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Soul Homecoming: Taste

I am riding down a long escalator, so long, that I cannot see the bottom. Stark white walls tower high above me, boxing in the escalator.  The only light is pallid and comes from rectangular windows far too small, and far too high up to light the space adequately.

As my gaze becomes less focused the walls appear to close in and then move back out, like jagged breath.

I am suddenly aware of a woman riding several feet behind me. She sits on a step, exuding a charged energy, coupled with a sense of relaxation. Her hair is a beautiful flaming auburn and frames her face like a lion's mane. She wears black horn-rimmed glasses, a fitted woolen red dress that extends mid-thigh, where long black stockings take over, extending to her feet. She has a colorful scarf around her neck, and a pencil tucked behind her ear. A black satchel rests up against her side.

We sit together in silence for a moment riding down the endless set of moving stairs.

I finally break the silence.

"Do I know you?"

"Yes, dear, we've met before."

"Oh," I say.

I rack my brain, but I can't think from where.

She smiles at me.

"How are you, sweetheart?" There is just a hint of a southern drawl.

"Um, everything's a little upstream right now." I say.

"Yes, it does feel that way, doesn't it. There, there, have a cookie."

Just then I pass a delectable plate of chocolate chip cookies, and have plenty of time to take one.

I take two.

I look at her, a little ashamed.

She smiles warmly.

"Cookies are helping me, arent' they?" I say.

She nods. "Yes, they are."

"They've always been helping me, haven't they?"


I nibble away.

I stare straight ahead, finishing my cookie, and saving one for later. We are quiet for a long while as we ride down, down, down.

"Will this ride ever end?" I ask looking behind me, but the woman is no longer there.

"Hello?" I say. "Hello?" I say a little louder hearing my echo.

No answer.

A sadness creeps over me. I want to get off this ride more than anything. Could it really be this endless?

I keep my gaze straight down into the darkness of the tunnel, hoping that I will see some kind of light indicating an exit.

Down, down, down. How much further could it be? So dark.

It is you who light the way. I hear in my mind.

There is a soft glow of light that begins to emanate from me, becoming stronger and especially bright at my heart center.

In the warm light I see the walls to each side of me painted up with the most extraordinary murals depicting earthly existence, so elaborate and intricate with detail, that I can't take them all in as I descend deeper and deeper. I run against the escalator chasing backward after the scenes, only to find myself pulled away, and newly distracted by the next scenes.

I become captivated by faces depicting every expression and emotion possible. I am absorbed by how close these scenes feel, how alive they feel. Each face probes something in me trying to find out from where I know them.

There is the sense that all of the landscapes, creatures and humans exist as one substance, as simple as having been birthed from one medium. As in paint. Yet, it isn't just paint that is their common denominator. It is like paint, as it holds within it the same potential to create by arranging variables of color and contour, but it is alive; a force birthing these creations, and sustaining them, and yet as simple and benign as paint.

This force is also at the heart of the action in the scenes, creating another integral layer above color and form: the rich web of story. And this force is responsible for creating defining, relating, relevance.

In each expression, each movement, this energy births the story, and it exists only as a result of being read by the entire creative web it has created.

After a while, I sit, no longer chasing the scenes, riding in quiet down the escalator. This force is what I become most aware of--this energy that rides with me, that surrounds me, that permeates, that is.

And the murals begin to fade into a starry galactic night. No more earthly landscapes, no more emotional terrain, no more ground to cover, no more birthing, defining, warring, or hiding, no more conquering, feasting, praying, f****ing.

The light of the stars becomes brighter, and there before me is painted a tree, growing up through the entire space, extending up into heights that I can no longer see, but only sense now. It is the most beautiful tree I've ever seen, depicting every season simultaneously, as it extends through time.

Fiery roots grow deep into the earth, and its branches bow and stretch into eternity.

I am mesmerized by its power, and I am grounded in its magnificence.

I sense a power within me that rises up with the tree.

The light around me becomes golden and so dense that I can hold it in my hands and mold it.

I lose all sight of the end of the tunnel. I no longer care about arriving at the exit.

I feel a knowing and a remembering, with no words, no pictures, and no sound; nothing that I can identify as part of my physical experience; only a profound feeling of being home, but unlike any home I've ever known. I am home, and I am home, all at the same time.

The walls crumble and the stairs melt beneath my feet, but the light keeps me suspended, until all that holds me has fallen away and nothing remains except darkness and light.

I expand beyond my physical limitations, without any edges.

I am the space, swimming through euphoria.

I am everything. I am nothing.


  1. Love how these writings are centered on the senses, physical and metaphysical. Right on, write on!

  2. "And the murals begin to fade into a starry galactic night. No more earthly landscapes, no more emotional terrain, no more ground to cover, no more birthing, defining, warring, or hiding, no more conquering, feasting, praying, fucking."

    The way you put words together always leaves me in awe. Such a feast for the senses. The above words reached out and grabbed hold of me.

    Thank you for sharing your gift.

    Keep writing, keep writing!

  3. Just got caught up, love you!!! Thank you for sharing glimpses into your magical world of story!!!

  4. Hey... just playing 'catch up' after being transported here via a 'winding road'!
    Completely smitten..... loooooove this! The depth and richness is awesome on sooo many levels.
    thank you!
    Hugs xxxx

  5. Oh Brooke... honestly, you ought to be published. This is writing so good that I can't wait to read the next line, that i have to forcibly slow myself down, so that I can take in each delicious word. I am you, on the escalator, and your words are the images in the mural.

    Thank you... xxx


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