Next I remember THE ORANGE
A female energy is carrying
me up the stairs in Eastmanville.
She seems tired.
It’s very late at night. I’m
wrapped in a thick blanket. The multi-colored square afghan, I think. The walls
are a dark wooden paneling, and there’s an orange light burning about halfway
up the stairs.
I can see this from a
vantage point a couple of feet above the woman, like I’m
floating ahead of her.
is she? My “mother”, I suppose.
She will do her best, but I will outlive her way too soon. I will always wonder if there was something else I could have done.
Orange is still a worrisome comfort.
The rest of the house was dark and brown.
My earliest memory is of a very very black space full of very very black shapes, shapes in very varying shades of black, against a blackity blackdrop of more shapes. A lightless cave full of lifely creatures.
They’re speaking, but their
language is a currently indescribable sound. I understand them. I’m not exactly
one of them, and I don’t really belong here, either, but we are here together
in this nest, and I feel safe.
not like I had my eyes open and all I could “see” was blackness. There was
nothing missing here, as far as sensory input goes. This was the normal way to
perceive in that place: light simply didn’t exist; it was all different
textures of blackness.)
Many of these beings strike
me as bird-like. Chirp chirripe wheedle whistle chee.
I think they were advising
me. Or maybe warning me.