by Elise Brion

And so the will of the little boy won in the final game of the last great round of the tournament.

Here is how the story goes…

It was on those mini breaks, where each bold participant was able to breathe just a little bit deeper, taking immediate stock of their present surroundings, gauging exactly where they were and how much longer they would have to run to get to the final clue.

Many had trained for months and some for years to even get into this tournament. Many had failed, and in this final game, there were only three who had qualified to participate. For the young boy, there was no question as to who would be the one to retrieve the much sought-after prize, and it was this knowing, which was not his own, that carried forth his little body.

The look of his eyes was a combination of colors not found anywhere in nature on Earth. They were bluish dragon eyes, with splashes of a golden color that when observed, made one feel as if a million suns just shined down upon them. He was not an individual who chose to make eye contact with anyone, for he understood the depth of power that radiated from this part of him. It had taken him awhile to figure out just why he didn’t feel comfortable looking at the faces of people, but when he began his work for the tournament, he became very sure of it all…very clear.

When, in the brief moments of desperation he felt as if he would not find just one more inhale, he took his gaze upward, and there, the colors of his eyes merged with the source of his will, and onward he ran.

There was nothing to obtain at each five mile check point, nothing to hold on to, except the internal pep talk that the other two contestants were giving themselves as they took their break. Their own inner chatter to themselves, the very “can-do-it” mantras that their coaches had taught to them, were exactly what was making each of them lose time, falling behind in the quest. However, they believed in the efficacy of the words, repeating them over and over, in those precious seven-minute intervals. The squirrels were chattering, watching the two as they heaved, sputtering as they chanted, “I am running as the wind” and “I have already succeeded in this quest”.

This run was not a spectator-friendly engagement. There was no crowd of by-standers, sipping on toxic drinks, rubbing their fat bellies, and betting on the winner. Yet, the other two runners had their own crew of supporters at home and abroad who were saying their prayers, drinking of their mental projections and wishes, scratching their heads in confusion of their own lost dreams.

The little boy himself had but one person to call family, and that was his Mother, who lived very far away but who could watch him most clearly in the same way that the boy’s eyes looked to the sky. This was all the boy needed.

The boy had lost himself in his own running, and had their been a video recording of his activity, his image would have turned from a steady-coursed young boy, striding well, to a streak of liquid gold. There was no thought that existed in this one. There was only the rhythm of the liquid gold.

And onward he ran.

It is said that in extreme experiences of bodily exertion there can be various degrees of mental hallucinations, visions, exhaustion, and euphoria. The Lakota Sun Dancers and the Tarahumara peoples of northern Mexico, for example, are known for their activities of extreme exposure to heat and personal body exertion in dance and running. In their sweat, blood, and aching bodies, they give thanks and praise for all that is known and unknown to themselves and the families from which they come. They do not analyze why they dance until they drop or run until they collapse. They just know that it is good to do, come what may.

The boy, at mile marker number ten, became eagle, and ripped through the trails feeling his wings beat hard against the currents of the Earth. At mile number fifteen, he became falcon, and found himself entering into a Sun of such brilliance, streaming straight through the image of a seated man, with the head of the very falcon he saw himself to be.

It was at marker number twenty that he no longer saw wings but shining scales on himself, scales of green and gold. His neck was now ten feet long, and he could see only exploding stars and spirals of light. He was moving as light, as a creature that could only come close to be called, dragon. It was as dragon that he suddenly realized that every single scale on his body was also an eye, and he could see the past and the future of all that had ever been. Of what he saw of the past, he roared his dragon’s breath in firey disgust. He saw with precision his own placement in the galaxies of his experience, and for this he was grateful. He understood that the visions of the future had already occurred, as these were the energies that originated in his own eternal heart, impossible to die. Herein, lay the last clue, and it was the prize that all had sought, but only he had retrieved. It was his Infinite Nature and Indomitable Spirit, and now that he absorbed himself into this gift, he sped on to the last mile marker, number 25.

When he arrived, there was no one else there. When he arrived, stepping his foot over the purple velveted finish line, he did not collapse, but laughed a laugh that shook the whole Universe in which he presently found himself. When he arrived, only his Mother could see him, and She too, laughed with him, hugging and embracing her most powerful little boy. It was then that he decided to run back to Her.

And this is how the story goes…