Many in our family possess this gift. Many dream while others can see both asleep and awake. I can when I write music or deeply connect to another.
None of which really help. At best I can see different paths. Alternative or parallel realities. For example, I already know the person I have married in another existence. I had to cut it and him off…for my own sanity. This, I told myself, is where I am now….with the smell of curry leaves stuck on my fingers and a howl I don’t know how to let go of.
My aunt with the gift of seeing spoke to me last night. I know my father is with me. We talk all the time, mostly about Mummy. Place a chair in your room when you miss him too much….and wait. He will be sitting there, smiling and watching you. Perhaps later I told her. Right now, my brain is everywhere and nowhere. The same aunty texted a few seconds after my father passed. She knew, she felt him leaving. I always turn to her for advice.
I don’t know what to do next, that’s as honest as I can be. I can no longer write music. Or perhaps I cannot write music alone anymore. I told her of my dreams about my favorite musician who seems to be branching out in film, fusing music and what feels like slave narratives. What’s the point of these dreams now I asked her? You, she said, have to deal with your heavy heart and sing first. I was advised to not worry about anything else. I just can’t sing at home or near my family right now I told her.
And as the pandemic rock and rolls around the world I see musicians doing all manner of interesting things. And still it struck me – nothing much has changed. Those with power or influence are still making money. In fact they are making more. And I can’t even open my mouth to sing anything of true significance now. Or tune in to listen to music at all. This is of deep concern to me. Just how do I pick myself up?
Says my Aunty….Auriol, your next special person you will meet at a coffee shop overseas. All she could tell me was that he is blonde and lovely. I can’t even imagine anyone at my side now. How do people do it? Carry around all this grief, even if they know death to be a lie?
How can small kids stand the loss of a parent, or the loss of both? There would be nothing left of me if anything happened to anyone else I love. I do my best to check up on people I love and those I can’t check in on I pray for.
Love is all that matters. So I am gonna master this new Indian dish I found for my Mother, take a walk to Gilda and sit in front of the piano until something breaks.