The Travels of a Meadowlark

By Meadowlark Hardin

Some of us are chosen by the spirits. We evolve faster than most. People will tell you that they believe in angels, yet they would be afraid if one came to speak with them. I have documented some of my travels in the hopes of helping others like me and to learn for myself what use this knowledge has in an era of scared, closed-minded people who think us weird or mental. Read my book of travels, and help me understand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543411355

Meadowlark Hardin

My grandmother told us of our Native American kin. She said it was never to be spoken of again, and it never was until she crossed over. She wasn’t ashamed, but she afraid we would be taken from our homes and sent to schools or given to white people and never be seen again. From my teen years to today, I have searched for our people but have never been told of our ancestors. It’s impossible to find our lost family. Not all Native Americans live or know the old ways, but some of us still do.

Book preview

PART 1

MAY 28, 1993

I had a day off from work and planned to do absolutely nothing. It didn’t work out that way. After my husband went to work and the kids caught the bus for school, I washed the morning dishes and was on my way back to bed when the phone rang. It was my eldest daughter. We talked for maybe half an hour. After we hung up, I went to the bathroom then to bed. As I walked down the hall toward the bedroom, I was thinking about some of the things I had read in my favorite book Seven Arrows, written by Hyemeyohsts Storm. Yes, I read while I’m in the bathroom. It’s about the only place to be alone when the children and hubby are home. Anyway, it’s my getaway place.

As I walked to the bedroom, I was thinking about how I had been taught so much as a child that I didn’t remember them until I was an adult and read about them or heard them spoken of. They always stirred warm feelings inside me and brought back memories of my beloved childhood friends and teachers.

The bed looked so inviting. Still in my robe and gown, I hurried to pitch the robe across the foot of the bed and climb in, anticipating that comfortable feeling when you first lie down. Almost the instant I closed my eyes and my head touched the pillow, a vision came moving fast, kind of like a movie being fast-forwarded.

As I was looking out my bedroom window and at our front yard, I saw myself as I looked when I was around nineteen or twenty—long black hair reaching nearly to my waist, weighing maybe ninety-two pounds. I wore a long-sleeved white dress, a dress I don’t remember seeing before, which was slightly gathered at the waist and hung to the calves of my legs. I was dancing around and around in the same spot, my arms stretched above my head as though I were reaching for something. I felt so happy and so full of love and laughter. I have heard the saying My cup runneth over—well, my happiness must have been poured in with a water hose because my cup was bubbling over. I felt so full of life. I just couldn’t be still. I ran to a tall pine tree that grew in the corner of our yard, gave it a hug, picked up a pinecone, and kissed the tip of it. I have never seen the beauty of nature as I did that day. Everything seemed enchanted; even the grass beneath my feet looked so alive. I bent down and smelled a flower, which is something I don’t normally do. The flower’s fragrance was a sweet perfume, nothing like I had ever smelled before. I was so full of love, happiness, and life that I could hardly be still. I just wanted to throw open my arms and embrace the whole world and everything the Creator had made. Even the gentle breeze felt warm and caressing.

I was starting to admire how beautiful the day was when some birds swooped down out of nowhere. I didn’t see them coming. In perfect union, without slowing their speed, they used their claws to grasp my sleeves between my elbow and shoulders, a raven on my left side, a hawk on my right, and a barn owl at the neck of the back of my dress. A hummingbird flew in front, leading the way as they picked me up and off the ground; turning me completely around, they flew with me toward the eastern sun. I was looking at the birds, amazed that my sleeves didn’t tear and that they could carry me as we were flying upward. I raised my head to see where we were going. I thought I was going to die. We were going right into the sun. I only had a moment to panic and see the sun bubbling like a pot of thick gravy, with skinny streams shooting out beyond the bubbles. I have never seen lava, but pictures of it running over the mountain were what I could think of to compare to the sun’s surface. We went through it in a blink of an eye, and the birds put me down. I was still standing straight. In perfect union and never slowing their speed, the birds flew back the way we came.

Noticing this side of the sun was black as coal, I had no idea where I was. I seemed to be completely alone. I looked to my left, and as far as I could see was a huge field of thick green lawn, looking like it was freshly mowed. I still stood where the birds had left me, looking at my surroundings, when I heard dogs barking, lots of dogs. Thinking that I was about to be attacked, I looked around, seeing no place of safety. Thinking it useless to run, I watched as the dogs started at top the hill and entered the field, close to where I was standing. There must have been thousands all in all. I watched as they passed me by, not seeming to notice me. They were running, jumping, barking, and playing as if they were having the time of their lives. I wondered why there were so many dogs together, every breed you could imagine, all shapes and sizes, and all happy, no fighting or discord of any sort. As I watched the last of the dogs disappear, I caught a glimpse of something at my left side. When I saw what it was, a mixture of feelings went through me: shock, disbelief, joy, and happiness, all rolled into one. I dropped to my knees and was hugging the best dog in the world. He was as happy to see me as I was him.

I got Blackie from a school friend just as he was weaned from his mother. We were closer than friends; he was family. We seemed to have a special bond right from the start. As he grew, the bond became greater; and when I got my new bike, I had a basket put on it before we left the bike store so that Blackie could ride with me. I often accused him of trying to get me dog bit and himself whipped when he barked at the other dogs as we went riding down the street. He seemed to encourage them to try and catch us, as full of mischief as his hide could hold. We moved from town to a rural area, and Blackie would kill snakes that came too close to our home. He tried to keep the lizards off the house and even chase bees away when I was outside. A big old bumble stung him on the mouth as he was chasing it away. From then on, if a bee came toward Blackie, I chased it away. I would save my lunch money and walk the mile and a half to the grocery after school to buy him bologna, his favorite food. Blackie was a great protector and a good wrestler. He would wait in the kitchen and watch as Mother cooked breakfast. When she said, Go get, he would dash into my room, jump onto my bed, and try to pull the covers off me, and the play fight was on.

When Blackie got sick, we didn’t know what was wrong with him. There were no snake bite marks, and he hadn’t eaten anything bad for him as far as we knew. We waited a few days for him to get over it. I would come home from school, throw my book bag onto the big chair, and run to my room to see how Blackie was doing. He was slowly getting worse and got to where he would hardly eat or get up for very long at a time. I would do my homework, sitting at his side then laying down beside him. He would lay his head on my arm and seem to rest. One day, I got home from school and headed to my bedroom when Mother came from the kitchen, calling my name; she stopped me, tears running down her face. I just knew something had happened to Blackie. I ran into my room, but he wasn’t there; his bed was gone, and only his toys remained. I ran back to the living room, asking Mother, Where is he?

She said, Sit down.

I wondered as I sat down on the sofa why, when your nerves are on edge and you’re all drawn up inside and want to run, scream, cry, or do something, you’re always told to sit down. She told me of taking him to the doctor and how he had said Blackie was so far gone, he couldn’t heal. The kind thing would be to put him to sleep. He wouldn’t feel any pain and wouldn’t suffer anymore. Mother said that was one of the hardest things she had ever done, and it took her a while to give her permission before walking out of the room because she couldn’t watch him die. Blackie looked at her as if he knew what was taking place. As the doctor filled the syringe, she left the room, crying.

I never got to say goodbye. I didn’t even get to bury him because she had the clinic dispose of the body. I kept thinking that this was a horrible nightmare I was having because Blackie was so sick, but it wasn’t, and thinking my heart couldn’t survive the pain of losing him, I did survive. We have had several dogs since losing Blackie, but I never bonded with another animal. I felt bad about it sometimes because we have had some good dogs and they tried so hard, but I just couldn’t feel about another dog as I did Blackie.

I couldn’t believe my eyes because he was standing right here beside me. I hadn’t thought about him in some time, so you can imagine my shock and surprise at seeing him again. I didn’t know what to expect when the birds carried me through the sun, but it wasn’t getting to meet the best friend I ever had. I heard a voice inside my head that spoke without speaking out loud that this was where dogs came to wait for their loved ones to cross over. I was glad to hear that; I had heard that when dogs died, you never saw them again. Well, now I knew that was not true, and it explained all the thousands of dogs I saw when I had first arrived. I was hugging Blackie and feeling how soft his wavy black hair was, just like when I had given him a bath and dried his hair. He was half–English bulldog and half–cocker spaniel and gorgeous. When I could feel myself being drawn away, I fought it because I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wanted to stay with Blackie, but once again, things moved in that fast-forward state.

I found myself standing at the end of a long stone table, and Blackie was with me. At the other end of the table stood a pretty woman who looked thirty to fifty years old. It was hard to judge her age. She had long white hair parted in the middle of her head and cut into a Z-shape starting at her temple. The cut looked good on her. She was wearing what looked like a coat made of white hair that curled, a type of curl you see in the center of a cow’s forehead. She was speaking to me, and I tried hard to understand what she was saying, but with the excitement of being with Blackie again and of the fast-forwarding, I only caught a word here and there. She must have seen how I was struggling because all at once, she was at my end of the table, smiling and handing me some type of ceremonial pipe. I still couldn’t understand what she was saying, and I had no idea what happened to the pipe. All I know was that she was sending me somewhere because I needed to learn something. As I turned to leave, I noticed there were others seated on each side of the table. Moving fast-forward, I couldn’t make them out—it was all a blur.

As I turned my back to leave, I found myself facing the black side of the sun with Blackie beside me. The same birds that brought me here swooped down just like before, picked me up, and headed toward the back of the sun. I didn’t have time to think; I just closed my eyes.

It instantly seemed that my feet were touching the ground. I looked around as the birds were flying away at the same speed and formations as before. I had no idea where we were or if we traveled back through the sun. I was standing in a large meadow surrounded by trees, and to my surprise, Blackie was standing beside me. In the distance, I could hear what sounded like a small stream of water running over rocks. I was just turning to go looking for it when I noticed a Native American man leaning against a tree at the edge of the forest. He had long braids, no shirt, blue jeans, moccasins, armbands, necklaces of some sort hanging around his neck, and broad shoulders, and he was very handsome. He was the only person I saw; there was no one around but him, me, and Blackie.

I walked over to where he was, saying hello and smiling at him. He was chewing on a stick or something. I noticed his face and eyes as he took it from his mouth and threw it down onto the ground. The look he gave me was not friendly, and I wondered if he had seen the birds bring me down here. I felt it best to walk away.

In a flash, as if he had read my mind, he grabbed me, and we struggled as he tried to push me to the ground. He was very strong. I was scared, to say the least. My heart was pounding. I had only gone over to be friendly and say hello. He was trying to tear off my clothes and push me to the ground. I was fighting as hard as I could just to stand up and knock his hands off me. Just as he was trying to raise the skirt of my dress and get his hand under it, my phone rang.

At once, I was back, sitting up in my bed, and it was my daughter again. With my heart racing as if I had just come out of a bad scare, feeling the effect of the vision I had just had, I guess I didn’t sound normal to my daughter, for I had to reassure her that I was fine. I told her I was lying around, being lazy on my day off from work and having the house to myself. As I hung up the phone, I thought, Well, that vision won’t be back. I went to the refrigerator and got a drink of water and pretty much calmed down and was back to normal. I thought I would lie down a little while longer then get up and dust, run the vacuum, clean the