Halloween- Samhain, Steve put up strings of lights- orange
and two strands of purple- both of which were different shades.
I was just coming out of my ‘everything-is-illuminated’
recovery. I was walking back out of the
spiral, to realities I didn’t want to face, both at all and in the same
patterns, the same streambeds that had worn themselves into my life. That I’d worn into my own consciousness.
Samhain night- Steve went to bed. I was up for a while, just trying to keep
going, find something.
And it was pointed out to me- a strand of purple lights hung
on the side window overlooking the balcony.
The string of purple lights were the line of ancestors going one way or
another. And there was one, brighter
than the rest.
That was me.
Special? Different? Maybe, maybe not. The light just shining brighter wasn’t a
comparison, it was a statement of fact- the point of ancestors saying that I’ll
stand out no matter what I do, so just be me, be that light. Shine.
It’s opposite me when I lay on my side on the couch- its
where I’m still sleeping, and it’s a guidepost, a reference point.
Today, a power surge, and that light, that one out of all of
them, just burnt out.
First, sadness like I was submerged sudden like.
Then the brain took over, chattering away,
what-does-it-mean-what-does-it-mean?
Black and white definitions started the the narrative down a dangerous
and depressing path.
Steve replaced it, but it’s the different color purple. So, now what?
Realist tells me to stop being fanciful. It’s a short in the socket, makes the bulb
burn faster, brighter, and in a power surge, it’ll go again.
Bam. Listen to that
and learn.
Also, bed time is about over on the couch.
Keep moving,. Sacred
light is ephemeral. It goes out when it
is no longer needed. Or when it wants to
make a point.
Done.
I didn’t need it anymore?
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