I keep having visions of me as an old woman, maybe 70 (when I imagine "old" starts to kick in). But, that's not entirely relevant to what I am going to write next.
You see, I've been thinking about how much change has happened in my life. And of how many times I've thought "if I only knew then...," and you know the rest. The metaphor about veils being lifted has been so true and remarkable during my 38 splendid and terrible years.
In this regard, I dream that by 70 - or 80 - I will be given the secrets to the universe. Or, maybe just on my deathbed. Scratch that last remark.
I see myself with feet tied to the earth's core and hands that branch up to the stars. I am not a goddess or anything, but God has whispered in my dreams. She's played chess with my ego and gin with my subconscious. She has told me not to pass it on yet, but that every old woman becomes [some secret wonderfulness] and that heaven looks like [something amazing I could never share]. That those wrinkles digging down to my bones have been like rings on a tree, earning me enough tokens to look behind the red velvet curtain, to see up the magician's sleeve. (Yes, there is Wizard of Oz-ism oozing all over this).
"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? Then, we wouldn't have to wait so long?" I think I'd rewrite those Beach Boy lyrics to be: "Wouldn't it be nice if I could know now what I will know then." But, that's not entirely right either.
Wouldn't it be nice to know the final veil will lift. That we'll have that ultimate "Ah ha!" moment, and that it will be more than a beautiful dream.
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