In the clouds

There was a time I thought I would never come down. Being up there is all I’ve ever known. All that I am comfortable with. And everywhere I wanted to be. Whenever I was grounded, only bad things happened to me, or my body for that matter. People used me, for their pleasure. And luckily, I learned how to leave whenever those instances came around.

You see, I lived my life in the clouds. From an early age, I was coaxed to live life walking on the edge. Edge of what you might ask? The only way I can try to explain and begin to make sense of it…I walk on the edge of your reality. People live life so concretely, whatever they see, touch and experience is reality. But not for me. Sure I can see those things too, however I choose to live life as spirit does. While we all walk among them, they aren’t plainly seen by everyone. So they are deemed mysterious, unreal- not reality. However, what happens when all of your family, everyone that cared for you and with whom you had safety and security, becomes spirit and leaves this reality?

Their time was up, they moved on to life amongst the clouds. While I, stuck and left alone to deal with the reality of it all, left behind to feel the despair and fear that death causes. Left behind to deal with all that this world makes you experience. The constructs of other people, the people in power. The ones that liked to instill fear in you, to have ultimate control. Which left me with plenty of opportunities to fly. I learned that it wasn’t just up to me, they pull me away whenever my body experiences the unmentionable. Whenever someone forcibly tries to put their power onto me. My angels brought me up to the clouds, and I don’t think they knew they would have a hard time putting me back.

It was easy, to fly that is. I have the best memories and reminisce to the time we had together. All the laughter that grandparents bring and all the love a father could give. It just made sense for me to be up there with them, they were where I belonged. There was absolutely no reason for me to be on earth. Between the entrapment and vulnerability that is childhood, to the soul crushing reality of what it is to be an indigenous woman on colonized land. There is no room for me here, it never seemed like the place for me.

Let me tell you just how hard it is. Imagine being a seven year old, where everything you had ever known simply vanished. All I was told was that they had died and I wouldn’t see them anymore. I couldn’t understand because they had not stopped existing for me. Memories would pop into my head instantly and I would be taken back, living right in that moment like nothing ever happened. A song would start playing and I would be transfixed and replaying the seconds as if it were a scene I had watched on repeat. From what a child could make sense of the circumstances, my life had became magic. And no matter how many times I was told they didn’t exist anymore, well neither did I then. They were the most real thing to me, because they influenced moments in time. Turns out the longer I stayed up there, only made it harder for me down here.

Realizing the looks and judgmental eyes I started getting, I quickly learned how to hide my reality. Out of survival and to not stir up anybody that I lived with. Those people didn’t take me in so well, they didn’t believe in magic or believe that little girls should be seen or heard. Leaving me lifeless in reality, and with no desire to take part in this world. Nobody understood or even cared to try. I was only convenient when they needed something. But it was those exact moments I would get pulled up and out into the clouds. I learned to find the happiness in the worst moments of reality. And it only became a problem when school started noticing. When teachers had a hard time holding my attention. One day we were given an assignment to share a story of our most vivid memory, who knew I could leave in front of so many people. That didn’t go over very well. When I was nearing the end of my story and pulling myself back down, all I could see was all the eyes in the room, all the mouths dropped open in disbelief. And frankly, I don’t even remember what was said.

Once reality had stabilized for me, meaning my life was in my control and there weren’t anymore intrusive interactions. They stopped pulling me up, and I had a harder time reaching them. I got swept away and found joy in life. I found contentment within existence and actually enjoyed the smallest of things. Like creating meals, singing, dancing and finding my place in the world. I notice I still re-live those memories, I’m in the kitchen re-creating the meals of my grandmother. I’m playing the songs of my father. And feeling the love of my grandfather. This is what I love to do, and finding comfort within my self and living solo has granted me permission to do just that. I have yet to find people safe enough to share myself, but the desire is there.

I realized I had to come down and be amongst the living, because I am human…and I can breathe after all. Being earthed is something I’m not used to, however I am learning to admire the intricacies in life. I find myself gravitating towards the subjects where it’s permissible to disassociate. I’m an artist with love of singing and dancing, and audiences don’t phase me. There is no place like the clouds, I spend time looking for heaven on earth and I have found plenty of spaces where I can visit without flying.

On this particular day, contact with spirit is not only accepted, but embraced and encouraged. There’s a ceremony for Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. I find myself surrounded by the love of community, and we have the same values. I get overtaken by the movement surrounding me. A circle of dancers dancing around a huge fire and alter. The drums beating faster than my heart, and my breathing picked up trying to keep up with the movements of the ceremony. Their bodies enveloped in beautiful decorative regalia. Each unique as every individual in their entirety. Upon the top of their heads lay a crown made of feathers, their peaks endless as they stretched up into the sky. My mouth open in awe, trembling in connection. I’ve never felt so in touch with them on ground before. It’s because they’re here again. They’ve come to visit me this time. Tears streamlining down my face, I was awakened by an old woman. Dressed in regalia too, however more simply. With painted bones on her frail and wrinkled skin. I reached out and hugged her, wanting to feel safe in connection on earth. She held me back, and allowed me to cry. No words exchanged just deep stares into each others eyes.

We understood each other. She gave me a sole marigold. The fullest most plump, beautiful marigold I had ever seen. I held on so tightly to the gift that was given to me. The circle opened up and the dancers taking a break to hydrate, connect with their families and enjoy each other company. It was my time to leave a gift to the alter. The only thing I had was my marigold, and my surrender. As soon as I reached the fire, my knees buckled and I collapsed onto them. I was given tobacco by the drummer, now I had marigold in one hand and tobacco in the other. I felt enchanted to pray, and this entire experience I hadn’t stopped crying.

Almost startled, I feel the dancers lining up to come back in…the drummer raised his hand to me, signaling and allowing me to stay. When the drum started I felt every single beat rattle my bones, almost as if waking them up. The wind of the movement surrounding me, the dancers all moving to the left simultaneously. And then exactly synchronized to the right. I give my tobacco to the fire, lay my marigold next to the hundred others. All beautifully adorned and decorating the alter full of candles, pictures of the deceased and smoke rising up from the burning medicine. I breathed everything in, and felt both of my realities meeting. Finally, I found a place where all of me is accepted. I don’t have to walk in two different worlds and hide myself. My angels are a huge part of me, never will I forget and never will I hide myself or them again.