The floor was ice cold in Montana -
No carpet;
Linoleum stretched thin
Over a thick layer of stoned concrete;
Pulse of life withdrawn;
Nothing to cushion the sole of my soul.

One night,
Needing liberation so bad I could taste it,
I finally managed to leave my body -
Thinking that leaving my body as a marker
While my consciousness flew away
Would provide some measure of responsibility.

Out into the frigid winter air I floated,
Noting with casual interest that
I wasn’t frozen without my jacket.
With equally detached regard,
I noticed a truck careening up the snowy hill
Headed straight for my naked soul.
I wondered how the driver would stop in time,
How he would see me
Since I wasn’t wearing my body.

And then it hit me:
“Flying” did not mean freedom at all
It was a snare and a delusion -
For surely if one of my babies,
Came to my empty body
And could not rouse me….
And instantly I was sucked back into flesh,
Gulping great relief with the frigid air in my room.
(The great illusions, they never come true)

The next morning and the next,
I still looked for liberation.
But it did not come with the money
My father left me after his heart attack,
Nor did it come
In your plan to murder me
Before I made it home with my father’s inheritance -
My life preserved by 3X outfits
And divine intervention.

I don’t know why I thought of it all today
Maybe the biting chill of this year’s new winter air,
(How I love the awakening sting of it on my face),
The warmth of my wood stove,
The sole of my soul cushioned by
An unexpected carpet of love,
My spirit housed in a body adored
Freedom ringing from water, Creator
And the love of my remaining earthly family.
Yes, that’s why.
I’m still alive
And wide awake.

12/22/2004

Author's Note: I don't know why I was thinking about the year I lived in Montana, but this is what came of the reflection.

Posted on 12/23/2004
Copyright © 2025 Alison McKenzie