Trying to Connect
February 17, 2021
Dear Hunter,
What are you experiencing now? Is it frustrating to try to connect with us here on Earth? I’m scheduled to meet with another medium in a few days. I keep trying despite having crappy experiences with others who pull generic shit out of the air. I want to hear anything and everything you have to share. I want tangible, specific evidence from you so that I can trust the information coming through. I still question the communication you and I have. Am I just making this shit up?
What questions should I ask her? How can I develop my skills so it's easier to connect with you? I miss you. I wanted you to be with me when I die—I guess you still will be, but not in the way I envisioned it.
Who knew that your death would birth a poet? The words flow out of me. Do you have a hand in this? I wanted a son, and instead, I have a muse. I never saw that coming. My mind is skipping all over the place. Can you help me get more grounded in my body?
Can you help me?
Mama
Calling the Wind
Deep in the forest of the Olympic Peninsula
a rotary phone mounted on a tree has a simple sign,
"Telephone of the Wind" and an invitation
to call someone loved and lost.
You pick up the receiver, hand trembling,
and place its coolness to your ear.
Slowly you trace the numbers,
your finger on a journey around the dial,
two, four, five. Pause. Inhale.
Eight, one, eight, one.
Awkward at first, you hesitate.
What if someone overhears you?
Then in a quiet voice,
Hello? Can you hear me, honey?
Mom! Oh Mom…I have so much to tell you.
Words and tears flow, tumble and rush,
like a mountain stream on its way
to join the ocean who holds all tears
of all lands in her salty embrace.
Who knows how long you stand there,
in the privacy of the forest,
crying into an old rotary phone,
hooked up to galaxies that carry
your message to your beloved,
or to the one you never knew,
yet have missed your entire life?
Who knows?
You have been heard.
Through the bark of the tree,
through the mycelium beneath your feet,
through the branches that gaze upon milky stars.
Your message has traveled through time,
lifting the burden in your heart.
Your shoulders drop,
to the earth and rest.
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