The Blue M&M

At that moment I knew I would finish out my days in a place for those who have gone beyond the parameters of an acceptable normal and it came as a flash, a split second of insight into the universal consciousness: I had just had a conversation (well, one-sided I admit) with a blue M&M who had escaped my attempts to eat it several times, to which I attributed its strong desire to live, and told it so. But ate it anyway and felt just the twinge of remorse.

I have recalled that moment often, wondering of its portent and making comparisons to current activities to see how close I was getting to the edge, wondering if I would recognize how close I really was when the time came. Most likely not judging from my artful ability to create my own reality. But the thought remains and carries over into the present like a easy hangover. Don't all things want to continue their existence? Is it just we humans who desire to live forever? Or are we so involved with our own ego-centered selves that we have no time for the "others", whatever they may be, want, need or desperately desire?

The "others" are a familiar to me; probably first coming into my consciousness while I lived in New Orleans; the stress/freedom of being away from home, on my own and in a magical city. It was also the first time I was to experience the giganticism of Mr. Roach, who I lived in terror from with no place to hide, for I too am a creature of the night. The humidity, shared streets and search for food bound us together in an ancient city with other stories yet untold, fears to yet unfold, inner demons to yet behold. God help me!

Truth, I was to discover, is an element of the mist with no secured corners, no hard and fast walls to climb and absolutely no absolutes with which to arm oneself on the journey. Lonely is the traveler into his own dark night, and lonely is too is he who awakens to his own true light. We are all crazy and no amount of Truth will set any of us free. Learning how to "be" with crazy and "pass for white" in a "good ol' boy" world is not an easy task. Especially for a woman.

A woman of color, mine happens to be purple; most likely it is a remnant from another lifetime of royalty no doubt. But before that, I have sensed lifetimes of a crow, a pine tree and a beloved creature of what physical reality I cannot now know, but that I was cherished and cared for in such a way that it leaves me longing for it still, I cannot deny. That longing has left me bereft of any comfort in this life's relationships; loving, laughing, leaving, losing, living and repeat, until the passion has been spent and the hopes buried under heavy blankets of reality and lost lust.

I await another awakening, another encounter with the "others" to lead me where I have not been or cannot remember being; I listen with my inner ear for the song of another soul, the hoofbeat of another horse to usher me into the passage of my own time and my own place outside of time. The raveling of this existence will commence.

To be continued.

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