I

I

            The offering of a white rabbit is an invitation to the unknown. It is a path that makes itself available to someone on rare occasions. You may choose to follow, or not. If you allow it, the powers that be will guide you on a treacherous but wonder-filled journey. We will encounter beasts of our mind and battles like we only find in our imaginations. There will be violence and lust, beauty and terror, despair and justice. Waiting for us are monsters and dancing seductive women with viking locks that swing around their shoulders. There are lonely warriors, ancient castles with secret gardens, age old melodies sung around fires shared by generations of gathered gypsies wielding instruments. There are perilous mountains which crack the earth’s surface and seep a smoky mystery that hangs in the air among the peaks like a veil of grey silk. And of course, through this immensely challenging adventure exists what the white rabbit has tempted us from the start, as he sits calmly in the gypsy man’s palm which was outstretched in offering to my mother nearly twenty-five years ago: knowledge, experience, enlightenment, a peek at the secrets of consciousness and the universe--- ascension.

 

When I was small, I would often ask my mother to tell me the story of the white rabbit. I remember many evenings when I could not sleep and my young curiosity craved the tingly feeling that it gave me. It wiggled my toes and made me excited to uncover life’s mysteries.

On a day which very well may have been a new moon, my mother left her long term boyfriend and hastily tossed all of her belongings into her dad’s pickup truck. She set off onto the Atlanta highway toward a life with her new European boyfriend--- my Dad. It was an extremely transitory moment in her life and the nature of this led a very unexpected and magical thing to happen.

A fateful gust of wind ripped through the truck bed, picked up all of her belongings, and smashed it onto the highway. “I remember a shelf shattering and cars dodging the items,” she says. “I of course freaked and pulled over as carefully as I could. As soon as I did, I noticed a strange looking camper caravan had pulled in behind me. I stayed in my car, not knowing what to do. I was scared to get out because of the traffic. But things felt different; time itself was different.”

At this point my mother’s chin would start to tremble slightly and reflecting in her face I can see the bittersweet recollection of a memory that one forgets that they could remember so well.

“All I remember is that suddenly all the stuff was back in my truck, perfectly tied up with rope and packed neatly. I was amazed and confused… Then I realized that this raggedy man from the vehicle behind me must be responsible. But I do not remember seeing him pick anything up or him packing it. I only remember it done. I had no accident, I was awake, I had no trauma--- I just worried about what to do. No policeman came, no one else stopped.”

My big hazel eyes I’m sure were at their widest now. This was my favorite part.

“I do remember feeling really happy, relieved, and having great sense of peace. I don't remember holding on to my worry about what to do because it was solved instantly.

“While I was looking in astonishment at perfectly packed truck bed, the raggedy man walked toward me from the direction of his truck, which was covered in unusual items hanging from it, like found metal objects that could only be of use with other items. They were all packed high and hanging in odd directions like in a cartoon.

I was not afraid but still he said to me, ‘do not be afraid, I will not hurt you.’ He came closer and slowly reached into the pocket of the massive overcoat he was wearing. I was sure it held many more strange things hidden inside it, like his caravan.

Carefully, he pulled a tiny white bunny out and held it out to me gently. I can't remember him saying anything, but I said, ‘ahh, no, I can't handle a pet right now, I'm just moving’ and blah blah... He tried again sweetly, but I never remembered what he said. Perhaps he just held it out to me, then I refused again, insisting I had no ability to care for it now and that my dad's dogs would hurt it.

“I thanked him over and over and asked if I could pay him for his trouble because I think I had a little cash on me. He refused and gave me his card. I could not get him out of my mind, I told everyone the story, I tried to call the number on the card he gave me to thank him again and offer him my help if he ever needed it.”

 Now I would be the edge of my seat and always had wished that this part of the story had been different.

 “…But the recording said the number did not exist. I held on to the card for years, but lost it somehow. I don’t even remember what his face was like. I did think soon after that he must have been an angel because the feeling I had near him was a beautiful feeling of peace and joy, but my reason and logic still got in the way when he offered the bunny! It made me think about the small gifts of life. I wanted that bunny so bad after…”

I deeply share the regret that my mother has for denying this gift. However we both knew that it was not worth anything to dwell on it, and it was important to think of it as a lesson. But, needless to say, I have had my eye out for that rabbit my whole life.

 

Twenty-five hundred years ago, Maha Maya was a queen that ruled with her husband Suddhodana over what is now known as Nepal. When she became pregnant, she dreamed of being carried away by spirits, blessed with gifts, and adorned with beautiful scents and clothing. A white elephant, holding a lotus flower in its trunk, circled her three times, climbed into her right side, and laid in her womb. When Queen Maha Maya spoke of her dream to a group of wise men, she was told that she was to be the mother of the “Purest One”. He was destined for greatness and to be the catalyst of great change, but it was to be only of war and tyranny or peace and justice. The Buddha.

 

Back in the sixties when my mother was born, men were not allowed to be present during the birth in the hospital. My grandfather, being a man with a background in mischief, disguised himself in a male nurse’s uniform and found his way into the room where Karen, my mother, was born. The family story, as she tells it, says that the infant girl that appeared before her was missing some toes, and when my mother finally emerged, her father was relieved to see that she had all the right pieces. My mother says that this is probably why the baby white elephant of her dreams had human toes. “I was just happy you were all there,” she says. “Even if you were a little white elephant. The most beautiful and content little elephant.”

 

In a house on Emery Circle in Atlanta, Georgia, there is a bedroom with a secret door that leads to a storage space small enough for a five year old girl and a few of her favorite things. Since I was the only one who could fit, I would hide things in there. Sometimes kittens and sometimes food, but usually toys, pillows, blankets, and my Teddy. My alone time with magic started in this space. I naturally became meditative and learned to think positively on things I wanted to change in my experience of existence. I was lucky enough to be raised in a family who did not block the reality of energies and the power of the mind. I knew there was an invisible fortress that surrounded our home on Emery Circle and it protected us wherever we went. We needed only to maintain its existence by believing that there is in fact something, or many things, that exist and are larger than we can understand.