‘Round Midnight (125. Above and beyond)

sunset-sunny-sun-women-54566
Photo by iiii iiii from Pexels

The view from the spires of the cathedral is much like my apartment. What was once high is dwarfed by the surrounding buildings. The streets are quiet deep into the night. Here, though, my sliver of a view over the ocean is blocked. Timothy isn’t on a passing cruise ship. He’s back in his London apartment, awaiting my arrival on Monday, blissfully unaware of my to-ings and fro-ings.

My internal soundtrack is again a slow clear string melody, with pure harmonies almost Renaissance-like. A unison choral-line floats in the center of the texture. Rhythms are simple, eternal. Heaven.

Hell.

The protests waned a little today, but I am certain that tonight’s show will inspire another shitstorm from the Senator. Not only was I the featured musical act, Stephen wouldn’t let go of the Senator’s balls all night. He engaged in Letterman-like banter with me throughout the program. I was back in red, and devil references regularly crisscrossed the stage.

Tomorrow, however, the Senator’s base won’t have a focus. I’ll be back in hiding for a few days, and then out of the country. Will they follow me to London? I can’t be sure, but there will be a few days for them to settle down.

What is heaven? It is whatever I want it to be. I can go to the void and fashion my own Elysium, but what would be there? That requires too much thought. A planet in my universe would do, but which one? How do I know which one to choose of the billions that are there? How did Gaia choose Earth to center her attentions on? Did she?

I don’t choose where I go. I just go.

Earth is Hell, and it is also Heaven: a Goldilocks planet in a Goldilocks system in a Goldilocks galaxy. Earth is a double-edged sword, home of Gods, spirits, devils, wraiths, and humans. I’ve met the God(dess), and she tells me about the spirits, but I am unable to meet them. I am blind to the intricacies of her universe – multiverse.

A person walks past the front of the cathedral, pauses briefly, walks on, vigilant. Security? Spy? I can’t see the difference. There are cameras everywhere. This place is well-guarded. If they weren’t security, they were seen.

Fruity woodwind chords dance around my inner song.

Some of Gaia’s spirits are guarding the perimeter. I sometimes forget that. I can guard my own perimeter, six of me around the ground, two of me on the roof, four on neighboring hi-rises. I’ve got us covered.

Nothing to see here.

I sit on a boulder on my imagined diamond planet looking at my giant imaginary sun, in my not-imagined void. Truthy sits with me, silent, while I contemplate existence, but having her here brings me comfort. She watches, listens, learns.

Every one of my lifetimes is different, so much to learn. Eve is here, and Mary, too. Of course, they come here. The void is now for both of them, all of them. Mary’s presence is reassuring, motherly. Eve is more reckless and experimental. She and I are much alike.

What am I going to do about Timothy? Neither has an answer for me.

Play it as it comes, as we have always done.

That is an unfamiliar presence.

Not that unfamiliar.

True. It is Hildegard. She is perhaps the most self-assured of us. She knew her mind.

We appeared to know our mind. We found our self young. We played the visionary.

I found the self much older. I still have much to learn.

We always have more to learn.

Truthy still sits silently next to me. I feel the others and I feel her. I am her. We are all her. We have our hair down tonight. Stephen thought that would be good for the show – raw and a little unkempt. That is how we feel now.

That show is both in the past and in the future.

I can’t help but admire the women I have been.

As they admire you.

Finally, Truthy speaks. I feel unworthy.

All of us have felt unworthy. All of us have had trials.

This is mine, and I’m totally unprepared.

You are the best prepared of any of us.

In what way?

You are extraordinary.

You all were. I’m just human.

Of all of us, you are the only one of whom that is not true.

Does that make me better or worse?

Different. Perhaps augmented, but it is of your own making. You have augmented yourself.

By accident.

Or by design. Perhaps you needed to do it to survive the trials you are about to face.

Perhaps I bring doom to Gaia’s universe.

Some risks must be taken for survival.

 

‘Round Midnight (124. The Blue in You)

bluescale-photo-of-womans-face-4350799
Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy from Pexels

I slept very little last night. What I did was unprecedented.

I visited a time when I did not exist in the flesh. Truthy says we have never done that before. Gaia only exists in the present, but she visited me between lives.

Was I visiting me between my lives? If I visit a time, I visit through the self that is alive at that time, but there wasn’t one. Why did I go then?

Because Gaia wouldn’t have believed you. She was 17 when Tamara died at 92. We weren’t very mobile at the end. Your paths crossed only once, when you were at her concert. You were never close enough to speak with her. Now, she is an infant, we don’t know where she is, and she won’t be the least bit verbal for another year, probably.

That was a huge risk.

A calculated one. She didn’t believe in those little dreams of hers, not until much later in her life, but she had experienced enough of them by that time to know not to panic.

What did I learn from it? Nothing that I hadn’t already thought of. Look for truth, trust myself, trust my instinct.

Trust your instinct, which begs the question: which one?

I don’t know.

Trusting your instinct is obvious, but perhaps she means to trust The Instinct, too. She saw the blue in you.

How can I trust that? It threatens life on this planet.

We have already taken steps to stop that. We have learned that The Instinct doesn’t tolerate fear well, hardly at all. Its prime directive is to reproduce, and you’ve demonstrated that unfettered reproduction leads to the demise of the species. You have shown them their ultimate fear, worse than flying. When it comes down to it, they are a conservative race. They won’t jeopardize their survival, no matter how long term it may be.

I looked forward to this week for so long, and now I can’t wait for it to be over. Just one more day, but then I don’t leave town until Saturday. Am I going to stay cloistered all week? Could they hear the fear in my playing?

We arrived at the theater mid-morning, for an afternoon rehearsal, trying to beat the protesters. All that meant was that we beat my supporters, with the protesters still whipped into a frenzy by the Senator. More than a dozen eggs were wasted in their attacks, and those were only the ones that hit me. Once inside I changed my clothes and showered, bringing new meaning to the term dress rehearsal.

I can’t wear green anymore. It doesn’t make sense. My skin isn’t blue, but I seem to have a blue aura. Red still works, white, brown, and black. Tonight it was menacing black, again with gold laced into the bodice. The hood provided the menace, and the skin, the sexiness.

Tonight, I leave in the place of the body double. Two knocks and we are gone. It’s a longer, more circuitous route back to the cathedral tonight, with two car swaps.

Alayne is going stir-crazy, she met Akira for lunch and Maria for dinner. The press weren’t too interested in her, since she looks more like Akira’s daughter when they are together.

Again, the hive leaps with joy when I arrive safely. Only 10 new spawn today.  They are taking the threat to them seriously. One new granddaughter, late in the day. My nose bled almost immediately after we finished taping, and my left ear is still a little soupy with ooze. Strangely, it doesn’t affect my hearing at all. In fact, I’ve always had a mild case of tinnitus after loud gigs, and that has stopped completely since the birth of Miranda.

I don’t know who or where she is, but Miranda is out there somewhere, not 100 of her, just one. I sense her, but I can’t explain her.

She is almost human and the pure image of me.

I’ve been conferring with Truthy all day, and it is time to stop, but I’m not ready for sleep.

I’m back in the void, and my trumpet is in my hand. I need to practice.

That doesn’t last long. As soon as my trumpet is on my lips, I am on the seacoast, on a pebble beach. It is early morning and a storm is blowing in. It’s an old fishing village, and the fisherman are just coming in with their morning catch, cut short by the weather. They each have a little hut at the edge of the beach where the main road goes by.

I would look around, but I am here to practice. It’s chilly, but I don’t feel it. The climate is cooler here than in New York. The sun hovers between the clouds and sea, yellow and glowering. It will rain hard but not long.

As I play through the opening passage of my trumpet concerto, the clouds spit, leading to a drenching drizzle, and finally a downpour. As long as I don’t feel the cold, I don’t mind the rain or even the wind.

While the fisherman huddle in their huts, the beach is deserted. I continue to play out to see. An oil tanker passes by out in the distance. The sky darkens suddenly, as the sun rises above the cloud ceiling.

I feel drawn to the sea again, yet it is far too cold to spawn. My trumpet is gone, and I am walking into the briny waves. I walk until I have to swim. The water feels like home. I don’t need to breathe in it. I swim out until I can just barely see the shore over the waves.

To the south, there is a sand bar and an old wartime garrison. To the north, a cooling tower, a nuclear plant, next to another smaller village.

I swim until I lose sight of land. Why? The Instinct is taking me here, reminding me that my spawn can live in the sea.

If what Amelia says is true, there must be a reason why they don’t. A whale surfaces very near. I’m in the midst of a pod of them. They are just passing through, but they are curious about me. They are friendly, though. I am not a threat to them, and I am not food.

I am also no match for them. California’s waters have more fearsome predators. That is why we don’t live in the sea.

We?

The Instinct counts me as one of them.

Trust my Instinct. It comes from a universe that I created. Of course, I can trust it.

One of the whales blows, it is time to go. Soon, I am alone again.

I hear a slow modal string tune, it comes from the wind. The sea is too rough to sing to me. It is a sad song.

Sadness surrounds me. I shed a tear. 

The hive is distraught. Today’s granddaughter didn’t survive. Alayne. I must get back.

She cries in her sleep. I join her in her bed.

It is the plight of a mother, to console her young.

‘Round Midnight (77. Fractals)

photo-of-old-church-building-under-cloudy-sky-2886268
Photo by Harry Smith from Pexels

The void is where I am free to think, away from outside influences. Truthy is an inside influence that can’t be silenced, but she knows when her input isn’t needed.

I can’t say with any certainty that my thoughts aren’t her thoughts and her thoughts aren’t mine. She is my inner voice, a voice that knows more than I do.

I played a mini concert at MoMa today. They installed a piano in Maria’s exhibit, which they have decided to run for another month. Tammy stopped in after dinner with some new threads for me. She likes the devil look, and she experiments with skin. She interprets my candor as a sign to display flesh in places where you wouldn’t ordinarily see it, cut out windows, in an otherwise skintight covering, or a top so loose that I can feel the breeze on my breasts, but others can’t quite see anything important. Same thing downstairs. My favorite is a snail-like fractal that replicates itself down the sides of my legs and arms, not on panels of cloth, but suspended by laces around the insides of my legs, and panels covering the naughty bits.

I have always thought of time as linear, but I have decided it is a fractal. Where I stop, I cause ripples, none more than in my own time.

I’m the giant boulder that upsets a lake.

The steps I take in other times are more subtle and replicate themselves into infinite atomity.

In the void, I create no ripples. There is nothing to disturb.

I lie prostrate on a stone floor. Where am I? Why am I here? I hear music in my head unlike anything that I have ever heard. Singing. Women’s voices. I have to write it down, but I must spend this time in contemplation and prayer.

There will come a time when a woman writes down the music she hears. 

And I will make that time.

I should be praying, but I can’t help these thoughts. Mother Mary, make me pure. I have forsworn the world for you. I have borne your child and witnessed his death. I have tasted Eve’s fruit and emerged unscathed. In spite of all I have seen, I will keep my vow of chastity. I will serve the Church.

In my own way.

I am different than others. I see things that they don’t, other worlds. I see so deep into my soul that I wonder if I can ever come back. I have worn the habit only this one day, but in it I find destiny. I hear music, not the music the Brothers make us sing, but a new music that we shall sing, the women of the cloth.

This music soothes my solitude.

It will create ripples in the fabric of humanity that woman may break free from the servitude of man. It will take time beyond my days.

I am the enabler.

I lie naked and prostrate on my bed. Was I Hildegard?

You know you were. I have said as much before.

She spoke to you from a very young age. I, we, couldn’t have been more than 14.

Twelve.

She gallivanted?

From the age of six. Her imagination was vivid. She was very much like you.

Compared to her I’m a slut.

She struggled with impure thoughts. She tasted the forbidden fruit before reaching puberty, and those urges tormented her throughout her life.

How much did I just change her?

How much did she change you?