(A circle of life theory)




Standing naked in the center of the small five-foot by six-foot bathroom, she surveys her handiwork.
The old plastic shower curtain had been trashed, exchanged for the creamy lace curtains from her bedroom window, which she had draped in great loops over the shower rod. The warped and yellowed floor tiles were now covered with a couple of her best Indian mosaic throw rugs from the living room. They looked nice; a little tattered around the edges, but still nice.

She needs the atmosphere to be perfect.

Soft music drifts from her tape player; set to loop so it won't stop. Bowls filled with water hold serenity scented aromatherapy floating candles. She smiles. How someone discovered what serenity smelled like was a mystery to her, but she's glad they did. It's a needed commodity these days'�serenity. She places these bowls randomly around the room to provide just enough light to make everything look surreal and pretty. Serene calm'�that's what she is striving for.

She needs everything to look nice'�to sound nice'�to smell nice.

She gazes with anticipation at the opened bottle of champagne and champagne glass, which rests on the edge of the tub. She had spent her last bit of money on that purchase.

The only item out of place'�the only item not reflecting tranquility'�is the exacta knife lying right next to the bottle of champagne.


Gliding her body into the lavender scented bubble bath, she had run only moments earlier, a smile of contentment graces her face. Tonight, her struggles will finally come to an end.

Tonight, she will finally obtain serenity.

She pours herself a glass of champagne and leans against the back of the tub. She takes a sip, closes her eyes, and drifts with the lilting notes of the music.


At age forty-two, life had become nothing more than an insurmountable struggle.

She struggled to keep the bills at bay.

She struggled to keep her family and friends happy.

She struggled to keep from having to live in the ghetto'�although where she is living now isn't much above that.

She struggled to provide for her teenaged children.

She struggled to keep her household in a semblance of cleanliness and organization.

She struggled with maintaining a relationship. Well, at least a healthy, and happy relationship. She often wondered if happy relationships were even real'�wondered if people in those, so called, happy, healthy relationships were only pretending.

In the last year, she struggled just to smile, although she did'�at all the required moments. She had become a great pretender herself.

It wasn't that she desired death. She simply no longer desired life. She was exhausted from the never-ending onslaught of struggles.


She opens her eyes and looks at the exacta knife, with its sharpened, inch-long tapered blade. She's not taking any chances.

With the champagne glass in her left hand, she reaches for the knife with her right. She brings it directly in front of her face; turning it, tilting it, looking at it with wonder in her eyes.

How could something so small, take away something so huge as a life? She muses, while admiring the sleekness of it.

She empties her glass of champagne and sets it on the side of the tub.

It's time.

Bracing the soles of her feet at the end of the tub, she places the tip of the blade at the inside top of her left arm where her elbow bends. She takes a deep breath, releasing any leftover anxiety as she exhales.

She closes her eyes.

With sure swiftness, she presses the blade into her flesh as far as it will go and pushes it downward toward her bent back wrist; one quick fluid movement from top to bottom'�no hesitation. She feels the blade slicing through her muscles and severing tendons'�scraping past small bones, and her leg muscles strain at the pressure her feet are creating from pushing against the tub. She barely takes notice of these things as white-hot pain explodes in her mind, causing her to clench her teeth to keep from screaming. Screaming wouldn't do. Screaming would dispel the perfect ambiance she had so meticulously created.
When the pain becomes tolerable, by only minuscule degrees, she opens her eyes. Oh, my God! she thinks. So much blood!

From the moment she had awoken in the morning, up until just before taking off her clothes, she had taken five aspirin every four hours to ensure her blood would be thin. She had not wanted it to become viscous too soon. The aspirin had worked. Her life force was literally pouring from her elongated wound like a small rushing river. With a shaking hand, she slices again, this time from left to right across her left wrist.

Sweat pours from her brow and her breathing is staggered, as she places the knife in her left hand to repeat the performance on her right arm. The blade slips past deadened fingers'�falling into the cloudy red water. Her left arm hangs limp by her side. She starts to feel very warm'�very sleepy. She closes her eyes, hoping the slashes in the one arm are going to be enough.

Because the right arm? Yeah. That wasn't happening.

She drifts off to the ethereal.

*****

She doesn't remember waking up. She just knows that she is. She is safe, floating in the gray void of nothing. Is she floating? She doesn't know that either. She has no sensation of being anything but aware. All she knows is that she is.

And she is content.

She has no past existence that she remembers. There is no future she is striving for. She simply is. She thinks of herself as nothing more than herself. As far as she knows, this drifting, floating gray void is all there ever was, and all there ever will be.

She is content.

Time means nothing because nothing ever changes.

Because of this, needless to say, she becomes highly intrigued when she begins to notice small, little bundles of light moving past her in different directions. What is this? Where did these orbs of light come from, and where are they going? She tries to follow them, but is only able to go so far before a force stops her. Not a force she can see, or touch, but more like a soft nudge when she goes too far.

She pushes with all her might. Her thoughts vehemently commanding her form to move beyond the boundaries. Yet still she receives a gentle bump'�denied the ability to follow the shining lights.

Besides not being able to go where she wants, she is feeling emotions utterly foreign to her. In fact, before noticing the lights, she didn't remember feeling any emotion other then contentment. Where had that gone? Now she was not only fascinated, but also frustrated. What were these things she was feeling, and where did they come from?

She tries again to follow the ever-moving dancing lights. Nothing. She wants to scream. Yet another action foreign to her. What is going on? Why are things so suddenly different?

She is intensely dwelling on these thoughts when an airy voice permeates her surroundings. "You are waking up,'� It said.

This voice was neither female nor male, and came from nowhere yet everywhere.

'I am waking up?'

'Yes, you are waking up. You are taking notice of what has always been around you, which means you are ready.'�

The timber of the disembodied voice is sparking her thoughts to move beyond the now. It is so filled with love and tenderness, such as a parent has for its child. She wants nothing more than to wrap herself up in the warmth of it. She longs to be in the company of this entity whose voice caresses her with such gentleness.

Flashes of knowledge are coming to the surface of her awareness, and she is remembering. Inch-by-inch, her reason for existence is unfolding within her. She is the child of this otherworldly being who is now speaking to her. She is its creation.

'I want to come home.'

'I know you do,'� the voice says with a touch of sadness. 'But before you can do that, you must first learn the lessons you set out to achieve. You ended your journey before your task was completed.'�

'Lessons? My task?'

'Yes, dear one. Before your last journey, you chose to learn acceptance of others, humility, and courage in the face of adversity.'�

She remembers.

She remembers that in order for her to be with her parent, she needs to reach a state of spiritual perfection on the third dimensional plane. She needs to live below, as her family lives above. She also remembers her existence in her last life, and she shudders.

'You must finish your journey if you want to come home. Do you now want to move forward? Do you now want to follow your brothers and sisters into the Summerland?'�

When she emphatically says, yes, she isn't thinking about what her parent is asking of her. All she is thinking about are the beautiful bundles of light'�her brothers and sisters, on their way to the Summerland.

*****

Claustrophobic darkness surrounds her. Where is she? How did she get here? Where is her parent? Where is the voice that instilled so much love?

The sides of her prison began pressing against her, cramping her body with pain. She can't breath. She is becoming frantic.

Wait. There is a light, just above her head. Instinctively she knows that if she can only get to the light, she will be able to free herself. She presses her feet against the floor, pushing herself upward. Yes, yes, she is going to make it!

What? What is this? Large hands are helping to pull her from her prison. Yes! She has entered the light!

Oh, crap! She thinks instantly, vaguely aware that all her memories, and all her previous knowledge, is dissipating into the back regions of her subconscious.

She lets loose thunderous wails as the large hands place her on the stomach of her new mother.

Now all she thinks about is being hungry.



Copyright - 2007

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