I almost picked up the phone and dialed a number that hasn’t rung because of my touch in a long while because I had this feeling pushing me to do it.
A sense that if I did it the changes I sense and feel would be give more clarity and maybe I could see what lies beyond the veil.
Came this close to doing so and then reeled myself back in and asked if what I sense is real or not and decided if it is real it doesn’t matter because that train won’t stop until it reaches the station.
And if it is not, well time will tell that story too.
Got five minutes to put some words upon this page and talk about buying two cars at once, the taxes on larger sums of cash and how what you think you might know might not be true.
Or how it might be even more real than you can imagine.
Got my flag flying from high above the castles walls and this sense that I could come out and say no one can do it better than I can because some connections are too deep, too intimate and too something or other.
It is instinct and you can’t teach that.
Maybe you want to see the ease with which I can place some words upon the page and how they can speak to some and turn off others.
All it takes is a hand on the shoulder or in the small of a back and you know that some people’s touch is natural and others a pale imitation.
Run with the moon, stick out your hand and see if anyone can run fast enough to catch it.
Second Pandemic Pesach comes soon and the ghosts are gathering so that they might join Elijah and share a glass of wine.
It is heartache, heart break or joy– who can say.
Just words on a page here and there, fragments of something bigger, a puzzle with empty spaces and pieces upon a floor that may or may not fill those gaps.
