Mom's Final Journey

Thirty-eight years
Is a long time

To not see,
Not hug,
Not kiss,

Not talk to

My mom.

She was eleven years

Younger

Than I am, now

When she died.
She called me,
Magically,
Thirty-four years ago

From her hospital bed
830 miles away
From Albuquerque,

In faraway
California.
“I’m ready,”
She said to me

As I lie
In my broken body

On the couch

Recovering

From my motorcycle
Crash.
“I’m ready,”
She said again.

The weight of her voice
Sat heavy on my chest.
Tears slid down my face
As I struggled to rise.
I knew my task.
I had prepared for this.
I shook my shaman’s rattle.

And floated out of my body

Following her voice

Saying, “I’m ready,”

Down, down, down
To a riverbank.
I crossed the river
And entered a cave.
She hugged me

Tight
“I’m ready,”
She said.

She released her hug
And shapeshifted
Into a butterfly
Small enough to hold

In my arms.
I carried her to the entrance

And paid the gatekeeper
With a ball of light.
I stepped into a  boat
And rowed across the river
With my mom
In my lap.
Swirls formed as the oars
Splashed into the water
Gliding us
To the safety
Of the other side.
I held my mom
Snuggly in my arms
As I jumped up
And flew
From the lower world,
Through this world,
And through many layers
Of the upper world.
I didn’t know
Her final destination.
I didn’t know
Where
I was taking her.
An Eagle flew along

My side.
“I’ll take her from here,”

The Eagle said.

I placed my mom
In the Eagle’s talons
And cried
As they flew away.
On my return
To my body,

On the couch,
In Albuquerque,

The phone rang.
The nurse said,
“Your mom
Passed away
Just now.”
My tears slid
Across my cheeks.
“I know,” I said.
“Thank you for calling,”

Thought

Thought.
What exactly is it?
Who creates it?
Do I?
From what?
Why?
When I
Become aware
Of a thought,
Is it my creation?
Can it be
Someone else's
Thought
That I am thinking?
Do I retrieve thoughts
From some
Thought storehouse
That belongs to only me?
Or do I create each
And every thought
At the moment
I became aware
Of it?
If my awareness
Senses it,
Is it always mine?
Can it be an orphan
Thought?
Do thoughts float,
Or flash
Across space and time
Intruding on my mind
Or body?
Thoughts are things
That take up time
And space.
They touch,
Influence,
And control
My mind
And my body.
How?
How can a thought
That has no physical structure
Have that much power?
I've had thoughts
That couldn't
Be of my making.
Whose are they?
Why am I aware
Of thoughts that
Are not mine?
Thought.
What is it?
Am I a thought
In someone's mind?

Magic Is Who He Wants

It be 43 years back when me son, Jeremy, answered the phone. "The man on the phone wants to talk to Magic. I think he's got the wrong number."
I held out me hand for the phone. It be one of me shipmates. A nice chat we had, talking about old times on the ship and current events.

When I hung up the phone, me little Jeremy squished his little face. "Why did he call you, magic? I never saw you do magic tricks."
A big smile warmed me face. "I don't do tricks. I do real magic," I said to him.
"Real magic?" he be asking with his wee little mind trying to figure out what his dad be talking about.
"I use the magic in me finger, here," I said as I pointed to him with me right-hand index finger.
"What kind of magic can you do with it?"
I wiggled it at him, and said, "I can make you laugh."
He ran away from me, laughing and saying, "That's not fair!"