Karma Call

The dream was one of those suitable for framing: the memory of faces she recognized, the old blanket that hangs on the bedroom wall, a typographical map and conversation about 'the old people' not having equipment to record such things. Her retort, "They didn't really need it" implying the clever backtalk would fly without harm.

Waking from the subtle but powerful time travel her body ran with fever and a cold sweat the kind that comes because the body was burning up old sensations digesting choices. Some of them had to go, and she knew it. But oh how she resists!

In the liminal space her mind registered what was happening. "How the hell could I dis the years of writing for the sheer and deeply satisfying pleasure." Truth has a firmer foundation in this between place where judgments and ego seem to be without access to the codes that dream traverse. This was one of those times when the trickle of the soul's memory was a powerful drip. Cordelia rose from the bed, stepped into the near-midnight coolness of the dark and reached for the bag of chocolate.

Small pleasures of Seasonal Cheer hung on the hook, pleasure Cordelia had parsed over the week disciplining herself. In truth, she had forgotten the beautiful foil-wrapped candy was out there. That's the thing about karma calls, they can be delightful if given a broad breath of understanding. Cordelia credited a just-before-sleep visit with a recently deceased astrology pal of hers with that gem of karma wisdom. "Karma doesn't need to scare the crap out of you. And, if you run into a psychic who does pull that on you? Run like the devil is on your heels, cos he is!" Oh how she missed Donna in the flesh. And yet, it was that same Donna who was her angel now and as reliable and gentle as she was while she was embodied.

The white chocolate ball was just the fit of sweetness Cordelia needed to bring her back to herself. The gift was part of a box filled with goodies, some of which would either have to be hung out (for an indefinite, yet possible sometime-in-the-future moment) to neutralize lingering smells or given away. If her corset of discipline was pulled too tight the chocolates would have passed too, but fortunately thanks to women like Coco Channel Cordelia actually never knew the confines of a corset.


There was something to the realization of numbers or numerology playing with the calendar used by the collective. 2020 was gonna be something. "It's been a good hundred years since we've seen or lived with one of these years." Being a person comfortable with measuring things, the statement came easily to him though Cordelia would need another cuppa coffee to get his drift. Maybe that had something ... all these blurry almost namings will have to do. It was something (this realization) but just precisely what? Neither Cordelia nor the storyteller was sure how to be more specific; something will just have to do.

A new calendar was already for its First Night appearance, dangling as it was on the large safety pin in Cordelia's bedroom. Scenes from her Ancestral Islands would greet her when 2019 finished up. She'd peeked at the glossy photos already, and was looking forward to seeing tropical waterfalls and leaping lava. The Pacific Northwest was home for her now, but that didn't make the cold, dark or damp an easy adaptation. Part of the karmic lesson plan perhaps. Separation from a place one loves, setting up the pangs of longing to keep the internal lava lamp. (One way of seeing things I suppose).

This story is ripening fast but how long a tale it is has very little to do with why it must be written down. More likely it is the glory of its birthing that is the gift, and you know you must never never spit in the eye of a gift-giver. Thanks to the story of computers and the evolving lives of the innards of these magic-makers/mischief makers a tale such as this can have a life.

Tick tock the affects of the chocolate have enlivened endorphins and set the metaphoric stage for the approaching new year, and a fitting ritual to acknowledge leaving something behind (because it's that time). Perhaps to bed for rest or visitations, who can know for sure. But yes, consider this closing a Ritual of Thanks to the Muse, to the white chocolate and the sweet yama bell for opening a window to something.

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