It was bitterly cold the day I died.
Unusual for April.
The wind chill left a rosy hue on my nose and cheeks. When I finally crossed the lot to where my car was parked, I was slightly tingly all over. I started the engine, waited for it to warm up and searched the radio dial for something to get my blood pumping, to distract me from the weather and the odd events in my life. I looked out the driver’s side window and pondered my life. Here I was a grown woman convinced that the corporation with which I worked for six years was committing egregious criminal acts of narcotic diversion and money laundering. Without any real evidence of this egregious criminal act, by the way. The only thing I had were numbers that didn’t add up and quite possibly an overly suspicious mind.
Attempting to explain the discrepancies I uncovered had almost consumed my life. I committed acts of corporate espionage, even going so far as to download files from a coworker’s computer and all of it for nothing. I had no evidence that anything untoward was taking place. Yes, the corporation’s satellite companies were inexplicably losing money. Yes, there was a disproportionate increase in the number of narcotics ordered, yes, damn it!
YES! There was something criminal going on! I’m right!
What happens next plays like a live video stream in my memory. I start to drive out of the lot and notice a slight icy sheen to the pavement. I test the car’s traction using the steering wheel and brakes at low speed and decide that it is safe. I stop at the lot exit and peer down the intersecting roadway before I enter. There is no traffic coming towards me from the left, so I crane my neck to the right to check for pedestrians when suddenly I lurch forward with such force that I feel the steering wheel hit my solar plexus. The car is pitched forward as if lifted from behind. I am now staring, winded, out my front windshield as I and the car are being moved across the four-lane street. I watch, transfixed with horror, as the corner of a stone building moves at an indiscernibly fast rate of speed closer and closer. The car hits the curb, and I am jarred back and forth. With both feet pumping the brake, I let out a scream of abject, uncontrolled horror as the building chews through the fiberglass, metal and finally glass that leads to darkness.
An engulfing, all-encompassing darkness.
From another place, or time, words are present in the darkness. I am aware of ‘speeding and the toxicology screen will be positive for opioids’ then farther away, in place or time, I don’t know which, the darkness reveals ‘will be?’
Darkness. There is darkness everywhere. And silence.
Yet the darkness whirls. Endless swirling darkness of both sound and light.
I am the darkness, and it is me. Yet I am moving, swirling through it without movement. I am within a vibrational existence without sound or light. Instantaneous and cyclic waves of expansion and contraction in every direction draw me everywhere and nowhere. I see nothing, and at the same time, I am aware that there is nothing to see. I am also aware that I am alone but not by myself; I am independently apart of everything. There are others here, I can feel it, even without the use of my known senses. Their presence or absence causes fluctuations within me and all around me. I feel nothing but sense everything. I am acutely aware.
The vibrations have slowed down rather suddenly. Spots of color start to materialize in the darkness in front of me, but I don’t know what they are or what they are supposed to be.
There are more of them now and even more now.
Akin to a digital picture being downloaded on a very slow computer, sequentially one labored pixel at a time, an image is brought forth from the darkness. I can begin to make out the image. It’s a room. A living room or den with a bookshelf and, yes, that’s a glass doorway to an outside area. The elements that I sensed within the darkness are now orbs of vibration rushing passed me from behind, achieving color as they near the image. I now use the term orbs for want of a better term.
As the image continues its approach, becoming clearer and larger, I realize that they interact with each other and the objects contained therein, streaking through the darkness without color or shape and appearing within the image as colored orbs. Occasionally, within the multicolored swirl of molten energy, I imagine that I can make out human faces. Their kinetic energy explodes visually once they near the horizon of the image, increasing upon entering the image as they dart chaotically around the room with no apparent course or reason.
As I am drawn closer, sensing the vibrations within/without me slow at the same rate, I am decelerating, rapidly. The image now encompasses the entire field of view in front of me like a floor to ceiling movie screen. I look to the side and watch as I pass through a quivering membrane between the darkness and the light. A shudder ripples through me. The constant hum of vibrations within is almost undetectable.
I am now in the room.
“I understand all of that. Really. But since you have received all the documents related to his death months ago, why is the issue not resolved?” The voice was that of a female stationed outside the original picture frame, somewhere to my right. There, at a well-loved, old oak desk sits an older woman talking on the phone. It’s a corded phone placed on the opposite end of the desk from a computer. Miriam appears to be in her late seventies or so, with soft, muted features and silver-tinged white hair that contrasts her deep brown skin elegantly. The image is a warm, pleasing one. I am aware, while in her presence, that she is a woman of courage, integrity and a spitfire passion that has gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion in her life. She grew up surrounded by family and has had several loves, two that burn brightly within her, but she is alone now. Never truly lonely, just alone.
I see the orbs of light now flittering across the room, willy-nilly. They huddle around her during the phone conversation, seemingly attracted to the emotions the conversation induces in her. They quickly change colors split seconds before a change in her emotions, and at each change in emotions. I am unable to deduce a color-emotion pattern, such as red equaling anger, only that the colors are red, green and blue. I am also unable to discern whether the colors are related to her emotions or theirs at the interaction.
The vibrations are muted now, as to make me feel almost solid as I stand before her. I realize that it’s a false perception since she doesn’t react as if a person appeared out of nothing right in front of her. She takes no notice of colored orbs, me or anything other than the unseen person on the other end of the conversation. Although she maintains a semblance of balance in emotion and tone, it is obvious by her energy state that either the topic or person has evoked her passions, and she is struggling to bring the conversation to a close.
Miriam’s emotions emanate from her in distinct waves that I intuit immediately. She wants them all to leave her alone, I understand. Everyone. Everywhere. It’s over. She has finished grieving and wants them to stop forcing her to re-live uncomfortable memories. She loved him, steadily and faithfully, and wants to be in peace in her remembrance of him. She wants to settle within her grief, privately, without strangers lingering on the edge of memories that don’t belong to them. She merely wants the remainder of him, the all of him that she has left, to be hers and hers alone.
Theirs was not a possessive love. These are her most selfish moments with him.
She needs the world to know by her silence that her grief, her sorrow, her separation from him is hers, not to be pitied or shared with anyone else. She hangs up the phone in frustration and emits a barely audible sigh that nonetheless fills the room with emptiness. The orbs flutter, changing colors slowly at this point, and flit passed her again and again. I turn to look up towards the corner at the farthest end of the room, opposite the glass doors, where they appear and disappear, exist then cease to exist.
I know that that was where I came in.
I experience myself now as I have always done, as a corporeal being, and simply stand there. Reverently absorbing the energy of this powerful woman and the emanating field of her ebbing emotions. A complete understanding of her character envelopes me without any effort on my part. I know her. I also know what I am to do. I am acutely aware that each event will happen in a sequence that neither she nor I can stop, that it can only happen in that sequence, and that both of us are vital for the sequence to take place at every point. I know that we are inexorably bound together, but I do not know the how or the why of it. Neither of us had any choice in the events of the past or the present. We just are.
She pushes away from the desk and stands to walk through the sliding glass doors to the outside yard.
Eventually, I follow.
art writing here…