Page 182 - Dark Matter:Women Witnessing Issue #3 - December 2015

And then, I feel her – another presence, in the room with me.

Although I was a writer living in Berkeley, I didn’t think spirits talked to me. I believed the short stories I

wrote came from my own creativity, inspired by the world around me. I considered the Muse a concept,

an idea, not an ancient spirit who would hand me a story when I picked up a rock. There were no formal

introductions: “Hello, my name is Mara and I’ll be your spirit guide for the next several decades.”

Instead, a vision of a woman and her story shimmered on the hushed air – gauzy, diaphanous, the

echo of a dream.

The "women’s quarter" at Raqchi, Peru (tile roofs are not original)

Rock, that bare, unadorned essence of a place, retains its character no matter how it is manipulated.

The wall at my back, the pebble in my hand. They hold the memory of her still. My hand touches the

imprint left by her hand centuries ago. Six hundred years.

She chooses me.