Port Angeles, Washington
I don't know how Scott found this viewpoint. He just kept driving up hills and there it was.
Yesterday, I was sitting on the couch looking out the window at the trees. I am finally eating a little bit and sleeping for four hours at night. Watching the trees and clouds in the blue sky, far, far away I heard music. It was so faint. I had to remain completely still until the musical notes came together to form flutes playing in the distance.
I recognized the music.
Fifteens years ago or so, my middle sister and I flew to Mexico on a meditation trip with our church at the time. I remember the flight into Cancun. The plane made a U-Turn over the ocean. The color of the sky was spectacular with a burst of pinks, oranges, lavenders, and blues I had never seen before. So vivid and unreal.
Off the plane, my sister's eyes grew big, when large groups of Mexican police officers walked by with rifles strapped to their backs. The air was hot, it took awhile to get used to it. Outside a bus was waiting for us to take us to a ferry to Isla La Mujeres, the Island of Women. Here, we would walk the island finding fat green iguanas sunning on rocks, we read books in our hammocks, swam in the pool under tropical trees, and searched for the best taco on the island.
One evening, we had dinner at a large table with our church group. The dinner was set on the top of the restaurant with a view of the water, the stars were out, the moon lit up the area where we dined in a soft glow. After eating, my sister and our friends were guided to four queen size beds on a polished wooden floor twenty feet or so from the table. The beds were set low on the floor with white sheets and pure white soft comforters. The staff nodded that they were for relaxing after dinner, napping for a bit, and for lovers to cuddle and look up at the stars. My sister and I chose a spot with a couple of other lady friends near the front of what appeared to be a small area where musicians might play.
Full from dinner, and a little too much wine. We laid back and looked up at the stars and moon listening to the waves gently lap from the sea. I thought of the manta ray out there, our friends had gone out on a snorkeling trip. The Mexican guides called out to the manta ray who loved to swim with the tourists. They played with her all afternoon in the water, taking turns rubbing her silky back and getting excited, feeling special when the manta ray would choose them to glide to.
As we looked up to the night sky, a flute softly played than another, my spirit danced to the music, I felt energy running through my body as I fell into a dream state I had never experienced before. Turning my head I noticed four men with the most beautiful brown eyes and skin playing flutes.They were all dressed in white. Sharing the bed, my sister and our friends smiled at each other as the Peruvian flute music carried us into the sky.
I loved telling Scott this story. Scott dreamed of Peru and going to Machu Picchu. So when I heard the soft distance sound of Peruvian flutes and the soft scent of tobacco touch me, I knew it was Scott. I sat back on the couch, closing my eyes, as the flutes played so far away in the distance.
The rest of the afternoon, Scott's scent permeated the living room, small hallway and our small bedroom. I breathed in as I walked from room to room smiling, knowing, that he was here and had never left me.