of life here, if not one’s house itself. Everything here seems perched on a precipice between ease and struggle.

My snacks were gone. I was hungry. It was time to hopefully find an open restaurant. This task is much more daunting than it would seem because it is, after all, the off-season at the beach and we are still having a pandemic. I had discovered one reliable deli about five miles from my base. However, on this particular occasion, it was closed. I managed to find a Mexican food truck just before it shut down for the day. They were out of nearly everything but they whipped together a tasty quesadilla for me.

The sun was nearly below the horizon when I returned to my home base. I took my final evening walk along the beach. The sky was dark with an approaching storm. A dozen fishing boats dotted the horizon. I walked halfway to the pier, took some photos and walked back.

I sat in the sand briefly and found a fragment of a shell that reminded me of the stone the jewelry-maker had given me. I pulled the stone out of my pocket and laid it next to the shell. They were like a pair of mismatched striped wings. I decided the shell was to come home with me so I it went into my pocket beside the stone.

I walked back to the house and started packing up the rest of my stuff. I carried the bulk of it to my car. I readied the coffee maker for morning. I gathered all foodstuffs and toiletries and when I felt like I’d done all I could do to prepare for a fast and easy departure in the morning, I went out on the deck and reclined in the hammock.

I pondered the anxiety and fear that had been conjured by the bad dream. In the dream, a situation had stripped me of my agency, and circumstances took on a life of their own. I understand why I had this dream. Up til now, I have not been adept at steering my own course. And eventually circumstances overtake me. I realized that when I return home, I might again place myself into situations that strip me of my agency. This was the source of fear and anxiety. This was the cause of my dream.

From this point on, I must take the reigns, and direct the course of my life. I can do this now. Bo reminded me how.

This time has been packed with weeping, healing, exploring, and expanding. This has been a time for spreading my wings. A pair of mismatched striped wings that now, I know how to use.

I rocked back and forth in the hammock looking up at the clouds in the sky, and I made up a little thank-you song. I was singing this little thank-you song over and over again and I noticed right above me, there was a little break in the clouds in the shape of a heart.

My work here is done. It is time to return to my regular life and incorporate all the new discoveries I’ve made about myself. I am ready.