Somewhere Beyond the Sea by Julianna Rowe
Good Morning, Flesh and Spirit! Beware where your thoughts and decisions can take you. Dead or ALIVE!
Once Upon a Time, inside my head or outside, I know not “witch,” lived the beautiful land of Killarney, Ireland. The grasses around Killarney were the colors of every green and more in my hundred-and-eighty box of crayons from grade two. As I looked out over the hills and valleys, I saw what the quilt called Killarney Green indeed was. I wonder if I weren’t in space momentarily, peeking outside where I truly lived, looking at something unreal. Its beauty was not measured by what senses blessed my extreme intellectual level. Ah, maybe that is the culprit here? Or was I in space, having died of my previous matter of being? Either way, Killarney was my home now. Or so I thought.
The clothes that held my new body draped the ground. A long white apron covered part of the clothes, and they flowed weightless as the gentle winds of Killarney blew a mist of salty sea water across my milkin’ pure skin. I was pure, or was I? Since when did that occur? But it had, so I went with it because it felt PURE. Clean.
And then I saw the others gathering items, busy like they each knew their intended jobs and did them.
And still in the background were those scenic patchwork green acres of land with the sea in the distant background.
I looked like one of those Amish women.
Then, I observed a group of people sporadically painting a few rocks. They would stop on occasion looking at me for approval.
Somebody told me through spiritual communication that I had designed the rock painting and my permission was required, which I gave. My creations were a magnificent display of art blending into the landscape as though from the Gods through me. I was no longer in the long dress with the long white apron.
I heard a sound to my right and turned in wonderment at the sight. How could this be? A woman is lying in a stall in labor of child. But it is an animal stall, and she has trouble birthing her baby. There was no one to assist her. I continued to watch. One man came forth holding a tiny Bristol brush he instructed the other man how to use.
He told him that if he gently brushed the area of the woman’s cervix, the infant child could be born without further pain and possible trauma.
The woman in labor had sent a message to her best friend to come and be with her, but the woman’s friend ignored her summons and went about her business of chores and happiness.
She didn’t wish to be bothered by her friend’s pain.
The man, who appeared to be the overseer of birthing, explained to the woman this new procedure that should bring on the birthing with less difficulty. Telling her it would be somewhat uncomfortable, but the result would end the misery. She agreed, and he proceeded to bristle the cervical area. Within moments, a child was born in the animal stall in Killarney, Ireland. A land unknown to most.
One day, the woman was walking her baby and came upon her friend, who had ignored her pleas for assistance in the birthing. The friend fell into deep despair, crying and begging forgiveness for her lack of caring. The woman forgave her friend, but the others did not. The community ostracized her because her heart proved she had merely gotten caught and was not repentant.
The man who lived in a room in Killarney viewed all the same things I was but said nothing, only watched as I did. Who was this man? But then, who was I? We were riding on the edge of a shooting star in a flash, and the scene changed. I was living in a different time and place once again. Somebody built this of cement. Possibly, I was transported to Italy. Or New Mexico? I always liked being in control of myself, but this was something I knew I had to let go of and ride the ride with. It wasn’t like I was in any river with crashing, frightening rapids. It was a trickling creek with tributaries the spirit had chosen for me to take off the main flow. It was most likely some form of learning or lesson, and so far, it had not caused me duress.
At the least, that was my summation of this movie inside my head that wasn’t.
Inside my new stucco home, I felt safe. The man from Killarney was still with me but not in view, yet I could always feel his presence.
There was a knock on my door. Before I could open it, a man of another nationality pushed the door in. Then, another man crept in behind him. They began pushing me around, and I was frightened. I told them I was calling the police, but they laughed when one of them took my phone. The man who cared for me opened a porthole in the room right out of midair. I could see him lying down on something when he mentally summoned me into the porthole, but not all the way. Somebody told me spiritually that if I went all the way, I wouldn’t be able to return. I did as he requested but stepped too far into his domain. I sat beside him and noticed a large tear in his left eye. He asked me if he could love me, and I said yes. His lips were wet and had the consistency of jello from many previous tears, all held in one packet next to his left eye. I placed my hand on his face and wiped the tear that told his sad story. He told me how much he loved me and everything would be alright. I kissed his very wet lips for a long time.
I was pulled back through the portal by the interference of the police, who had arrived needing to ask me more questions regarding the intruders. The man told me he would be watching and waiting for me. I asked him if he was dead. Or was I dead? He just stared at me with love, no words. For some reason, I was allowed back through the porthole.
The house belonged to my step-nana. She was well-to-do before she passed away. She also oversaw my walk through this self-made movie set of Heaven’s School. I knew not which. Maybe I was roaming in one of the twelve dimensions spirit told me of. Still, I was also to be careful not to step too far into other extensions of the Universe. In my estimation, that may have already happened. I wondered if I would get to choose “witch” one I preferred or if the Universe was in charge. I suspected the latter. And what if the man didn’t love me and was a wolf in sheep’s clothing? Either way, I had to continue the journey.
I was over-cleaning due to stress when three people talked me into traveling back to Ireland for a business deal. Something about my calling to write, so I agreed. While standing at the airport or what seemed like a train station, I felt the urge not to go. I never listened as I should have to the still, small voice. No, I preferred the loud, usually incorrect voices that seemed more REAL. The truth was quite the opposite. And so we arrived in Ireland, and I knew it was a mistake. We were not at the same beautiful Killarney but a stale building inside a cold apartment. It was a fear-filled moment.
I snuck a legal pad from the tenant, who convinced me to travel with them. I began writing to the man who said he loved me. The man had so many tears, but my pen would skip to where he couldn’t read my words. I grabbed another pen, and it did the same. I attempted to tell him my trouble, and he needed help. I folded the paper and addressed the envelope to “Somewhere beyond the sea.” The owner took it from me, saying she would ensure it was sent.
My mind and heart vacillated between flesh and spirit, but I didn’t know it.
The man answered my letter with his spirit voice. He was upset I had left without warning, with no forethought of the dangers, whether it be dangers of the flesh or hazards of the spirit. Both existed. I kept apologizing, but he didn’t stop scolding me. He told me he would be back and to listen for him. He told me that he would give up and move if I didn’t stop searching for things outside my true path. I would not be able to find him. I heard him and took his words to heart. But I was still lost.
In the meantime, this dimension I wished I were not in added a new twist. The female owner brought a dog into the larger of the rooms. She sat him down and asked me if I would like a puppy. I said I didn’t believe it was a good time for me to have a puppy, and that dog was not a puppy. She laughed a strange laugh like I used to hear a “witch” cackle when I was little. I decided words were not my friend then and stilled my fleshly voice.
Why weren’t people communicating in the spirit like the others all had? Oh God, where was I? Because it wasn’t Killarney, Ireland, by the beautiful patchwork hills and baby blue peaceful ocean with its mirrored surface reflecting the heavens and all its glories. No, I was in some downtown coal yard resembling Detroit's lousy section.
The woman continued.
She told me she could get me a puppy from this male dog in less than two hours. I started to laugh when I realized her expression was for me to pretend, I believed. This was one of those times I imagined myself raising both arms and shouting.
“Praise the Wicked Witch of all wisdom and knowledge!”
But of course, that was only in my imagination because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and needed to listen very carefully to find my way out. But it appeared it was not time yet.
The witch lady injected a syringe into the back of the dog's skull. The dog felt no pain and did not flinch. I did not cringe out of fear of retaliation. I did not want a needle inserted into the back of my head so I could have puppies or babies or anything. I remained calm as she inserted the long needle into the brain of the male dog. He ejaculated sperm in the opposite direction than usual for a male dog.
She cackled at her feat. The male dog had impregnated himself, and within minutes, she showed me an X-ray of five puppies in a sac inside the male dog.
She cackled again, saying they would be born shortly and I could have my pic of the litter. I didn’t want a puppy. I wanted to go back to the dimension I was loved in. Not the one with evil men and police, women of the old days having babies in the barn, or where witches lived and caused fundamental and true horrors.
And that is when I heard the voice of the man. He instructed me how to escape the witch's dimension and return to the train station. I had accidentally taken the train to Ausch- “witch.” Also known as Hell.
I did as directed and was home in a nanosecond or so. I stood in a void staring, going in a circle, searching for the man. I begged him to open the porthole again for me, but he didn’t.
Had I waited too long, and he moved away?
I cried, pleaded, and threw myself on my knees in earnest prayer that he would return for me. Nothing. Was this it?
I was on my own. I sat on the grass and cried the same thick, heavy tears the man had. Why couldn’t I find him, and why couldn’t he see me? The loss and grief were unbearable.
I opened my eyes, turned to the right, and pushed the clock button that lit up to say it was 8:06 a.m. No man loved me, no Ireland, no witch, no puppies, no train stations, and no help coming. Somebody sent the metaphors of a dream to help me decipher my mind and journey.
