The Voice of Women by Lori Jean

The Voice of Women by Lori Jean
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Thursday, September 25, 2014

The Miracle

I plunged my hands in the water, both hands were face down with not one inch not submerged in the water. I could somewhat see the softer, a bit darker than normal sand before it, with little bubbles from the water that was rushing further out from me. I felt the release come through my body, the magic flowing through me as my body could feel relief. I don’t know if it was exactly all emotionally or both physical and emotional – but it was definitely relief. I wondered if anyone could hear or see what I was doing. I could see some people from far out but I don’t think they noticed. I would always try to hide further into the woods along the river when I would do this. I would probably be put away if they did, but I had to do this. I knew this now. I reached someone.
My angels, a CIA matter, I don’t know, I was searching for a miracle and water always brought it. I was taught that water was freeing. When you’re so far out from others, as I was and felt I had been for a while, everything matters, every little thing. I would see the angels coming in and out so often now flying through me and all the cracks in my head almost in full figure now. Sometimes I felt so superior to others; I wondered or at least was sure at times that dying is a goddess thing because it brings you closer to heaven and all the power in charge, and now I had it with me.
I kept getting sicker. My head kept throbbing. There seemed to be nothing anyone could do. That’s when the angels started to come. We conversed often too, me and the angels. I was friends with so many it didn’t matter to me anymore. It used to; I didn’t know who they were. Sometimes, if them, when they would come in they would look like aliens and suck and zap as they would draw energy down my body as they would put something down my throat as I would feel some sort of relief. I was so mystified, though I couldn’t belief I had the strength to even feel this as this instance of happening was taking me away on such a magical journey. I was always told to close my eyes so I wouldn’t get scared. Sometimes I would peek to see such large bug-like looking eyes that loved upon me and brought me hope of life.
The last and final time would be Amsterdam. I made that day with the boats in the river, the clothes on lines, my granddad’s presence being there. As I submerged my hands for life in exchange for a soul trapped the transformation of his body came through me, my hero transpired to a more powerful place, where he would always be – for this I am eternally grateful.

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