I sighed deeply, grateful to be in a peaceful, sacred place for me. I pulled into the driveway of the cottage and marveled at the wild flowers and driftwood arrangements scattered on the sandy soil of my family’s vacation home.

My bearded collie, Reilly gave his “haroo” wail to be let out. He could always sense the dunes that he bounded over, the herding of gulls, terns and feral cats to be had. “We’re here,” I squealed to Reilly. He was so ready, he pushed to get out my side of the car and took off to sniff and take a long-awaited leak. Deep breath in…

I stood silently before the one-story cottage, a flood of tears filling my eyes, recalling the last vacation with my now-deceased father and mother and him. The long walks, lessons, fishing and bonfires on starlit nights. I opened the door to the weather-beaten screen porch and then walked to the wooden door. My key worked perfectly, “click, click” and I was home again.

I surveyed the familiar and took notice of the wooden carving inlaid into the stone fireplace. With tentative fingers I explored the two red wolves at play under a full moon. My brother had told me a monk had fashioned it for the cottage as a “thank you” for allowing his use of the cottage for a personal retreat a few summers ago. Reilly’s insistent bark brought me back to the present.

Pulling aside the chintz curtain in the livingroom, my heart surged, my eyes beholding the beauty of Allaire, dearest confidente and teacher of all that is ethereal, intangible and dangerous. “Yeaaah!,” I gushed and thumped the windowpane. Reilly pushed his nose into the back of Allaire’s knee, urging her toward the cottage. I bolted out the door to embrace the 6ft amazon and feel the spirit that exuded from her lithe, dancer’s body.

We hugged silently for a solid minute, the recognizable scent of sandalwood oil filling my nostrils. Reilly wanted to get some attention and forced his way between us. Allaire laughed, “When are you going to teach him some manners, girl?” “Someday….” I replied with a quick peck to her cheek. Arm in arm we strode inside. “Your directions were impeccable, “ Allaire noted with some sarcasm. “Well, my landmarks are mostly food places, you know that. “ I replied.

Allaire looked around. “Mmm, good karma here. I like it. Much magic…,” she trailed off as her eyes reached the mantle carving. “He is here, your red wolf. Interesting,” she continued. “Yeah, my brother told me about the monk who carved it. I never thought it would be that totem, “ I offered. “What do you know of the monk, Rageane?” she asked, as her lengthy nails traced the male wolf. “Just that he did a retreat here, by himself a few summers ago, the red wolf crossed his path seemingly everywhere he went and that is why he felt compelled to carve the mantle, “ I explained.

“Should we sit awhile or unload the cars?” I wondered aloud. Allaire, her stare fixated on the carving spoke, “You grab the bags and I’ll look around and decide which room to take.” “Okay, swell; let’s go Reilly, “ was my response.

Three trips later from the cars to the cottage, the food and duffle bags littered the dining area. I began to fill the refrigerator and freezer with our repaste for the week and set the empty coolers on the screen porch. Allaire sat cross-legged on an oval woolen rug in the center of the living area. Reilly and I could sense the “do not disturb” sign enveloping her. He padded to the kitchen and laid in front of the sink, paws outstretched as I set some water in the ice trays for the freezer and some in his dish.

The cottage consisted of an airy galley kitchen, dining area, a large living area, a small compact bathroom and two large bedrooms. Many treasures found on the beaches and photos of family times and local landmarks served as conversation pieces and loving reminders of a home not a mosuleum.

Allaire and I planned this trip to realign our spirits and discuss our present and past. Already I could feel a shift from city perspective to contemplative channeling and restfulness by the sea. I chalked that up to Allaire entering my space.

After a bit she rose and strode purposefully toward her bags. “I’ll take the green room, “ she said lifting them with ease. She closed the door behind her. Reilly’s ears perked up and he looked at me quizzically. Already I knew that one that door reopened the room would have been transformed as if by magic, to a haven and sachristy of her own design.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and moved toward the blue and yellow room to empty the contents and make the bed with fresh sheets and my personal favorite pillow which goes everywhere with me. I opened the three windows and took a deep breath, whispering a small “Thank you, God.” I could hear Allaire rearranging furniture and smell her sage incense wafting in order to cleanse the room.

The door opened to Allaire’s room and I watched as she made her way to the bathroom. I peeked and sure enough she had moved the furnishings to “open a door to the east” as only she would. Her own woven bedspread and plump buckwheat pillows covered in bright yellow satin, graced the antique brass bed. Allaire had pulled her black hair into a long, thick plait that danced along her spine. Her braless purple silk tank-top and fitted jeans were simple yet elegant. “Shall we walk the beach?” she inquired from the bathroom. “Yep, I’m ready; wanna go, Reilly?”.

Half a block up to the beach and pausing on the dune, that irrepressible, mighty green ocean stood before us. It was breathtaking to me. We looked toward the right at the lighthouse and sighed in tandem. “Rageane, this is magnificent!” Allaire whispered. Not a soul wandered the beach, just the three of us, Reilly loping at the water’s edge biting at phantoms in the foam. Even he felt the rush of freedom that we all so desired.

Words did not pass between us, just energy flowing like the incoming tide. The beautiful noise of the crashing surf and the soft breeze tickled my ears. “Where are you?” I asked her gently. “Far, far away, long ago, “ was her mystical response. I knew it would be a discussion around a bonfire and I couldn’t wait to hear her imparted, golden wisdom under the star-carpeted heavens. It would be like a burst of passion filling my empty soul.

Later that evening we sat down at table and shared a simple meal of mixed greens, succulent peaches and fresh-baked bluefish. We caught up on family, news, friends and job issues. I knew better than to push onto deeper subjects that would surround us for the coming days and nights. Allaire and I filled up the old red wagon from the shed with firewood, newspapers and a shovel. We headed back to the beach around 9:00 p.m. Reilly was left to hold down the fort while we communed. Allaire watched me as I dug a pit and laid the wood down carefully. She threw something from a plastic bag onto the small flames and they kicked back a myriad of colors, the like of which I’d never seen. She seemed satisfied and spread our prayer blankets down, always mindful of keeping the door to the east open. She lit a tightly bound faggot of sage and we proceeded to “smudge”. I coughed once or twice. Suitably relaxed, she invoked the spirits to enter and be present. I sat in awe of this beautiful woman whose friendship had been tantamount to healing my troubled heart and soul.

Allaire is of African descent with a touch of French explorer in her genes. She is a bid of a nomad, traveling here and there, engaging in a plethora of tribal rituals and skills which endear her to the countless of others she has assisted. I am blessed to be one of those on the receiving end, although at times, she can scare me to death.

Her arched eyebrows told me to remove my trademark, well-worn baseball cap and acknowledge the sacredness of her company. My thick, long, silver hair blew into my eyes and distracted me. “Soorrry,” I said reverently.

From her little woven bag, she removed a velvet cloth which held two feathers from a red-tailed hawk and passed one to me. My hands trembled, as I knew now, that holding it meant that I could only “speak the truth”. “Close your eyes, Regeane, we are going back many lives, “ she whispered in trancelike cadence.

The air was suddenly hot on my face and it wasn’t from the fire pit. Allaire began, “I am a priestess, Nazarh. The angora goats and kudu (which are large antelopes) are being prepared for the feast.” “My tribal sisters are dying and their infants stillborn. My offering to the gods to relieve us of this scourge must be holy.” In my mind, I could hear the wailing of her tribe. Nazarh continued. “The men gather and are plotting against me and my sisters.” “It is told to me that they themselves wish to serve as priests and to become vessels of life.” Pausing and breathing. “I prostrate myself before the altar, the bones of our dead displayed and I pray and pray…” Then Allaire/Nazarh began to chant lowly a lament and plea unheard of. My chest became tight and heavy with her vocalization. It pierced my gut. Forward in time she raced. “I am bound with rope and made to watch. “ “Watch what?” I dared ask. “Allem, my husband is making a hole.” “The blood is spewing out as he bites the gag. His tree of life is severed from his body and flung upon the ground. The orbs of his manhood smited and crushed with jaw bones. The large opening is bloodied blue. “Sandhem, my brother, places the noor salve upon him and covers it with woven cloth.” “Allem is not as I know him, “ she cries softly. “Oh my God, he cut off his thing, “ I thought to my self. Allaire/Nazarh continued, “He will not be the only one. Many will try and die for the sake of my tribe.” “No, noooooo,” she wails. There is a break, a dark chasm of silence. It was Allaire now back before me. She was breathing heavily. “What have you learned, Rageane?” I fingered the feather, reminding myself to tell the truth. “Well, I guess the men were jealous that you were a priestess and had babies and they wanted to give birth too because, um, because the women and the children weren’t surviving and they thought they could do it better. “ (“Typical male, “ I added to my self smugly). “Continue, “ she urged. “So, they cut off their genitals to make a hole for a baby to pass through.” “Oh, and they wanted to be priests and be worshiped, right?” I answered unconvinced of my right or wrongness.

“Very good, Rageane; that’s enough for tonight.” “Let’s watch the stars awhile.” “But,… “ I started and silenced myself. Allaire moved closer to me and we hugged and held hands until the embers flickered to nothingness. I made a wish on the one shooting star that I observed…If you tell, it won’t come true, but I think Allaire knew for what/whom I was wishing. I put the fire out safely and we walked to the cottage in the chilly night air. Ablutions done, we hugged and kissed each other good night. Reilly curled up on the bottom of my bed and began to snore. I drifted into sleep, a sense of wonder still in my mind.

I awakened to use the bathroom and grab a quick glass of orange juice from the refrigerator. I brushed the curtain aside and peered into the back yard, looking at a pile of cut lumber neatly stacked for cool nights by the fireplace and that mantle, that mantle… Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. It’s muscular frame and saunter familiar and daunting. I was hypnotized and couldn’t speak. It turned and its eyes bore into mine with a knowing grace.

For a brief moment, that seemed like forever, it held me like lead. The monk’s red wolf was here. When it broke its gaze from me, my movements returned. I snapped my eyes shut and when I reopened them, it was gone. I ambled back to bed not disturbing poor Reilly, who was now stretched out on his back in submission to puppy dream heaven. I lifted the window sashes higher to feel the night breeze.

My dreams began to unfold as I lulled myself to sleep. The red wolf and a man, dressed in harsh, brown burlap, a tincture around his waist, came forward to my bed. The man’s face was hidden in the shadows. I wasn’t afraid. The man lay atop me and whispered in my ear as the wolf watched in earnest. “Sweet Rageane, Queen of my night, save me from myself, my lust.” He made the sign of the cross on my forehead. It smelled like blood. Between kisses on my neck and ears, he said, “Elevate me to master and I will be your slave forever.” “Come to the ceremony of the rose, my love. There I will pledge with our chains to be bound to you in this life and the next.” I could feel the coldness of metal around my waist, coiled and twisted and getting tighter. The touch of his facial hair to my skin was sending shudders all through me. His voice, sweet and sensual produced a wetness between my thighs and my breasts tingled. I rubbed his body with my hands through the heavy material, feeling it tear at my creamy skin. But I didn’t care. I needed release from this sexual torment. He began kissing my breasts, one then the other and the warm familiar fluid pulsated from them in streams to my belly. He suckled harder, feeding on me. I was swept away, drifting out. He moved to my inner thighs and began to twirl me on his tongue. The rapture made me burst inside, the coming seeming to expand and pour forth. I wanted so to cry out, but the only sound was the man’s devouring of my thick honey and the wolf’s nails clicking on the wooden floor as it paced.

Bliss overtook me and I melted into his warm mouth, “ahhhhhh, ohhhmmmm,” I was smothering. When I awoke the next morning, the covers were completely disheveled, my dog nowhere to be seen. I sat upright in the bed and wondered what had happened to me. I felt hungover with the “sex stupids” and actually squeezed my nipples hoping for a scintilla of milk. The room smelled musky, like a brothel, but I liked what it signified. I was alive!

Over breakfast, Allaire listened carefully to my vision of the wolf and then my dream of the monk, accompanied by the creature. She crumbled a piece of banana muffin between her fingers and brought it to her mouth. God, even the simplest things she did were sensual and erotic, where I was awkward and gawky. “First question,” she began, “How long has it been since your last orgasm?” “Huh????” For the life of me, I couldn’t remember. “Um, maybe 3 months ago and that was self-inflicted, “ I answered curtly. Allaire laughed. “Self-inflicted – sounds like torture.” I threw a piece of muffin at her and got up to pace. “Well, hell yeah!” “I haven’t had a lover for a long time.” “Also self-inflicted, “ she interjected adroitly. “Touche’”.

She continued. “Okay, now the wolf is an instrument. It roams these parts of North Carolina, the monk is a holy man, obviously, and came here to search for something. The wolf appears, the man finds his peace and he carves a remembrance as a gift for that which he received. Because something mystical happened here, a piece of his soul and that of his companion, the wolf, still remain. Kind of like a residual. It is like that, Regeane. We leave pieces of our soul where we are touched by graces unseen.”

I bit some more muffin and talked with my mouth full, crumbs sticking to my lower lip. “So? Fine. Why does he want me to make him a “master” only to be my “slave,” forever? It makes no sense. Ceremony of the Rose, and the chains, I read about that on some BDSM site. What the hell does that mean? Figures, I go on vacation and what do I get? Laid, yeah but by some ghosty thing. Why me?????”

Allaire paid me no mind. “Here is where it ties in with the story that we beheld last night.” With a a tilt of her head she added. “You’ll have to wait for our next journey into the past.” “Damn, I knew you were going to say that!” I exclaimed.

Reilly and I drove down to Oregon Inlet to watch the fishermen and play a bit. Allaire when to walk the bustling Point. At the inlet I reached into my fanny pack for some gum and found a piece of paper with Allaire’s handwriting on it. It read, “I must use my dreams, not fear them. Only a fool fears knowledge.” “Damn her, “ I thought and kicked up some sand. She had given me my mantra for the day. I repeated it aloud and Reilly and I went on walking and watching, the signs were there, but I was oblivious.

Allaire was pondering something deeper as she looked toward the ocean at the Point. She wasn’t distracted by the scores of vehicles, fishermen, loose pets and children at play. It was coming to her gradually. “He held up a mirror to my soul and suddenly, I was capable of betrayal, cowardice and even murder. In my heart I saw it as I nursed my rage and dreamed of his blood.” “How can I tell Rageane?” Allaire wondered. “He has come for her, after all these years.” Again she gazed at the white-capped waves and mused. “A vast untidy sea of truth…”

I was in the shower when Allaire returned to the cottage. Reilly stood guard outside the bathroom door. As the warm spray poured over me, I thought of that whopper of an orgasm that choked me and then it occurred to me, soap in my eyes, “he didn’t penetrate me. He used his mouth. I didn’t seem to feel an erection on him. Come to think of it, he was flat…” Allaire’s knock on the door broke my mindset. “Coming,” I replied, no pun intended.

Dinner that night was she-crab soup, warm, crusty multi-grain bread and peach crisp. We ate quietly for the most part, until Reilly started to “haroo” to be let outdoors. Allaire opened the front door and Reilly nudged the screen door on the porch and wandered around back.

I cleared the dishes and sat in the livingroom, my feet curled under me. Allaire joined me and tussled my hair. She looked at me and spoke. “Rageane, sometimes the past rushes in like the tied and just like that, “ she snapped her fingers in emphasis, “the truth washes over you threatening to take you down with it.” “It isn’t always nice and sometimes you can’t absorb it all at once. Are you prepared, little one, my friend, to see the truth and move through it?” My head was pounding. “What the hell was she saying?” I screamed inside.

“This is heavy stuff, “ I relied coolly. “Yes, it is, and if you are ready , we will begin the journey further.” Reilly was barking. I got up to took out the back window. Something propelled me to the back yard. Reilly’s tail was wagging crazily. Surely enough, there were imprints in the sand that weren’t his. Reilly then moved toward the wood pile and sniffed. Close inspection brought me face to face with red and cream thatched fur. I pulled at them and held them under my nose. Any doubt I had was gone. The red wolf had visited the cottage – recently. Tufts of fur in hand, I brought them to Allaire to inspect. “Ah, a gift from the totem.” “You are blessed.” I put them in a ziplock bag and placed them on the bureau in my bedroom.

Around 8:30 p.m. we started our jaunt to the beach for more “work.” I left my baseball cap on my bed with Reilly for safekeeping. Fire blazing and crackling, blankets placed, smudging done, we were ready once again. Allaire’s face was a bit contorted as I listened carefully. “Allem is now Chief Priest. He wears animal skins and a cloak of feathers dyed red and blue. There are bone ornaments in his fuzzy hair. The throne is decorated with fragrant flowers and skins. A menacing mask hangs above his head. His face is gaunt ebony. He calls me forward. “Nazahr, my wife, come to me.”

Allaire is crying. “Your priest is dying. I call my ten younger brothers to you. Make them priests and do not fail.” His voice is high-pitched and his bare chest has pendulous breasts. “Suckle me, wife.” I am smothering in his chest, no milk to quench my thirst. I pull away as he slams his fist against my cheek. From the hard ground I pull myself up and prepare to spiritually retune my brothers. They stand before me gagged and ceremonially painted.

“My brother, Sandhem holds the tools and the salve. As I chop at each one’s engorged tree, I scream, “Give life, bring forth our sons.” One by one they faint with pain and bloodloss. A river of it covers my feet and hands. And I know, I know, I have failed.”

Allaire is trembling and I feel cold chills up and down my spine. I could almost taste the blood and bile in her dreamings. Fast forward, after some contortions and labored breathing. She speaks again in the voice of Nazahr. “My husband is dead. Of the ten so young, only one survives and he reeks of death.” I have found a solution. I will only remove the sacs which hold the life juice and then the men shall reach their pinnacle of holy ecstasy. This must be done before the rain of 13 springs to ensure the proper effect.” “I will begin anew with my skill and raise a bastion of priests.” Allaire’s head now hung heavy against her chest. It was over. “Phew!” was my inner reaction. I sidled over to her mat and held her close to me as she sobbed mournfully. With tear-filled eyes she looked up at me. “Do you see, Rageane?” “That is what your monk wants… He wishes to attain holy enlightment and it will remove his lust.” Truly, I didn’t know what to say or how to respond, so I just smoothed her hair and sat thinking, “Hell, No!”

Allaire was tired and drained when we arrived at the cottage. I drew her a bath and lit lavender candles on top of the toilet tank. As she walked by she touched my cheek with her palm. “Don’t be afraid, Rageane. Remember, ask for the truth in your dreams.”

I could hear Allaire chanting in the sunken tub and it gave me a sense of contentment and put Reilly out for the count. In my nightshirt I sat and flipped through old photo albums I found in the coffee table drawer. My parents, friends, siblings, and then… “Oh shit!” One I had not seen in years. The story of my heart right there in black and white. A time when I was exploring my Ansel Adams photographic technique. I traced his face on the photo paper and remembered. “Rageane, love not often, but forever.” I couldn’t tear my eyes from the shadows playing on his face in the photo. My black Irish rage took over from there. Allaire’s chanting was getting louder to counter my mood. I pulled at my hair, my gut wrenched and then crossed my arms.

The picture jarred me and I remember myself years ago. I was hungry for affection, accepting of the small scraps he could offer me due to time and distance. However I tried, I was unable to pierce the layers of fiction, fantasy and outright lies surrounding us. His secrets, whatever they were, remained his own and mine were mine. Unfortunately, everything about me was to become the town gossip of the year. I had survived those years of silence, vowing never to be the first to make contact. It was a lonely yearning for wholeness and peace, but only I could do it.

“Look at those eyes, and those strong, muscular sailor’s legs,” I thought. The words of William Shakespeare came to mind. “Men are deceivers ever. One foot in the sea, and one on shore. To one thing, constant never.” I slammed the book closed, scaring Reilly out of his wits and stormed toward the door into the darkened night to walk the beach – in my nightshirt… Idiot! Tears were interfering with my already crappy night vision. My therapist would have called this a breakthrough, but I considered it to be the “breakdown” I never allowed myself to have over him.

Once over the dune, I looked left and right. No one to be seen. Good! I could scream out loud. Only the scope of the Hatteras lighthouse lit the shoals and surf. I walked against the wind, and shouted to no one in particular, “You rat bastard! You took my heart and shattered it like sea glass! I hate you to the ends of the earth!” The tirade continued. “I should have cut off your balls and flung them overboard for fish food. No, better yet, shoved them up your royal petard until you squealed like a pig on a Carolina Barbeque Farm!” I wasn’t done yet, my pace quickening, my voice screeching. “You robber! You thief! You clap-ridden, diseased prick!” The waves applauded my exclamations, as sand blew in my eyes and onto my face, stinging like a serpent. I continued, “F you and your stable of fillies and filth. I hope you… and I stopped suddenly, realizing that everything I said to him, was really about hating myself.

I threw myself onto the sand and wept and choked and sobbed so hard that my legs shook. I lay like that for awhile until the rage died. I sat up and suddenly, about a hundred yards from me were two figures. A tall man, his arms to his side, one settled on the neck of what looked like a rather large dog. I watched as they looked out to the sea. The glowing emission from the lighthouse settled on them and I nearly fainted. It was the monk and the wolf. Surrealy, they turned toward me and their eyes watched me in a kind and empathetic way. Then the light was gone and so were they. I was completely riveted, my diatribe forgotten. Only the mystical swirl surrounded me.

I walked toward home in a daze. When I reached the cottage, I propelled myself toward the bed and feel into an exhausted sleep, my arm draped over Reilly. One last little whisper, “I still love you.”

From the other room, Allaire heard my entry, already knowing what had transpired. She prayed for rest for her friend and a dreamless sleep. “You are here, restless one.” “Leave her be; she is not yet ready for your truth.” Allaire ordered. The house was still.

Toward morning, I recalled a brief dream. The man in the photo walked from it to my bed. He wore only a leather cockcage, his balls bluish and discolored. The purple veined globes I had worshiped. He approached me holding a serrated knife. “Do it, Rageane, do it NOW!” Closer he came to me, his familiar hardness leaking the clear fluid that had nourished my sexual appetite. It was the quiet interlude between Act I and Act II. “One more dance,” he tells me as I twist and turn on the bed. “You were always my favorite, “ he says with a smarmy smile. I grabe the knife from his manicured grasp and slash at him, but only cut the air, not finding his bulging balls. Even in dreams, I should have known, with him the rules were always suspended. Panicked, I awoke drenched in sweat and thinking, “There are a lot of ugly things in this world.”

I let Reilly outside and leaned on the kitchen countertop for support. “Some vacation, “ I snorted and stomped my feet like a hideous, misbehaven little child. Allaire was very sensitive to my mood that morning, insisting on braiding my silver hair and massaging my back and legs with rainforest oil. I felt like a hurt child being coddled and overly paid attention to so I wouldn’t break again. I had explained the photo, the encounter on the beach and the dream. “I’m sorry, Allaire.” “For what?” she asked. “Well, I let the past trip me up and fell once again into the trap I swore I’d forsaken, “ I explained. “Not so, Rageane. You’ve blocked the pain for so long. Don’t you realize it’s possible to love someone and resent their happiness because you love them that much?” “You must make peace with those you love, and those who love you or with those you wish to love, “ was her suggestion.

“Could you explain how all this ties together, because I’m completely confused?” I asked exasperation. Allaire took a seat on the tufted couch and patted the empty cushion for me to join her. “Rageane, you know who I am, yes?” “Besides being a therapist and visiting nurse, I sometimes castrate men for their own various reasons, none of which matter to me, but I do gain pleasure from their pleasure.” “Yes, I know, “ I affirmed. “You came to me through another friend to inquire about my services for your lover and to have your own questions answered. “ “Yes, again that’s true. I didn’t know how to handle him sexually and I knew you could tell me how to please him.” “I also allowed you to guide us in our own mock castration ritual. I remember because I was ashamed of sharing my lack of knowledge about it with him”. I cast my eyes down to floor. Allaire pulled my up by the braid and her tone was sharp. “Look at me! It was good, was it not? All of us got pleasure from that session.” I nodded again. “My ancestors castrated me and so I am claiming a part of my destiny. It is what I choose.” “Now, little Rageane, what is your destiny?” “We have an ex-lover who still affects your heart, a mysterious monk who wants you to squelch his lust and of course, the totem, the red wolf. “ “Don’t you see,” she continued, “The man you loved, the alpha male wolf, brave and aggressive and the spiritual enlightment the lover sought through castration – they form a triangle. “ “They are ONE,” she pronounced.