15. You Betta Work B!^&$ #4
“Suwarna looks at her flock, tapping her bark clipboard with a stick affixed with charcoal for writing. Her voice is calm as she shares her sermon, ‘When we have a disagreement at Camp Orderly Accord, we don’t raise our voices. We raise our standards. We raise our goats.’ On cue, one of the goats hops gracefully onto a flat-topped stump in the middle of the circle.
It bleats once, importantly. ‘This is Rambha,’ Suwarna explains for the benefit of recruits in need of indoctrination.
‘Rambha is our mediation goat. If you’re in conflict, you approach Rambha one at a time, state your feelings using I baaaalieve statements, and offer a compromise.
If Rambha walks toward you, your suggestion offers a baaaalanced approach.
If Rambha walks away, you’re being passive-aggressive and your heart is not true. ’”
“I wonder if that would work?” Suwarna muttered as she scribbled a note.
Rebekkah continued describing her vision of Suwarna’s future as devotional leader, “One of the commune members, a bearded man with gentle eyes, raises his hand. ‘Yes, Kale?’ Suwarna invites him to speak. ‘I still feel upset that Hazel took my designated whittling log without signing it out on the board,’ Kale explains, hands clasped earnestly. ‘I baaaalieve I am unseen in my true artistry and need my specific tools to achieve next level wisdom.’ Hazel, a woman in an unsteady sunflower crown she holds in place and combat boots she nearly trips on as she stands, huffs, ‘There were other whittling logs, Kale.’ ‘Let’s let Rambha decide,’ Suwarna soothes them.
‘Approach the goat with grace. Wisdom. Let us listen.’ They do.
Rambha listens with disinterest, he’s heard these two bicker before, then trots in a circle as all onlookers sit in suspense and head-butts the shared whittling log lying between them.
‘Compromise,’ Suwarna announces. ‘You whittle together. Side-by-side. As an opportunity for learning, we all will pair up. Thirty minutes. Then we rotate. Add it to the schedule Raspberry Dreamer.’”
“It’s a bit… structured for a camp,” Ronald whispers.
“It’s heaven,” Suwarna whispers back, offended he doesn’t perceive its glory.
“Dawn at Camp Orderly Accord is its own religious practice. I see a clearing lit with soft morning light, dew still glittering on wildflowers at the edge of the circle. Woven mats laid out in a perfect grid. Commune members flow in a synchronized three-legged dog to crescent lunge. With practiced control they mount into handstands before slowly, creepily but impressively, back bending their heels in impossible arches until they hit the floor in scorpion pose.”
“Ashta Chandrasana to Adho Mukha Vrksasana to Vrschikasana, clever, clever future Suwarna,” Suwarna congratulates herself on the yet to happen, but apparently bound to happen early morning yoga flow.
“Weaving through them, climbing on their backs when backs are available, nestling into the curves of their spines are the goats,” Rebekkah informs them.
“Suwarna is at the front of the clearing, cape flowing gently in the morning breeze and she calls out, ‘Alignment is kindness. To yourself, to others, and to goats who roam, needing to find their way home. Do not attempt crow pose on an uneven cloven surface. We learned that the hard way, didn’t we Lady Bugger?’ A man looks up from between his ankles and calls out, ‘it’s Ladybug. My name is Ladybug.’”
“After yoga comes samosa stuffing, of course. The camp kitchen is open-air, sheltered by a room of reclaimed tin and prayer flags made by ripping up the clothes the recruits arrived in into triangles, writing their intentions and affixing them to a clothesline. They will walk around naked as they came, as a few are doing now, until they learn how to boil down bark, make it into a skein of yarn-like material and weave their own underwear. Wooden tables constructed by the camp’s recruits overflow with bowls of potatoes, peas, chopped cilantro, cumin, coriander, and chilies from the commune’s own garden.
The smell is irresistible. It’s spicy and earthy and about to be folded into buttery dough.
‘Pinch with intention,’ Suwarna coaches as her flock folds dough around the filling.
‘Every samosa is a promise and a prayer. If it explodes in the oil, it means you were not emotionally present during the sealing process.’”
“She runs a tight ship,” Carrington murmured from the present, impressed.
“Sounds like a delicious one, too. Naked yoga, samosas, walks in the woods, I’d vacation there,” Ronald considers.
“Rules are everywhere, but they’re gentle, in the best interest of everyone.
No one eats alone. Unless they want to. No one hoards snacks.
Unless they’re an offering for the goats.
No secrets that affect the group are kept beyond twenty-four hours.
Gossip is permissible only in the form of concerned observations brought forward in a genuine desire to clear the air.
Everyone must work toward the production of one craft or creation per day–woodworking, weaving, journaling, garden growing, savoury souping, or interpretive dance discovery about the true needs and baaaaliefs of their inner child,” Rebekkah says softly, watching Suwarna move through her future queendom like a benevolent warden.
“In the evenings, under strings of solar-powered lanterns, they gather around a fire. Songs are sung. Conflicts are debriefed. Someone reads an anonymous question, concern, or compliment from the Suggestions Welcome box. Suwarna facilitates with the ease of a woman who was born to build action items in people’s vision quests.
And through it all, she looks… happy. Relaxed in a way we don’t always see her.
The part of her that monitored intercoms and parking spots, and Emma-Lou’s blood pressure has found a new mission–making sure a dozen semi-feral artists, empaths, and runaways get enough water, closure, and samosas to power through another day on their way to becoming their very best selves. ”
“That was always the exit plan,” Suwarna says after a reflective pause, a smile on her face. “Good to have confirmation.”
“Do we get visiting rights? A little vacation in the woods?” Ronald asks.
“You’ll have to apply, of course, cronyism is strictly against our regulations,” Suwarna replied kindly. “Three references, a craft sample, and a written statement of your baaaaliefs on the most wondrous path forward for humanity and all creation.”
For a brief, shimmering moment, among the ruins of what they’d lost, they all held onto the beautiful image of a future where Suwarna gets her commune, the goats get their yoga, and their little found family finds new ground to root into.
“Another future is coming into focus,” Rebekkah announced.
Rebekkah’s eyelids fluttered, and suddenly the ruined foundation of WWJD dissolved, no longer scorched bricks or smoke or tragedy, but a shimmering runway illuminated by overhead spotlights.
“Oh, here we go! Carrington, Ronald, I’m seeing something stunning!
Carrington, you’re standing on a stage, it’s huge, it’s Project Runway Canada and you’re hosting! ”
“What am I wearing?” Carrington wondered.
“A masterclass in tailored maximalism. A structured blazer in gradient jewel tones that shift like Aurora Borealis, paired with cigarette trousers quilted in tiny metallic squares that catch the light like disco chainmail. Their hair is architectural, aerodynamic, and curved above their brow in a swoosh so immaculate it deserves a commemorative stamp. They smile at the terrified designers trembling below the runway’s edge.
‘Today’s challenge,’ Carrington purrs, ‘is deceptively simple. You must create beauty from chaos… using only clearance bin fabrics and the emotional baggage you brought from home!’”
“Brilliant challenge, a lot to unpack there,” Suwarna approved.
Rebekkah continued, “And Ronald, is standing just offstage, holding a latté with Carrington’s name circling the inside of the cup twice in perfect foam art.
He’s wearing a sleeveless knit tank bedazzled with the words Swerve and Serve across his chest, his devotional nature on full display.
He nods enthusiastically at every dramatic stitch and strut, his dimples flashing as he grins like handsome hazard lights.
Wait! Wait a minute. The vision is changing. ”
“Where are we going now?” Japheth wondered, trying to train his eyes on the line of Rebekkah’s gaze but it was no use as he didn’t share the gift of prophetic vision. All he could see were a few ashen pigeons poking around in the dust in futility.
“We’re at the Greater Napanee and Land O’ Lakes Region Multipurpose Multiplex Centre of Sports and Community Activities,” Rebekkah set the scene.
“I petitioned the town council to go back to the drawing board on the name. It’s too long.
At least give it an acronym, right?” Suwarna made another note to attend the next council meeting and raise the point again.
“GNLOLRMMCSCA. We have to buy them some vowels. You can’t even make a snappy acronym out of that. ”
“They’re playing Curlketball!” Rebekkah squealed.
“We’re playing… what now?” Ronald asked.