I watch the swirls. They move into their vortex center, as it seems I dream. I do not want to be here. If I could be anywhere in this universe, it would not be here….and this I think as I sink into that deep abyss; feel it suck me in, pull me down….and drain me….within its swirls ….there I go into the downward spiral
My safe place ….it was a cool and shaded pond, in a canopy of trees; their heavily leafed branches throwing cool comfort in a shadowy paradise, with their textured limbs of bark and moss…. I lay within a small boat that would rock from the intrusion of encroaching animal visitors, who were never aware of my presence
I knew that pond so well, knew the perimeter of its curves and the stretching tree roots that reached around ….and there I’d dream laying on the bottom of my little boat, looking up at the cover of green foliage, like a ceiling in some fairy’s kingdom; a kelpie’s ring to lore
I do not know why I went there, how I could recall the scent of the moss, the ripple sounds of fish who’d jump, the flapping wings of geese, the hoots of doves and later….owls as the sun went down ….but I’d dream of him as I lay there in my kelpie’s kingdom; the boy who came from far across the field who I’d never see again
It was so vague at first when Dr. Rothschild first began those sessions with me. Those details of landscapes…. of anguish….of hopes…. of dreams…. but I’d first seen him there, he’d been hiding in the night ….his language somehow a bit different, his cloth colors, his eyes, his manner, the shape of his jaw and skull along his brows and each time the lull of Dr. Rothschild’s voice recalled him more and more….
And like that image in the water; reflection or a-telling….soon would dissipate and be replaced like the ripples erasing off a chalk board or like a stage curtain or silken veils; like sails that recast entire new scenes
What had Dr. Evans found in Powys?
I heard myself say
In sleepy thoughts as I leaned back into the deep seat, stretching out as if still there in my boat, looking up at those branches and leaves
….but now it comes back to me as I lay there losing track of now—confusing time; which present ….am I ….at? as I hear Bran’s voice in my mind ….our last conversation as I’d asked him what he’d thought of all this and DNA memory theory —as it was to do with me
“Do I think you are ….gymraeg …. “ and then, to himself, “ydw i'n meddwl eich bod chi'n gymraeg…. “ and he sighed heavily before he said, “your complexion—no, it is not…. felynddu—eh, that is, well, not that is always the case but, the true—Cymry ….go iawn, eh….more swarthy than your cool color ….you have perhaps that other mix from the other parts ….and it could be from your other aboriginal roots of the Americas, or no ….it seems to me it may —yes, perhaps ….be from the Northman….Brittany which ….I can see is also there, you are so many things Beth….who is what?” and here he’d done that deep chuckle
Beth who is what
….
“Duva….?” and again I hear that music ….it takes over from Dr.Rothschild’s hypnotic tone
recall yet another scene ….upon scenes—a stormy New York City night upon a darkened stage ….when we’d lost power and ….somewhere in the crowd….that night when we performed soon after I’d first met Josef and Elsa
….and long, lovely arms ….they carried and wrapped around me; the Vampire Waltz ….as ….the music spins me within the spell of ….the brilliance of vampire eyes; their power of kryptonite —dispels and overcasts all ….that ever was —and conquers all….of me
“What did she find in Powys?” I say as I open my eyes and see Jörn looking back at me as he snaps his fingers,
“Vakna!”
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