I have this visual of me trying to lift off of the ground so I can fly. Each time I’m about to begin the ascent, I’m grounded again. Funny, I don’t visualize myself as crashing, just not being able to rise so I can soar. I wonder if God hears my prayers, sees me trying, grants flights to others instead of me. I have to remind myself that though others appear to be gliding along without a worry or a care, I don’t know their stories. They could be held in suspension by delicate strings like the ones on a mobile above a baby’s cradle, the seeming movement controlled by something or someone other than themselves. Perhaps they seem to be floating along when in actuality, they are stuck on a cloud of illusion that is carrying them across the horizon. Or maybe they’re on auto-pilot hoping to figure out how to fly on their own so they can begin anew.
I often wonder why some of my dreams feel like I’m flying over a movie set, watching myself on location where I’m sometimes playing a starring role. I can hear a voice talking to my sleeping self as the action progresses. Well, I think it’s my voice, as it could be the voice of someone else. I just know that it’s some kind of director walking me through the scenes as either the action unfolds in front of me or I’m an actress playing my part. In some instances, I’m watching myself acting while, at the same time, the plot is being explained to me as if I’m sitting in the control booth. I wake to begin anew, trying to make sense of what fades to black before I have the opportunity to change the notes of an unwritten script. Well, at least not on paper.
I wake to a bath of cool spring air washing my skin. It feels good; I slept with the windows open. Feeling very alive, I notice the white roses I bought on Saturday need to be split-up into several smaller vases. They’ll live a few more days if so, so I get up to begin anew. Flowers now in each room, I get back into bed to meditate. When I call on the Divine One to hear my prayers, an Afro-centric female manifests behind closed eyes, rising like a star. A strong feminine energy flows through me. Glowing and pumped, I’m compelled to capture this vision in some artistic form, so I sit up. What appears on paper does not adequately capture the feeling of my vision, however, the colorful strokes paint a thought. I get up, go to the table. With open eyes, a female ancestor manifest before me. From paper waters, she rose with brown skin in a creamy torn-paper robe, a huge Black natural as her crown. Floating against a paper sky of cool blue spring, she came alive through a collaged vision. There is a Power that wanted me to see something of myself in this being when she materialized in my vision. The table always has an answer.
I padded past my creative table to pick up pages from my printer, noticed that the rain that’s been playing what I heard as a light melodic patter outside my window is actually the beat of a steady downpour. I stopped at the sliding glass doors to listen and look. Brown and tawny tree branches sat soothingly still beneath the rainy sky, their bark richly enhanced by wet saturation. Limbs, covered by tiny green buds that wait for their chance to begin anew, stretched out adding dreamy watercolor strokes to what was before me. I had to take it in, capture this still life moment that in a few short days would morph into a canvas covered with unfurled foliage accompanied by a new song awaiting the next rain.
I was in conversation about the passing of loved ones when words spoken by another moved into my thought process. After a person dies, eventually, we eventually have to just “move on with our lives.” Something about that didn’t resonate with me. I’m not one who goes along with most of the cliches, words, and phrases that are adapted and repeated by the masses. I find myself examining what I hear, then determining a more palatable way of saying the same thing. When I heard, “move on,” it sparked a feeling of permanence. Those words made me feel that once someone is gone, it’s over. We move on taking nothing with us. The phrase, “we continue on,” felt more melodic to my soul, like there is room to carry whomever, the memories, and all that we need to along with us as we traverse the paths ahead. A change of words revises thoughts, feelings, behaviors, responses, and actions.
The next morning during meditation, I found myself asking for a “new chance.” In the past, I’ve asked for “another chance,” which infers repeating an action in order to get it right this time, or at least make some minor adjustments. A “new chance” feels fresh, like I can begin anew. I wonder if our country can too. It’s in desperate need of a resuscitation, a little C.P.R., i.e., Coexist, Peacefully & Respectfully. We need to be saved in this moment so we can be prepared for what awaits us in the next.
I got up this morning and decided to go ahead and wash blankets and the shower curtain today instead of whenever. As the blankets dried, I walked to the post office to mail a birthday box then down to The Wharf. Just had to get on the swing, spend some time beside a body of water, slow-up my mind for a few moments. The coolness in the still air was pleasant and comfortable due to a soft, warm current weaving through. Even the river currents seemed to be in sync . They were calm, unlike the day before when tiny waves each clapped their own sound as they rose then fell. It was kind of like an atmospheric partnership had been created this morning just for me. I was in sync with nature, my mood matched. Something was set in motion. The revelations came later in the day.
My thoughts rushed to get themselves recorded, my fingers hardly able to catch all that wanted to be caught. I hated to admit that I’m enslaved by the rhythm of taking medications at specific times, all because of what I eat. What I‘ve consumed while being held captive by this damn pandemic hasn’t helped the situation, though at least I’ve not gained excessive pounds. Still…
I realized that the “to-dos” listed on my calendar are excuses that have kept me from working on a project stored in a memory file somewhere. These appointments are tied to how I can make money, yet they have nothing to do with the way I would ultimately like to make a living at this stage of my life. They actually divert attention away from more important endeavors and don’t net any significant rewards. It’s time to establish new rituals, keep dreams alive, take some new chances, and yes, begin anew. Maybe then I’ll be able to lift off, rise, and soar.
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