Mama Blue

Trouble don't last always. Of my grandmother's adages I've kept that ground me in times of change, this one just hits different. It's almost radical. The reality is, that while I may be OK on this path, someone out there ain't doing quite as hot. Too soon? Apologies. I've been told my choice of words are like the sword, but, after all, is that not what He came to send? By the looks of it, God is a man of his word. Not that he has gender, though this is certainly some masculine destruction right here. Waves hotter than any of my kid summers in South Georgia. And who do we have to thank? That's right. Man. Men. War has not yet touched my family and yet it's a pervasive constant in our personal struggles for today's gold. Water. I am in the sixth generation of the Comfrey family, a name chosen - not given. Mama Blue named us and shared a seemingly insignificant small totem from child to child. Now, we all knew there would come a day where water wars would devastate this community. It is the lifeline, and our totem the Key to the Kingdom, quite literally.

Removed from the sweet Georgia hills where the water sprung in abundance, magic lives in my key. Sure, there is some Comfrey resilience there, but an intermittent depth, like a compass or the mind's intuition, lies in the key's composition. You'd be surprised to hear the formula is quite simple. A collapsible sillcock and coupler key that is kept on an inconspicuous chain around my neck. The tool's true purpose is masked and appears to the ignorant as a worn and scratched white gold heart-shaped locket. Held close to my own pumping organ and under layers of cloth is this personal guide. That trouble I mentioned before? It creeps up; and though it don't last always, it finds a way to keep close in vulnerable times. Funny though, be it my own heart or the one on the totem, a reverberating rumble, not unlike that of ancient thunder, shouts a quiet roar of warning. I mean, do you believe in magic? If there's anything close to a reckoning of faith in the Higher Power, here is my source. Vibration and electricity, my soul and spirit move and not only am I led to what I need (which is more times than not a cup of liquid gold), I feel safe. Security in this time is only of the mind. Nothing outside of this body will protect me.

Creative choice and direction given to me by my ancestors bestows a continuous protection, more so than that given the day the Blackness shrouded the city. While it was only a dry lightning storm, the Keepers were temporarily blinded into a stupor of collective chaos. They sang it destructive, but I sing it triumphant. Whisperers of the events name, Blackness, coined it almost naturally. We would save ourselves once more. Us Comfreys might have the Key to the Kingdom, but others like us also feel similarly about that day.

Still, the key is my hidden gem of sorts. To be honest, it's what keeps me going to the point that I'm not sure my physical body could excel without it. What was so freeing about the Blackness was the immersive identity. I've never felt both detached and one with the earth at the same time. The trickle of a once dead stream overflowed. My key's ancestral knowledge searched for a single oasis in the euphoria of it all. Rather than removing the swinging totem, then stuck to my moist skin, I knelt under the cloud close enough to the very bottom to smell organic matter. Feeling for the desired opening took milliseconds. When the locket transforms into the latch, each hook matching to make that perfect click enabling the source of life itself, something in me rises. The forgotten sound of children laughing and whiffs of grandma's lavender essence. Major keys and sea breeze. Lifted is a prayer to all that has brought me here. Give me a cup of the soil's most precious resource and clocks refuse to turn. The kingdom is ours and we will live forever.