Here are the next chapters of the book I’m currently writing — Enanika: Visionary Fiction. As the summer crowds leave Milkwood, Anu feels the gap between herself and Enlan growing. Enlan sinks further into Earth life, and his connection to Enanika is slipping. Anu continues her astral journeys to the Hermitage of Ling-Shi-La, a place beyond time. But on this visit, she encounters an unexpected problem — one that will add to the tension already unfolding between her and Enlan.
Chapter 10: Earth Bound
Three months had passed.
It was approaching the end of January, and Milkwood exhaled. The summer holiday deluge of Christmas, New Year, and the long school break eased as the new school year drew closer.
In the cafe, orders came a little more slowly. People stood at the counter a little longer. There were more familiar faces and fewer unfamiliar ones.
Milkwood always had visitors. It was that kind of town. On any given day, there were groups of women in their fifties on weekend getaways, walking slowly, laughing loudly, lingering over menus. There were young couples who had driven out from the city for a second or third date, treating the drive as part of the special romance. There were thirty-year-old dreamers who peered out cafe windows and imagined their one-day move to the country. There were older couples — well-dressed, unhurried — moving in and out of shops, touching things, considering, buying art and luxuries. And there were honeymooners.
Just the day before, Anu had watched a newly married couple inside one of the Wicca shops — the sort that sells candles, crystal balls, spell kits, amulets, brown bottles, and tarot cards. The owner, the supposed witch expert, delivered lavish (and rather expensive) readings — lavish more in exclamations and pronouncements than actual wisdom, but all offered in good grace. Her middle-aged partner, his long grey hair tied in a ponytail, hovered nearby, dusting shelves. He looked as though the shop had given him a job. But he kept the witch happy so… it was fair.
Anu listened as the honeymooners paid for the session they had just had. With great confidence, the witch continued to explain the couple’s energies and personalities, much of which Anu could see was either a stab in the dark, a dramatic flourish, or loosely connected to the people in front of her. The bride — perhaps twenty-nine — was utterly captivated, nodding enthusiastically at every pronouncement and checking in with her man, who was eager to look in-the-know and in-the-flow. He did his best, but most of it was clearly sailing over his head and his interest level. Regardless, he agreed with everything, with the eager and hopeful compliance of a newly married man.
These people were always in Milkwood, in one form or another. What summer added was families — parents managing children through cafes and along footpaths, prams and backpacks and stress — and that particular type of movement that comes when everyone arrives at once.
But it was the end of January, and they were heading home — away from Milkwood, away from the Organic Cafe & Store, and away from Anu and Enlan.
Anu and Enlan, meanwhile, were having their own kind of departure.
When Anu first came to Milkwood, she spoke with Enlan as she always had on Enanika — with depth, shared understanding of inter-dimensional life, and unguarded openness. But as the months passed, his eyes grew glazed about such things, and Anu said less and less. He still knew where he came from, but Enanika felt dream-like to him, and Earth felt real-time.
Whether this was a choice he was making, or a challenge set in motion by Nadhir, the Head Contact Caller, Anu couldn’t tell. She only knew that it was happening, and that it was problematic.
Most of all for Enlan, who was now living within the limitations of an Earth-bound identity. Not least for their relationship — because while Enlan was essentially living as a human, Anu was, well, an alien.
Chapter 11: The Balance Point
At the hermitage of Ling-Shi-La:
While it was the heart of summer in Milkwood in the southern hemisphere, Tibet was deep in winter. Anu often astral-travelled to the hermitage. Sometimes, the hermit was there. Sometimes he wasn’t. Always, she went to the hot spring.
It was the place where she could most clearly commune with her own Nanik people, as well as with others across dimensions — and with life forms so different they scarcely resembled living beings at all.
There were entire civilisations of what looked like rocks — mineral beings whose consciousness moved so slowly it appeared static, yet who shaped their worlds with great precision over vast spans of time. Their cities were not built so much as grown, formed through incremental shifts of stone and intention, rearranged patiently across centuries until communal spaces emerged.
There were other beings that appeared as shimmering bubbles — translucent, fluid intelligences capable of reshaping themselves into countless living forms. They gathered in family groupings and communities, forming societies that were adaptable and fantastically exciting. They inhabited a planet that looked utterly lifeless: an expanse of red dust and barren surface, an atmosphere too thin to breathe. Yet beneath the surface, the complex bubble civilisation flourished. An entire world lived underground, rich with culture and connection.
Today, after arriving at the hermitage, Anu looked at the great rocks above the pass of Ling-Shi-La, which diverted the wind. Far overhead, snow and storm tore across the heights, yet at the hermitage, the air was undisturbed.
Even in the thick of winter, colour lit the valley. The grass held its pale green softness, and dried seed heads and remnants of wildflowers pressed gently against the snow. The mountains encircling the valley stood white and immense, their reflections lying across the lake’s surface. Sheep and goats grazed on the cropped grass, steady and unconcerned.
Anu passed the stone hermitage without going inside, sensing that the hermit was not there, and followed the narrow track down towards the bathing pool.
Steam rose where the hot spring met the cold lake, sending thick plumes that drifted upward before being caught by the mountainous cold and torn apart. The mineral scent of stone and water was strong and clean. The hermit had built two low stone walls that held the warm water in a long channel — boiling at the source, then gradually tempering, until it merged back into the icy lake beyond.
Standing at the edge of the pool, Anu hurriedly undressed. The air bit at her skin. Her breath clouded immediately. Beyond the circle of steam, the world was white, locked in winter.
She entered the water and moved along the channel until she reached the spot where heat and cold balanced. The heat wrapped around her body, erasing the cold in one decisive movement, loosening whatever density Earth had gathered around her. The contrast was sharp and very welcome.
The hot spring balance point functioned as a meeting place, a convergence where different modes of consciousness overlapped naturally. The water steadied her frequency, allowing communion without strain. Her awareness widened without effort. She didn’t “call” the Naniks — they were already present. In fact, the Naniks knew that all things are present at all times, but you choose by attraction and relevance what to tune into.
Anu could never tell how long she stayed in the hot spring. It could have been minutes or an eternity, but afterwards she always felt rejuvenated and younger.
Chapter 12: Face Lift
Eventually, she climbed out of the hot spring. Water streamed from her skin, freezing almost as it fell, catching the pale winter light. She reached for her clothes and quickly redressed.
The hermit stood near the door of his stone house, waiting.
Something in his expression shifted. Then he laughed with unrestrained amusement.
“You’ve travelled further than you realise,” he said.
Anu frowned slightly.
“Come,” the hermit said, turning inside. “Look.”
She followed him into the hermitage. The room was warm and familiar from her many visits.
Feeling unusually clear and light, Anu stepped forward and looked in the mirror.
The woman looking back at her was herself — unmistakably — but altered.
The skin around her eyes was thinner, the smile lines more defined. Her jaw had softened, and her skin bore the marks of life — sun, wind, expression, movement.
“Oh my God,” said Anu. “I look like my mother.”
Indeed, she had skipped a generation, and her age had doubled from thirty-three to sixty-six.
Earth pulled at her — firm, insistent. Time to return.
To the cafe. To Milkwood. To Enlan. To summer.
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