The Continuum

     I have always been that dreamy otherworldly child.  Grand fantasies and horror stories played in my mind. I was afraid of the world my mind created. A natural balance between the fantastical and the horror is a check and balance system.  These tendencies nurtured another sense in me.  An untethered state I believe most find unpractical.  Yet, it is an integral state of the creative mind.
     I was tortured by nightmares.  Witches were after me.  Regularly, I would barely escape their stabbing motions with very sharp knives.   I can still hear them cackle.  My body would carry over this state of panic into my daily life.  In retrospect, I can see how those fears were my emotions at play.  Spiritual energies trying to find their way into resolution. A great and powerful magic.
     Today marks the 11th anniversary of my mother’s death.  The day she died was, by far, one of the most intensely fantastical and horrendous waking days I ever experienced.  The winter morning light had changed, presenting warm heavy airs.  Intuitively, I knew a blessing was coming.  (I was preparing to sale at a flea market and thought the blessing was financial.)  My mother had chest pains that morning, she had a huge belch when I gave her aspirin and ginger ale.  Oh, it’s just gas I contended.  I was conflicted.  Her last words to me were, “I am fine.  If I don’t feel well, I will go to the hospital”.  With those words I had permission to continue to load up for the flea market, the rent had to be paid.  I made 14 dollars that morning.
About a month later, when I received the phone bill, I calculated that I missed my mother by 11 minutes.  Her last call was 11 minutes before I got home.  We were crossing the bridge at that time.  My son, who was five months in my belly, was extremely active, doing flips, jumping off the wall of my womb.  11 minutes. 
      As I entered the rite of passage of becoming a motherless daughter, Spirit carried me.  From the moment I found her body, to making funeral arrangements, having a fear she was coming back as rotting flesh, to lights exploding in my apartment, to being incapable of being alone, to when I was alone warm pressures holding me… I was in an otherworldly state.  My pregnancy induced a conscientiousness and openess only the hormones of pregnancy can induce.  They were all about me, governing and pushing me forward, they kept me calm. When I walked on the sidewalks, I wondered if I were walking in the same spots my mother walked.  As I breathed in my apartment, I knew I was breathing the same molecules of air that traveled through my mother’s body, sustaining her life.
     I had to hold on, see.  I held deeply to the ways the spirit connects with the physical.  I allowed my subconscious mind to roam freely into my thinking.  And this is where I found magic.
I had a vision.  I envisioned my mother and I sitting in two chairs, side by side, separated by a thin veil like a thin fragile piece of glass.  She was larger than life wearing a cape made of irredescent feathers that moved softly.  I, on the other side, slouched with a humped back, sad.  I would look at a cord coming out of my stomach.  It was purple and red, mostly red, that went through the veil and attached to my mother.  I would focus on this cord, understanding that I am still connected to my mother.  She gives to me through this spiritual otherworldly umbilical cord. 
     This is my flow.  This is where my inspiration forms.  The cord is a continuum.  And as I am connected to my mother, she is connected to hers, and so on and so on.  Information, emotions and love flows through fantastical umbilical cord, defining me, coaxing me.  I understand that in all I do, I am just a small piece in the continuum. We breathe the same energy in the air.  I build upon whatever my mother put forth in this otherworld.  Flow.  I have many continuum I tap into.  It is the driving force that compels me, and the only esoteric force to which I am obedient.  I am an obedient daughter of the continuum.

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