You can find the backstory to this here. 

As it turns out, I actually did write a follow up to that backstory – I discovered it when looking for the story itself.  You can read that here.  I am apparently rewriting it, having been visited by a certain energy that is making it clear it wants expression.  A lot of that going around in my house these days.

What came today has poetry in it – shards of old poems, some word for word, some rewritten.  I have no idea where this is going and would not even bother posting it here except for my commitment to post daily, preferably with a poem, for 100 days.  When I was doing my morning reading, this came through, and I worked a bit more on it tonight.  Just so you know, the backstory has also been rewritten for a collage piece called “Water” which is part of a larger piece called “Elementals” with Earth, Air, Fire, Secrets and who knows what else.  Which is all by way of saying this may make no sense.  But I am becoming an innovative writer and as best I can tell, “making sense” is not one of the requirements.

**

I have been asked to continue the story of Morgaine by a reader who wants to know what happens after she, Morgaine, goes off to meet the coming storm.  I thought about it and realized that there is a novel there were I inclined but leaving it to the reader’s imagination is probably better as Morgaine, sort of my doppleganger would run from storm to hurricane/cyclone/typhoon with hardly a breath in between were I to continue the story right now.  I think it might be overwhelming for a reader.  It certainly has been in the story I have constructed of my life.

My computer blips.  It makes the Twilight Zone sound.  The dreaded blue screen appears.  I am stunned and then angry – the computer is new.  This should not be happening.  This late in the afternoon coffee will not console.  I mentally run through the wine cabinet:  no chardonnay, some cab franc.  That will do. Maybe if I give the computer a moment to collect itself, all will be well.  I do what I am always told to do in these instances – reboot the computer then walk into the kitchen, grab the wine opener, open the wine cabinet, open the cab franc and get set to reboot myself.

“You could at least try, you know.”

I freeze.  There is no one else in the house except the pug with one eye and she’s snoring at a spot just slightly left of where my feet were.  Just in case (of what?  A blackout? A time warp?  What?) I look at the *unopened* bottle of cab franc in my hand.  I stopped dropping drugs more than 5 decades ago.   I do my thyroid meds and hardly anything else, ever, except ibuprofen for when my knees start screaming at me.

“The worst that might happen is a bad storm movie.”

“Hello?”  why did I do that?  The house is empty.  I have finally gone over the edge. No wings.  Dropping fast.  I imagine myself flailing, I see the bottom of the abyss approaching.  It isn’t pretty – they say if you hit the bottom when you are dreaming, you die.  Am I dreaming? I’m dreaming.  I have fallen asleep at the computer in an afternoon carb coma from the pasta salad I had.  I feel better.  Maybe on waking I”ll get a poem.

“You aren’t dreaming.”

“Of course I’m dreaming.  It’s just me and the dog.  Where are you?”

“In the computer where you left me heading out to meet the coming storm armed only with a notebook, crayons and a cleared-calendar afternoon.  I’d say I was in your head but then you’d just keep believing that you’re dreaming.  I’ve come to agree with your reader that you can’t just leave me and the approaching storm.  The tension is awful.  I keep getting these headaches.  How can I draw or create when all I can see is migraine sparkles and feel like throwing up?”

“I don’t get migraines.  Never had one.  Wouldn’t know it if I had it.  Have only heard of them through my daughter.”

“I’m not you.  I am Morgaine.  You are not Morgaine. I am also not the woman you depict as Morgaine on your Pinterest page. ” [Dear Reader, you really need to click over to that page.  It’s great if I do say so myself]

“………..”

“Oh come on.  Do you really think that once you set energy in motion you can leave it and it will stay as you left it?  I’ve been here for 3 years.  I’m tired of waiting.  I have called the energy back.  All you have to do is sit down and be a conduit.”

I *am* dreaming.  Great!  That means I can have as much wine as I want.

Having the explanation taken care of, I pour a tall glass of cab franc, take a sip, enjoy the dryness and the taste in the back of my throat, and, with glass in hand, saunter back to the computer.  I’m game.  All I need do is remember to get this all down when I wake up.

Thoughts to share with Morgaine:

Here is where redemption begins: white teeth on red, wetness dripping, the quiet click of a turned lock in a once-closed gate opening outward.

Silence cracks open like an a broken egg
and you slide out glistening – unformed.
The moon grows full, turn dark;
the sun is eclipsed, returns; the comet
follows its track around and around
measured in double human lifetimes;
the owlets have hatched and flown; soon
the river will flood its dusty borders. You
are foam on the crest of waves.  You spin
into life’s flow, float like a reflected glimmer.

I have polished my words like new pennies – I cast
the sounds into the spicy air where they mix with eggshells.
Whether or not you catch them is up to you.

The computer’s blue face wavers, blinks to black.  All around me the air shimmers.  And Morgaine steps from the monitor to stand at the table beside me.

Once I was visited by a white wolf while I was wide awake working on a book report for my master’s program.  She had yellow eyes and snow on her fur, stayed for about 5 minutes and then left.  This is a true story.  I was startled, but not afraid.  And I got my master’s thesis, a creation poem, from that visitation.

Morgaine is something else all together. The back of my neck prickles, the hair on my arms lifts away from my skin.  “This is a dream,”  I whisper out loud to no one, for I am alone.  “You are macaroni salad and a cupcake.”  She smiles, white teeth flashing, and answers, “This is not a dream.”

***

at some point I anticipate more dictation to take down.  But for now, I will leave it at this.