Meditation Work: The Wanted
Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree of Truth.
One Full Moon cycle has passed since my last visit to my “metaphysical” home. It’s not as busy as be-fore, yet there are people enough wandering through, visiting, saying hello. Some of them seem to be “on tour” of my subconscious inner structures. Have I become a side show attraction?
The man who frequents my dreams is among the visitors.
He grins, says hello, wanders off with a six-string guitar slung over his shoulder. I don’t follow. I keep working at what I’m doing-decorating my home to get it just so. He’s very welcome to wander around my subconscious. There’s little or nothing here that I wouldn’t share with him, and Lord knows, I’ve shared things with him I’ve never told another soul.
I’m still rearranging pillows when he returns with several people, including my girls. He sits in the chair I associate with my mother-a nurturing spot for me, and I suppose I need a little nurturing right now. Aislinn asks for a guitar lesson and they joke around about playing the blues-and that’s what he begins playing.
I finish up my decorating and then continue to listen to his music as I examine old treasures in a cabinet, looking over things I haven’t thought of in a long time, not realizing many were even there, culling what I don’t need to make room for new treasures. Meanwhile, he continues to play the blues without a heavy heart. He’s content to be here in this place of mine. Safe. Home-y. Full of my stuff. He’s playing the blues and playing at the blues, a sort of obscure joke between the two of us because of all the bad times we’ve seen and come through.
I continue to redecorate my life and reorder the trappings of my home. He watches me, plays and watches me and talks nervously about meaningless things but in a tone that’s full of meaning. We can’t really talk with so many people around, and I’m mostly quiet and reserved.
Shannon suggests everyone there go with her to see something she has to show them, but I know she’s just trying to orchestrate a scenario. And suddenly, it’s just him and me. He stayed.
I’m done decorating but I don’t sit down. I tinker with my decorations. He plays the guitar and talks but this time, unlike so many other times in these meditations, I’m the one who doesn’t know what to say. I make small talk but it’s hollow and I’m not sure what to do or say next. I don’t really understand what he’s offering me, even though I’m enjoying his joyous version of the blues and the tough times are behind both him and me and it’s definitely time for us to celebrate soon.
I guess maybe it’s his turn to give me words instead of music.