It seemed like my phone rang this morning, as if I was pulled down from the loftiness of dreams into the waking world. It seemed like it rang and I answered, and into my ear words were spoken of sweetness and grace, of Divinity and truth.
Words born unto lips like dew drops and sweet melodies of sunrise to my eyes. That’s what I thought happened. A lifeline, an umbilicus of elasticity that strode from near past or unknown future. My heartbeat slowed. It slowed in the way of ease and peace.
And I thought it hours after my waking eyes had seen my world, after my nose had once again smelled the unfamiliar scent of this room, this time, this life. This was after I had placed feet to ground, thought of what once was, what is no longer. I had thought of it all and still in those moments I thought nothing of my phone.
It was later, waiting on a call from Rome that I thought my phone had rang in my sleep. And in such a state, I thought I’d answered and Divine was on the other line, on the phone, right next to me, surrounding me. I thought the space between sleep and lucidity was filled with the only home I’ve ever known, the only home I’ve truly loved. I was wrong.
There were no calls, no one beside me as I slept, no one calling with the sweetness of baby’s breath. It was nothing other than the altitude of sleep and the residue of loss and heartache before I remembered there is loss and heartache.
And as Echo became but faded voice, so shall this earth revolve on her axis made of distance and the lost light of the sun.
“…you gotta know what’s there to look for…what’s there to find.” -Ani DiFranco, I Know This Bar
(March 3, 2008)
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