old long since

or how to remember dreams, a new year's eve recipe

A cup of kindness might sound like a song, one ready at the drop of a hat. A beautifully tuned old piano, the nimble pianist pouring familiar chords through the phone line, over the miles away. Tear drops ensue. Washing the precious old, glinting as they tumble, hinting of the new. 

A dash of Bogie, why not? Nod off half way through The Big Sleep. Wait one hour while the film noir steeps in the handed down mixing bowl.

From Raymond Chandler to Carl Jung, someone is now reading aloud "The Sleeping Beauty", not your Disney version. Shadow work calls for the old wooden spoon. Stir in thirteen spices, gifts from the thirteen fairies.  A baker's dozen, for good measure.  The soul ingredients. Fullness of who you have always been and are becoming.

Set the cookstove to however many degrees and call it a night.

At 3:00am deep bass sounds reach my ears, eyelids flutter. revelers still reveling.  Pulling back the veil of sleep to reveal the dream, I fumble for and mumble into a voice recorder: "cat in the garage, console, something about closets and clothes, spider in the toilet, anyway, dream new year's eve."

going through old closets in the old house to retrieve dresses (not my usual attire), the feeling i have missed some and going back. finding one that must be my moms, sparkly silvery gray. in the house with the memories everywhere, i get up to pee. surprised by a strange spider,  i instinctively flush, and then regret the unintended casualty. there's an enormous console in the garage. an edifice of mistakes made, quarantined for safety. i worry about this and why he can't hear me. my black cat nemo is young again and tries to escape the house. but there is an alarm and i am diligent.  retrieving, saving, securing. i lean on my mother's kitchen table, hewn from solid oak, hearing the familiar creaks and groans. i can feel the soft patina of consolation, the round hub from days of yore. the fairy god Mother in her shimmering silver gown asks the question: "are you ready to let go?" waking, holding the golden nugget prompt: "you haven't seen the best part yet. it lights up."

The voice recorder was last used two (feels like a million) years ago. My humble rendition of: "Visions of Johanna"

"Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it."

Thanks psyche. We know I am slow, but I get the message, sort of.
You deserve your own kindness, the mother of all love
Don't forget letting go and lightening up, 
frightening as it may be.

Maybe one day just to make sure,
bake me an elderberry pi at 3.14....................on the dial.
might take a while
but eventually
I'll pull up a chair and we can share
into infinity.

500 word challenge
01/03/22
© leslie anne hinich