Amber had to take a break from the Star of Bethlehem.
Her stomach wasn’t sure what to make of the essence.
Any ground that Amber had gained became shaky on the flower. Her body required more.
Remind me what a body needs, she thought. A physical body.
Water, food, exercise, rest, flow, or what many on this plane call release. Tears, laughter, etc.
That other stuff, hey. That’s required?
No. Not required.
Amber walked everywhere now, unless she was exhausted and dizzy. The public transit seemed to be running more smoothly.
So, am I me or am I you or are you me?
Release, thinks Amber. I should laugh more.
There have been too many people who have told her to stop shoulding on herself to let that slip through.
I would like to laugh more, she thinks. I can laugh more. I will laugh more.
Part of her sinks into the mudd with her good leg.
I don’t laugh enough. And then, yet. She thinks, I don’t laugh enough yet.
And how am I going to bring laughter to anyone in this state?
The mudd started to slink up her hollow leg. The weight tilted her slightly to the left.
Where is the sun? God, I need your help. Angels, lift me from this. Take me away. Bring me into your arms and help me feel safe the way you did when I was a child.
Amber’s parents used to tell her that she babbled from a very young age, always looking at the wall as if she could see something that other adults could not.
Her mother was sure that Amber was speaking to her grandfather, who had passed before she was born.
Amber’s mother missed her father immensely. This was the shiniest gift that Amber’s mother didn’t even hope for.
On the day that Amber was born, as the surgeon was pulling her out, her father read a political article that began with the word God.
He sneered, believing that nobody was watching.
If Amber’s parents did believe in past lives back then, they certainly didn’t believe that there was a benevolent force stronger than whatever force encourages violence.
Amber, brilliant white light, looked at her longtime friend and confident. “That’s him?”
“Don’t let me go.”
“We got you.”
“Does he know why I’m here? Can he tell?”
“He might not yet, but don’t underestimate him. He’s slipped through with loopholes for centuries.”
“I remember now. Oh, how he brags.”
Laughter. Like music.
“You seem faded, are you okay?”
“It’s heavy down here. I like it up there better.”
“I know, honey, but the first years will go by quickly. And everything that the universe holds in escrow for you will be received during this lifetime .”
“Don’t let me go.”
“You feel that? You’re picking up their fear. You’ll get through the toughest of it like it never happened. It will be erased.”
“Don’t let go. Not even when I push you away.”
“I will always be a lighthouse.”
“I don’t feel ready.”
“That’s not you. You are connected throughout lifetimes of karma.”
“Don’t let me forget.”
“We’ll help you remember when it’s time.”
“I love you. I miss you already.”
“Do you hear that baby crying? That’s you, darling. That’s you.”
“Oh, no wonder.”
“We’ve done this before. It doesn’t last long. We’ll be together again before you know it.”
“Can you turn my sensitivity down for the first few months until I can figure it out for myself?”
“Of course, anything you need, just ask.”
“See you soon.”
“I love you.”