Leaving the Badlands weighted with gratitude, I witnessed grand beauty, majesty, diversity of Gaia. The connection to Her clears daily. Speak less, Hear more. Give Love. Feel reverberation of calibration. The connection grounds/grows roots/extends awareness. increased vitality/ageless. Depth of comprehension expands. REPEAT.
Sat Nam Wahe Guru
Tires check. Secure drawers, check. Do laundry in Interior, a town of 96 peeps. The sweet RV park with laundry on site, gravel road let me wash the clay out of my shoes. A wee cafe that closed at 10am bewilders me. I cannot wrap my head around their money-making scene. Ellen, the chef gave me a coffee and said, "Coffee's on the house, Dearie. M'bout to get outta here."
"Really? What time is it?"
"Quittin' time, o'course."
I pull the metal chair from under the counter. It screeches in annoyance, as if to say, "It's quittin' time, didn'ya hear?"
"You live 'round here?" I ask as curiosity abounds about a town of 96 people.
"Yep, just a-ways away."
"How is it in the winter?"
"It can get lonesome, fer sure. An'boring."
"Do you all get together and keep eachother company?"
"Why sure, but you dun wanna see everybody, ya know?"
"I guess. I've never imagined being snowed in and living in a remote area. I'm from NY." At that the general reaction is, how'd you get way out here. I go over a breif synopsis of the death of my life as the pandemic munched on each leg like a roasted chicken, sucking out the marrow.
Barely able to finish the weak coffee, I pack up the laundry and feel more that hear, "NOT I90." The silence and lack of interruption of life in NYC aids in receptivity.
"The back road," I suggest. The response tickles. It's not an affirmation but not a "no."
After 30 minutes or so, its apparent this is too desolate. The GPS cannot register my location.. No paved road. No gas station. The yellow prairie stretches indeterminately. Livestock speckle the monotony. Fences delineate ownership and all I can do is doubt their reasoning. The fighting over this land killed the diversity. Without the plains animals doing to plant life what they do, it lays barren, unfertilized, and lonely, Mother is able to diversify in these adverse conditions. "Breathe," I mumble, "Its a transition is all." Doubt hides behind my eyes.
Back to Interior, regrouping, I feed the van, and ask the locals peeps how to get outta here besides using I90.
"Hmmm. Not really, a clerk says, "Try taking a right?"
A right? Thanks anyway. I return through the Badlands. Universe deems it so. Warmth curls over my skin. Pulsing with the rhythm of motion, I am present, full, and confident.
The interstate roars through the land. Feel the for the flow or find the flow. Driving passed Wall. This famous town started selling ice, never mind. Google it. Deciding not to stop and proceed directly to Devil's Tower, I....
Thump, thump, thump, it's under the van? Hit something? View in rear mirror, no. Thrumming under my seat. I look as if I can see something.
Blew tire? No bang? Anybody behind me? NO. Good. Brake. Emergency lights. Not slowing. TWO FEET. Eyes dart to pedal," Am I on the brake?"
Time stretch. Rear end continues to travel, we slide and sink backwards into spongy grass. Disbelief floods my mind. Here and now, presence refines the seconds. Stop motion, an eternity in a moment. Relief and an ironic comment, "This is gonna be the day."
The van creaks. The guttural groan boils up through the frame and farts. She's not done with her movement. Flurried thought pops at Nanite speed. Die... Crush... Damage... Now... Gas... Pee...
Weightless, my form awareness left, drowning in the cacophony of a life whipping more destruction, I question, "I'm done? I die today?""
Snatched back into my body. "Not done." Crushing mass. Ribs mashed. Face. Eye.
I wait. The movement stops before we turn all the way. Relief puffs out my cheeks. Reality of time. Throbbing pain demands presence.
Puuuusshhh the crate on my face. No strength. No breath. Heavy, like earth. Buried.
The mind begins analysis. Raging in scenarios, I am blinded with options but none are known. Is that gas I smell?
Gasping, rapid heart, the tears pool. Panic is costly. The torso, still intact, ceases profitable movement. Shallow air whispers. The internal bellow reaches through time. Fleeting consciousness recognizes the dense pressure. With a sight without eyes, memory returns.
Other life. Content with tribe. Stature, grace, community. Know the self in this lifetime...
Rampant intrusion, dust encampment fumes in smoke. Choke on breath. Shapes hurtle without identity but all are known. Thunder felt under the feet. Burnt screams. Shrill defiance.
Giant force drives the body down. Earth crunches. Explosive shot piles weight in great thumps, pounding breath from this body. Metal taste of blood. Mine? No. The bodies of my people being slaughtered climb above me. Fused under the weight, the first body on mine is my son. His eyes darken before me.
The reason to live, raped from the face of Mother. She Grieves.The land mourns. I do not rise again.
Sharp ping and scrape. Pieces tumble. Sounds like glass. "I choose life."
Fire erupts in molten rings from my belly. Voiceless heat of intention roils through the universe. Spiraling shards of memory rip through time. Hungry for unity. Smelting flesh, billowing in the tremors, I merge. Rebirth, reborn, identity unknown.
Chest muscles coagulate into the mass of the heart, throbs bang at the head and behind the egg yolk eyes. "There is more time here," the knowing is seeded. Wispy light caresses the air, billowing laughter tingle the strings weaving the meat of body memory. My guides herald in the spawning.
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