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The storm blew in from the west. A great field of white cloaked the capital city with silence and depth. If one lifted one's head up and stared into the mass, small twinkling lights could be seen glistening amongst the snowflakes as if heralding a seeding of new creativity falling to the ground.
A spring storm of great import!
The president sat alone in the oval office looking out of the window, watching the storm that had halted the city and practically closed down the government. All appointments had been cancelled and for one seemingly miraculous moment he was free of all his official duties and encumberments. He felt lost!
He was unaccustomed to being alone or introspective. He was not an internal man.
Almost mesmerized he continued to gaze at the big fat flakes drenching the trees and bushes, slaking the grass, feeding the never- ending thirst of the land. Standing and stretching, he decided to return to his private rooms. Still feeling extremely contemplative he started up the stairs. Walking slowly down the corridor leading to his favorite drawing room suddenly the rich aroma of coffee wafted around him and almost unconsciously he was drawn to the smell. It seemed to be coming out of a small office next to the drawing room. The door was ajar and he pushed it open.
The room was warm and dark, emitting a sense of comfort. Table lamps cast warm globes of golden light. Armchairs were placed under the lights as if inviting one to sit and repose. A large desk covered with papers and books was in a corner surrounded by wooden shelves holding books. All the colors of the room were deep reds, browns, rust and golden, like a beautiful warmth that had aged with some internal knowledge, the whole room was rich with the aroma of coffee that had come from the earth.
He wondered why he had never been in this room before, he couldn't quite recall being aware of its existence. And as he stood in the center looking around he saw another door next to the window. A woman's voice called out softly "I'll be there in a minute, pour yourself a cup of coffee. There are some clean mugs by the pot."
Shaken, he didn't move and stood as if riveted to the carpet. A few seconds later a woman came out of the inner door smiling a welcome. She was dressed in green. Her dress seemed to flow from her shoulders to her ankles folding and falling like foliage. Her hair was golden white so she appeared both young and old. Her eyes were green with an aura of age in them as if they had been looking for a long time.
She spoke, her voice was accented but one he couldn't place. "Oh, couldn't you find the cups? Well sit down and I'll get it."
Still feeling like he couldn't move, he tried to focus and place this woman, watching as she went to the coffee pot to pour two mugs. "Cream, sugar?" she inquired, ignoring the fact that he hadn't moved or spoken. She lifted the mugs placing one by each of the chairs, waving her arm to indicate that he was welcome to sit, encouraging him to relax.
He finally found his voice and asked hesitatingly, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
She didn't answer right away, but looked at him for a few seconds smiling all the while then responded. "Oh, I am sorting through your family's papers, organizing them, your father is thinking of writing his memoirs. Please sit down, this coffee is excellent, try it."
He slowly walked, almost stumbling, to the offered chair. He sat down and unthinkingly picked up the coffee mug and took a sip. It was exactly as he liked it and the flavor flew through him instantly. He suddenly found himself sitting on the prairie back on his ranch but as if in an olden forgotten time. They sat
for a few moments in silence sipping and tasting, letting the flavors take hold.
"A terrific storm isn't it?" she murmured, "almost like an unexpected gift."
Still in a kind of trance he nodded his head, not really aware of anything.
"Did it stop your world?" she quietly inquired. Then waited for his response.
Unused to considering anything of a metaphysical nature, it took some moments for the question to take hold in a mind that only considered the material and what other people asked of him, but yes, he thought, it was like something stopped his world.
Almost like he was emerging from a deep trance he felt himself relax and wanting to respond.
Taking another sip of coffee he nodded in agreement. "And this coffee is something else." He finally managed to say. "What on earth is it?"
"It comes from a special place, it is grown with love, nurtured with rainfall, and watered by streams that flow far from above in the mountains." She answered then continued, "It is from a rare and special place. The people who grow it have grown it for generations. It is harvested just once a year. The seeds are collected from each harvest then planted again in the next season. Each crop carries the original flavor so every bean puts forth the old anew. When you taste it you remember."
Intrigued in spite of himself, he asked "remember what?"
"Oh where it comes from and what it took to grow. The people whose hands planted and cared for the plants. A lot of knowledge is passed through what we intake and when we allow ourselves we can feel the beneficial bounties of the earth and her giving."
He sat mesmerized listening to her voice picturing in his mind people with earth worn faces wrapped in woven clothes catching all the colors of the rainbow. Moving through the plants like the brightly colored birds flying through the jungle.
Sensing his attention she continued "As I said, the plants are seeded from the previous harvest so every bean carries the flavor of all time. Each new bean remembers the original ancient flavor so when picked and brewed it produces a new encounter from the past."
He looked quizzical but wanted more of her as much as he wanted more coffee and took a longer drink. Almost immediately he felt the liquid course through his body stirring unexpected feelings producing images of brown hands poking into the moist earth placing seeds gently into the welcoming ground. Some part of his brain responded and he thought to take back some sort of control of what was happening to him so he told his mouth to ask exactly what was going on but all that came out of his mouth was "I don't quite understand!"
"I know," she sympathized, "but relax and let the coffee mellow your mind and allow the feelings to be explored without anguish."
He suddenly wondered about drugs and became anxious, she smiled and as though reading his mind said, "There is nothing to be afraid of, it is just natural coffee."
The anxiety abated and as it did he started to relax again and the mellow feelings returned. They sat in silence for a while basking in good feelings of warmth and comfort.
A short time passed but in the pleasant atmosphere it felt like an age to him. So relaxed and calm without his mind steering his thoughts he once again experienced images immerging of people dressed in colors so bright bending and planting. He thought he heard singing but the language was foreign and the music was simple and sweet he felt himself almost rocked to sleep by the melodious tones. Birds were tweeting and when he raised his face the sun warmed it. Shocked he felt himself jerked back into the room. How could he have felt the sun so real like he was there with the people high on the mountaintop. He remembered the trees, the earth, and the colors, where was all this coming from? He looked across to the woman who sat there smiling in a gentle calm way.
Recognizing his discomfort she said, "I believe that people live on the earth in such a manner that when their hands and hearts are present in the things that grow, their lives and memories are carried in the things that they have nurtured. You are experiencing the roots of the lives that produced the coffee that you are drinking. All growing things have life and carry the lives of the things that help them grow. This is true with both good and bad. What are you growing?"
Stunned and without answer he merely reflected.
Back again the images emerged of the coffee planters. It was almost like he could sense the rich loamy earth, bearing the strong flavored coffee plants, drift through his fingers and smell the sun and feel the rain on his face. Shaking his head slightly he tried to clear his mind bring his attention to something familiar. Feeling the ceramic mug in his hand he automatically lifted it to his lips and took yet another sip. Immediately he felt his awareness sinking down through his belly to his feet down into the ground. His mind started to float then his eyes connected with hers and when she next spoke it was like he had asked a question.
"Yes, roots are of vital importance. They are watered from the rain and the streams that bubble out from the mountains. The roots are the way to the future and the key to the past. The roots that spiral and weave beneath the surface run deep and wide yet they all stay connected."
He imagined, though it was more than imaging, he actually felt the roots identifying with his veins, cruising through his body carrying the lifeblood that fed his whole being.
She continued, "Every plant is connected to every other plant. Life is held in common. It has been noted that in a good harvest all the plants thrive in a bad one, all do poorly."
Almost like a family tree he thought as he slowly became aware that he was starting to get a hold on his consciousness. He felt himself settle down to a gentle rhythm that was comforting. A pleasant feeling traveled across his belly and he felt slightly elated. His curiosity was heightened and a million questions started to bubble up in his mouth. The first thing he wondered out loud was "where did you get this coffee?"
"It was sent to me as a gift from some indigenous people who get it from the original growers. They say it tastes of Justice!"
Suddenly a noise was heard. It was unidentifiable at first but then awareness slowly crept in and he recognized it as a telephone ringing. No one appeared to be answering it. Then it stopped. He looked up and a silence was emitting through the windows he notice that it had stopped snowing the storm was abating. The woman was gone. He stood up and started to walk to the door when he heard someone coming down the hallway he knew they were looking for him. He opened the door and entered the hallway, just has he did he saw his father's back turn the corner. He hurried to catch up with him, calling out "Dad." His father turned and waved "I was looking for you," he said "They want you in the conference room they are experiencing rolling blackouts on both coasts, must be this darn storm!"
"I'm not surprised." He answered. "Hey Dad, can I ask you a question when did you decide to write your memoirs and where did you find that lady that's helping you?"
"What lady?" his father asked surprised,
"The lady in that small office next to drawing room she has white hair and green eyes kind of strange looking"
"I have no idea what you are talking about" his father replied looking a little perturbed.
The president's stomach lurched and he started to feel giddy and a little nauseous, wanting to get away quickly he pulled out his ability to dodge awkward questions, he recovered with "Oh I guess I misunderstood. I thought she was referring to you, but it was such a quick exchange. This storm was a whopper it threw me back into thinking about a Christmas when I was a child in the East. I just remembered it and for some reason family memories came up. But I guess I misheard, no big deal. What a storm eh?"
And he smiled watching his father settle back down to his normal stance.
He started, then said "Dad, tell them I will be right along I just need to grab something." And before his father could object he took off at a fast pace ignoring his father's call.
He raced back to the hallway past the drawing room and then came to a sudden halt there was no door! Just the paneled walls! He stood there completely stunned. He heard footsteps and just managed to pull himself together as two aides came around the corner. "Just on my way back" he said, slumped and turned to follow his aides back to his world.
His father sat alone that night troubling over what his son had asked him about the woman and he knew somewhat what had happened because when he had been president he recalled a similarly described woman appearing in his dreams and they had talked about injustice, peace and understanding, he also recalled he had lost the next election!
Later the President thought of the strange brewing conversation that seemed to encircle his every thought. He wondered when the time had been different and if he also had ever been different. Had he always seen power as something to grab and swing at other people? Had it ever been from someplace deep inside him where power was a gift for all to benefit from? Had he ever seen responsibility as a privilege, a position of trust, creating a place, where as a leader, you gave your word that something would grow, something would carry the past into the future, would nurture the spirit of the people and the land. He wasn't sure he was capable of that kind of leadership.
His thoughts started to become heavy, then a door opened, his wife entered, her expression slightly worried.
"What's going on? That was an incredible storm I am glad it is over."
He had a last look out the window. The night was clear, the stars crisp and bright. Lights yellow and soft flowed onto the city. "Nothing much" he shrugged. The whole experience slivered away like a cloak. Turning he emptied himself once again.
The storm passed just like the opportunity.
The End.
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