He knew it was time to go. It was obvious. The message was clear. It was not as if it were a consequence of a bad act, nor was it like a regret, but just ‘time to go.’ He looked around his room for the last time, went to the library where the picture of Wendy the Bear hung, said a silent “thank you for your wisdom little bear,” and he was off to his trusty car.
As he walked to his car, he became surrounded by his new “friends”; those whom, in the last few days, had taught him a whole new way to look at his own life.
Before coming to this place, he was reluctant to let anyone get close to him, physically, as well as emotionally. Now, for whatever reason, he had allowed these people to enter what he felt were the restricted confines of his “world”. They not only showed they were no threat to him, but even though he may not have understood what they meant all of the time, he thought, no, he KNEW they would not harm him.
The young girl with the beautiful smile handed the book which contained the wisdom of the bear, which he had been reading all of this time, to the young man, gazing not with sadness of his departure, but of a joy of knowing him, of knowing that all was well.
For a moment, he felt, “What if I just stay here — these people are safe, not like the rest of the world.” As if the thought were a cue, the older gentleman said, “no matter where you are, you are going to be fine. What you have learned here is, as we have discussed before, what you needed to know at this time. You now have all the tools you need. Go with the joy that is in your heart and be ready to share it with the rest of the world. Others need you as you need them. We will always be with you, in your heart.”
“How can you argue that logic?” he said to himself. “And, I could always come back on a weekend or on vacation.” Reaching into his pocket, he found his keys to his car and opened the door, noting that, for all of this time the door had been unlocked. Nothing had been disturbed. Everything was, without question, ‘okay’.
His new friends came to him, smiled at him, looked in his eyes, and touched him ever so gently, saying nothing. Nothing had to be said verbally. Words would not do the feeling justice. A few shared a quick hug, gentle yet warm and compassionate.
After the silent wishes were made, he turned to his car, slipping face-forward into the driver’s seat. He put his copy of the book on the passenger seat, slipped the key into the ignition, cranked the engine and, immediately, it started. “This place must be good for everyone, including cars!” he thought.
His companions from the past few days backed away slowly, smiling, with mouth, eyes and heart. They waved gently, peacefully, kindly, sending the young man on his way with love and understanding like he had never experienced before.
Putting the car in gear, it moved slowly away from the group, making a light crunching noise from the stones of the driveway. He rolled down the window, stuck his arm out of the window and waved at his newfound friends, bidding them adieu, for now, knowing he would return soon.
At the end of the driveway, he looked over at the book, patted it and asked, “Okay Wendy, which way?”
The voice he had gotten used to hearing only said, . . .
“The way you are going.”
He turned on his turn signal, proceeded north, re-entering Pacific Coast Highway, a road he had, just a few days before, never wanted to see again. This time, it looked as if it was a way that would lead him somewhere — who knows where, but somewhere important, somewhere perfect, to his new adventure.
After driving for only about three minutes, he thought, “Oh, crud! I want to get the address of that place, so I can write them. Maybe the internet address or a phone number. I can call or write them to let them know when I will come back to visit. Maybe I can take my vacation here!”
He turned the car around, and began driving southbound on PCH, looking for that sign which read, “You are welcome here” and the stone driveway.
After five minutes, he could not find it. He knew he must have passed it. Pacific Coast Highway can be tricky with all of its twists and turns, along with the sun, how it shines differently on the hills and sea. He turned around where he had met the young mother and her two children, knowing, from this angle, he could find it easier. “You know how tricky some of these roads are — one way, you can see something, the other way, what you are looking for is hidden.”
He drove slowly, looking for it. When he finally got to the point where he had turned around the first time, he realized that it just was not there.
Three more times, he made the trip, looking for where he had spent the past few days. Each trip was fruitless. It was NOT THERE! He stopped the car along the side of the road.
Turning to the book, he heard the voice.
“IT is not ‘THERE’ – IT is in your heart — your mind. It is, like you, ‘HERE,' within yourself.”
As he reached for the book, he noticed it was looking as if it were turning ever so slightly transparent. When his hand moved closer to the book, the book continued to become more ghost-like, slowly turning into a foggy image, a shimmer, and then it was gone, as if it had never been.
Again, the voice said, with an ‘echo’ . . .
“IT is not THERE’ — it is in your heart — your mind. It is, like you, ‘HERE,' within you.
YOU ARE WELCOME HERE.
Welcome home.
Understanding, he turned the car back onto the road, and began to drive. The last thing he heard was himself thinking, “Ah, sweet perfection.”
Off he went, driving northward, and while he drove off, he, too began to shimmer, slowly turning transparent, much as the book had, along with the car, slowly, and then, eventually, the car, the young man, everything, disappeared into the gentle nothingness of the universe.
Ah, sweet perfection.