They found Whitney Houston in a hotel room earlier tonight. For the first time since I received it for Christmas, I wrote in a journal given to me by an old new friend. I Googled how to find my higher self because of Suzy Soro. Tonight I struggled to remember the password to sign into this blog when at one time I could remember certain entries on here word for word. Tonight I held the one I love like I was never going to see him again. I've never done that before. I told him how much he was teaching me to appreciate this life. Tonight I was supposed to tidy up. Wash dishes. Separate the laundry. Instead, I listened to the one Whitney Houston song that made it into a dream I was having four years ago while visiting Atlanta. In the dream I was crying uncontrollably. I was sitting on the back stoop of a log cabin. I don't think log cabins really have back stoops but in the dream, there I sat. Crying. Whitney's voice belted through the dream; more than mere background music. Tonight I thought a lot about irrational fears and moving closer to my purpose. Google turned up a site that recommended keeping a journal and asking questions to my higher self. It said that at first, my ego would answer but to go deeper. And once the answers started to sound wiser, more grounded- then I'd be on the right track. That possibly, my higher self is answering. I don't know if abandoning my cleaning routine was part of the plan. I'm not sure that I haven't already mourned for Whitney through that dream. I wonder if my friend even realizes the gift she gave me; me to myself through a leaflet of ladybug decals and a book of blank, lined pages. All of the unwritten questions with answers yet to be found; all of these unseen connections that I'd be a fool not to respect. Nothing makes sense anymore. But at this moment right now, I am unafraid.
I'd like to think that's a good start.