Monday, March 4, 2024

"More Real Then Real": The Persistence Of Memories

 Memory: about four years old, if that. Spread ealged on a bed no covers. Mom, Dad, Grandmother, stuck in doorway to bedroom.  They can't move past the threshold. They're stuck, watching. Waiting. I am waiting. I know "they, " or "it," will arrive soon. I am not afraid. A little anxious a little in awe, but not afraid.

The ceiling above me opens. Like the roofs of an observatory; the sides of the roof slide open, revealing one huge open space exposing the night sky. Full of stars.

I am still in my bed, no covers, on my back, parents and my maternal  grandmother waiting the yellow light of the doorway.

(Odd my father was there; parents divorced when I was about two and I don't ever remembeer my dad in life as a young child.) 

I, on my back, ceiling open, night sky, and then, a giant eagle type of bird comes swooshing down through the sky, through they open roof and captures me. Thing is, I was waiting for him, or, it. I knew it would come, I waited his arrival with a combination of respectful awe, gratitude, and overall weirdness.

The eagle (or whatever bird like being it was, Mothman? Garuda?) was a familiar being that came to take me away. I was never afraid, thought at times aware of the whole "not all about me" vibe. So much more. So many things.

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