The Garden Gate: An Inner Journey

By Laura Daniel

Reynaldo Morales, a seemingly unlikely prospect for an inner journey, is thrust into one, to his great surprise. He finds himself in a dream worldor is it?where he meets a mentor who leads him on an inner journey that changes his worldview, and his life, in ways he could not have imaginedor did he? He encounters a wise woman who offers to become his mentor in self-discovery and teach him the wisdom of the Ancient Ones, if he is willing to focus wholly on that quest.

The woman, Laquesabe (She Who Knows), is an enigmatic, ageless charactercalm, centred, wise, and a bit mysterious. Over the course of the story, she guides Reynaldo through unfamiliar landscapes of both his external and internal realities, passing along in her oblique manner much wisdomsome of which he recognises instantly as truth, some of which he struggles to internalise. He learns also from the experiences of others he meets who are on similar journeys, as well as from an ascended Master.

The others he encounters have arrived by similarly odd means, each with his or her own story. All are on very personal inner journeys with Laquesabe as their mentor and guide. Each of them is required to maintain focussed attention and intention on why he or she has come in order to complete the journey. Each must eventually return to ordinary life, but with tools to make those lives vastly better than before.

How do they do that? They are in for some surprises.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Feb 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781452590394

Laura Daniel

Laura Daniel has long been a writer of commissioned nonfiction and an editor across many genres. This is her first novel. She lives in Sydney.

Book preview

1

The wooden door in the high stone garden wall burst open. A young man wearing jeans and a heavy jacket slipped through, closed it quickly behind him, s1id the bolt, and leaned against it, assessing his surroundings with a sweeping glance. He pointed a gun at the woman who smiled up at him from where she knelt among violets. The garden was in full spring splendour. The young man was too distracted to note that it wasn’t spring.

Clutching a shiny black patent leather handbag in one hand and the gun in the other, he barked at the woman: Stay quiet and you won’t get hurt!

In a low voice, she reassured him, Don’t be afraid. No one will hurt you here.

No, no. You’re confused, woman, he growled. You’re supposed to be scared of me hurting you, not the other way around.

I understand, she answered softly, but observe: It is you who is frightened.

Her gentle smile and the warmth in her eyes felt reassuring, but his sharp mind told him she must be nuts.

I promise you that no one else will come through that door. Only the two of us are here. She waved toward a large chunk of weathered granite nearby. Come and sit on this stone and tell me why you have come.

Why I have come? He was startled by this odd request, but shook it off and began a quick assessment of the situation. Stepping away from the door in the wall, he eyed it warily. How do you know no one else will come here? The door wasn’t even locked. And by the way, where the hell am I? A minute ago I was running down a Manhattan street. I ducked into an alley, slipped through an unlocked door in the side of a building, turned around and found you sitting here in a garden. As he began to really notice his surroundings for the first time, his dark eyes widened. "Ay. Dios mio. I can look up and see the sky. It looks real. Where is the building? Where are all the buildings? It feels like spring in here, but it’s cold on the other side of that door. Come to think of it, this is fucking scary. It’s weird. What kind of illusion is this? How is it done? Who are you?" He stared at her, suddenly unsure of himself.

She held his gaze and spoke quietly. I am called Laquesabe.

She Who Knows. … Why? What do you know? Holding himself in a cocky attitude and looking down at her, he began to inch closer to the stone she had indicated. She looked harmless sitting there in the flowerbed. He lowered the gun to his side.

I know how to help people find the answers they seek.

Great, then tell me how I can get out of this. His sarcastic sneer was almost a snarl.

Out of what?

He held up the bag still gripped in his hand.

I assume that is not your handbag?

A real fucking genius, aren’t you?

Do you know whose it is?

No, I do not, bright spark.

How is it, then, that the bag is in your hand? Did you find it? Why are you nervous? Is there something in there that will cause trouble for you?

Get a grip, lady. This is East Harlem, New York City. He paused for a moment and looked around him. It sure as hell doesn’t look like New York City, but I know I just entered a side door in a building facing East 123rd Street. What the fuck is this place? And why is it so warm in here? He laid the gun and bag on the grass behind him and shrugged out of his jacket. The gun made him uneasy anyway, so he left it there.

"We are on the equator, at my estancia, in the country called Ecuador, in South America. Look through the door and you will see for yourself."

Yeah, right. Pull the other one, lady. You just want me to open that door and look out so the cops can rush in and grab me. I’m not falling for that one, sister. Now cut the crap and tell me where I am.

I have spoken truly. There is no one out there. May I open the door to show you? You can trust me.

He retrieved the gun, growled, and stalked to the garden door. Hesitating, he glanced back at Laquesabe, who still knelt among the violets, smiling. He stooped and peeked through the keyhole, then stood, eased back the bolt, and opened the wooden door just a crack. Suddenly he flung it wide, revealing a vista of verdant splendour backed with soaring, snow-capped peaks. No building was in sight, and no people. He quickly closed the door and leaned back against it, sliding down until he sat on the ground.

Madre de Dios, he mumbled, crossing himself unconsciously. You may be scaring me more than the NYPD. How do you produce these visual tricks?

NYPD?

New York Police Department.

You are afraid of police?

He began to be affected by her fearlessness and, feeling a growing sense of trust that surprised him, his fear eased and he dropped the tough-guy act. He wasn’t a tough guy, though he thought he’d played it well. He thought himself a fine actor. Hey, lady. You’re not planning to turn me in, are you?

Turn you in? No, no. I only want you to tell me why you have come.

Why I have come … how I have come … where I have come… Christ, lady! You think I know that?

Of course, but perhaps you need to rest first after your journey. Are you hungry?

My journey. His tone was tainted with scorn. He hadn’t travelled half a city block. Ecuador. Right. Maybe we can talk about that, but first things first. Yeah, I’m hungry.

What would you like?

Whatever you have is fine. I’ll come with you to make sure you don’t make any phone calls.

Her laugh tinkled like little bells. Oh, you needn’t fear for that. There are no telephones here. I promise to be back in a twinkle. As she turned to walk away from him, there was definitely a twinkle in her eye. Not at all what he would have expected from a woman he’d just threatened with a gun. She paused and looked back at him. May I know your name?

Reynaldo. My name is Reynaldo. Reynaldo Morales.

Good, Reynaldo. Do you like cazuela?

I have no idea. If it’s good food, I’ll take it.

He watched her walk toward another door at the other end of the garden, which he assumed entered a house, with a kitchen. She opened the door and reached in, then immediately turned back with a tray of steaming food in one hand and an earthenware jug in the other.

That was too quick. She must be giving me her own lunch that was already prepared for her, he reasoned. Oh, well. Maybe she can get more. She offered, and I’m famished.

As she walked back toward him, Reynaldo gave her a little smile, put down the gun, spread his jacket on a patch of trim, cushy-looking grass beside the rock, and sat on it.

Is it okay to sit on the grass? Her graciousness unsettled him, made him feel like a little boy, like he needed to be polite in response, mind his manners.

Of course. The grass won’t mind … and I don’t mind. Here. She handed him the tray then the jug and sat down cross-legged at the base of a nearby tree, not so near she could reach the gun or the bag.

You’re not poisoning me here, are you? he asked, only half in jest, wondering for a fleeting moment whether the food was drugged. No, sorry. You didn’t have time for that. You didn’t even go through the door—and you certainly were not expecting me. Is this your lunch?

It is a food I have enjoyed in the past, but not today. Eat freely. If you still feel hungry, there is more. The jug contains pure spring water.

What? No wine? Reynaldo smiled sheepishly at his weak joke.

Not today. I will just rest here while you eat. Leaning back against a tree trunk, she closed her eyes.

Jesus, thought Reynaldo. How can she sit without watching me? Why does she trust me so near with her eyes shut, and me with a gun? I could attack her, rape her, kill her, any number of things. Not that I would, but she doesn’t know that. He watched her closed eyes as he ate, at first quickly with the zeal of real appetite, then more slowly, savouring the excellent taste of this cazuela, whatever it was.

When he had eaten everything on the tray, and drunk the water in the jug, he reclined on his jacket with the handbag as a pillow, observing Laquesabe. She appeared to be asleep, and he hated to disturb her after she had been kind, so far. He puzzled over her age. Her skin was smooth and unlined, her long hair dark and luxuriant, without a trace of grey. Yet when he had looked into her eyes, transfixed by them, she had seemed somehow ancient, or perhaps timeless.

He shook his head and looked at his surroundings. The illusions seemed so real. He’d never experienced anything like it, but what was it, and why was it, and how could such a place exist in his neighbourhood without his ever having heard of it? Her explanation was ridiculous. He was not a stupid man. He’d get to the bottom of this. He’d find out how it all worked.

As he watched her, his curiosity grew and his defensiveness seeped away, leaving him perplexed but relaxed. Watching the clouds where there should have been tall buildings, he grew drowsy and slept.

2

When Reynaldo woke, the sun was lowering in the sky, and Laquesabe was nowhere to be seen. The gun and bag were just as he had left them when he drifted into slumber. He stood and stretched, then walked around the garden, trying to figure out the illusion, pausing to urinate into a blooming bush he didn’t recognise.

The garden, as far as he could see, was very real. He picked up a handful of dirt and let it trickle through his fingers. He sniffed curiously at various blossoms, and felt the texture of their petals and leaves. He came to a small, stone-lined pool fed through a jug held by a small statue of a plump female child with a missing left big toe. The water looked clean and inviting. He tasted a few drops and found it sweet and refreshing, so he knelt and drank a long draught, then dunked his whole head and shook it, dog-like, before letting the remaining drops trickle down his torso under his shirt.

He looked around again and, still seeing no one, stripped and stepped into the pool naked. His long, lean body was brown and well formed, his muscles defined but not overly developed. His bare skin glowed in the golden light of late afternoon. The effort and attention he put into sculpting his body as a work of art was well rewarded with an excellent result. The pool was not deep, but he sat, leaned back to immerse himself to his neck, and splashed his face and head again. Water droplets sparkled in the thick curls of his dark hair. Gently pulling back the foreskin, he took special care with the cleansing of his substantial penis. He was proud of his magnificent instrument and pampered it indulgently. Standing to step from the pool after a few moments, he looked toward his shoes, shirt, and jeans and saw a large towel, neatly folded, lying beside them. That definitely was not there before. He shivered, and not from cold, picked it up, briskly dried himself, and quickly re-dressed.

With the towel draped around his neck, he marched to the door where Laquesabe had got his food earlier. The upper half of the door was mullioned with a dozen small panes that looked thick and wavy, like very old glass. He expected to see a room on the other side. There was none—only open countryside. A spectacular sunset blazed in the western sky and lit wisps of cloud scattered across the vault high overhead. He opened the door and stood in the warm tropical breeze. The feel of Manhattan was entirely absent.

This can’t be done with projectors, he thought. It’s too real. Not even a hologram projector could achieve this effect. Reluctant to leave the safe haven of the garden, yet urged on by a powerful need to know more, he stepped over the threshold, propped the door open with a stone, and walked to his right along the outside of the garden wall. The vista—plunged rather rapidly into dim twilight with the disappearance of the sun—remained open and pastoral, with soaring peaks forming a backdrop in the east. Scant rays of sunlight still sparked red on the stark white snow covering them.

Reynaldo walked slowly all the way around the outside of the garden wall until he returned to the door by which he had left. It felt to him as though he’d walked a very long way—a much greater distance than he had walked around the interior of the garden. A bright half moon hung low in the eastern sky. He had passed nothing on his right except the stone wall, not even the door through which he had originally entered. Retracing his steps through the garden in the moonlight, he returned to where that heavy wooden door should have been. It was not there.

As he turned back to face the garden, he saw Laquesabe sitting cross-legged under the same tree where she had slept, or he thought she had. Her large, dark eyes were open and watching him. She seemed to glow, though as he looked closer, he saw it was just a trick of the way the moonlight fell on her. Had she been there all the time? Had he just imagined the whole interlude since he woke? He touched the still damp towel draped around his neck and knew he had not.

Buenos noches. Did you sleep well? Her smile was as warm as her voice. You looked so comfortable I did not like to disturb you.

Where is the door, Laquesabe? I came here through a door in that wall. He pointed. Now there is no door. How do you explain that? Am I some kind of prisoner here?

It is interesting how you have phrased your question. You brought yourself here by choices you made and desires you held. You keep yourself here the same way. When you are ready to return whence you came, your door will be there for you. Now relax, and tell me why you have come.

Reynaldo flung himself down on the grass where he had slept, rolled the towel, and tucked it under his head. Staring up at the sky, thick with more stars than he could ever have imagined, he said, Lady … Laquesabe … you keep asking me why I have come. I’m more than a little confused. At first I thought what I’m seeing here is some kind of illusion, though I couldn’t see how it was done, he sat up and looked straight at her, but I just walked all the way around this place and there isn’t a building in sight. I don’t know what is happening to me, to say nothing of why I am here. If what you’ve told me is true, I stepped through a door in Manhattan into a walled garden in Ecuador, in the middle of nowhere and connected to nothing. Have I got it right so far?

Laquesabe chuckled softly at the irony in his tone. Yes, that’s about it.

Come on. Do you actually expect me to believe that?

Believe it or not, as you will, she smiled. If you are more comfortable thinking you are in a building in New York where it just looks like you are in a tropical garden, you can choose to believe that for now. It isn’t so important. In either case, you clearly held a powerful desire and vision to make some fundamental change in your life. Otherwise you could not have found your way here. So why have you come?

"Jesus. We’re back to that, are we? Well, if I’m where you said I am, I have certainly changed