“I had the best day today,” I told my husband when he called me on his way home from work yesterday.
“Oh yea, what did you do?”
“I went to see Maryjane’s dance class and then had lunch with our girls. And I wrote most of the day.”
I am writing my memoir. I am my own worst critic. Aren’t you a little young to be writing your memoirs? What makes you so special that you should write a book about your life? They might be voices from my past that just keep following me around.
I am writing my memoir. I realize that most people have not experienced many of the things I have like working and learning from Native American elders and seeing miracles and healings and dozens of eagles circling my house. Most people don’t look at others and see tumors and broken hearts and see where the break in the bone is. I am a medical intuitive and am very psychic.
On the other hand, there are a fair amount of people like me that feel alone or do not understand their situations. There are folks who were not nurtured as children, or who are stuck in abusive relationships, or who are highly sensitive to everything and those that are clairvoyant, and those young people that are desperately trying to be “normal” and society has labeled them mentally ill or ADD. There are people that need to know they are important and special and need to know how to embrace, understand, and move forward with their great gifts.
There are a million reasons why I need to write my memoir. And I am. It is flowing out of my fingertips faster than I can write and I am fascinated by what is coming out. I feel like a bystander transcribing a medicine woman’s journals. We are going to talk about that? Oh yea, I remember when that happened. Oh, those were good times. Yes, talk about that, that was scary…amazing…beautiful…devastating…real.
I want to blog about planting potatoes and spring crops and spring herbal remedies and changes but I cannot. I am writing my memoir and it is fascinating and the Universe is quite insistent that it get done. I cannot wait to share it with you. Right now I need another cup of coffee and I will begin my new day’s work, writing.
“I think I just saw a dragon,” I hesitantly told Emily.
Now, I know you are thinking what I was thinking when I thought I saw a dragon. I need to take a break…or get a drink. Or, perhaps dragons are actually real. It’s funny what your mind races around thinking when it tries to figure something out. Racing through files of memories and education to find the proper conclusion.
Last night, I was carrying my really old farm dog outside and as I stepped off the porch I noticed something different in the air. The tree in the yard was shaking. I stopped to listen and watch. The moon was dim, for I couldn’t see it, and the stars were very bright against the black, cloudless sky. From behind the house the street light could not be seen so in the dark these scenes played out. I watched to see if it were the wind. Perhaps the breeze was idly dancing leaves off the tree. But the sky was still. Wood smoke on its wings, the air crisp and fresh, a proper Autumn evening was present as I took a deep breath in. My eyes struggled to make out images in the dark, in the shadows.
I am well aware that in this kind of country dark, one can make out the most intriguing figures and crazy ideas out of nothing but shadows and wildlife sounds. Especially around Halloween. One begins to regret watching horror movies as a child. I laughed off anything scary and went back to examining the dancing tree. My eyes caught a sight above, the sky blacking out in the shape of wings. The figure was so large that I could see an actual void in the sky as its large frame covered the stars. It wasn’t very high up, but it seemed so giant that I imagined it might be a plane, but alas it was lower. It was far too big to be the hawks we see regularly. I was baffled. My mind out of ideas.
So, I concluded that it was a dragon. Emily replied rather nonchalantly, “Oh, that? Bret and his friend saw it when they went hunting the other day. They looked it up and found out it was a Golden Eagle. The wingspan is eight feet long. She has a baby with her who’s wingspan is five feet long! The mom was bigger than their truck!”
Oh yes, an eagle of course.
I have viewed in the wild eagles only a few times in my life and always in the daytime and never quite that large. I wish I could have seen the two in the light. I bet they are a breathtaking sight to see. A bit of untouched nature flying overhead in the midst of our built up world. Perhaps dragons were made up after viewing eagles.