Stories by Alice B. Clagett
Children of the Tiger
a story by Alice B. Clagett
This account is entirely fictional.
Last night the air was full of the grace coming into
the field of humanity through the ongoing coronal mass ejections.
Sometimes it felt like nectar, thick like honey, deep and
The soul of Earth, the astral plane, had for a week been roiling and clearing. My experience of reality had been shifting moment to moment, and this shifting had been accelerating all day. By nightfall, the panorama of earthly scenes and scenarios came and went in the wink of an eye, interspersed with moments of peaceful tranquility, with a footing in what I've in this lifetime known as 'reality'.
I took a rest at nightfall, and when I awoke, the air was blurry. Was I going through a veil? I heard this gentle admonition: Go out in the back yard. Waste not a moment -- do it now! So I did. The moment I stepped outdoors the air became more clear.
In the dark, cool night, as I stood in the back yard, I heard a motor vehicle drive up and park on the street in front of my house, and the threat energy intensified. In return, I felt the soles of my feet on the ground. I saw the distant, gentle starshine, and noticed that the coyotes, with their rustling, and their melodious, poignant songs, had gone off somewhere. All was still.
I said to myself: I will go to the front yard and stand in conscious awareness before this threat energy. The minute I thought that, I heard the engine start, and the vehicle sped away.
As I walked toward the house, I remembered a lifetime in a village in Southeast Asia. I was a strong young man. There was a threat there of a tiger on the prowl.
I walked to my back porch, to the patio door, and saw a reflection of myself. The dress and blanket I was wearing, and my reflected face, shifted to the image of that young Asian monk. Then it shifted again, to another, older monk, with the left side of his face greatly disfigured by the claws of a tiger. I watched his eyes, and saw that, for him, the wounding was countered by the steady calm of his Soul. And I remembered the story:
The tiger came to the village, and attacked the head monk. This monk asked me to go and kill the tiger. He told me how to do so with compassion, so that the peace and tranquility of this world would be upheld.
And so I did. As the tiger lay dying, I saw her two children, and I felt her desperate desire to protect and nourish them. I looked into her eyes and promised her: Set these concerns aside and pass in peace. I shall protect and cherish thy children. In an alternate world, I saw her to be a woman in human form; a woman at the same time fierce and loving, deeply steeped in Spirit.
And then the tiger passed, and I carried her two cubs back to the village, to the pallet where my teacher lay, with a healing poultice on the left side of his face. And he blessed the tiger's children.
Time passed, and I never ceased to tell them the story of their mother's courage, of the fierce love she had for them. They grew tall and handsome, one walking on either side of me through the forests round the village. They were like my own sons, though they had lost their mother.
a gift from
Alice B. Clagett
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