TheEnergyofSummer

Conversations with Dead People: A Series – The Energy of Summer

Post Series: Conversations with Dead People

The Energy of Summer
Pen to Paper, 20 Minute Writing

“Georgia?”

“Yes, Kristina?”

“Can I touch your dress?”

Georgia O’Keeffe is wearing a dress of red poppies, woven together somehow.  I have been wondering about it every time she drops in, but she never comes without the others.

“I don’t know,” she says.

“You don’t know?”

“Yes. I’m afraid if you try to touch my dress, you will find it is not here.”

“Can I try?” I ask, noticing the smell of poppies in the air.

“Sure, but hold this amethyst first,” Georgia says as her bony hands gingerly lift the thin black cord holding the crystal over her head.  The polished purple stone is refracting light, and is in the shape of a heart.

“Why?”  I ask.

“Sight,” she says smiling, handing me the stone, “You need help with sight and remember the universe at its core is crystalline.”

Georgia hands me the heart shaped stone. I close my hand around the purple crystal.

“Now,” Georgia says, “close your eyes,” as she places her hands on my head.

I look up at her, and I say, “This is a lot of effort just to touch your…”

“Shh, and close your eyes,” she repeats.

I am not sure why I am resisting, but it has been a rough week with another employee quitting and being on customer service for people and their enema needs. I had been feeling in a more practical mood, and the moment I shut my eyes I understand my resistance more fully.  Georgia has a way with her teachings of immersing the whole body, the whole psyche living, no thing left within myself to hold on to the world of the ordinary.

Suddenly, I become the poppies, hungry for sun, rooted in earth, bees buzzing all about me.

I open my eyes, “Georgia, I’m a bit allergic to bees.”

She laughs, carefully bends over, and looks straight in my eyes.

“No, you aren’t.  Not there.  Wanna go again?” She says enthusiastically.

“Sure.” I say. She stands up, stretches for a long moment, and then readjusts her hands on my head.

“Got the rock?”

“Yes.”

“Great.  Shut your eyes.”

Once again, I am a field of red poppies, mouth open, eating the heat of the day.  Georgia is gone.  I am gone.  I am now only pure pleasure.

 

 

Conversations with Dead People is a series of stories which show up in my meditative practice, Contemplative Writing. With this practice I sit with pen and paper, twenty minutes, and write to a prompt from a meditative space. I share these stories with minimal edits to share the depth, the directness, the deep body sense, I experience with my teachers.

Albert Einstein pops into my writing often, we hang out, giving us both a direct chance to explore the illusion of time. Albert feeds me tremendous encouragement to trust the irresistible urge I have to grieve, and heal, through death.

We also meet Thomas Merton, Georgia O’Keeffe, Carl Jung, and more through this weekly blog, Conversations with Dead People: A Series. Please join us each week.

~Kristina Amelong

 

 

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

This Post Has 2 Comments

  1. I am gone , I am a field of red poppies, eating the heat of the day, Georgia is gone, I am only pure pleasure. So poinent & introspective

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *