NINETY-ONE: I have to die

NINETY-ONE: I have to die

“Run!” screamed Edlawit and swooned as she finished narrating the sight.

As I grabbed her, I saw a flash of an underground dwelling of a couple of old, almost forgotten Muskogee, Mekko and Efahava.

“They’re gone,” she stammered. “The vision is gone.”

She paused.

“How could Jude just leave them there to die?. MiJin. James. In the desert.” Edlawit’s voice was tired. “Is there anything we can do? I can’t take much more of this.”

“Don’t worry, Edlawit. They are close to friends of ours. You’ll recognize them.  Here let me show you. They are on their way.”

 “I thought we could trust him!” she was despondent.  “We have to warn her about Burton’s. We have to stop her from going there. We can’t trust Jude now.”

I grabbed her hand.

“No, Edlawit,” I said.  “We’ve already seen this.  It’s fixed.  It has to happen.  We can’t change it now.”

“Then what’s the point?” she said.  “What’s the point in knowing when you can’t change it? Aren’t we supposed to be healers? Aren’t we supposed to save lives?”

“Yes,” I said. “But she’s human.  You’re human.  You must experience death to understand life.”

There was silence.

The first time either had experienced death was when Priscilla died.

“Oh, Priscilla,” I thought. “How I need you now.  How I need you to walk out of the Mist.”

Before I knew it, I was looking over the south end of the porch into the pasture.  Just beyond it lay the Mist.

“You’re thinking of her aren’t you?” asked Edlawit. “Why won’t she come?”

“She’s still resting. Resting in the heart of the Mist.”

“What’s it like, Miguel?”

“The Mist is like being wrapped in love. You are aware of everything and everyone. You have a keen sense of belonging to everyone but still being you.  Little old you, all by yourself but not a bit alone.  It’s warm and full of energy.” I paused for a second, caught up with a whiff of Priscilla. “You know how from the outside, you can see flashes of light within the Mist?”

“Yeah, me an Arous always imagined there were poisajos like lightning bugs in the Mist.”

“Good imagination,” I said. “It’s like that but they’re not solid when they are in there.”

“There are poisajos in the Mist?”

“Yeah, they fly right in and out.  But when the go in they change into tiny creatures of light.  And they can change shape and form and they are warm and the fly back and forth, float around, play hide and go seek with each other.  But you can’t touch them.  They are like pure energy.”

“And that’s where Priscilla is,” she said.  It wasn’t a question but a statement of awe and gentle jealousy.  “Can I go inside the Mist?”

“No. Not right now.  You have to get a new body to go into the Mist.”

“You mean, I have to die.”