My Darkest (K)Night

To My Darkest Knight,

I still haven’t thanked you for being there. You were never there when I asked for you, but you were there when you needed to be.

After less than a year of knowing each other you were a better friend to me than I was to you. When you came over after your friend’s death all I could talk about were my struggles at work. I didn’t even see your pain beyond my own. When you wanted to mourn his loss, you walked through one of my darkest nights with me. That was October, 2014.

I wonder how you perceived me, could you tell I wasn’t 100% in this plane of reality? Did you think I was insane like the doctors labeled me? You were just a passing moment, soon overshadowed by so many other experiences I wanted to forget. But it’s been four years, I’ve healed, I’m ready to own my darkest night for what it was. Looking back, I can see how much that night with you was exactly what I needed.

When I first shifted consciousness I would sing and dance all day. I would hoola hoop and envision light flowing through me into the earth. I was singing Aloha Ke Akua by Nahko Bear over and over, a song you introduced me to. By singing this song I was healing the Earth, and I knew I needed to sing it with you.

After many attempts to connect, I finally ran into you downtown. It was after I met the boy from the Rainbow Tribe, the girl with the Cheshire Cat tattoo, and the homeless man that wouldn’t stop touching my leg. I traded an ex-boyfriend’s guitar for a crystal that now sits on my Mesa from that boy. He was 13, in foster care after the government took him from his parents at a hippy commune in the forest. I smoked with him, the Cheshire girl, and the homeless man in the park. I saw him as an ancient gypsy, reborn in this young body, while he was still unaware of his past lives.

The boy showed me how to use my Sight as I drove them to town. ‘Park somewhere further away, where you won’t get a ticket if you’re still there in the morning’ he said, directing me with confidence. ‘Here, under this orange tree, so we can find our back.’ I would need that later, after he was gone. I wandered with you and the homeless man, until finally the marker appeared – there was the sacred orange tree, and my car parked just beneath. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

When I saw you it was like fate, I was wandering back from the college where I had sat by the river with a group of vagabonds, told stories and sang. As the sun set, they started seeming a little too drunk and I told the boy and girl to leave. I was walking back and there you were. You had your guitar, like normal, and you walked with me and the homeless man. You helped me find my car, and finally sang with me.

I confessed so much to you that night, more than I can recall. I asked you questions and made assumptions that any rational person would never make. If I insulted you or hurt you or was racist in any way, please know it was unintentional. I spoke from a stream that would not be dammed.

I was the Daughter of Creation, the next Dalai Lama. I was here to hold open the gates so everyone could ascend. I asked you to protect me. I asked you to swear your loyalty. How insane you must have thought me, but I didn’t see it. I only saw what I was feeling, what I was experiencing. There were no filters. Every thought became truth, every association became a cemented fact. And you let me exist there, as I was. You spoke up when others would remain silent, told me that I couldn’t ask the questions I was asking. You were direct and steady when everyone else was playing some game to cajole me. I was testing reality, and you were one of the few grounding voices in my journey.

After that night I didn’t come back down to this plane right away. There would be months of shifting in and out, odd behavior, moments of confidence and freedom, fear, lust, running away, grief… so much. Even so, that night was a marker on my journey. And you were a witness. Thank you for being there, on my darkest night.

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