fairies and angels

It was well after midnight when I dropped fresh laundry on the bed to fold, balancing the night's final glass of wine in my free hand. Dropped also was my jaw when my eye caught the light. Oh, wow, I exhaled.

The many signs I receive bring comfort to me now. I do, after all, keep asking for more. But this one, this sign had such energy in it, as if it were alive.

My friend Karen and I had enjoyed a lovely dinner together; somewhat impromptu, a small change in her plans making for a leisurely night. I made a bowl of linguine: red onion, red bell pepper, red cabbage, sun-dried tomatoes, olives, pine nuts--very garlicky and full of herbs. She brought Fairy Tale eggplants to broil then splash with balsamic, which we devoured along side a green salad.  

She is the kind of friend, others have noticed, that when she and I get together, our conversation starts from the get go and might not slow for hours. 

So, last night was not an exception. We talked. We talked the usual food, wine, books, and music. We analyzed changes in our lives, and baby steps toward our future plans. We talked about the fine line parents face of wanting their children to understand truths, truths that can be painful, but knowing they have to live their lives and discover for themselves.  

A day doesn't go by lately that I don't give purposeful thought to consciousness and subconsciousness and how the two connect; how I can help them connect. I am fascinated by it and consumed with it. I'm sure I bored my friend with it. Can every idea that comes to me out of thin air be attributed to the two working together or are thoughts and ideas aimless? 

I had turned the music off and was considering all of this when I finished the dishes and turned my attention to laundry. There, on the bedroom wall, our bedroom, was a light; a light with such brilliancy! It was a rectangle, the size of a single switch light plate, positioned about two feet off the floor. The inch wide light bordered the rectangle. 

There was nothing in its path that could have been reflective and when I moved myself back and forth in front of this light, it remained constant. It even seemed to shimmer at times. 

I am now able to enjoy signs like this, a sign itself of my growth in this grief journey, but I've not yet grasped the most important lesson which is that I cannot make these signs tangible. I can only be still and quiet and enjoy them. 

I could not take a photo. When I left to get my phone, the mesmerizing light had disappeared. I could not catch the wind circling around me that day in the kitchen, or record the music I've heard in a silent car.  

The proof is only in my heart, or perhaps trapped somewhere between my conscience and my subconscience.