I was talking to my mother the other night on the phone and she said something profound that blew all my synapses and catapulted me back to the time of my formation. A safe place where nothing is for certain and everything is possible. A place where I was everything and nothing, an undefined ghost both powerful and impotent. A creature to become.
The words that wiped away all I was and made my memories and future plans chaff in the wind? “You’re 50 now, at the beginning of your second life. Make sure you don’t waste it.”
When the realisation came that I wasn’t the Paul I thought I was, I did the respectful thing. With the Santa Muerte by my side I stood in a cemetery, grieving and celebrating at the same time. I grieved for the loss of someone I intimately knew but celebrated his life because his horrifying mistakes and occasional victories have forged my will and granted me a wealth of knowledge I’ll need to go forward.
Filled to the brim with loneliness, I stand beside my death goddess and a small piskie at my final crossroad….my second life.
As I stand at the beginning of my final adventure in this world, unsure of who I am or what I’m destined to become, I feel naked and vulnerable.
Then I do the only thing I can. I adjust my trilby, invoke the spirits that have befriended me along the way and begin my new journey into the unknown, desperately seeking me and my part in the all.