Harmonic Convergence freewrite

All this unexpressed rage, I’ve had too much of that lightly, so I’ll write in red ink. The vein is trying for blue, the color of blood returning home. Bluebloods. It’s true that blood is blue. The lonely wail of a train returning to the yard, like stock to the slaughter house. I am dwelling on the past these days, an artifact of the fall, merging towards winter, nothing to do with rage.

So I’ll switch ink, nothing to do with mood, or mechanics. Vito runs out of ink at the same time, must have something to do with the harmonic convergence, all those planets and ballpoint pens lining up to make the star of David before the eclipse. 

Last harmonic convergence, I remember was anything but harmonic. We were in Oaxaca, San Cristobál de las Casas, and I was being plagued by monstros in my sleep, the dead wanting voice and shape, my mouthpiece. All of them crowding into my dreams, what was I to do? I kept waking up, screaming and telling John they what they looked like. 

One he recognized as Kayla. Only I didn’t know Kayla so I described her. And she was saying goodbye to John. And then Dave Evans appeared, too. They were all crowding in, taking turns. I was a mouthpiece. I kept screaming to make them stop, to make them go away, but then something unbearably dark emerged, like unexpressed rage loosened in my dreams.

There was a being so malevolent I didn’t dare go back to sleep. It was a devourer, pre-Columbian, neither god nor goddess. Something larger, wanting voice, wanting mouthpiece. I said it had black blood in its veins. And so we crawled onto the roof, John and I locking arms, linked back to back, waiting for the dawn. Venus, beading on the horizon, dawn slicing up the sky like a mango. Thin boundaries, walking the dark hours before the dawn promising a deliverance that never comes after hours of harrowing experiences. 

(It turned out that both Kayla and Dave Evans had both died while we were in Oaxaca. Weirdly, no one knew where we were staying, yet John got a call from Alta or Jan that Kayla had died.)

11/7/2003 Writers’ Group