Fresh-baked Bread
“A welcoming smell, that is making my tummy grumble and my mouth water; the smell of fresh baked-bread.”
This endearing story of a young boy is told from the point of view of a participant as well as an observer. This often happens as I channel the emotions, thoughts and feelings from the spirit who wishes to tell their story; they use me as a vessel to be heard, to be recognized, to be remembered.
Today I find myself watching intently as a man splits wood just beyond the reach of a small cabin. There are some wooded areas surrounding the cabin at the back of the small dwelling; otherwise, I see plenty of open, grassy pasture. It is a hot summer day, it feels like mid-morning, yet the man splitting wood is sweating profusely.
Taking a break from his arduous task, he retrieves a kerchief from his pant pocket and wipes his brow. He removes a flask from the other pant pocket unscrews the lid and draws a nice, long drink from the container.
As I move from my position of slightly behind him, circling around to get a better look at the man I’ve encountered, I can see that he sports a beard and mustache. The man’s straight, brown hair, now drenched with perspiration, hangs below his ears by a couple of inches. The absence of a shirt shows that he is physically fit. A tattoo of some sort is displayed on his right forearm. From my general observation, I would guess this man’s age to be in the mid-forties.
The man abruptly stops his work, wipes his brow with his forearm and, without looking at me, stretches his arm forward, points off into the distance and says, “What you’re looking for is over there.”
Unable to see anything clearly in the direction the man is pointing, I revert my attention to the man and state, “You can see me!?”
The man replies with, “Yes, I am aware of your presence.”
I ask the man, “Do you know me, do we know each other?”
Using the axe handle as a prop to support his weight while he rests, he says, “Well, you should know me, I am your brother, Kaleb. What brings you here?”
“I’m not sure; I suddenly appeared as if I were called,” I reply.
The man says, “I didn’t call you, so once again, I’m pretty sure what you are looking for is over yonder. You’ll forgive me, brother, but I have work to do, and I need to get back to it.” The man resumes his task of splitting wood into manageable pieces.
“Of course,” I say and begin walking in the direction where he had just pointed. I can’t see anything in the distance yet, but I can see my feet. I am wearing leather shoes, and I feel that I am a child. My pants are short, well above my ankles. There is no tidy hem, it is unfinished. My shoes are brown leather with laces. The heel is flat, the top of the boot rests just above my ankle. I am carrying something in my hand; I look to see a leather strap wrapped around my small hand. Dangling from the strap are a couple of books, also secured by the leather strap.
As I walk, I swing my arms to and fro; I become aware of my age, ten. I am a boy, ten years of age, walking toward a destination as of now unknown to me.
Suddenly, I notice a wonderful aroma, a welcoming smell that is making my tummy grumble and my mouth water. The smell is that of fresh-baked bread. Daily, I walk with this bounty tucked inside my shirt; one amazing thick slice of fresh-baked bread, slathered with home churned-butter. The chunk of bread is wrapped in a piece of plain brown paper; always the melted butter seeps through the wrapper. With anticipation I reach my destination, the location where the hunk of bread is meant to be enjoyed.
I reach into my shirt and pull out the package. With no thought as to where I am, I kneel to the ground and unwrap the paper that exposes the beauty that lies within. I can hardly wait to take my first bite. When I do, the smell, texture, taste and size of the bite that fills my mouth are so very familiar. This is a ritual that I partake in most days when I make this journey.
Enjoying my fresh-baked bounty, I look at the ground to see where I have landed. Generally, it’s in the same area, along a well-trodden path. A boulder lying atop the ground is just a few feet ahead of me. I decide to sit on the boulder rather than the ground. Perhaps I do this to gain a better perspective of my surroundings or to merely take a more comfortable seat.
As I sit on the boulder, I know all too well the creatures that live in the grass. Scurrying around under my feet are ants. Lying next to the boulder where I sit is my trusty twig; a twig that I placed there some time ago, I know precisely where it is. I pick up the twig and begin scratching in the dirt. I make new trails for the ants to follow, I watch them while pinching off a piece of my snack, waiting for my little ant friends to find it, pick it up and haul it away.
At this moment, I don’t feel as if I am in any big hurry to accomplish anything; I feel as if the day is all mine. I unravel the leather strap from my hand and place the two books it holds onto the boulder. I know they will be safe and that they will be here when I return. This is something I’ve done many times, a continued tradition of days gone by.
Now, as I sit, I know I am waiting for something or someone, I can’t place my finger on it; a feeling that pulls me into a state of unease. A quickening of the heart, my senses heighten as I look for anything that might be familiar. I scan the area for sights that are unfamiliar, waiting, waiting for the day that the purpose for this daily walk will finally be revealed. “Will it be today?” I ask myself.
Just as the question had crosses my mind, a very faint, fragrant scent, wafts past me, enveloping all my senses. As quickly as it came for me to appreciate, it was gone. “What was that, where did it go?” I ask myself. Aloud, I say,
“Come back! I want more.” I look desperately around and see nothing that could provide the beautiful fragrance that I just enjoyed.
A small, wild rabbit presents itself; at first, I see only some movement, then it is apparent, a small, brown rabbit just as cute as can be, and friendly. Someone to play with, someone to talk to. I’ve finished my slice of bread and quietly crumple up the brown, butter-soaked piece of paper that held it, and place it into my pocket. Not wanting to frighten the rabbit, I slowly walk toward it and say, “Hi, are you my friend? Will you talk to me? Do you want to play?”
The rabbit, undisturbed by my barrage of questions, sits calmly and looks into my eyes. It wiggles its nose, then it turns in the direction the man earlier had pointed out to me. It walks toward the now noticeable blue-green sky, with green field grass between the horizon and me. “Wait!,” I call after the rabbit. The rabbit continues to walk faster and faster. I was apprehensive about frightening it by running toward it, but I did not want to lose the rabbit, I wanted to keep up. The creature would stop and turn back to see how far behind I was. When I got to a certain distance, within a mere two feet of the rabbit, it would run as if we were playing tag.
Not paying too much mind as to where we were heading, focusing my attention on the rabbit, I heard my name; I heard the name Kaleb.
“Kaleb, Kaleb,” I heard someone whisper. At first, my name wafted past me ever so gently; softly, like a whisper on a thread of wind. Then again, in a woman’s voice, leaving no doubt, my name was being called.
Uncertain of what lay ahead, I felt as if I didn’t want to be alone, out here in the middle of nowhere, so I quickened my pace to move closer to the rabbit. Again, I hear my name. It’s a woman’s voice, the sound of it is melodic, the way she says, “Kaaaaa-leb.”
I stop, the rabbit stops, and waits for me to move closer. I slowly take one step, two steps closer; the rabbit stays put, the game of tag seems to have come to an end. “Kaleb, where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you,” I hear.
The rabbit which is now at my feet, is no longer the focus of my attention; rather, the human figure emerging from a beautiful blue-green sky just in front of me has me mesmerized. I don’t have to know that she is nice, I can feel that she is nice. I can feel that this woman loves me; and that everything about her is soft and sweet, and smells good, and is warm and comforting; she is my safety net. She is a safe place to be, I feel as if I belong to her; I feel as if I’ve found my way. Is this what I’ve been waiting for?
The woman, standing at the edge of the oddly, beautiful blue-green sky, stretches her arms out toward me to greet me. “How long have you been waiting for me? How long have I been gone?” I ask her.
I take hold of her hands; they feel so warm, I never want to let go. “Not long, my love. Does it matter now; we are safe and together.”
She is so beautiful, I don’t take my eyes off of her. She wears a white lace dress; the sleeves are long, the hem of the dress grazes the ground. The sweet fragrance that flew past me much too quickly earlier is again wafting about my head. I am able to enjoy it, bask in it while it lingers in the space that surrounds me. I never want to forget this bouquet of scent that feeds my soul.
As we have hold of one another’s hands, we walk into the blue-green sky. Now, I once the observer and participant, am merely the observer; I stand with the rabbit, watching as the woman and young boy walk hand in hand into the blue-green sky.
The rabbit and I, of course, must stay behind. “Thank you!” I say to the rabbit knowing full well what his objective was. It was to guide the young boy to safety, to home, to love.
The rabbit says, “I love happy endings and I’m always happy to participate.”
I bend over, inching ever so closely to the rabbit’s nose. I ask, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
The rabbit replies, sheepishly, “Provide me with the bounty of a meal.”
I place my hands behind my back, the sensation of weight prompts me to swing my hands forward. An abundance of luscious spinach, carrots and lettuce lays across my outstretched hand. I place the bounty on the ground for the rabbit. “Thanks, I hope to see you again,” it says.
After a few moments of watching the rabbit enjoy his feast, I begin walking in the direction from where I started. Soon I am able to see the man at the cabin, still splitting wood. Taking a momentary break from his task, the man looks at me and asks, “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I did and thank you for pointing me in the right direction,” I say. I place my hands behind my back, and when I bring them forward, I see they hold a large block of ice. I offer the block of ice to the man, who accepts it graciously.
“I could do with this, thank you,” says the man, as he turns and walks to the porch of the cabin. The last thing
I hear is the front screen door slam shut behind him.
I thank the universe for allowing me to experience and partake in the telling of this young boy’s crossing to the spirit world. I am grateful for his graciousness and bravery in stepping forward to share his sacred experience with us. “Thank you, Kaleb.”
GALE STEIN
Clairvoyant Psychic Medium