Celestial Rememberings / by grace mcgrade


I have a case of the celestial rememberings again. Being intuitive is not like being a fortune cookie or a crystal ball, it is much more like gauging the delicate interconnectivity of all things. It's much more like seeing what someone will become and simultaneously what someone was before all of this, this mass hallucination of forgetfulness. It can hurt.

It is the most painful when someone you love, some you perhaps had a soul contract with- chases the forgetting.

The veils between this world and the others disintegrate around me, like withered, ancient lace, fragile enough to see through. I have moments of feeling like I  am in ten places at once, of feeling layers peel back like curtains, revealing more and more truth-just when I thought I had arrived at stable conclusions. I need to be in constant communication with the cosmos, or else they find strange, bizarre and discombobulating means to communicate with me.

What am I supposed to say? I am sorry, I don’t fully live on earth. You see, it’s hard for me here, and not what I am used to. I am forgetful about things, like keys and iphone chargers- and money- whatever that is, anyway. I don’t really understand why people are so mean here, why they are so abrasive, like sandpaper on skin. I forget about things like taxes and scheduling and time, but I remember why I am here.To remind people, that when they are hurting, when they are on their knees, or their last dollar, and it feels like the world is poisonous, they are still magic. Magic is the end of separation. The end of separation from you, and what you desire. And in that way, it is not so different from love.

Take me back home. Where the land is unbroken and the soil is rich and clean again. Where the souls you signed up with never betray you and the clouds have no toxins. Where the winds are perfumed with velvet pinks, where dreams are tangible, where everything is laughter. Where madness is a shared thing again. Where time is different, and there are no thoughts of the past nor the future, just one, continuous, perfect moment. Where choruses of stars sing back and where fairies, like me, don’t get trampled on or lost above ground. Where there are no words for pain or heartache or suffering. Because they simply don’t exist.