Ironically enough, Wimberley is a sleepy little village of artists and farmers about 25 miles southwest of Austin in the Texas Hill Country. The old mill that put Wimberley on the map in the mid 1800s burned down long ago. A bank marks the location of that prodigious well.spring, less than a mile from where I am trying to sleep.
But sleep, like the old spring, is nowhere to be found. The waters run deep though, traveling through underground channels which surface willy nilly. The rooms are dark save for a night lite in the hall. If I were writing the script there might be a mechanical clock marking time with its pendulum slicing through the silence. Tick-tock.
There is plenty of talking going on my head. The heartache that I’ve been working so hard to keep at bay, has roosted like a ghostly Raven in the center of my chest. I try to soothe this ruffled messenger of spirit with all the people and things I am grateful for. It keeps me from sadness but now each brings more thoughts and even more.
I take a deep, diaphragmatic breath and the chatter slows to the events of yesterday. An early walk to the grocery to buy cheeses for my sister’s Easter Egg hunt and lunch on Saturday. I’m making Brie and Mac, a gooey macaroni casserole to compliment the ham and green beans. It was breezy and cool. The gusts stung tears from my eyes. I was out about an hour and back just in time to miss the Sunday tourist traffic.
Life rushes on in high contrast to the night that creeps without sleep. I fall into a deep dream on the wings of the Raven. I’m in a small boat on a storm tossed sea. Waves as tall as buildings crash down and I’m suddenly in deep water, swimming underneath islands of thought. To my relief, the threat is only an illusion. If only I can remember this up there. Then awake again. Do I take action or stay silent? Is it divine timing or an opportunity slipping away?
Visitations from a friend and a lover past bob up to the surface with me. What is real? And what a wish, a dream? I find myself in a posh Tokyo Hotel. Janie, my mother’s best friend since high school, is there, excited about the piano bar in the lobby. Will I sing? Back in my room I toss and turn. One more deep dive. Robert, who has also died, is there with his entourage. It’s been 25 years but I seem to be invisible to him.
The Raven flies off and leaves the ache in my heart. How can he know my feelings if I always hide them? Which is better, to stay safe and keep silent or take a risk and speak? My heart knows. Dawn will be here soon. Another chance. Another walk. A new day.
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