September 12th, 2020
One of the definitions of rapture is the removal of people from earth to heaven.
“This is rapture” she thought as she opened her eyes to a blank white ceiling.
She was a dense mound of weight with a beating heart and her breath was faint as a whisper.
She remembered traveling fast, hurling her self, blast after blast toward it. At some point her heart had exploded into a million pieces and now that it had scattered all across the universe. It would take her a while for it all to come back.
“It was just a dream” she kept saying, “just a dream”.
But she could still hear the music. Like a great fishing hook that had snagged her lip, it gave her a little bit of line, then yanked her hard back.
With great effort she attempted to roll over.
Her unconscious husband was there.
She turned the other way and swung her legs off the bed.
Her feet touched down. Electricity coursed up into her bones shocking her muscles to fire. Her knees went down to the ground.
She stretched her arms far forward to open the sides of her body, then grounded her forehead. Finally she felt her first deep breath.
Her youngest of three toddled up squiggling under her belly.
The warm sweet smell of sunshine was the first gift of the day.
“Good morning pumpkin. Did you dream?”
“Yes of bunnies, silly bunnies and a pond and flowers. Momma?”
She wished she could open her nightgown and pull her daughter to her breast. She wanted to let this great love spill out, but is was a fractured love mixed with star dust and longing and poetry and music not yet composed.
She felt her body lighter now and pulled them both up.
“Let’s say good morning to the trees shall we?”
She made a bottle and headed out to the screened in porch. Sitting in the rocker she rocked and rocked. She was wingless again and could only rock and hum, rock and hum. In her belly she could feel new music and little pot of gold words.
Her breath stopped. She may never fly again. It did not exist. It was a dream.
Fire started exploding again in her heart. The eyes of the divine turned toward her humming. She turned her face fully toward it allowing for its gaze to burn through her. “Take me” she begged.
She heard from inside the house her oldest, “Ma?” then her little son “Mom?” Then her husband “Hon?” They were all up now & hungry. She put her toddler down and watched her wobble arms up toward three fresh good morning hugs. It would be ok. It was just another day. She knew what note to hit first. She even had a word or two. Note by note, word by word she would remember & forge her way, with our without wings.