TEMPORARY UTOPIA

He was big and he was black, like a football player. He caught my eye when he moved into my view at the end of the long corridor. The t-shirt that he wore was a giant field of solid bright color that gave him vibrancy, a glow above his khaki pants. I moved quickly. My hospital gown fell loosely about my thin frame. I weighed 102 pounds and was able to move with the ease of a squirrel through trees. I was a shoeless dancer with a great performance on my mind. I darted to the entrance of the room across the hallway, my gown falling from my shoulders.

"Get up! You can leave now. We have survived. You are all better. We are all fine!" I shouted in the direction of one room and then another, spreading great news. "We are all safe!" I declared before I was whisked up.

In an instant the big black man scooped me up into his arms to cradle my body tightly to his. My arms were reigned in. He lifted me up so swiftly that there were no jolts. My head was level with his beautiful face and I was able to see his eyes as he focused on his task. I was swept from the hallway floor and cascaded gently into my own bed. It was a strange amusement ride, not to be forgotten. He certainly must have been well trained. The whole action took seconds. My bouncer disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

I was a bit puzzled as to what harm I had done and chalked it up to the fact that I might have let the cat out of the bag too quickly. The nurses came in with a cloth coat that they slipped over my head. Two straps on the side buckled conveniently to each side of my bed. In some worlds these items are referred to as restraints and are a little less restrictive than a straight jacket. To me, in my world, it was cozy fun. The coat was like the canvas that I painted on and the stitching was layered and straight. The jacket was quite large for my body and I was able to push both arms, one at a time, out through the opening for my neck.

"Ta Da! I am free!" I said gleefully as people got re-situated. I always had the ability to make others laugh and this time proved no different. Being confined to bed was not a problem for me. The aides gave me a small cup of juice and turned on the TV that hung up in the corner of the room. Oprah was on! She was telling everyone that the worst was over and that millions of people had survived. She stated that most of the hospitals of the world had become havens and had gone untouched by the upheaval of the earth. I thought, "Oh yes, how true. How lucky we are." The noises that I had heard days before from outside were horrific, a soupy darkness churned about causing a long storm of crashing and creaking.  Oprah continued to report that the rebuilding had already begun taking shape. I felt a type of surrender that elevated the moment. Ultimately, there were no attachments to the material world. We attached ourselves to a primary source of gentleness. I was so excited. The feeling was love.

We all sat listening. Joel, my boyfriend of three years, sat in the big blue boxy chair next to my bed, the place where he had slept for three nights. And a young woman that I didn't know sat in a chair by the wall across from the foot of the bed. My room was in the new wing of the hospital, a high floor of an atrium. Just outside my window was a roof of glass. Above, white fluffy clouds swam through the sky. There was a discussion that I didn't hear. With the TV now turned off, Joel leaned forward to tell me what I had not heard. I may be moved to different section of the hospital. He held my hand, tears pooling in his eyes, "I will never leave your side."

These words were the truest words I had ever heard in my life's entirety. They were like soft velvety hands holding the weight of my head. Such words cause all the wounds of the world to heal shut. For that moment all the struggles that I had weathered brought forth a prize. I had not one single worry in all of the world, not internal or external. We were all things beautiful. The sunlight pouring in from the atrium brightened the room as it moved across our path. Joel's words, his heart, brought forth our new beginning.

"You mean we are getting married?" I wondered. He said yes and took his little loop earring out of his ear and put in on my finger. It was plenty. It was beautiful.

The woman sitting at the end of the bed, her book closed on her lap, started to cry. "What is your name?" I asked. "Juliet." she replied. Ah yes, I saw now that Juliet Capulet sat among us although not many would ever notice. She is light skinned and fragile and showing a history of endurance.

"Why are you crying?" Did you lose Romeo again?" I prodded as she hid her tears. Her long straight hair framed the curves of the side of her face. Juliet moistened her lips and settled back into the chair. She picked up her book, trying to read it, but couldn't seem to find where she had left off.

This moment, this life, with Joel's hand in mine and his earring on finger, was worth waiting for. I felt whole and content. This was our moment. He is the man that will not leave me, the man that has really never left. This was our temporary utopia when we were completely together.

I didn't have to say much more. Juliet heard all my thoughts, capturing the subtle inclination. It was a silent understanding where much was grasped within minutes. Her eyes were now dry and we both sat in the silent stillness of knowing. We both knew that no one escapes the problems that arise from learning, yet we each can choose if we wish the struggle to end. We lacked power, but not command, and, as time unravels, there is less and less risk of our being interrupted. We grow stronger with every horizon we explore.

Just as with our changing world, there is no technical solution, but as we rebuild, we must admit our capability of regressing back to dysfunction. For transformation to work, the rules must continue to evolve, a constant intervention. We must reinterpret the facts and reshape them for the time we are in. We do not play a game that we must win. It is a game that we must keep playing. This is our temporary utopia.


WATERFALLS OF WHITE

One morning I woke up to a creaking noise, a rocking, and a breeze weaving around the curves of my body. Upon opening my eyes, I was surrounded by swaths of white cloth beneath me, wrapped around me, and pouring down on me. I could see where the cloth was suspended, cascading down through a hole above me like a waterfall. The blue sky, with bellowing puffs of clouds passed over me. Light flickered in through a tiny window in the wooden plank wall. I was in a serene place, like heaven. I ran my hands over my body to make sure it was me, over my waist, up across my chest, past my throat and to my face. My young body was as I remembered it to be.

Suddenly, a young man poked his head through the hole. "Are you getting up sleepy head?" he asked with a laugh.

He disappeared quickly and reappeared, without knocking, into my quarters with a tray in his hands. He set it on the surface where I rested. It held a heavy bowl of steaming water with what seemed to be a cube of tea at the bottom, a shallow plate filled with something like "cream of wheat," and a peach which I recognized immediately. "We must be quick, there is so much to do," he exclaimed, as he reached out his hand to help me sit up and then handed me the tea to drink.

My hair fell forward and I saw that the strands were long and black. " You slept very well, very still."He was Chinese, barefoot, and wearing loose oversized clothing that tied at the waist. He seemed so familiar to me. I watched him as he went about the room tiding up. Another kid yelled down, " Hurry up Jun." Jun turned to me. " I will see you on deck, Lin," and darted off.

I realized that I was no longer in my time and place. Feeling a little uneasy, I prepared myself to start the quest for hints. It had been years since I had thought about the tunnel in my grandmother's basement and meeting Jeremy, the young boy who worked at a tavern in Providence. I had convinced myself it was all a dream. I was ten or eleven years old now, soldiering on through my childhood, accepting the situations handed me. Yet, to have a second journey occur changed all that.  And, it was different. I didn't seem to be enclosed in a vaporous mist, hidden and secure.

With a few quick slurps the creamy cereal was consumed. I finished the peach and tea quickly as well, cleaning my hands on a moist cloth on the tray. There was a little jacket hanging on a post and I put it on over my boxy sleeveless garment. All the clothing was soft and lightweight in muted reddish purple, like a raspberry color. The jacket had three square-shaped knots that latched shut. There were two pockets, each stitched with flower designs of red thread. I found no shoes, so I made my way barefoot out the door and up a set of steep stairs. All the wood was shiny and smooth. We were on a boat.

Once on deck, I saw that the boat was different than most I knew. Low rails at one end grew tall as the ship sloped upward. Square, ornate sails dropped from two masts like open fans that had lost their ends. Flags and tassels blew in the wind that carried us through the water at a nice speed.

The river was beautiful and enclosed by rolling hills with steep sides, some rock and some covered with green. I saw enormous fish swimming below and along side the boat. There were large clusters of dolphins following us and singing with joy as they leaped in and out of our wake. I couldn't take my eyes off the natural beauty surrounding me and stood by the rail for some time. I felt at peace, wondering if this was home. Perhaps, what I had left was not my true life. I saw a watchtower and some sort of waterwheel that carried water out of the river. Birds stood on the shore, well fed and content.

The ship's deck was loaded with children, some working with the white material, others sailing the boat or attending to maintenance. Jun was there and motioned me over. "We need to finish measuring the silk in this compartment today."

He handed me a string he used for measuring and introduced to me a young boy, Shan, who was going to assist me. Jun went about his business as a leader and gave me a squeeze on the arm before attending to the other children once again. Shan and I began to measure white silk, which appeared as if it could easily add up to thousands of miles.


Soon an adult arrived, a strong looking man with long hair, a long mustache, and wearing items that were layered and textured. He wore a stiff leather vest with a flowing white shirt under it with collar and cuffs that matched. His shoes were tough boots that road tall on his legs. He had rings, a necklace, and a knife holder that added to his air of authority. This man looked right at me chillingly. I felt as if he could read my mind. He came close as if to say something and then continued walking to the side of the boat. I was drawn to his mysterious and all knowing presence. He inspected the waters, the hills, and the sky. "Jun, we must go faster. Put up another sail," he commanded.

More children flooded the deck of the boat and since there was commotion over the sails I pushed closer to my little helper to try to learn more of this situation. “How come there are so many kids,” I asked. “Jianyu gets us from the orphanages up and down the river. He saves us. The silk helps take care of us. We help make the silk and deliver it to the crafters."

This young boy had no problem with explaining things and he seemed to know a great deal. “Why does he do this?" I asked.

"He is trying to stop all the kids from crying."
"Stop the children from crying?" I was confused.

"Yes. His wife died and now she is trapped here, below the sun and just above the earth. The only way out is for the children to be saved and cease crying. Jianyu works to help free us so she can return home."

I felt dizzy. I had heard this before, a story about a woman trapped and connected to the tears of children. The wind picked up and my long hair flew about as the silk puffed up to take in breathes of air.

"Do you know her name?" I asked.
"Guanshiyin," Shan replied.
"Do you meaning Kwan Yin?"
"No. her name is Guanshiyin."
I could say no more.

The world was enormous at that instant. Time felt continuous and connected. I remembered all the porcelain statues that my grandmother collected. I remembered the story of Kwan Yin. She, (though in some cultures is a man,) has compassion for humanity and wishes that pain be taken away from life. She is called many things that are spelled differently yet all sound very closely related. Another of her names is Quan Yin. I froze as I stood so close to her beginnings. The woman named Guanshiyin is real and not just a statue.

The boat picked up speed as we move through a deep passage. I lean towards Shan to ask one more important question. The boat tilts to one side and we are separated as we slide about in the white flowing silk over the smooth wood of the deck.

Shan and I were swallowed up in the piles of airy white silk as we slide across the deck of the moving boat. The opportunity to seek more information from my little helper came to a halt. In one split second a whishing sound came across the deck through the air above us. Shan and I looked over at Jianyu, his eyes opened wide and froze in their sockets, his head drifted downward towards his chest and his mouth opened to expel a gust of air. "What is it?" I asked as I stood up. His hand reached upward and I noticed the tip of an arrow protruding from his upper chest. Blood trickled out in several lines down the carved texture of his vest and began to expand through the fibers of his shirt underneath.

Both Shan and I ran to Jainyu. I leaned him into me as Shan wrapped his arms around his waist and began to cry. My hand glided across his back searching for the arrow's end. A seven inch wooden shaft protruded out of Jainyu's back, just above his shoulder blade. I pried Shan's arms away to detach him and pushed him back, as the three of us dropped to our knees on the white silk. My face was close to Jainyu's and I saw the years of hard work and of thought in his eyes. There was activity all around us and Jun arrived. He shouted for some to slow the boat down and for others to prepare a table and to boil water. The deck grew silent as the children took control. Jun left for a moment to retrieve a special tool to cut the end of the arrow off.

The blood became heavy and traveled quickly across the surface of the deck wicking up through the layers of silk. The rolling sea of white soft mounds soaked up red for an unreasonable distance from where we knelt. Jainyu's eyes were piercingly deep as he looked beyond me.

Suddenly he gasped in my ear, "Throw the cloth in the river!' I heard him, but I assumed it didn't matter. I couldn't move. I stared at him wondering. His expression grew desperate. 'Throw the cloth in the river. Now!" he yelled hoarsely.

I trembled as I turned to gather up the reddened silk in a haphazard way. It had absorbed the blood and there were only darkening smears left on the dark wood.I went to the edge of the boat again and again, dropping long strands of silk down into the river, tying together ends when I came upon them. All the organizing and measuring was undone. When the silk touched the river his red blood dissipated in the flow. The silk moved gracefully in the tinted water. Jun cut the wooden shaft and Jainyu cried out in pain. I looked backed to see how Jainyu was doing and our eyes met. "Don’t stop," he pleaded. "Put the cloth in the river!" he added in a softer voice. I pushed as much stained fabric overboard as I could find.

Several young men arrived to assist Jun in carrying Jainyu away. I attended to the fabric flowing in the water as the boat finally began slowing down. I sat on the edge of the boat and watched the silk swirl about naturally on the current. It was beautiful and calming. The sun was high in the sky. I was alone but for the giant fish swimming around the cloth inspecting it. The water, minus the dolphins, twinkled. The birds on shore were silently watching. I waited for the right moment when all the white cloth seemed cleansed and I felt ready to haul the bundle up. I rung the water out as I pulled the wet silk back on board.

Jun came on deck to tell me that he had pulled the arrow out of Jainyu, who now slept, and that we could only wait. The edge of his cuffs were now trimmed with blood. Together we laced the silk around the deck, over ropes and rails. The boat was enshrined in hanging white silk, sheer enough to see layers deep. It began to sway slightly in the light breeze as it dried. There was a scent, a natural smell of nature, of river water, which made me grateful to be alive. As I was caressing the silk against my face I was compelled to ask Jun why Jainyu was attacked.

"I am sure we were suspected of having silk worms on board." He replied
"Worms?" I wondered without stressing the question too much.
"Yes. There is a battle to guard the secret of silk and there is worry that the worms and the methods for making silk have been stolen. We knew the danger." I wanted to ask more, but a young boy arrived and announced that Jainyu was awake and wanted to see me.
"Me?" I nervously questioned. Down the wooden ladder I went and pushed open Jainyu's door. I poked my head in just a bit.

"Come in, Dear" he said with a gentle voice. I stood beside him, finding it difficult to look him in the eyes. "Please, have a seat." My two feet never left the spot, as I twisted awkwardly to land on a bench like chair. Jainyu pushed himself up and begun to talk nonsense that made me very uncomfortable. His words were both puzzling and affirming. "You will return safely to where you belong, Dear. I learned something and you need to listen to me very carefully. You will know what to do, Dear. Don' ever second guess that."

The room started to spin. So much was being said in so few words. I placed my hands over my ears and demanded “Stop, please stop. You don't know what you are saying." Jainyu seemed to know who I was, not just at that moment, but, perhaps who I was before being here.

"There now Dear, it is all settled. Jun will care for you and will be by your side. You need not be concerned about this life. Jun loves you and all will be completely well."

I was now able to look him in the eye. He seemed to embody the feeling of contentment that I had experienced on deck. He then requested that I go to the top drawer of a cupboard were I saw delicate boxes and wrapped bundles. "Please take that little pouch towards the back and open it." I undid the ties that were the handles of a simple colorless bag. Inside there was a small purse, a clutch made of wonderful, assorted brocade fabric and a huge, heavy metal clasp with intricate artwork on it.

"See that man. That's me." Jainyu said as nodded his head towards the purse.
He made me smile and for a moment he seemed like a youngster and I was the adult. I peered closely as I ran my finger over the detailed imagery of a man running with a teapot through a forest of trees. I started to unlatch the purse to see the inside and how it worked.
"No, don't open that yet. There is a gift for you. It is for later. It will help you remember." Jainyu instructed me, 'What you must do is put the bag around you and wear it at all times." He continued, "You must know that I love you. I love you and will always be with you. In all moments of life I will always be with you."
I felt as if this love was the answer to life, I drank it in, and wanted it all to be true. His love seemed so wide that it spanned all of time and was for all people.
I draped the bag under my jacket, pressing the contents to my body. My face softened, I could no longer cry or smile. I felt free from the desire to have things make sense.

I sat down by Jainyu's side as he rang a bell, knotted with a faded and worn red ribbon. A young child entered the room and was asked to find Jun, who arrived quickly.
"Jun, as you know, this is your ship. All on it is yours. You know your mission. You will help the children and you will care for Lin." Jainyu explained.
With a few quick statements and a bow, Jun and I were bound together. Jainyu, with much effort, removed his rings and slipped them one by one onto Jun's fingers. He then placed one of Jun's hands under his chin, pressing his head on it in a tight hug.

Jainyu smiled at us as his eyes relaxed and I reached out to touch his face. Jun rested his hand on my back. We didn't say a word as we all huddled together closely. The moment was charged and I had butterflies inside of me. His energy was leaving him, but it was not loosing power. The life force left his face in an instant. I can’t really say what happened, because I didn't see a thing, yet the sensation of power seemed to travel up and through the points were the three of our bodies touched. It seemed like forever, but I knew it was only seconds that I felt the marrow in my bones move. When I looked up at Jun, he peered down at me with warmth in his eyes. Jun pulled his hand out from under Jainyu's chin, strumming his fingers over Jainyu's body like a harp, then reached to cradle my fragile neck. I tilted my head to press my lips into the palm of his hand. We were both united in a way that felt as if we both knew all things without needing to speak a word.
Jun placed his forehead on mine. "I am with you now. I will never leave your side." I did not have one single worry in the world, not one.

"We must prepare the return of Jainyu's body to nature immediately."

Up on deck the sun was setting. The silk was completely dry and I started taking it down, pulling at it so it would fall and flow all over me. As the sun disappeared into a pink glowing sky, all the children gathered on the deck of the boat. I was amazed that we numbered close to a hundred. Into the water we lowered the warrior's body, rocking the plank so it slid off into the river without a splash. With each breath, I felt the purse close to me, wondering what was inside. Most importantly, the man on the metal clasp was with me.


THERE IS A LADY IN MY LOCKET

I didn't quite grasp the meaning of the poem when my grandmother read it to me. She retrieved an old book from a wooden chest that sat at the end of four-poster bed; once the lid was shut we sat on top of it. It was a sunny morning and my grandmother read the poem to me and followed by explaining a few things.

My Grandmother's house today via Google maps

The poem was "My Shadow" by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894 Scotland) starting with the line "I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me." It was clear that poem was about the sun but there was more. She mentioned that I didn't have to follow her around the house as much as I did. She urged me to be independent and roam about by myself. I had mixed emotions about this discussion. I felt as if I was being reprimanded or cast off, and, more favorably, she was giving me permission to snoop around. It seems, even at age eight or nine, I tended to cling to others. Though it stung, my grandmother never held back in her attempts to teach me bluntly. She informed me that she was to deliver a flower arrangement to a church and that I was going to stay at home on my own. Moments like this turned into adventures where I could go through drawers, not disturbing things, but looking at the contents. After a few times alone wandering the house and getting to know all the corners, I asked her about the basement. I had never been down there before and wanted to check it out. She looked at me with a prideful smirk and said that I was welcome to look at the basement, even though it was empty.

Old Baptist Church in Providence

The basement had about seven rooms, of varying sizes, off of a larger center room. All the rooms were very clean, swept concrete with only a few items being stored; windows and garden furniture were all that could be seen. A few of the rooms on one side of the house had tiny narrow windows placed high, letting in only a little of the outside light. In one of the smaller rooms under the kitchen there was depression in the wall. It was larger than a doorway and sunk in about one foot. It looked like a sealed entrance or a blocked off tunnel.

I stood before it several times, always returning to the spot out of curiosity. As I turned to leave the concrete surface moved, becoming soft like handled play-dough, and the area looked cloudy like a lens that had been smudged. I backed up and crouched behind a stack of wicker chairs. It was an astonishing moment trying to grasp that the wall was changing. Soon the covering disappeared and people come through one by one and some arm in arm. I pushed back further to the wall in an amazement that kept my fear at bay. The people were black and mostly adult men and women. There were a few youth, perhaps older than me. Their clothes were somewhat worn and wrinkled, yet so many of them had glowing smiles, though serious. They were very quite. Each carried bundles and bags of things. They traveled past me. I watched the procession through the woven wicker of the chair, moving my eyes about to take in as much as I could.

I grew concerned that perhaps I had caused them to come here and that they were filling the house before my grandmother returned to wonder where everyone had come from. I would have to try and explain, but maybe my grandmother already knew. Suddenly, a young girl saw me and came close. She approached the stack of chairs and looked down at me and into my eyes. "Who are you?” she asked. I stood, my legs were weak and I used the wall for balance. "My grandmother lives here." I said. "Oh, thank you. This is where we are staying tonight." she respond, adding "Come on!"

We walked into the main room and the floor was covered with cots, blankets, and bundles of cushions. The people were settling in. She put her bag down on a mattress and motioned to the stairs with her hand. "I am suppose to help with eating,” she said. I followed her, and others, up the winding stairs and to the kitchen. The kitchen was not how I had left it; rather it was bustling with busyness. There were people using the big iron stove with all the burners, others were tossing flour onto tables and preparing bread loaves. No one seemed to see me other than this young girl. She smiled broadly as she took a station to cut vegetables.

Providence, Rhode Island by John Ruben Smith 1775-1849

I ventured to the back door and walked down the stairs into the most spacious of yards. There were no longer houses, walls, or fences on all sides, but big lush apple trees. There were men on ladders picking apples. Others were doing laundry and hanging clothing on a line, or doing dishes in a bin with hot water boiled on a small fire pit. People were gloriously joyful. It is the only way to describe such a gathering.

The sun was shining and I heard birds, assorted chattering came from the apple trees and the rooftop of the brick house. There were two dogs running about playfully. The bright light from the sun revealed a vaporous cloud that I was enclosed in. It moved with me and I could not break the seal to move outside of it.

A beautiful woman came through the kitchen door and down the stairs onto the grass where others met her with grace and honor. She was dressed in a dark tailored dress with a lace collar and tied ribbons adorning her layered skirt. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and she wore bands of material around her head with curls pulled back and loosely dropping from it. Around her neck was a long gold chain that reached far below her waist. At the end of the chain was a locket, big enough to fill the palm of a hand, like a pocket watch.

I couldn't take my eyes off her lovely smile as she gently glided about. Everyone adored her. She leaned over to inspect several bushels of apples, I moved closer to her. Someone called out to her.  Mrs. Beckwith was her name. As she turned, her locket flew away from her body, rose in the air, entering my realm of mist. Without thought, I reached out to touch it. The locket stuck firmly in my hand causing the chain to break.

I panicked. There was no way I could return the locket to her; Mrs. Beckwith didn't even know that I was there. The locket stuck firmly in my hand as if it belonged there. She looked frantically on the ground beneath her dress and all around. I stood there wishing to reverse time to cause this moment never to exist. How silly of me to ever desire to touch her locket. The wind started to kick up and the sun went behind the clouds. There was a chill in the air. She hollered for the others to begin collecting things and gave one last look behind her for the beloved locket. Her face was drawn and worried. I stood watching, feeling uncomfortable. Where was I? I wanted to go home. The awkward thing was that I was at the house that I wanted to return to. It now began to feel less familiar, less fun. It was dawning on me that I might have done something very wrong. I held my fear back and my tears in.

Off I darted up the back stairs and through the kitchen weaving in and out of the others' busy activity. Their voices became more muffled as I ran down to the basement to find the place where I had started, back to the little room and the stack of wicker chairs. I knelt to the floor and brought my hands to my chest. The locket was still firmly tucked into the palm of my hand.

I don't know how much time I spent crouched behind the stack of wicker chairs in the basement, wondering how to make everything return to the way it was. The tunnel was still open and there were people in the other room resting, mulling about, and quietly carrying on conversations. A few times I closed my eyes tightly, thinking that if I opened them quickly I would be back to where I started. It was as if there was a switch or code. I could not remember what tiny detail could have caused my grandmother's house to transport itself back to the early days with me in it.

Audubon - Passenger Pigeon

Finally I decided to go look in the tunnel. The walls were stone and the ground sloped down. The floor was partially cemented and then turned to dirt. The incline had thin wooden poles pressed into the dirt every so often, creating long stretches of stairs. I could see the tunnel turn and narrow. It was dark with slight lighting from where the people had come. I was struck with sudden braveness as I began to walk down the tunnel clutching the locket in my hand. The air was moist and the smell was earthy. Each step became easier as I sensed a chance to find some answers.

I came to a closed alley. The walls and floor were smoother stone and mortar and there were stacked crates and rows of barrels lining the walkway. At a distance, and through an iron gate, I could see and hear water sloshing about. I walked closer, pushed my nose through the gateway, and saw old boats rocking back and forth and could hear the old wood creaking all along a dock. The air was salty and moist while the sun hid behind a thick layer of even clouds.

Passenger Pigeon hunt prior to the use of huge nets that took down flocks of birds within minutes

Suddenly a young boy appeared and asked, "What are you doing here?"
His appearance was a comfort to me. "I came from there,” I announced as I motioned with my chin up the ally towards the tunnel opening.
He was silent as he edged closer to look outside at the boats with me. "I don't know much about the tunnel and really can't talk about it."
It is all I wanted to talk about and he must have felt my desperation and fear.
He continued, "You needn't be scared here. Are you hungry?"

"I must collect some of the suppers now" he said as he backtracked to a selection of barrels with the lids off. His hand went inside and pulled out dead birds to place them on a metal tray. The lifeless birds, wet and drippy, dropped with a thud. He loaded the tray with a thick layer of featherless bodies.
"What are those?" I asked. He chuckled loudly. "You must be joking. It is the passenger pigeon we are all sick of! They only cost pennies and it is what everyone is fed."
I must have looked baffled.
"You've never had one? I guess I should ask more about you! I will be back."
I laughed too and for quite a few minutes it didn't matter that I was lost in time. I watched as he left the room, balancing a heavy tray in his hands. He seemed smart and strong and I imagined him coming home with me. I imagined without much detail how fun it would be to show him the future and how different things were.

Eching of Brown University's start (1771) Providence, RI

I looked around the room as the sea wind came in and blew strands of my hair about. There were strips of meat hanging and piles of something that appeared to be bacon.  Baskets lined in straw held root vegetables, green peas and apples. There were shelves filled with jars of jellies and two long tables with edges that held what appeared to be a thin layer of salt, as I looked closer I could see shapes of the fish bodies that were cut, fanned open, and without heads. All the while I held the locket tightly, opening my hand once for a glimpse to somehow remind myself of all that had happened up to this point.

He returned briefly with another tray, this time filling it with fish. "It is cod. Have you had a cod before?" he asked with a slight smirk. "Yes!" I said but added "But, not served like that!" while making a fake face of horror. "Your family must be part of the University then!"

The Penny Magazine, published in the UK and the US Colonies
By the Society of the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge1832-1845

Off he went. He was referring to Brown University, which takes up many acres on top of the seven hills that Providence is built upon. I knew this because my grandmother consistently mentions it and wants me to recite the names of the hills to her. I then noticed a table and chair. On the desk there was a newspaper, like a large pamphlet, called The Penny Magazine. Underneath the title it read The Society of the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, with Published Every Saturday, added. The date on the paper was October 7, 1837, my mind could not even take in this faraway time. Up above the table was a shelf with more magazines. As I reached to flip the cover page, I heard the footsteps coming down the stairs.

Spruce gum box and spruce gum

When he returned to the cellar he rattled a little wooden box. The box had a "J" carved into the side panel. He slid the top off and asked me to hold out my hand so that a few misshapen, light green colored ovals rolled into it. "What is it?" I asked as I examined the odd lump. "Gum." he replied. I popped it into my mouth and chewed. The aroma and taste was like a pine tree and like no gum that I have ever had. The texture of spruce gum seems more for eating than chewing, and that is what I did. After a short time I swallowed the hard waxy shape with a giggle and the pointing of my tongue. I liked the moment that we were sharing and we finally exchanged names. His name was Jeremy. Just like the little girl, he could see me and it occurred to me that perhaps children saw more than adults.

"I want to show you something!" I said with excitement as I felt now that I had a friend. I held open my palm and there the gold locket rested for both of us to see. "I want to give it to you!" I exclaimed as I thought it best that I keep it in this time and closer to the owner. Somehow Jeremy could find Mrs. Beckwith and return the locket to her. Jeremy touched my hand and closed all my fingers around the locket. He explained, "I can't take that. I would never be able to say where I got it. I could get in lots of trouble."

We stood, his hand on mine. It felt natural and in some way I felt older at that moment. It was quite apparent it was my first tingles of being smitten by a young man. I wanted to cry, move into his arms, and tell him that I am from a time in the future. I wanted him to tell me how to get back home.

"The locket is yours, but you need something to hang it on." He grabbed a thin strap from his work apron, ripped it off, and gently strung it through the locket's loop. I held it in front of me as he tied a knot behind my head.  I held the locket in place and pressed it into my chest.

"I must go back upstairs. You can stay if you would like." My heart sank knowing he had work to do. I knew this was all to end and it was time for me to return to my grandmother's house. I turned and we naturally embraced our good-bye. "We'll meet again someday. I will always look for you,” he whispered in my ear.

Down the passageway to the tunnel I walked, as Jeremy watched. I waved as the turn to ascend upward appeared. I ran up the dark tunnel, the locket swaying around my neck. I saw light. I ran up and up and into the room that was now so familiar. The stack of wicker chairs was a comfort to see. I caressed the woven rims as I slid behind them, resting my forehead against the protective weaving. I closed my eyes tightly. I rested.

View of Roger William's Providence from Fort Adams

I opened my eyes after closing them tightly for some time and praying silently that everything would return to the way it was when I first entered the basement. When I prayed, I prayed to a God that was mine, a gentle being, easily found, but often busy. Patience was necessary. When I looked out through the wicker chairs, the tunnel was now closed. My heart raced with joy that my praying worked. Now that returning to my time seemed easy, I thought perhaps more praying could take me back, bypassing the mysterious thing that triggered my visit to the past in the first place.

I leaped up and ran to the sealed tunnel with an open hand, placing it and my cheek against the chilly wall. I thought of Jeremy, locked on the other side. He might even be dead. I walked to the main room and it was clear of all the bedding and baggage. The room was now empty but for the windows and assorted lawn furniture. I raced up the stairs and entered the kitchen I remembered. Things were orderly and quiet. Outside, I saw no apple orchards, only a tall brick wall that separated us from the neighbor, the wooden fence on another side, and the wrought iron gate. The brick patio was there with its outside fireplace. A crow cawed in the distance.

I ran upstairs to my room and sat on the chaise near the window. In the palm of my hand the gold locket, with the soft string that Jeremy added to it, sparkled in the light. Finally, I opened the locket that belonged to Mrs. Beckwith. She was inside under layers of glass. I angled the locket to find the right position to get a good look. It is amazing that I had seen her, that I know her. Then I noticed, on the other side, a staunch man.

When I closed the locket, they spent hours staring into each other's eyes. I sensed that this couple was deeply in love. I slipped the locket under my pillows and layers of bedding for safekeeping.

My grandmother returned and we went about our day as usual. We played checkers and one of her friends came for a cocktail. After dinner, I bathed and prepared for sleep. Under the weight of the covers I went through the details of the day. My grandmother came into my bedroom to say goodnight. As she walked to the doorway for the evening, I blurted out "Who is Mrs. Beckwith?"

My grandmother returned to my bedside with an approving look for my curiosity. "Well, she is the original owner of this house. Her husband, Mr. Beckwith, built it for her. There is a duplicate house down the hill built by Mr. Beckwith's brother for his wife." She continued "At that time, the whole hill was filled with apple trees."

"What about the odd looking wall in the basement that looks like a tunnel?" I asked.

She moved closer to the bedside to answer. "That was a tunnel down to the canal. Mrs. Beckwith helped to free slaves. They would travel from the South and come up the tunnel to rest here before continuing to Nova Scotia. It was called the Underground Railroad." She tucked me in again and moved her eyes about my face as she looked into my eyes. "Tomorrow, I will show you some of her clothes that are packed away on the third floor."

After My Grandmother left the room, I pushed my hand under my pillow in order to hold the locket. I thought about the power of love, the effort to build a house, and to plan and dig a tunnel. This women in love was useful in helping others and I wondered if this is the way love worked. I knew that I had to know love. I needed to find my love.



FOUND:: Book No. 62 (damaged badly)

Page 4
Its been hard to write. Several weeks have passed since the last wild polar bear died. It pains my hands to write this, my eyes to see the words. The muscles of my chin twist on the bone when I cry. With my hands I must press my jaw tightly to hold the skin in place to stop the aching. Tears have fallen daily, not just over the loss of the wild bears, but also for the history that got us here. There is such a long trail of denial and excuses. Contaminated diets, cold water, confusion are just a few of the singular causes put forth to hush the outcries. The list goes on and on.
Though so much of what humans have [...]
It seems to be a necessary road to travel. [...]
My words lack weight, and, much that I wrote seems to be undone. A way of life certainly has faded, broken glass swept aside. At this point, I do not know if anything will be remembered. It will be like the other worlds once here. Without records they never existed. I'm so sorry. Sorry for you, those that are younger than me. I am so sorry that you must be perplexed by [...]
I'll do my best to continue the story even though it must be [...]
To this task, I will give my best attention.

Page 11
I'm so surprised over these debates. The zoos are closed to the public and completely locked down. A few are taking appointments for a ticket to see something "wild." They are over-whelmed with requests to view the polar bears, each tries to decide whether to cater to the young or the old. Honestly, I don't care [...]

Page 16
Due to my age I was given notice of my opportunity, perhaps a last chance, to see a polar bear. Documentation of the visit is prohibited, and my Cent standing must be up-to-date as a result of the changes in issuing certificates. To be a Cent you must be born prior to 1991. The days of shouting "look at my gray hair" are over. No longer is being born between 1992-99 permitted. It makes sense due to the precise documentation of experiences being sought for the "The Last Days Retrieval Project." It became apparent that those born after '91 have little concrete information to offer. Their recollections were increasingly crowded with more and more fantasy, influenced by all the changes. It's upsetting, but efficient, and I do think it important.



FOUND No. 92 - I didn't tell many

When he called, I wasn't puzzled at all. It came as a relief to learn that someone was storing contemporary art and I somehow made it on a list. I suspect that I owed my inclusion to one particular patron who had incredible foresight and also a unique admiration for what I had been working on. The call was brief. I said yes instantly. I was to gather up selected art in the next few weeks and have it ready for pickup. There was really not much for me to do, since I had started preparing my art for transport many years ago. Crates and boxes had all been made and loaded. I could now stop wondering if this day would ever come.

A truck would arrive within 21 days, he said. My artwork was going to be driven somewhere north, I suspect Northern Canada, to a huge underground storage facility. I was surrendering my art. Joel approved because he shared my sense that moving my art would improve the chances of it having a future audience.

The gentleman mentioned that he had followed my work online for years. I knew that a small group appreciated following my story and I was thrilled to learn that this caretaker understood the complexity of it. He knew about all the crates that held the extensive and elaborate installation, the books, the props, the settings, and the projects... the story. He knew that a few items were missing, because I ended up selling them. I weighed those sales carefully, and since materials had sky rocketed and the dollar value crashed, I had no choice but to sell some of the components. Each buyer was fully aware that they had acquired an item that belonged to a larger work and might be needed in the future.

Wherever my work was headed, I still sensed the potential for complete global collapse when all would be lost. The changed weather patterns were producing regular storms and each day the winds intensified, we risked having our windows blown out like so many others. The warning sirens blow and now we take cover in the brick stairwell due to the death toll in the city from flying glass shards. The mob activity is unpredictable as well, but we are lucky to live in an area not marked by those going hungry and desperate. They target areas of wealth.Of course, everything is changing so slowly many still don't even notice. They cling to the older ways and think we are in recovery mode.

It turns out several artists in the US were selected to offer work to this archive. The focus was on work very much like mine, art that illuminates these times. A few thought I was crazy to give my art away. For me, it became the outcome that I had tacitly prepared for. Long ago I saw haunting images of my artwork being destroyed by flood or fire, or by being buried. In a split second my remaining work became nothing. I would see people stepping on it, not knowing what it was. My original art became a burden to protect. This idea of storage suited me perfectly.

Weeks later, the truck arrived. Many on the street peered out to watch the cargo truck maneuver into place. There was one driver and three others. They came into the studio and inspected everything from packaging to inventory. The organization of it was very thoughtful. I offered the men some of the hard cider we had made a month earlier from fallen apples collected from our land. People again drink cider that has been fermented, a type of return to colonial days inspired by the need for safe drink.

Before the truck left, the driver took me aside and gave me a note and a medium size cardboard box. The note read, "Do not tell anyone but your husband. We would be honored if you abide by our wishes." The driver left. I held the medium size cardboard box that was average in appearance, but contained a mystery. I shouted for Joel.

Inside was a black cube, a 12"x12" block that had a soft flexible texture, pebbled in rubber nibs that were malleable. Below the protective nibs was a soft grayish layer, like putty. I could stick my finger in it and it would move, remove my finger and the surface would bounce back into shape. It was wrapped in bands of metal that had tiny clips on all sides. Included with the box was another card, which stated that this gadget held and delivered energy. The energy is continuous and regenerating and can run computers, phones, and appliances by simply pushing the plugs into the box. A little diagram showed how the clips secure the cords.

The note went on to assure me that the earth provided in many unexpected ways, fortifying the hope that someday all humans would have access to a naturally occurring energy. I had always imagined that abundant clean energy existed, energy that would be treated as an essential right. I couldn't wait to try it out and we ran to the nearest light. The plug went into the box and was held snuggly. The light went on.



FOUND:: Book No. 124 - The Long Pause

I find myself staring out the window for long stretches of time each day. It is sensational how we don't know what to expect from our environment, the surprises emphasize that earth is not what we knew.
Once again, though, we worship her, as if begging to be excused for the stupidity of our species. We seriously understand the miracle of such a planet that is indeed a paradise. The united efforts of The People's Assembly give us hope. We feel secure because there is intelligent leadership. All actions are thoughtful during this period that many call "The Long Pause." Much of the populace is reminiscing about our days here, resulting in a firestorm of historic literature and a resurrection of contemplation and discussion. The walls at our local meeting hall are covered with quotes from books. We can go and visit for hours with others, as the earth churns outside.

It is very hard to imagine that a lake can flip; a body of water forced to fold in upon itself and whole communities wiped out in one instant. I didn' know about the Lake Nyos disaster of 1986 until people started referring to it. Known locations, where methane is escaping after millions of years of being tightly stored beneath the earth’s crust, are increasing. Nyos was considered a freak event back then, but now we have learned that there are several incidences around the globe.

Affected areas include, melting permafrost and warming bodies of water. Slanting houses, falling telephone poles, and sinking railroad tracks, roads, and cemeteries are stories going around. Sink holes are commonplace. In the south, cracking earth due to drought is the culprit.

Bodies of water are effected when the warming of the surface changes the water pressure and weakens the icy sediment below. This enables the centuries old gas to leak out. In most cases, the methane releases in millions of tiny bubbles that create a powerful fizz or a giant, dangerous burst. Scientists have made maps of the most effected areas and those that are at high risk for an explosion. I have seen photos of the unique donut shaped ocean rocks that were formed while acting as vents for powerful methane streams.

I have also seen photos of methane bubbles that were once trapped in the frozen lakes of the northern hemisphere. Nature has its beauty in all of this, and, it is remarkable how the planet is responding like a breathing organism. Many of us are calm, having surrendered our fear and accepted our unpredictable days. We are grateful that we haven't experienced some of the worst disasters. Each hour is a treasure and we are more aware of what happiness is.

A very small portion of the living seems to continue on, if awkwardly. We have active methane release areas in both the east and west coast waters of America that have become a bit of a tourist attraction. Expensive packages include boat accommodations and helicopter rides for a bird’s eye view.

Increased fighting over the collection of gases for commercial energy is predicted. There are a few, they are referred to as "leftovers," that are moving quickly and carelessly with their imagined plans to capture the potential profit. They have no regard for what the people wish or even for common sense laws.

A new phenomenon that was never expected is episodes of radiant heat coming from the earth. Though uncomfortable, people survive and the damage is manageable. Some people treat them like a sauna, thinking they give a full body cleansing. Scientists know where they will surface, so it is part of the weather forecast; we now get above and below "weather" reports.

This oozing vapor mainly occurs in the evening when the sun sets and the temperature drops. In the distance we witness beautiful colors in the sky, rainbows, and slow rolling cloud formations caused by the moist heat. It is strange to look out across the city to see glorious, abandoned honeycombs. It is as if the earth has the flu and we are experiencing the fever dreams.


Methane photos by scientists: Ned Rozell, Tom Levitt, and Rick Bowner