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To Her

She was exquisite, beautiful, tall, slender, thin-boned, with shadowed grey-blue eyes, sensuously pale skin and young, long hair that was nearly white. She was 74 years old and alone. Her husband was gone and her only daughter died many years ago. She lived in a small place with her plants and a cat and her music. Most of the time, she walked and talked to herself and anyone else who listened. On a few occasions, I was "anyone else" on the street listening as she talked about her dreams, her visions, her understanding. Like many mystics and my beloved mad Aunt, this delicate, articulate woman believed that 2001 (the rightfully first year of the new millennium) marked the awakening and reappearance of the treasured and patiently lost city of Atlantis. It rose, she said, invisibly at first, high into the sky and spread like a mist across the face of this blue planet. As it slowly appeared, she said, like an apparition over moonlit water, it brought with it a display of universal life in universal clarity. All religious ideas will dissolve, all temporal laws and mores will fade. There was no past year or decade or century, she said, just one long period from the time the crystal of Atlantis slipped into the sea until now, the next time.She said this to me on more than one occasion and led me to believe her. She is my Sisyphus. What happened last year and the year before that is all part of the heisenberg rock that engulfs her and everyone else... simply to be pushed to the top of the hill and then allowed to roll down again. What intrigued Camus about his Sisyphus was the time spent walking down the hill, free-spirited, knowing what will happen, free in that knowing. So did I become intrigued with this woman who lived in the present and was free of the past and the future. The string-pullers of her life, of her being, vanished. Her sentience came from within and her consciousness clothed her from the outside. Like Camus, I concluded... she was happy.

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