Away

Like a crimson leaf descending to the ground in the autumn, I lazily drift above my body, which lies motionless in the bed below, until its gravity draws me back inside. Back inside, where I feel like a violin inside its case. Silent and still. Trapped. Hidden. Not at all the me I become when I float away and am free. I open my eyes. Even as I hear footsteps in the hall, somehow, I feel it is different now….

I had an intention. I had a yearning. How did it go awry and yet, so perfectly? Was I meant to meet you instead? Who are you?

As so many times before, I lie on my back in my bed. Breathe. Breathe deeper. Close my eyes. Watch my breath as it becomes everything—every part of me until, as I exhale, it detaches me gently, gently takes me with it. And I drift like a helium balloon, up into the sky. Then, my thought slips back to me like a draft beneath a door. And my intention speeds me toward who or what or where I choose.…Only this time, it’s ahead of me, before I'm aware of it myself. And as I come to a rest and open my eyes, there I find you. And you look straight at me. You see me. Approach me. And I feel the way I did my first time away—slight panic at this new unknown. My first thought is to think of my body. I haven’t even paused to see you clearly, but as you raise a palm in my direction, you suspend me, as if I float beneath an invisible dome. As if you see my thoughts, your presence melts away my trepidation. 

And I look at you, your hand before me. When first I glimpsed, your hand was human. The stout, weathered palm of an old woman. Silver rings adorning several fingers. Yet, as my eyes wander to find your face, your hand nearly dissolves into a swirl of energy, colors, drawing my eyes back, where once again, it takes form—human. And the same again, as I search for your face. I try to ignore the shift. I must see your face. But all I see is a blur and your energy implores me to allow my eyes to wander elsewhere. Beyond your hand, I study the fabric of your garment. Woven. Glistening with pinpoints of light within its faded colors, like sparks of sunlight as wind tickles the water of a stream. Overlying this fabric, several necklaces dangle at your chest. Their beads are made of bone and I understand these bones were chosen for their power. Fractals open from within, as I gaze upon them—a kaleidoscope rushing toward me, past me, and through me, until I emerge on the other side.

You are gone. Yet, I am certain I have slipped into the world you are from. Sunlight escapes through the spaces between a filigree of shivering leaves and knobby branches. To my left, I hear the merry laughter of water as it chases itself over the trail it’s made through the forest. Then near this laughter, I hear a rustling. I move toward the sound, finding myself atop an outcropping above a sunken stream. Below me, an otherworldly creature. Wolf-like, with thick, shimmering fur—translucent gray, shifting in and out of rainbows like a thousand prisms as sunlight drips over the strands. Its back to me, it busies itself, pawing at the rocky shore. For several minutes, I watch, transfixed by the silent power of its presence. Watch as it drinks from the stream, wading. Watch as it playfully rolls in the water, never making a sound. Watch as it returns to the bank, shakes droplets from its shimmering fur, then sits on its haunches, bringing a hind leg up to scratch. And as it scratches, I hear notes, as from a flute made of reeds and see sparks fly forth to gather in a glowing white pile on the ground before the creature. When the scratching ceases, all is quiet. All is still, as if time has forgotten how to exist. Slowly, the creature rises, turns to face me, raising its silvery gaze to where I crouch, breathless on the ledge above. Throwing its head back, it emits a howl, reanimating the world with a mighty rush of wind, flute notes tumbling forth as the howl echoes and the creature disintegrates, the shimmering pieces captured and claimed by the rush of wind until it too, disappears. 

Slowly I rise, then carefully make my way down to where it stood. Before the glowing white pile, I crouch—bones. The bones of your necklaces. I reach down and grasp them and as I do, the fractals return to claim me, bringing me back to you.

My eyes wander from your necklaces, finally to your face. Slits of silver eyes sparkle, nestled within layers of delicate wrinkles. Your face once again, becomes a blur as your hand reaches forth in a swirl of energy and color. Before you, I unclench my fist. The bone beads spill forth and your stout, weathered palm closes around them for a moment. Then, like a flower opening, I see the beauty you concealed inside. Your palm offers forth a necklace like those you wear. Around my neck, you fasten it. 

As you step back, swirls of energy and color evolve into a rush of wind, tumbling me through returning flute notes as I try to reach for your hand. As the wind claims me, its intention grasps me in an inescapable electric current until at last, it calms, then swirls away, leaving me behind.

Like a crimson leaf descending to the ground in the autumn, I lazily drift above my body, which lies motionless in the bed below, until its gravity draws me back inside. Back inside, where I feel like a violin inside its case. Silent and still. Trapped. Hidden. Not at all the me I become when I float away and am free. I open my eyes. Even as I hear footsteps in the hall, somehow, I feel it is different now. And at once, I bring my hand to my chest. To my surprise, it is there—the necklace of bone beads. 

A few taps on the door. A pause. I hear the knob turn. “Good morning?” A nurse’s head appears. “Would you like me to help you to your chair?” she wonders.

“No, not yet,” I respond.

“Okay, I’ll check in an hour.” The door clicks as it closes.

For as long as I can, I hold my breath, my fingers tingling as they feel the smooth surfaces of the beads. Finally, I muster the courage, hoping I won’t be disappointed. The tingling is spreading through my whole body now. I pull the covers away from my feet. I try to move my toes. To my surprise, they wiggle. I try to sit up and at first, I think I must be leaving my body again. But no, my body is coming with me. I swing my legs over the edge. My toes can feel the coldness of the tiled floor. As I rise and take shaky steps like a toddler, my first steps in years, I pinch the skin of my leg. I whisper, “Ouch!” And then, sigh, “Thank you.”