The main thing about traveling is this… “things” get jettisoned- quick. Amazingly fast, in fact.
At first, the lack of baggage feels weird.
The other day I became so lightheaded I landed in an emergency room, convinced my heart had slipped
its moors. It (my heart) was usually settled heavy and firm on top of my solar plexus.
But that day it was up in my throat and in the very next minute, out the third eye. Like a fucking balloon, gone, that fast. I panicked.
The oxygen the nurse gave me helped. (Sweet girl, she said she liked my earrings, and I am so very,
very vain and attached to my earrings – it’s one of the reasons I know I could never become a nun.)
(Well, one of the reasons.)
So, I don’t know if it was the oxygen, or the radioactive dye they put in my veins, or the amusement of hearing Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride” blaring over the PA while the gamma camera moved this way and that, but all of a sudden I knew everything was okay.
That this wasn’t, after all, a good day to die.
That despite certain residue and the possibility of glowing in the dark; my heart was fine.
It (my heart), was, in fact, supposed to roam freely through the chakras, one minute in the pelvis, the next in the center of my forehead and then, you know, out and about in the world. (Yogi’s have a name for that, me, I’m a Midwesterner (although some of the sea has crept in).
An old poem, multiple times rejected and unpublished, yet a favorite (and one of the other reasons for not becoming a nun):