The young couple Susan and her new husband Truth embarked on a quest to find a part of their tribe that was lost, across the sea.
The vessel was built over forty days and forty nights, and loaded with the finest skins and sheep, pairs of chickens, goats, and horses. And then Susan and Truth set off: now joined by twelve other young couples who managed to marry and say their goodbye’s in time for the vessel’s voyage. Many tears were shed, and songs were sung, and the wind carried them off.
It sailed on a clear blue morning, down the river and into the sea, and that is the beginning of the story, that my grandfather told to me, that his grandfather told to him. I am named Truth, after my ancestor, just as every first boy of every generation, after that voyage. And you my darling, are Truth as well, and you must continue this story, until eternity, until the lost tribe comes home.
Truth’s Story, 2035 </b>s Story, 2035
Home. I do not know what is home anymore. All around me is foreign. It is only at night that I see the moon, the stars and the comets, and this black velvet blanket wraps me in familiar shapes and shinings. The sun in the day is shining always on new things, nothing is ever the same, change is constant. Until night, and I can rest and relax with the stars, all of whom I’ve named and all of whom wink and blink at me.
When I came into this world, I was greeted by a circle of five wise women, who coached my mother Genevieve, just as her mother had been nurtured and coached to perform the magic of birthing in just the right way. They had listened to my heartbeat, they had cadenced their breath, they had aligned their muscles and legs so that the energy of movement could flow through them, and I was pushed most gently into the world. It was not my father who caught me as I emerged from my mother’s womb; it was my aunt’s grandfather. He caught me and held me aloft like a hunting prize: “There: a Boy.” My glistening ruby sheath and the pearly smudge that covered my body shined in the half light of morning. The women held silent in awe of my birth. My mother’s sweaty brow wiped clean, she gazed “where is my baby, where is my baby…” her eyes searching through the crusty layers, through the swaddling hastily wrapped. The grandfather gave a swift swat to my back and the mucus plug burst forth, unleashing my first cries into the world, and I cried out, and then breathed in, my first breath. As the pulsing cord from my navel slowed and then stopped its pulse, the grandfather took his sacred fired knife and cut the cord that joined me to my mother’s body, gently and decisively. The nurse applied a clip, and a soft bandage round my waist. The afterbirth flowed out from my mother, the sac that had held me, the nutrient that I’d absorbed to grow from fertilized seed to human baby. The twin that I’d grown to dominate and that now was inside me, the sperm and the egg, all one, all one.
“Ah, perfect feet!” said the first wise woman, Rosalind, my mother’s friend from childhood.
“Ah, big hands! And look at those lovely little fingers each one so expressive!” My grandma, Stephanie was a dancer, and her hands would always be my favourite to hold.
“Oh, his face his face!” Whispered my Aunt Suria, “Do you see how he looks just like father!”
“He’s so small,” said my mother.
“Not for long,” said the grandfather, as he carried the baby to her.
I gazed into my mother’s eyes, and heard her voice that had soothed me and excited me for so long. “There you are little one,” she cooed, and we slipped into an ecstasy of connection, as I gave her the secret of my universe- the Geneagram of Genevieve and her lover, my father. The recognition from the universe of ancestors and cells, and elements, arose to claim her heart for me. She looked into my eyes and we both fell into devastating obliterating self-murderous love.
I breathed in.
On the out breath, my lips reached joyously forth, my tongue curled up my palate as the fertilizing air crept through my tiny lungs and out. “Mouth movements.” Said the Doula, the fourth attendant at my birth. “He’s ready to suckle.”
“Are you going to breastfeed?” asked the Grandfather. “Oh yes”, said Genevieve. “oh, yes.” The grandma slowly lifted me to the breast, as my mother lowered the lacy blue bra of her birthing costume. I latched on the breast after two tries. Her nipples were perfect for my mouth, and I had to learn to take in more than the little erect part, but also the wide brown areola, so the colostrums would flow and my sucking would draw from the whole breast.
They rubbed and massaged my body as I suckled, removing the oily sheath that helped my slidy birth, removing the traces of ruby red, afterbirth and placenta, leaving me pulsing and warm, wrapped in a soft white receiving blanket.
“Will you have a circumcision?” continued Grandfather, cleaning off his knife. “No”, said Genevieve. Her family had never allowed the foreskin removal that had been an ancient barbarous ritual. “It is not necessary, thank you. Please will you get the father now? I am ready.”
Truman was ready as well. He eagerly rushed to her bedside, “Are you Okay? Oh my god- he’s amazing!” They had known I was to be a boy, and they had known my name, the same as every first born in our family for more generations than we could remember. He kissed my mother’s forehead and her cheek, and his shirt brushed my cheek. I stopped my suckle and was about to screech but he touched me with the gentlest of touch and his warm hand stroked my foot.
“Precious baby,” he said, “Welcome to the world.” His tone, his hands, his warmth penetrated my being and I relaxed into suckling even a bit harder, as he held and stroked my leg with his huge massive hands. I turned my head to the sound of this voice, and in a moment I was held against his breast.
He walked me to the window, holding me tight. “This is our world: sparkling universes there to explore, winking stars whose names I will teach you, you will always be at home in this world.” This prophesy for my life has yet to be true, but I know someday I will grow into that assurance from my father, as sure as my name is Truth.
As I was born into the night sky, and held there in my early moments, fully suckled, warm and in the comfort of my father’s grip, and all the nights we shared after, where he taught me all the names that stars had been given, it all resonates when I look in the night sky, and a profound peace enters my being. My home is the sky.
Whenever I am alone and lonely, all I have to do is look up to the sky and see my old friends winkling at me, and when the tears fall, the starlight enters my soul, and I know I am never alone. My family is looking at those same stars, somewhere, somewhere not too far away. I know I will find them. It won’t take much longer now.
And I remember the legends of our forefathers that my father taught me when we’d lie there looking at the stars. I memorized them all, word for word.