Destruction and the Hair Salon

ImageI’m on the top floor of a high rise in downtown Tacoma, WA.  It is surrounded by windows. It is a beauty salon.  There are various women in chairs getting their hair cut and colored.  We are all laughing with one another. There is a familiarity about our interaction.  We’ve been in this place many times before.  It is high end, and the decor is dark mahogany   I look down at my feet.  The floor is brown speckled marble.

My eyes look out the window taking in the scenery of the bay drifting past the buildings below us.  My eyes catch movement in the distance, and I look up.  On the horizon, where Seattle would be, I see a massive billowing cloud of black smoke.  It seems to be coming from the over the whole city.

Oh My God!” I scream.  “Seattle is on fire!”

The other girls come running over to the window.  We stand in a group looking out at the cloud of black smoke getting bigger and bigger.  My eyes falls down to the buildings below us.  They are crumbling and whatever is causing them to crumble is heading towards us swiftly.

We are all about to die.

The building immediately below us crumbles, and I know we are next.  I turn towards the middle of the room, and as the first shake of the force hits the building, a peace washes over me.  It is a peace I know is felt when one has accepted they are going to die.  I know this feeling.  The time is here.  There is no time to feel fearful.  I’ll be dead in the next instant. The building shakes, and as it begins to crumble beneath my feet, I speak.

“Tell them I love them.” I say.

and then I start awake.




I am fearful in this place.  I’m examining why.  The house is large, looming, open and in the woods.  I search the skies and love the massive stars, but these evenings there are looming staircases and dark sounds of howling. I am seeing flashes of arms snatching me back; this fear, where am I traveling?

Only here do I journey it, but I don’t want to. I don’t feel safe.  I feel vulnerable in this forest. I ponder the attachments. I am back in cabins, drawn to the dense fir trees, but the energy here doesn’t sit well. So I sleep, hibernate, needing the city like gravity.

This house whispers and talks, or maybe it’s just the wind.  Tonight the gossip of snow has the birds sleeping, leaving air valleys for the wild dogs to channel ancients.  The language echoes in the silence, and I am pulling slowly back to thirty four years ago.

Sometimes, I think I came here through a dark cavern; a place that was so haunting, this human life would be but a chore.  There are shadows that follow.  They carry unknown memories with black eyes, begging to be unwrapped.  My hands are limp.  I can’t move them, and I stare back, wishing.

I’m going to go there soon, to that place where the secrets live.  Shadowland, that’s what we call it; where hallways fade from the knee up and dark rooms hold memories that little girls can’t bear to tell.