Ooh, the kettle is brewing. Look at you, fabulous creatures circling overhead.
“I summon the flight above me. Powers of the condor messenger. Bringers of wisdom and imagination. I petition your insights and clarity.”
“Circe, we understand your desires, but the only way out is in.”
Did I miss something? I asked for clarity. I’m already ‘in.’ Who do I know? I must find a way out of here. Who do I know?
“Hey, Circe, what are you doing over there?”
“Just checking out the vultures.”
“Geez. They are disgusting looking birds. Have you ever seen one close up?”
“As a matter of fact I have, and I think they’re magnificent. Well, most of the time. Do you know how important they are to the environment?”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Well, Miss Susie Q …”
“My name is Suzanne.”
“Forgive me, Suzanne. Vultures control biological waste, assisting with the renewal of decaying matter throughout the environment.”
“Yeah, yeah. They also symbolize death.”
“Yes! And that’s an aspect of renewal. Life is cyclical, and with every ending, there is a new beginning. Maybe that’s what they’re trying to tell me!”
“You’re talking to the vultures? Now I know you have a screw loose.”
“Mirror, mirror! At least I accept and give life to my madness. Besides, I only have one mission right now, and that’s to get out of here.”
Walking off, Suzanne mutters, “Don’t we all?”
“More than likely, yes, but I can only speak for myself.”
Back to the idea of death and renewal. What needs to die in me in order to be freed from these restrictions? I am not going to apologize for not knowing nude yoga is against the law. “Hello up there! Any additional suggestions?”
Swooping down to meet me eye to eye, the biggest one offers, “Be resourceful about pursuing the current opportunities available to you. There are unusual and clever methods for getting what you want.”
“Clever. How is this possible when I feel trapped? Feel? No. I am trapped!”
I can hear the blood racing through my head. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this nervous and disenchanted. Not even on Aeaea. At least there’s room to spread my wings over there. But I’m not there; I’m here, which means the sunflowers are right. It’s time to slow down and ground myself, maybe remember to breathe every once in a while. There’s not a lot of time before we’re called to go back inside.
“Hello, tree. Will you take my anxiety from me?” This is being resourceful, isn’t it? One might say I’m even being clever! How much more cunning can a goddess be as she hangs out in jail?
“Try creative gesticulation.”
“Who said that?”
“I did.”
“Who are you? Where are you?”
“Look up. Such a pleasure to meet you, Circe. My name is Dryok.”
“Dryok? Hey, wait a minute! How do you know my name? We’ve never met before!”
“I am that, a woodpecker, and I need your help.”
“Mine? What sort of help do you need from me?”
“I’ve fallen behind with excavating my home, and would love it if you’d assist me with a little protection from the hawk hiding over there in that grove of trees.”
“Hawk? I don’t, wait a minute, you just said he’s hiding. Scratch the blurt. Anyway, how is the hawk bothering you?”
“He’s not bothering me. He’s actually a predator, and I have a goal to survive the season so I can start a family once my nest is complete. Therefore, as I drum, you flap your wings and dance like a bird courting her mate!”
“Excuse me? I don’t have wings.”
“Oh, yes, you do! In fact, you even said you had wings on Aeaea.”
“You heard that? I don’t really have wings. I was saying that it felt like I had room to fly. You know, comparing different times. Honestly, I’m pretty sure it would be an awesome experience to have wings, but it’s not in my goddess job description. Nice try.”
“Circe, turn your head.”
“And there they are. I have wings! Where? What? Wow! Who cares? They’re incredible! A bit heavy, but nothing I can’t get used to. How cool! Drum away! Do you suppose the hawk will know I’m not really a bird? Never mind that question. What about singing? Can I sing, too?”
“Of course you can. You’re doing great, by the way! Love the moves, lady! Are you sure you’re not a bird?”
“Hey, Circe. Yard time is over.”
“Huh? What’s going on? Where am I? Oh. Hey, Susie Q.”
“It’s Suzanne. Are you ok?”
Stretching my neck a bit. “Yeah, I must have fallen asleep. What a weird dream.”
“Leave it for later, lady. We gotta line up for roll call. It’s time for dinner.”
And you’re a strange bird. Hahaha!
There is a rhythm in your mind
You’ll feel the power deep inside
Oh let’s celebrate every single day
There ain’t no mountain I can’t climb
The melody makes me high
Sing a song along the way
Ama efarerida so fobi
Marian ma le godo gosta gei
Sing a song
Hemei jalacariahco fouja
Sama fini rekina gofo leh
(lyrics from Enigma’s MMX (The Social Song)
“Circe! SH! You know better than to make any noises while standing in line!”
“Susie Q, I’m just singing! What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s Suzanne and whatever, do what you want. I’m just reminding you of the rules!”
“Forgive me! I just had an urge to keep singing after my dream!”
Waving her hand at me, Suzanne asks me to, “Let it go.”
This world is no different than the outside world. The apprehension is endemic. It’s hard to believe it’s 2020, and the whole of mortal society is confined and fettered whether imprisoned in jail or free to remain at home. Emotional trepidation prevails. The most urgent question flooding individual minds is, is there such a force, strong enough to put an end to these circumstances? If not, how can one escape his or her restraints?
Oddly, my heart hurts for these people. This is new. I feel them every waking hour. For my own protection, I seek solace in the shadows of jail. The tensions are quieted, and peace, although temporary, is restored. How does someone escape these complicated times?
With a deep breath, the answer comes to me:
Melda haro ….
Alatulya ni olwa
Altulya ni olwa
Altulya ni olwa
(prayer to the hawk)
No meh veyvu
Hama de oh
No mea veyyu
Saya nuoweh
No moh deyu
Hama de oh
Oh vadeya
No moh deyu
(a siren’s lullaby)
Mmmmm! Can you feel it? Peace! Susie Q’s face is ten times softer, and the sounds of sleep whisper gently throughout the cell block.
“Good evening Ms. Circe!”
Jumping up to meet the guard. “Good evening, officer. How are things around the house?”
“Strangely quiet, but I’m not going to complain. To be honest, it’s a big relief. Normally, well, you know how things get around here.”
“That I do. What brings you by?”
“We discovered a package for you by the front door, and I wanted to make sure you got it sooner than later.”
“How kind of you. Thank you.”
“What do you suppose it is?”
“Hard to say.”
“Well, go ahead. Open it!”
“Maybe later. I am in need of a little rest right now. Good night, officer. And thank you again.”
“My pleasure, Ms. Circe. Good night.”
Tammy Davis is a technical writer, inspirational essayist, beginning novelist and scribe for Circe. Her intention as a mortal is to explore, grow, uplift, and inspire. Follow her on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook as well as on her website. Supporting the #writingcommunity is always appreciated as is a cup of coffee.
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