Selling Strawberries

The Final Step A Course in Miracles mentions takes 20 years, or maybe even a lifetime. The guides, voices I give identity to, won’t tell me how long it takes because if I measure it, I’ll mess things up they said. While living in the hazy now moment they reminded me I can’t make plans..If I do, without them, I’ll be wired for destruction. What a funny thought. Then I go ahead a make plans anyway and destruct them as necessary.

I almost want to laugh; well ok, there’s no almost. I do laugh, in my room, all by myself. This is ridiculous. I can’t help it. Irony is on me and has overtaken all reason. I grin as if I have a secret. The secret leaves a trail of silver particles behind me falling and floating in the air. It shimmers and fades waving away into the atmosphere, the secret joy of the final step.

I just woke up. I’m not clear yet. Mornings are great for memories as the day has not interfered with the night journeys where the mysteries were glimpsed. Mysteries of life and death. I walk to the coffee shop to imbide the 2nd cup of the day. I notice I ripped my long skirt again with all the yardage on it. Why am I wearing these clothes? A bit fancy I must say. The skirt is a great shade of lime. I shouldn’t sleep in it. I’ll sew it someday.

I’ve just moved, I can’t find the thread. Never mind. Words are ganging up again, cascading memories of how it used to be. The funny people I met who thought I was funny too; I’ll never see them again to say thanks. I didn’t know what they were thinking then, now I read minds in hindsight.

I remember being a green kid and selling some rotten strawberries off the back of mother’s truck. She used to send out 5 trucks a day to squat by the road and we peddlers would eat the dust of the cars and put the bad ones on the bottom if the customer swamped us and there was no time to conceal the rot. Mother’s life philosophy was “Ya take the bad with the good.” We could sell these underpriced for jam; all you had to do was trim off the spot. I used to run them which is to get the rotten part out. Sometimes mother got a really bad batch of 2nds. In that case you had to look close to find the good ones. At night you’d close your eyes and all you could see was a bright red patch of berries, as if imprinted on your brain cells. I tried to sleep with my eyes open thinking it was impossible to escape my job this way but I needed the rest.