Door 7.
“Stripes!”
“Spots!”
“Stripes!”
“Spots!”
“Dark ripples across the water—STRIPES!”
“The stars, the constellations. The very heavens above. I must insist—SPOTS!”
“ENOUGH!” She stood the ground between the Cheetah and the Tiger. “Haven’t we all had enough bickering in our lives? Are our hearts not big enough to encompass more?” For two cats, they began to look pretty darn sheepish.
ChiChi, the newest of the travelling companions, was a cheetah of a rather churlish disposition, and justifiably proud of his lush freckled coat. This all-too-obvious self-satisfaction rubbed the Tiger the wrong way—in his irritation, striped fur stood on end. Their dispute had brought the night’s expedition to a standstill, and in the distance the red flames of dawn licked across the sky.
“You are both exquisite, and you have every right to be proud,” the little Canadian girl assuaged ruffled feelings. “But why not be proud of each other, as well? You’ll double your enjoyment!”
The two felines pondered this possibility—as everyone knows, cats are keen to enhance their own pleasure.
“Is it not the greatest boon of friendship to expose yourself to another’s life?” she posed. “To see through new eyes? Hear a different story? By knitting ourselves together on this great quest—delighting in our shared successes, consoling each other when frustration mounts—our own lives are expanded through the experience of others.”
“We all bring something wonderful to this party. Something extraordinary. Something unique.” It was not the roseate sky that tinted feline fur rosy. They blushed at her compliments, and perhaps a little at their own silly squabble—so small a concern in the midst of such a glorious adventure.
Addressing the Tiger directly, she continued, “Your stripes are indeed like dark ripples on water. But they are also inky serpents, zigzagging the path. A broken twig. A lonely horizon. Your family is well-named ‘a Streak of Tigers,’ as your black stripes convey shadowed messages of speed, of clarity and intention.” Calmed now, the Tiger nestled on the ground.
“So from now on, let’s call you Streak,” she suggested. His dropped his head onto wide paws, contented.
ChiChi looked at her expectantly, “Is a group of cheetahs a ChiChi?”
“No, you are the one and only,” she laughed. “But your family is distinguished as ‘a Coalition of Cheetahs,’ a living consolidation of energy into clusters of incredible power. Your spots are potency itself: aptitude and efficacy in budding coalescence.”
Silently, ChiChi padded over to Streak, knelt down and curled beside him.
Then the two cats did what cats do in mutual appreciation: they licked one another’s magnificent coats. “Your stripes really are quite spectacular,” ChiChi murmured. And Streak purrrrred.
Door 8.
In winter, the Big Dipper shines like a cosmic-sized question mark in the night sky. The travelling companions stared up at this miracle and contemplated their own vast questions:
…Just what is this mysterious Lost Temple and when will we finally find it? (the little Canadian girl) …What path will best lead us to success in our quest? (the Tiger) …What unimaginable perils are ahead and how will I conquer them? (the Cheetah) …When is lunch? (the Giraffe)
In answer to all this wonder—planetary, as well as those queries closer at hand—Ganapati initiated a plan. Four arms became six. Six became nine. Nine to twelve. Finally swirling sixteen immense arms, he chose from each a gift to present to his friends, this merry band, a tool to aid them on their journey.
For the little girl, he fashioned a goad, encouraging her to stay the course, motivating her to fulfill her dreams. For Streak, a lasso that captured the Tiger’s memories, an aggregate of all past tiger experiences, to support his clear judgement. And for the Cheetah, Ganapati extended a treasure he’d received from his Mother: a bow bent of sugarcane’s sweet pliancy, a thousand honeybees humming its string. With it, five arrows tipped with delicately-scented flowers ensured that ChiChi’s aim would be true, and his future seeded with fragrant promise.
Sometimes we all need a nudge, sometimes just help in gathering our resources. And sometimes what’s needed may seem like magic—a bit of ourselves cast forward with only hope to forecast the yield.
Oh, and for the Giraffe? Well, for him, Ganapati had a sandwich. Which was exactly right for the moment, and in fact, the Giraffe being a particularly generous soul, they each got to take a bite.
Big adventures make for big appetites.
Door 9.
Each evening after sunset the friends travelled, secreted by the shadows. Now more than a week into their quest for the Lost Temple, the moon had waned to her soft half-light, and they became evermore dependent on the night vision of Streak and ChiChi.
Fears grow with sudden alacrity under evening’s dusky veil, and when two glowing ember-like eyes crept toward the group, hearts sped and breath too quickened. Guarding those behind them, the two great cats ruffled themselves and stoically waited for the mysterious being behind the eyes to make the first move.
A voice of gravel and sand addressed them. “Greetings from the Goddess Akhilandeshvari! She Who Shifts Continents! Who Spins Tales! Who Rides The River’s Whims! Who Breaks To Break Again—she welcomes you to her River.”
Impressed by this striking formality, sidelong, the companions looked to one another. From the shadows, a crocodile slithered forward and they all took a step back. Forward, back. Forward, back.
“Please stop!” admonished the Crocodile. “The Goddess sent me to guide you, for her River will be your most treacherous challenge yet. You will need her help to understand the Essence of the Waters.”
Waving his multiple arms, Ganapati motioned them all to gather closer to this ruby-eyed lizard.
“Your fear stems from Life’s Insecurities,” stated the Crocodile in his textured gargle. “Your friends, your neighbourhood—you want them to remain the same, what you have come to know. To follow The Way of The Goddess entails Surrender to Uncertainty.”
“Climb upon me,” he invited. “In her Waters, Mirth will wash you, then Compassion. But the next wave will bring Utter Disgust—perhaps Black Fury. Then Wonder. You will not know which flavour you will taste next, so you cannot steel yourself. There is no preparation. The Horrifying dwells here. But also, my friends, you will find Love.”
Claws, hooves, Ganapati’s many hands, and the little Canadian girl’s fingers all gripped the expanse of the Crocodile’s craggy back. “Fight her and you will become distraught, grief-laden, exhausted from your unnecessary labour,” he gargled his warning.
“Sir, this is sounding rather bleak,” noted the girl. “Can you offer us any guidance?”
“Watch the moonlight on her Waters—sparkling, fracturing into shapes of dizzying beauty. Surrender to the Current, then you will flow with her.” And with this last advice, the massive hulk dove straight into the roiling dark waves.
Swirling. Twirling. Whirling. The crocodile revolved like the very Earth itself, spinning on his own axis.
Swollen surges of feeling, spiralling multicoloured emotions—our valiant crew clenched the reptile’s nubbly skin, as he churned jagged shards of light and electricity and fluidity. All the transformative moments that Break Our Hearts and Change Things Forever wheeled over them, around them, through them.
Splashed by sensation, the taste of Love lasting on their lips, the Crocodile deposited them on the far shore. “Can we not see The Goddess?” the girl asked, as the pilgrims thanked him for his help.
“But you have been watching her all along,” answered the crocodile grittily, as his ruby eyes sank beneath the waves. “She is here now, in the water.”
The friends turned to witness the light breaking on the waves, casting rainbow prisms of imperfect perfection…or was that perfect imperfection?
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