Desert Secrets

By Kim Carey

Glamour, fashion, and success are traded for the secrets of the desert when leading photographer, Jo Potter, agrees to photograph a cache of inexplicably encrypted stones in the remote Mooyung cave.

Desert Secrets is a journey of love and loss set against the broad canvas of the Australian outback and Peru. It is a story of the passion that flows when we follow our heart's true desire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kim Carey
• Release date: Sep 15, 2010
• ISBN: 9780980440423

Kim Carey

Kim Carey has a long-standing interest in spirituality. She was raised a Catholic, then as a teenager immersed herself in Existential literature. In the mid 1970’s she became interested in Yoga and Eastern Religions and in the late 1980’s was introduced to Tibetan Buddhism.After completing high school Kim commenced a Communications Degree to study journalism and deferred her studies after completing the first year in order to travel and work. She later resumed her studies and taught English and History to high school students for two years.Kim spent one year of her life meditating on the 13 Original Clan Mothers and the teachings of Jamie Sams and has a long- standing interest in shamanism, mythology and psychology. She has been greatly influenced by the work of Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell, Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ken Carey, Sogyal Rinpoche and Steven Levine.Kim is a writer, photographer and poet. She has travelled the world extensively, including touring solo as a young woman in Europe and the Middle East and later flying for many years as an international flight attendant, which allowed her the privilege to connect with the spirit, culture, people and the natural surrounds in countries all over the world. Kim is a healer. For eleven years she studied and practiced Somatic Psychotherapy and is constantly inspired by the works of David Boadella and Gerda Boyesen.Kim has a strong connection with nature which includes a daily ritual of long walks and being in the sea.The ocean is her instinctual home. Kim’s deep connection with the earth, her spiritual practice and extensive travels around the word inspire all of her writing and her life.Kim has completed the screenplay for Desert Secrets and is pursuing having this film produced.She is completing the sequel to Desert Secrets and completing her second book of poetry.

Book preview

An Unexpected Journey

Desert Secrets

by KIM CAREY

Copyright © Kim Carey 2010

Published by Kim Carey at Smashwords

All rights reserved. This ebook is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any person without written permission. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

This work is fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this work are either products of the author’s

imagination or used ficticiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-9804404-1-6 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-0-9804404-2-3 (ebook)

For John Politzer

Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of Truth and Knowledge

is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods.

Albert Einstein

Peru. 1978.

1

In the predawn hush the mighty arms of the old Curanderos stretched to meet the limitless sky. Standing in the silent depths of the desert canyon he prayed for a sign. With his bare feet grounded in the naked earth and the strength of his forebears chanting through his blood, the ancient mystic smiled. His prayer immediately answered.

Two eagles soared majestically in the azure canopy circling a child snuggled between two mighty boulders marking the entrance to Narac cave, four hundred kilometres south of Lima. This was a powerful sign for Joachim. Eagles were sacred omens of the Great Spirit and his personal totem animal. The old man snapped a light clap to the heavens and walked toward his ahijada, his godchild, who had already spotted her winged companions.

Clay dust swirled and the small girl danced and spun stretching her arms to the heavens. With an air of graciousness unusual in a five year old, Jo Potter blew a soft kiss to each eagle and turning on one foot delivered another to her beloved godfather. The Nikon F camera dangling from her neck brushed against her red shirt swaying with each twirling step. She steadied herself confidently moving buttons and knobs, pretending to adjust the speed and aperture just as her mother had shown her.

Bending on one knee the old shaman reached inside his black leather waist pouch and delicately retrieved an onyx stone the size of a rose petal. Jo’s tanned face burst into a full smile as she examined the unusual necklace swinging like a pendulum from its thin leather strap. She noticed a stark white crescent moon neatly engraved on the curved surface and acknowledging her gift swept back her soft blonde hair.

Tenderly clasping the necklace around Jo’s tiny neck, Joachim smudged sage ash on her forehead, anointing her into her future and whispered a secret. Standing tall, Jo brushed her hands against her blue jeans and ran a finger over the even surface of the sacred stone and remembered the image that danced before her in a dream the previous night - the dark smiling face of an old woman with crazy curly hair in all the colours of the rainbow.

Why are we here today? She asked.

Red clay dirt drifted through Joachim’s strong hands disappearing on the soft breeze.

In my meditations I have been guided to purify this cave and its special contents with sage and sweet grasses.

Kicking the earth with the tip of her leather boot and ready to ask another question Joachim interrupted her, sweeping his left hand toward the sky. A glistening blue-black raven landed in a tree directly above the old man and he shared the sacredness of the moment with his beloved ahijada.

Raven lets us know there is magic about. I know today is the day for us to enter the cave my little one. It is prepared now for your mother to take more photographs. I do not always know the reason. I must simply follow the signs.

The distant and distinct sound of Elizabeth Potter’s laughter pulled Jo’s attention and she watched her parents unload equipment from their well-travelled white Land Rover. Thick mud stuck fast to the side panels and the familiar National Geographic insignia remained barely visible.

Marc Potter’s tanned fingers pulled strands of curly, sun-bleached hair from his eyes. He caught a glimpse of his wife's profile as she loaded more film into her camera and shoved extra rolls into her shirt pockets. She turned toward him and her slim, bronzed face, and clear luminous green eyes beamed.

Let's go, she urged, snapping her camera shut. We’ve got history to make.

The couple were well prepared and had packed an assortment of camera equipment, lanterns, headlamps, and a small ladder. Their backpacks heaved with additional gear including rope, water and extra jackets for the coolness they would encounter inside. Elizabeth scanned the area then looked toward the cave entrance.

I’m surprised the authorities weren’t here to greet us. They know we’ve already seen the encrypted stones.

Maybe they’ve given up the idea of denying they exist. Our whole team should be here soon. The government can’t keep this stuff a secret for long. Mark replied.

Elizabeth moved toward Jo, caressed her slender neck and kissed the crescent moon glyph.

Can I come and take photos too? Pleeese, Jo pleaded.

Of course you can darling. First we need to check that it’s safe in there. You stay here and wait with Joachim. We’ll be right back to get you.

Marc walked closer admiring his daughter’s necklace.

It's beautiful darling. Smiling, he motioned for Elizabeth and Joachim to bend down. Come on Jo. Take our photo. Let’s all say cheese.

After the third ‘cheese’ Jo snapped off a shot and the small group laughed until they collapsed in a writhing heap. Elizabeth draped her arms around her youngest daughter, inhaling deeply into her soft hair.

O.K. baby, stay close and see what magic you can photograph until I come and get you.

Jo’s forehead merged against her mother's, a ritual they shared when saying goodbye. Closing her eyes she melted into the warmth of her mother’s skin then gazed into the fathomless green eyes that told her she was forever loved.

Marc threw a rucksack over his shoulder while gently blowing his young daughter a kiss. Be safe darling. We won't be long and later we can pick up your beautiful sister and all have breakfast together. Jo floated an air kiss toward her parents and Elizabeth winked reminding her.

Remember there is magic everywhere Jo. Look for it while we are gone.

In the eerie silence of the canyon Joachim and his godchild waved to the silhouetted figures of Marc and Elizabeth as they disappeared inside the cave’s darkened entrance.

Within a moment of losing sight of his friends, the old man’s attention spun skyward and a strange noise made Jo’s ears ache. A single raven in a frenzied dance high upon a lone boulder flapped its wings, screeching and cawing.

The ancient shaman swung Jo toward him. Stay here little one. You must promise to stay here. Trembling, Jo nodded bravely, her tiny hands clasped tightly around her mother’s camera. Joachim raced toward the cave. Turning to check on his ahijada, a tremendous rumble gave way to a heaving roar and a lightening red explosion tore through the cave enveloping the old man and hurling Jo to the ground.

Falling and spinning in a surreal mix of shock and fear, a face appeared before the little girl. The dark woman with crazy rainbow hair smiled and before losing consciousness, Jo remembered, her mother’s eyes.

Sydney, Australia. 2006.

2

The inner city loft's stark white walls and vaulted ceilings were a compelling backdrop for the collection of life-sized photographs, unframed canvasses, and sculptures.

Two large sculptures dominated the space and their innate beauty instilled a sense of peace, sensuality and repose. The first was breathtaking: a life-sized dolphin in free motion over a replication of the Pleiadian constellation, with seven crystalline stars sculpted into a background of black marble. The second sculpture ‘Sheila’, cast in white clay, conveyed strength and mystery as she gazed toward an unknown horizon. A brilliant green gaspeite stone encased in white gold elegantly graced her wedding finger.

A haunting black-and-white image hung alone on the far wall - Joachim, Elizabeth and Marc, slightly out of focus, smiling at the camera outside Narac cave. Pinned on a large white board in the far corner of the open space, hung glossy black and whites of famous fashion models and equally famous magazine covers: Vogue, Harpers Bazaar, Vanity Fair. This was Jo Potter's world now.

The early morning silence disappeared when the old cedar door cracked open. Angela, dressed in well-worn gym clothes with wet hair and a towel over her shoulder, heaved a two metre, half-dead, rubber plant over the threshold. Banjo, a black and tan terrier, also wet, raced behind her and she grabbed him just in time.

No you don't buddy. Let's get you dry first.

Angela and Banjo had taken their regular walk home along the boardwalk in the Botanic Gardens where Banjo flung himself into the harbour at his favourite rocky beach and Angela swam her thirty laps at the salt water Boy Charlton pool.

With a damp and excited dog wriggling in her arms Angela crept slowly and quietly into the main bedroom. A floor-to-ceiling window overlooked jacaranda trees, providing an open vista across the harbour and Rushcutters Bay. The view was spectacular — but Angela’s eyes remained focused on the queen sized bed. Nothing was more intimate to Angela than seeing her lover asleep and deeply peaceful.

Angela’s eyes followed the contours of Jo's tanned and naked back and she gently ran her fingertips down the smooth skin of her lover's spine. Jo rolled toward her, half asleep. Across the small of her neck lay the black stone glyph, the crescent moon snuggled close to her chest. Jo's smile was affectionate and dreamy, her voice tender.

Hello you.

Cued by Jo’s voice and in perfect timing with the high-pitched alarm flashing 7.30 a.m. Banjo pounced. Jo quickly threw the covers back over her head and he grabbed the doona in his mouth throwing his head from side to side trying to jerk it free.

In the submerged darkness Jo waited for a minute then slowly pulled the covers back and stared into Banjo’s playful brown eyes.

And hello you.

Outnumbered and unable to take any more, Jo surrendered.

O.K. O.K. I'm awake! This isn't fair. I need coffee. Angela whisked Banjo away.

First you have to go and see what 'Sheila' is wearing.

Sheila never wears anything. You know that. You sculpted her. Angela lingered near the bed, holding Banjo, and waited.

Lying back on the soft pillows, looking into the dark eyes of her lover, Jo wondered how she ever attracted an early-morning person. Weren't artists meant to be late risers, working into the early hours and emerging from slumber somewhere around noon? Not Angela — she was up with the dawn and full of energy.

Jo sleepily scoured the bed for her robe but Angela pulled her to her feet.

Don't you want me to find my robe? Angela smiled and pulled Jo close and kissed her before heading for the door. I guess not. Jo mumbled

Moving through the living room, Jo spotted the newly acquired rubber plant wilting near the kitchen door. A note attached to it read, I'm alive. Towelling her wet hair Angela reassured her, Trust me, it will be beautiful.

Unconvinced, Jo inspected Sheila closely. And Sheila is still as naked as the day she was created.

Pointing to Sheila's left hand and the beautifully crafted stone ring, Angela waited for a response.

We said no anniversary thing. Remember? Angela ignored her and Jo inspected the ring nonchalantly, placing it on her own finger and scrutinising it from a distance. She folded her arms and glimpsed at the brilliant green stone a second time and showed no reaction.

Angela couldn't bear it any longer. Well?

The plant's got to go.

And the ring?

Jo scrutinised the wooden floor as if looking for some unknown clue. Her clear face gave no answers but her sternum heaved behind her rib cage until she thought it might break. Angela always seeped through some hairline fracture in her heart, the place where she could still trust, still surrender. Angela knew Jo's answer. It ran down her face in a single tear.

3

Platinum rays from the autumn sun filtered onto Victoria Street as Angela and Banjo settled into a sidewalk table outside the Coluzzi café. Angela rubbed her gloved hands together to keep warm. Banjo took this as his cue and immediately jumped onto her lap, happy for the higher vantage point to peruse the constant passing traffic of people and dogs.

Inside the cosy café Jo inhaled the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and Tony, the café’s owner’s face lit up.

"Ciao, Bella! One latte, one espresso coming up."

Jo smacked her hands together then pointed outside to Banjo.

Thanks Tony and no salami for you-know-who.