9/11
During the course of our regular work we sometimes receive messages and accounts literally written by those currently on the “other side”. They want to tell their individual stories for their own reasons whether anyone reads them or not. Perhaps it is cathartic. We have received hundreds of these over the years. To say they are quite varied is a material understatement. Most have never been published. This one has never been published. It is presented here as written in a single session: In first, final, and only draft. Zero editing.
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When we first received this one, it immediately reminded me of 9/11. It is shared here for those who may be moved by it, as we were. ~ Allen, Facilitator for April Crawford
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The View After The Flash Only Memories, But I Saw The Following Things
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“Dear friend,
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I saw it all happen like a slow motion thrill scene from a movie. In fact in the confusion I forgot for a moment that it was actually real. Sound was muffled, or was it because the slow movement of the time that I was not used to? My thoughts progressed as usual but the physical moments so slow I was able to memorize every detail.
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It was a bomb, at least that’s what my mind registered. There was a brief bright light like someone taking a flash photo too close to your eyes. It knocked me backwards into the wall behind my desk. The clunk of my head against it sent tingles down my spine. The view after the flash only memories now, but I saw the following things…..
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My favorite plant danced to the now gone ceiling, disappearing into oblivion. I wanted to reach up to pull it back. We had a history, that plant and I. It was given to me my first day in the office. Together we had unearthed a few dry spells….. now it was gone, bringing me close to tears.
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I saw furniture blow by me completely out of control. If they hit anyone they were sure to be killed. What kind of power did it take an office chair with wheels through the air?
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My head snapped back as it hit on the wall. I wondered where my purse was. There was Tylenol in there. My temples were pounding as I scrunched my toes trying to keep my shoes on. I had just bought them the previous week and was absolutely in with them. The debate within about the price gnawing at me again because to lose them would be devastating.
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The dirt in my eyes blinding me momentarily to the sight of Charles dissolving like a Star Trek character, interesting. I wonder where he was beaming up to? He would be a reluctant candidate for such an endeavor. Perhaps it’s best that the choice was random, he did not have time to think about it.
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I felt an intake of air that did not feel like oxygen. There was a burning sensation at the back of my throat. As I turned my head the idea of a cold bottle of water filled me. There was a mini refrigerator near the coffeemaker. I made the decision to get a bottle but found the journey impossible. So forceful the energy pushing me away, the searing burn growing larger down my throat. My stomach burned as did my lungs. The art of breathing painful beyond words.
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I feel lifeless. My arms heavy with a burden I cannot identify. All I know is that it is heavy.
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I strain to see if there is anything left of the place I knew. In my head it’s all still there. The sameness of it and its occupants give me comfort in the chaos. I hear screaming in the distance. Am I screaming too? If I am does anyone hear me?
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I remember my purse, thinking that I should call home to tell my husband that there may be a delay. Was there any mention of this on the news? No need to worry, I am all right. My greatest concern is my plant that disappeared a while back. What will I defrost for supper? There was a lamb stew I made a few Sundays back. That would be great after a day like today. Hopefully we won’t be asked to stay overtime to clean up this mess. I haven’t been this tired in a longtime. Part of me is wishing I had stayed home today. I believe it would have been better that I did.
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I feel myself afloat on a raft in a large swimming pool. The bobbing of my body against the wall almost a lullaby for my stressed thought process. The sun beats down upon me and I wonder if I put enough sunscreen on. If I stay in the sun there could be a nasty burn.
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My mother calls me for supper. Her voice exactly the same tone and pitch it was twenty years ago. I sigh a disappointed breath a little frustrated that she called me so soon. She knows how I hate to end my day at the pool.
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Paddling to the side I pull myself up. Dinner is waiting but I can’t resist one more dive off the diving board. The water wraps itself around me. The heat of the sun dulled by the water and its reflection. I dry myself quickly because I hear the impatience in Mom’s voice. I take one more look at the pool knowing I will return for a dip another time. It does not dull the disappointment, but the anticipation of another day soothing.
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I remember something about a plant lost in the subtle moments of daydreaming. Another thought released to the sky only to return when I choose to remember. I hear her voice again, a little more agitated this time, calling me to dinner. The explosion now only a depression in a timeline unrelated.
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Did I die?
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I am not certain.
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I don’t remember.
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Did I cry out in pain?
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I don’t remember.
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Was I dreaming of an office that exploded?
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I don’t know.
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Do I remember the details?
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Yes.
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Does it make a difference now?
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No.
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All I know is that my mother is calling me to dinner and I better move quickly. She hates to be kept waiting.
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A flutter of ash glides slowly through the pockets of air on its way to the ground. All that’s left of a physical form once known as Marcy. Is that all there is of a woman who was a vice president of a company? Is there such little meaning in the physical that it cannot translate beyond this vibration? Is she annihilated?
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All that the universe can tell you is that Marcy is on her way to dinner with her mother.
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The remnants of this life dissolved into the most important moment….. my mother.
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On my way to meet her I feel excitement. Perhaps together we can move on to new experience. Nothing is ever lost, only translated to another frequency.”
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