We Are the Light(16)

Once we were off Main Street, Eli began saying things like, “I didn’t do anything! It’s not my fault! It’s not fair! I thought that if I were with you, that maybe they’d let up, but it didn’t work! And no one wants to listen! My life is over. Over!”

Jill and I kept saying we absolutely were listening and wanted to understand, which was when I could tell that Jill had taken a liking to Eli, who was relatively easy to root for, truth be told. He’s a good kid with the right sort of heart, which would enable him to endure the present horrors, if only the right people would hold him in the manner he needed to be held.

“The boy is the way forward,” I heard winged Darcy saying in my head.

But—even after the kind, understanding, and sympathetic words Jill and I had shared with Eli—when the three of us arrived at my home, Eli strode across the back lawn like a thundercloud and disappeared into his tent without saying another word.

“Let him calm down,” Jill said, which seemed reasonable, so I sat in a lawn chair behind the house and watched the tent glow orange—and I remained ready and waiting to intervene should Eli start to moan again.

I will be a sentry of emotions for Eli, I thought, and then sat up a little taller. Straightening my spine. Permitting the phallic energy to erect within my whole body and drive the mission, allowing myself to burn, and to remain in that state of incinerating intensity while directing the entirety of my phallic energy at the mission or target. Doing what you had taught me during our sessions.

And that’s when I understood exactly what needed to be done.

I resolved right then and there to be for Eli what you, Karl, had been—and I hope will be again—for me. Suddenly, I understood that I had to earn the benefits of our analytic container, and that maybe you were even testing me—seeing if I was worthy of more of your instruction, teaching, and care, especially after what you saw that night at the Majestic Theater. The shock and disapproval on your face rendered me psychologically impotent for a time. But I have come to see it as a necessary part of my masculine development. And I’m going to prove I’m a worthy analysand, Karl, and not a lost cause. I aim to be the best Jungian analysand you’ve ever had and reclaim my position on your “roster of men.” I’m going to do it by creating my own “roster of men” to encourage and nurture in an effort to bring out their absolute best. I’m, of course, starting with the boy, just like Darcy suggested. I decided to deploy all you had already taught me. So I have one name on my official roster of men—Eli—although I am thinking of adding Isaiah, because I love him like a brother. But one man at a time, maybe, at least at first.

The next day—after that night in the lawn chair, watching over Eli—is when everything really started to fall into place, regarding the way forward, but I think I’ll save that part for the next letter. I’ve already written a lot today and I have actually become quite busy lately, almost like an orchestra conductor, only I’m not making music, but something even more unexpected.

Does that sound unhinged?

Ha!

I’ve never felt more hinged in my life.

I’m seeing the field clearly, maybe for the first time. My certainty is unprecedented. My sureness transcends the physical realm.

Psyche is singing.

And you want to hear this song.

When I catch you up, I am sure you are going to be extremely proud of me. I’m performing an initiation of sorts. I’m going to help Eli cross over the threshold. The entire town is going to help make him into a man, just like in olden times, back when we had rituals for healing wounded boys on the threshold of adulthood.

Maybe you’ll even wish to get involved with Eli’s new project, who knows?

Both Eli and I would very much like that. We hope to include everyone who was in the Majestic Theater when the tragedy happened, even Sandra Coyle, if she can behave herself. You can’t just pick and choose when it comes to healing. We must heal all who wish to be whole, and we must do so completely, thoroughly, and with the entirety of our souls.

Your most loyal analysand,

Lucas





6.


Dear Karl,

I ended the last letter with an upset Eli brooding in his tent and me sitting up erect on a lawn chair, like a sentry of emotions—I know because I keep copies of everything I send you and reread every single word before I settle back in to write the next installment. But I teased what was to come in hopes that you’d write back, which you haven’t.

That’s okay. I’m not angry with you. Quite the contrary. No matter what, I will never ever be upset with you.

But back to where we left off in the story.

I sat up all night long in my backyard and whenever I looked toward the heavens, I saw Darcy flying, carving a figure-eight infinity sign into the night sky, as if she was saying she’d be with me forever. Her wings were illuminated by starlight, which created an otherworldly effect that was so beautiful, human words cannot describe it. You simply have to feel it in the present moment to understand it. The sight was so transcendent that I didn’t even mind when she spent the whole night soaring and never once descended to speak with me.

She’ll get close enough for touching only in the safety of our bedroom with the door locked. I don’t know why.

But as I had Eli to watch over, there was no way I was going to abandon the mission on night one, so I had to settle for the occasional glance, lifting my face up to the heavens every so many minutes, and feeling deeply held by the consistency of Darcy’s flying. It was almost as if she was demonstrating her approval of—or was actively blessing—my new venture, which gave me a tremendous confidence.