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Sunday, December 17, 2017

Chapter One: Enchanting The Enchantress

by Yvonne de la Vega (writer), Los Angeles, June 14, 2010

Credit: Bianca Smith by Artist OG Able
Dark Angles and Immortal Beings wander the earth and skies in a battle against the monotony of Eternity, each enslaved to the search for inspiration.

An excerpt from the first chapter of "Brigida Luna", a novel of immortal things.

There's one of them, again. Brigida Luna, calm yourself. Does he know ...I can see him?

Brigida continued walking toward her house, conscious of dark eyes watching her, careful not to let on that she had seen him, this time plain as day. There- leaning against the oak tree that grew straight from out of the side of the little hill, his face seemed to glow from his own light somehow. Nearing him, she could find no source of light close by or around him, since he had fixed himself beneath the cover of the old oak's weighted branches. Like a dimming firefly with a blueish glow, his light seemed to fade and glow with the pulse of his breathing.

Brigida in her conscious stride mused, He clearly breathes! ...and his glow reflects a bio rhythm! How weird is this?

The row of Hollywood Hillside homes looming from their places at the top of every winding driveway produced motion censored flood lights that obediently lit her way. It was as if a stagehand set them off synchronically with the final steps toward her own home.

Walking downhill from her car, the asphalt seemed pliant to her, as if every step was sinking into the tar beneath her feet. The heat on this side of the Hills could do that, soften the tar so in the evening the trapped heat seemed to rise in it's escape, visibly, in a faint steam that laced upward, and after one hot summer day in Los Angeles, the summer evenings here still saw no relief.

Brigida could feel his eyes and the stillness in his lean, which made her think, He does not know, whoever- whatever he is, that he is visible to me right now... She walked past in her evenly calculated, casual stride. The hillside between them rose so steeply, that the oak tree's roots formed the wall of the front yard's hill. Beyond, a terraced garden neatly framed the winding driveway. There is no light going off here, she kept her even stride bowing her head, as if to watch her footing. How... is he standing on that side of the tree? There is no ground...

She used to think it was just her enthusiastic imagination, and even settled for that explanation at one time for maybe 3 years thinking, These people, poor things, if they only knew how I saw them, as either some trapped spirit wandering the earthly plane, or a beleaguered and morose vampire, but always something other worldly and from another reality, but they are not human, be they horrific or simply abandoned. If they only... actually if anyone knew any of this, they would all agree, that I'm a crazy person. A nutball. Bonkers.

From as far back as she can remember, she was never afraid of these beings. Somehow she knew she possessed a gift of immense spiritual capacity, and a certain power from her collected beliefs that, being human in this realm was more powerful if you knew and understood basic metaphysical possibilities. And of course, if you knew the Craft.

Brigida has always seen them. The ones she called Dark Angels, for lack of really knowing where they come from or, for that matter, if they are all the same kind of being. They were always male, these Ones, and she thought this peculiar and perhaps a little romantic at the same time. Almost sure there exhisted more than one, she had considered the possibility that it may be just One Being. One Being who apeared as different men at will. This prospect would arouse a confusion in her though, and she would not choose to support that reality, because if it were only one being, or- the same one she had always encountered, then why had she seen him so often throughout her lifetime? Had that One... sought her?

Did he seem to know her?

She had seen them on the streets up Laurel Canyon, walking, or just standing there on a corner as she drove up Lookout Mountain Drive. She's eyed them knowingly as they've watched her jeep drive by, and have often times appeared to strain, as they sought to see her face. She had always shared some eye contact with them individually, as if they or he knew that she was... aware.

Night blooming jasmine. This scent with the heat is so LA Noir... And without the slightest lift of her chin or turn of her head in his direction, Brigida Luna spoke aloud, directly into the night.

"I see you."

At that, she felt his presence stiffen. She warmed to emit a demure vibration, her pace slowed, as if to politely linger in his presence. After all, a word said in passing motion can be any number of rude gestures. He did not know... or he does, and thinks me bold and taunting. And balancing the grace period of from when she "came on" to it, to the awareness, to the point of knowing This One would not make an answer, either could not make an answer, or did not really "see" Brigida at all. These ideas race around at all at once as she resumed her pace politely. Perfect, this one's presence for company and Jazz. She lifted her sights toward her dwelling again, savoring her daily anticipated moments of when not any kind of structural dialogue rode around in her head. No poetry or hook lines, no songs that reminded her of anything she felt or had to do. This was why she loved jazz at the end of a hectic day. Simply because for the most part, the best jazz was intrumental only.

Jazz in bare feet. This was to Brigida a most perfect and natural magic.

Brigida looked up toward her own familiar porch lamp and smiled to herself, and in the hard left turn up her driveway, where every evening stroll is ended with a sharp left into a banked curve. This incline, had a curve going slightly downhill, it became almost a jump because anyone's weight caused an increase in speed so that when she bounced off the second step down, she felt like she was free falling in a mini flight as she bound through the Front courtyard, ready to spring up the another flight of stairs to her porch.

From the top of her porch Brigida turns and looks for him. He is still there though his face is far away, his light has darkened into a standby light blue, a grayish glow that this time she decided, is definitly a moon glow. The lights snapped on as she walked into the incline while a warm breeze swept through the Cahuenga Pass. Her hair tickled across her lips and with her hand she tucked the wayward strands behind her ear. Then, she turned to him in the beyond by the oak, before she climbed her porch.

Two houses up, the floodlight snapped on above the oak and terraced garden. He is no longer there, of course... Oak leaves on dark branches rustle from the breeze and Brigida hopped onto her porch, her keys out and reaching. As she turned the knob she said directly into the wind, "Hey! See you later!", and "Not if you see me first, right?" And she added, "Don't be sad." and, "I hope none of the neighbors are watching.

Once inside, Brigida dropped her keys and bag, lit a candle and some sage, she honored the four directions and said,

Since you have seen me
and I have seen you
Let both our hopes and needs
become universally true,
I will find solace
and you, something to do-
harm none
do as thou wilt and
let all good karma accrue...

She sang some other words, then in a finality, Brigida gazed out the window toward the old oak and spoke from her Within, Know this! I do not wish to see you again, Sir! Hang out until your inevitable disinterest defeats you, but do not show yourself, I haven't the time, I do apologize! Brigida lit more candles while thinking, I am craving Miles Davis NOW, then she put on "Kind of Blue" and sank into her leather sofa. Inhaling the scent of asphalt and jasmine through opened French doored windows, she rubbed her bare feet together.

If I played piano like Bill Evans, I could rule the world.

During Miles' solo in Flamenco Sketches, she welcomed a very light, warm and strange evening rain. By Bill Evans' plink plunk plunk plink, she was sipping absinthe which warmed her tippy toes. She smiled, and when thinking about the recent thrill of her awareness, a thought occurred to her, I wonder if he's into Coltrane? And, Hmm, well, Miles will just have to do, it really is enchanting enough.

And with this thought, she became annoyed as she knew her awareness had come again. Annoyed, because her home and anyone's home for that matter, was where people should be granted privacy, both physically, and metaphysically.

"I know you're around. Please. Please go find something else to do for a few years."

Brigida then layed back into the sofa. Even though he did not enter the boundaries surrounding her home, she knew she had intrigued him with her brazen and unafraid communication.

This lingering One is bewildered and drawn, and it is my own damn fault. ... Ahh. Jasmine what scent!

Outside, the moon appeared oblique, the sky shimmered in a faint L.A. way, and the clouds in the hills could have been counted on one hand as they hung low tonight in the hills. Sitting on the thickest branch of the tree, Daniel reclined naturally within the Oak while an occasional drop of rain would drop from the tree top branches and leaves. He could hear the syncopation of the water drops and the rhythm from Ron Carter's bass during "So What". This album, Kind of Blue" was in his opinion, one of the five records you would want to take with you, if you knew you were to be marooned on a desert island.

And then he thought of her, Brigida. She really sees me! You know Daniel, I think she's crazy. I really do. Man, I really have to think on this one... the Living seldom pass Daniel without becoming overwhelmed in Daniel's presence and upon really seeing him, most of them fold.

Cannonball Atherly floated by and Daniel bobbed his head and let out a holler from his perch way high above the street and houses lined up and down Vineland Avenue. "Yeah!" The sound of Daniel's voice echoed through the Pass and from the tree he followed it's reverbial return.

Brigida stood at her window, the warm breeze had stopped as did the rain.

Daniel from his perch atop the old massive tree stopped in his head bobbing as Brigida's words floated by him... "I know you're around. Please. Please go find something else to do for a few years." Daniel reached toward her and in 3 seconds time he hovered outside her home peering through rose bushes like "a simple human voyeur", as he so thought of himself at that moment. From his distance he could see her now as she blew out the candles, and finally, closed all her windows, the Jazz from within her home now faded until finally... gone.





About the Writer

Yvonne de la Vega is a writer for BrooWaha. For more information, visit the writer's website.
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