Was I still in danger?

Was I even in the same City? Nothing looked familiar. I felt lost in time. I wanted to retrace my steps, but wondered what might be waiting for me back there.

I stepped out into the street, having no idea where I was.

Stepping out from the alley, the half eaten hot dog that had nearly choked me began to make its way back up. I hoped I wouldn't vomit like some drunk in the middle of the street. Maybe the hot dog had poisoned me and I was actually stumbling through a hellish limbo, doomed to eternity tasting bile and sour grease forevermore.

No. That's just life in the City. No reason to get spooked.

My arm hurt a little, and itched. There was a bite of some kind on my forearm. Funny, I can't remember ever seeing a mosquito in the City. Didn't think they could survive. Then a man stepped out of a doorway, an old man with a white beard and a face as red as brick. He looked Mexican, yet had the bluest eyes I had ever seen.

"Come in" he gestured from the shadows. Above the door the weathered outline of long lost letters spelled out the words: SAFE HAVEN.

The old man offered me his hand, crossing the room. I hesitated out of habit. Anyone with that much expectation in his eyes always made me nervous. What did he want? What kind of trap had I fallen into? Am I really that naive looking? Tighten my jaw, look independent, need nothing, no one. My back went rigid.

But his eyes made me remember: A little girl playing on the porch, smelling supper cooking inside, suddenly noticing a hobo standing near by, hunger forcing a familiarity onto his lips. Or maybe it was a kind of divine humanity. I lifted up my hand and walked him to the back door where Mama gave him bread and vegetables. And he shared them with me like they were his own.

Unsure what was past, what was present, I took his hand. And it seemed as if the floor disappeared from under me.

How could I explain this peace, this joy, this beauty? How could I explain the colors that made me feel like dancing? The hushed reverence that the majestic trees inspired? The wind whispered, whispered encouragement to me, whispered kindness... I looked at the old man, overcome with feeling, and the wind carried to him words I could not form.

"This is our place," he said to me, after a time. "This is our world. Here we are free. But we may only come here when we are totally alone, totally empty. This place is filled with the spirits of life," he intoned as he approached. "Once we have been filled, we return to the other world. We return to assist those in need. We return to spread healing to a broken land. We return, knowing we are connected to all living things. We return," he said, touching my hand.

I remembered my arm and looked down at it. It was bleeding. But not just a little bit as if I had accidentally drawn blood by scratching what had been a mere bug bite. It was a red pulsating fountain, pouring out my life essence right before my eyes. The pain began to register and I tried to yell for help. The last thing I remember before I passed out was a smoky view of the ceiling with a mirage of the old man's visage looking down at me.

I was on a dirt floor, still in the "Safe Haven". That much hadn't been a dream. But it was no longer night. Light from a very bright sun streaked across the floor, warming my neck and ear. I tried to lift my head to see out, but was too exhausted.

Then it struck me. The City buildings across the street were 30 stories tall. They would never let the naked sunlight make its way to a ground floor window…

Pain began to grow again, knocking at the gate of my fear and bewilderment. With a great strain I turned my head to view my throbbing arm and…I found no arm. From what I thought was my shoulder sprouted a massive wing, spattered with blood. But my fingers, I could feel my fingers. How could this be? With great effort I unclenched my hand and there, at the end of the great wing, I saw feathers of unspeakable beauty unfurl.

The odd and unspoken man had called me not by my name, but as a part of a larger body, an "us". He said "we" were here to help. As I watched my body change and mold in a slow and graceful mitotic dance, I began to contemplate. Slowly, all of the hustle and bustle found in the vomit of City life had an answer - a divine understanding had descended upon me...

I let my wings gently open and, with a single touch, open each cage, one by one. The singing grew louder, becoming frenetic, until the sound hurt like thunder or a chorus of gunshots. Frantic birds filled the air, and I was forced back to the ground, not wanting to injure my precious wings.

But the room darkened too quickly. I saw myself as if from a great height, sprawled upon the ground like a dusty crucifix. In my moving my hands I felt the coolness of silken dirt. My hands. Looking left and right I saw the edges of a wood platform box with a feathering of many colors tasseled and encircling. I raised my hand to touch it. And I smiled, realizing I'ld been grounded in this world the entire time.

I relaxed. Surely the Safe Haven was a place I was meant to be.

My mind was a flowing, moveable mosaic. Colors bled into one another. My eyes saw one thing then another in continuing rapid succession…as if my vision were the only sense involved. It would have been easy for me to integrate the new information and still feel "sane", but something told me the sights I saw were transient. The key to sanity was my inner trust..my ability to let go, as my mind painted things I had never seen before and my body experienced sensations that I had only dreamed.

I could touch the box in front of me. Yes, that was real. Though I could no longer see the old man, I had a strange feeling that he was still there and I wanted to light a candle to him, hoping he was a spirit that would slip onto my shoulders when summoned. I needed to feel the warmth and security of his hand in mine. The sound of birds trilling and singing hazed over my thoughts and brought a new trance upon me when I had hoped to become lucid enough to walk back into the chaotic but familiar streets of the City. I can't do this right now. I am not ready for a transcendent experience. "I want to wake up now, my elderly guide. Please lead me back," I yelled, and listened for echoes, but there was no response.

This "safe haven" suddenly felt like a prison. I could not understand what has happened to me here. Oz-like experiences are not my thing. I wanted to go home, watch TV… but how do I get out of this maze of impressions, sights, sounds, blood, spirits, out of this alternate Christ Story? He paid a price for us, didn't he?..I asked myself. I do not need to redo his experience in any way…unless…

I no longer wanted the safe haven of this place. Insanity would surely follow if I did not try and come to my senses. I started to panic, trying to lift my head…

I felt the fire rage through my skull as the faceless assailant wrenched handfuls of hair from my head, smashing me twice against the dirty brick of the alley wall. Then the falling, falling through vertigo gates into nausea and ceaseless motion.

The assailant was masked. And his eyes, so dangerously quiet as they peered out from woolen holes, reflected the half-eaten hotdog he jammed down my throat to stop my screams, choking me. I pulled on the fabric of his disguise with all my might and he hit me, once. Could I give up so easily? With his knee squeezing all breath out of my chest, he dug into a backpack for something I thought would be a knife. I went limp, knowing my life was over. But it was not a knife. It was a syringe, smudged and discolored. He plunged it into my arm, right to the bone, and the world went away.

I understood. My memories were no less painful, but they were no longer frightening.

Each remember sensation of this tragic and horrible experience was now tempered by my visions in the Safe Haven. What occurred in this place is still a mystery, but its effect on me is no longer full of panic or tinged with desperation. Here, I was able to come to grips with what had been done to me. Somehow, it freed me from the shame. I could stop running.

I am so thankful I found this place that helped me release myself from the past. And for the healing. And the peace I felt when surrounded by the wonderful vision of loveliness I had seen.

These memories will always be with me as the extremes of despair and of joy.

Also, when this began, I had no idea several of the contributors had actually experienced similar "tragic and horrible" episodes in their own lives. Mustering the strength to retell their story, through fiction, has proven to be a benefit to them. One of them has given her consent to let me post a portion of her email. Her note is one among many this piece inspired:

When I look back at my life, I realize I have known many Safe Havens. I will always need these places to heal, meditate, and face my ego and phantasmal thoughts. I thank Tobin and ArtsForge for providing one more avenue of healing, one more friendly hand, one more place to reconnect to the world. All images of this patchwork story have symbolic meaning for me. And knowing that other people were writing alongside me, people who have gone through similar pain, brings to each word an added depth and sympathy that I never expected to feel. This has been very rewarding.