Night Travels, Part 2
Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Crimes to the Third Degree.
The next time Iâ€™m aware of my astral travels, Iâ€™m not alone.
After my surprise visit to a location 20 miles away, I wonder where Iâ€™ll â€œastralâ€ to next. I find myself walking in a green field with a pagan author Iâ€™ve never met. We are working on a collaboration of marketing efforts for our separate publishing companies, joining forces, though not companies. It feels like a prelude to the work we will soon do on the physical plane. I know this. I know this will happen. We are reaching agreements in the astral before we coordinate efforts in the physical. We will meet for the first time this fall at a conference near Ocala, Florida.
Then Iâ€™m asleep and dreaming and the girls wake me. I have a morning appointment and one extra hour to sleep. I go back to bed with the intent to visitâ€¦somewhereâ€¦for the next hour.
I think itâ€™s more of a somewhen than a somewhere.
I am in another place, somewhere Iâ€™ve never been before, but itâ€™s rural and green and Iâ€™m very content in this place. I have been on the road with the girls to come to this place, and weâ€™ve passed farmland and warm weather. It seems to be spring here. Iâ€™m not sure how long it took to get here, whether it was a half-dayâ€™s drive or twenty minutes, but thereâ€™s an impression of countryside andâ€¦a serenity and nurturing thatâ€™s sweet to the taste.
For a moment, I think it might be my parentsâ€™ farm. There are elements of their farm, or things that remind me of elements, though itâ€™s not my parentsâ€™ farm. They are not there. The house isnâ€™t theirs. The landscape isnâ€™t theirs. But something about this place reminds me of South Georgia or North Florida and I canâ€™t quite peg it.
I feel a little older than I am now. No, itâ€™s not that I feel older, but I feel some distance from the early May evening in 2006. A forward motion. This seems to be somewhere a little ways into the future.
I arrive at this place with the girls, but theyâ€™re older than now, though not by much. No more than a few years. Weâ€™re talking casually about driving my car and learning to drive and what they need to know and need to remember about driving. I believe Shannon can drive and Aislinn is just learning. Both are somewhat self-sufficient, independent.
There is a man in my life, but heâ€™s not at this place already and not with us, but the girls and I talk and heâ€™s on his way, just busy with work, and will show himself when, well, when he gets here. Itâ€™s the way things are in this place and itâ€™s okay.
It seems that heâ€™s my husband or partner, though our relationship isnâ€™t like any Iâ€™ve seen before. Heâ€™s not present, but he is my lover, friend, partner, and I adore him. I know this by the strong tug in my heart and by the way my mouth moves when I say his name, though I donâ€™t think of him so much as a name as I do a feeling that overwhelms me.
There seems to be a lot of coming and going as everyone pleases. A lot of freedom, a lot of independence. And yet, there is plenty of love and the security of knowing that there is love.
This place isnâ€™t mine exactly, but Iâ€™m at home. Iâ€™m comfortable. There are lots of people around and they all say hello and know and like me and I seem to know them and be at ease with them. Only, I donâ€™t know any of them here in May 2006. I donâ€™t know anyone at all except for the girls. But in this place, I know them all and well.
Things are more formal and structured when we arrive. Iâ€™m not sure if itâ€™s a backyard barbecue or a party or what, but itâ€™s a celebration of some sort and thereâ€™s a sense of community and reunion. Not family, though. These are friends, community.
I look around to see whoâ€™s here. People of all ages, some families. They smile and say hello and ask after me. I wave and chat and weave among them, being friendly without any pretense at all, but looking for my lover to see if heâ€™s arrived. The girls roam around as well, loosely following me but not under my feet or in my way. Just seeing whoâ€™s here and saying hello, looking for friends their age.
I ask if anyoneâ€™s seen my lover, and they say no, not yet. Itâ€™s almost six oâ€™clock and heâ€™d said he be here by six. I laugh at that because I know heâ€™ll be late, and I hope he doesnâ€™t get a ticket racing here.
Thereâ€™s still plenty of daylight, though the sun is low and the weather is nice, not so humid yet. Iâ€™m wearing a dress, something loose and casual. The hem falls somewhere around my knee. No pantyhose. Iâ€™m a little slimmer than I am now, and damn, but I think the dress Iâ€™m wearing is white. I donâ€™t usually wear white. Just not my color.
I have to go to the bathroom, and one of the girlsâ€”Aislinn, I thinkâ€”follows me up the back steps and into the white house. Itâ€™s big, elegant, two storiesâ€¦? I donâ€™t sense that itâ€™s mine because Iâ€™m noting the furnishings with some degree of delight and newness. It reminds me in some ways of a bed and breakfast inn.
Maybe this house is my loverâ€™s? I donâ€™t know. It seems more connected with him than with me. This whole place seems more connected to him. Itâ€™s like Iâ€™m an honored guest here.
The scene shifts to the bathroom. Itâ€™s more of a powder room. Small, light walls. Iâ€™m looking down at my white skirt and its multiple layers, and at my shoes.
Shoes! Ack! Iâ€™m wearing shoes. This must be a formal occasion.
Theyâ€™re an off-white, almost cream color. Flats. Like ballet slippers. Soft. I think theyâ€™re soft leather.
Outside the bathroom, I rejoin Aislinn in a foyer near the door. I comment on the red oriental rug on the floor over, I think, dark hardwood. I think thereâ€™s a table to the side with a floral arrangement on it, but Iâ€™m more intrigued with the rug and comment to Aislinn that itâ€™s just like _____????â€™s in her house. Only, I donâ€™t know the person Iâ€™m telling Aislinn about. I know her then, but not back here in May 2006.
We go back outside and I see my feet taking the steps, one at a time, gracefully, slowly. Out onto the grass and then me saying hello to strangers who are then friends, though none very, very close. Iâ€™m not aware of a host in this place. Am I the hostess? Is my lover the host? Everyone seems to look my way as I walk around outside.
Theyâ€™re all waiting for something.
I ask a few people if theyâ€™ve seen my lover and no, they havenâ€™t. Heâ€™s late, but while thereâ€™s anticipation, thereâ€™s not fear that he will not appear.
Shannon and Aislinn are looking for him, too. Theyâ€™re the ones who alert me. They tell me heâ€™s just driven up and I leave the stranger-friends Iâ€™m talking with and make my way beyond the people to where I can see him. Thereâ€™s a car there, and I know itâ€™s his and I know itâ€™s him stepping out of the car and I feel my heart leap up in a joy of biblical proportions andâ€”
And then the scene shifts, preventing me from seeing this public reunion with my lover.
I now find myself in bed the next morning and waking on white sheets. Alone. My loverâ€™s off and about. Thereâ€™s a hollow, still warm, next to me, and Iâ€™m oh, so content. I stretch like a cat and just glory in the feel of the bed on a morning like this. Iâ€™m not rushed or bothered. Iâ€™m justâ€¦happy.
I check on the girls and theyâ€™re up and about, too, but itâ€™s still very, very early and I think I was up very, very late. I tell them Iâ€™m going back to bed for a little longer. The truth is, the bed where I slept last night feels so good to me that I donâ€™t want to give it up. This is a feeling of contentment that I want to bottle for forever, even if my lover isnâ€™t in my arms at the moment.
I sleep another hour, then get up and tug on shorts and a T-shirt. I wander outside, barefoot, and think nothing of it. People from last night are sitting on the porch and on the steps and milling around in the backyard, cleaning up and chattering. They smile and say hello. It must have been quite a party last night!
I stop to chat with some but not for long. Iâ€™m looking for â€œmine.â€ I spot my kids here and there, talking with friends and doing their own thing.
I walk all around the outside of the house but donâ€™t find my lover. His car is gone. Heâ€™s not there.
But I have no worries, and no worry about him and his feelings for me. Heâ€™s simply off doing his own thing, and thatâ€™s okay. Iâ€™m enjoying the sunshine and the light breeze, and doing the maternal thing of finding out where my family is before proceeding with my day, but all is well and content in this time and place.
I feel the pull back toward my bed and toward the light in my room, and I wonder where it isâ€”and when it isâ€”that Iâ€™ve been.