Synchronicity

She had every reason to crumble into dust. Her bones long petrified, flesh leathered by heartbreak, betrayal, fury, burning rage. But laying in the sun attentive to the repetition of the surf and salt air on her tongue, Bracia absorbed the earth’s ions. Energy sucked from the marrow of the sea gripped every cell, plumping, pulsing, protecting her from the black. It was the only way she kept moving, built resilience against the darkness, remained surrounded with angelic light. She was guided by the goddesses Galene, goddess of calm seas and Leucothea, goddess who helps sailors in danger. Their forces caressed her, covered her with their energy. Bracia’s work was dangerous, temperamental, risky. She was a soul guide. Endowed by spirits of the sea and wind and rain. The spirits that animate life forces, open blossoms, bind cell to cell.

Jasper, her latest client, was going to require deep probing and endless creativity. His soul was untethered, lost somewhere in a void of despondency and apathy. She’d read his file, whatever little there was. But she wouldn’t know more until she felt his pulse in her temples, heard the secret lilts coded like DNA, observed his anger, and bathed in his sadness. She could sense the dangers with Jasper. His primal energy and magnetic personality entranced everyone who encountered his vitality. And yet she knew his heart was buried in a profusion of pain and he battled it well, almost completely obscure to the outsider eye.

Bracia exhaled forcefully willing herself from the sandy caresses. Intersection was nearing. The crossing unrolled like a scroll at her feet. Barefoot, with salt dried hair, her toes pressed onto the parchment with a thousand tiny sparks, leaving inked characters with each step. She moved determinedly toward the opening, pure light, its final purification would ready her where she would step out of the glow into another cosmos. A world of harsh lines, jagged surfaces, constantly evolving, death, life, rebirth, filled with broken souls, lost souls, hurt souls. Jasper’s soul would intersect soon. Like holding the breath before diving into deep water, Bracia lingered in the opening, waiting for the transition.

Sitting on the bench, she was overwhelmed with fear, desperation, dread. She clasped her crystal necklace, slowed her panicked breath, and recited reminders from the ancient mothers. The transition between realms made her nauseous, something about inner ear and fluid imbalances. While she tried to distract herself, she noticed the azure of the sky, the smell of popcorn, watched the cherry blossoms fall and float, tasted the metallic atmosphere of the city. She preferred the beach, the forest, the river, the wild places but her work often took her into the recesses of cacophony. A hundred thousand souls crammed together, almost inseparable. The weight of it exhausted her, so she stood. Swaying side to side, calmed her, something about the repetition of movement, how the body could attract the earth’s rhythms, pulse with them, step with them. Bracia faced west, counting floors of the skyscraper in front of her. He would come from the east like the sunrise, the rising and setting of the sun, her muse.

Jasper exited the building distracted from another mandatory session with his case worker. That woman was insufferable, and he repeated his vow to never return; he knew that was impossible, it was a term of release. To be chosen for utopia, your soul must be secured, held down by your calling. But Jasper knew he’d never experienced the calling, and by the time he turned 18, he was running wild, living unchained. The system held him captive for 20 years before they released him to rejoin utopia but that was months ago and without a calling, he was resentenced to rehabilitation. Head down, fuming about the wasted hour, he ran face first into a woman, knocking her to the ground. He wasn’t a monster, just lost, so he frantically bent to check whether she was hurt. She was shaking her head and mumbling under her breath. He overheard her say to no one in particular the intersection was just a goddamn metaphor. He didn’t know if he should laugh or apologize so he did both and offered his hand to help her up.

Bracia wasn’t off the ground yet before she laid into him about keeping his head in the game. She’d worked with other clients that were a challenge to her patience and skill as a soul guide, but this guy seemed to drive in a completely different gear. As he grabbed her hand she was overwhelmed with empathic distress, and immediately questioned taking the case. Something was off, she noticed. Jasper gaped, a look of confusion and uncertainty.

“Jasper? I’m Bracia and I’ve been assigned as your soul guide,” Bracia declared bluntly.

Jasper felt his throat tighten. He’d heard about soul guides, and he immediately felt a sense of loathing. He questioned why she was there. He knew, she shouldn’t be here. He looked at the tiny woman, eyes so big and bright like she was going to change the world. Full of hope and promise. But he knew those things weren’t possible. Hope is gone. Promise is dead. He wished she would turn around and leave but intuitively he knew she couldn’t. She was a fighter, he could see it pulsing in her neck, hope beating stronger and stronger. He realized she’d never fought the kind of fight he’d wrestled with every day of his life. The kind of fight you fight simply for the love of fighting. You don’t fight it because you think you can win. You don’t win. He never wins. It dawned suddenly, that was why she still had hope because she thought she could win. He knew it was a false hope, she wouldn’t win. And if he let her into his world, he feared she might not even make it out alive.

“Just go away. I don’t want you here. I know who you are, and I won’t do this,” a calm rage declared through Jasper’s tight jaw.

He took a deep breath and looked at the ground. Emerald green. Her eyes were a piercing turquoise blue/green that radiated goodness. He was overwhelmed by the intensity of her purity and strength. Drawn to her and no amount of resistance could stop him now. His eyes lifted and he saw her being led in chains down a desert path, a lamb to the slaughter. Jasper foresaw her course. She would open her heart and his blood lust would be aroused, and he would attack her. He would never stop trying to fill himself with her love and attention. He felt immediate regret for looking into her eyes. He knew he might destroy her, and she was in danger.

The hurricane made landfall through his gaze. And she suddenly realized Jasper wasn’t an untethered soul, she was. The lies of her life crumbled at her feet, the pavement cracked open, the rumbling was deafening, her feet were slipping from the parchment. Jasper stood there dumbfoundedly still holding her hand. Her palm was sweating profusely as the darkness crept up her toes, her feet, her ankles, wrapping its tendrils, tightening exponentially, pulling her down and down.

Their eyes remained locked, breathing frantically, and without realizing what he was doing, Jasper yanked her from the opening.