Analysis of Lailah

The world I knew fell away as I climbed aboard the aircraft that took me away to a place I once wrote about in a poem. It was one I submitted in the Fall of 2000 at the request of my professor titled Aquatic Dreams.  

I cannot for the life of me remember it verbatim, but I recall certain words that stirred visions of babbling brooks and crooked creeks crisscrossing through what I now know to be your home I was describing.

A place where monkeys are free to swing from the trees no matter what year it is, bending birches over frogs on logs singing in the sun until a cloud comes rolling into the picture. The water becomes swift as the flood quickly rises and I awaken in silent tears when in a dream I remember the evil sweeping over all of us and few else can see what's causing it below the surface.

Contrasted images of an angry twisting sky cracking with thunder and lightning; a swirling mass of chaos in unison. I wonder now was that the murder of crows who landed next to you in my vision?

I found myself in a deja vu with you while recovering from my own tribulations and try to wrap my head around everything that's happened leading up to my accident. Images of the eclipse, swirling owls silently intertwine while diving and twirling into a fence in a dance. A gust of wind blowing sideways as the steam from the hot tub dissipates with sparkles from ice catching my attention.

I gasped when one of them stayed behind and sang to me for 3 solid minutes. A moment of eternity frozen for 60+60+60=180 ticks of the clock just moments before it's predicted to stop.  I locked eyes with it through the crisp misty air and was mystified you said it was your grandparents. It was past midnight in mid November 2021.

I sink below the surface of the water hoping for clarity from lessons learned in the desert and conversations with you through the worst part of this…whatever it is.

The heat rising off the desert lake bed floor flutters in my mind, a cave with a gate to the underground sanctuary of mad men flitters close behind. Surrendering what's left to you feels like VooDoo of some kind.

Lots and lots of images come to the surface, teasing me with reflections of something I should know but they go too fast for me to capture them long enough to fully grasp. Stills of moments illuminated by the flame of a single candle placed too far over my head for me to see details clearly. With those images come feelings to wrestle inside this vessel born of Pandora's box of mirrors packed full of distorted perceptions that are neverending.

Clips shown to me in a dream before I got here of things yet to come along with the future. I have a feeling the Angel of Conception punched me a little too hard in the mouth and I am still coming out of amnesia from it. Maybe it's why I had such thick lips when I was younger I wonder?

Understanding comes when I deep dive into rabbit holes buried in the mud typical of an old Coot. Ask the Native Americans, they are familiar, they even have a myth about one. I read it once with tears on my face, I could relate.

Another silken silver thread of smoke tying it all together is woven. The air severs the wisps that were just created connecting it all together. A whisper on the wind carrying the truth under the wings of his protection. If you listen carefully, off in the distance you can hear the drumming of their footsteps at the end of his sentence of 144,000 soldiers.

Then I was there, now we are here under drastically different circumstances. So many coincidences as some understandings are revealed of things concealed and others remain hidden. I know it's a bit frustrating but you are handling it as expected being the champion you are.

It is difficult for you to see me for all that I am because of what's seen at the surface. The quirky behaviors I've acquired that leave a person less to be desired still linger as I struggle with residual symptoms. I know it is not becoming of me. It is not my scarred blemished skin covering my bare naked soul I worry about, you've handled that so gracefully that I am humbled.

Still I feel compassion for the me I see in pictures from the past. She could have had anything she ever wanted like she planned. She chose love for everyone else, giving up more than anyone will ever know during negotiations of the pact and the promise that she made with God. One sealed by the crack of a pole and grinding metal to the song Somewhere over the Rainbow playing on the radio of my Fiat 500.

He kept his promise to keep me alive and intact to help those I love most be okay through the apocalypse.  In return I would continue this crazy journey I've been on for as long as would be required including eternity, looks like he's holding me to it.