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Reincarnation

by Maya Jennings Martinez 10 months ago in Short Story
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A Field of Flowers

Reincarnation
Photo by Larm Rmah on Unsplash

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Though you might wonder where I actually live. Do I float through the ventricles of the heart? Swim through the vessels of blood? Or ride the electric waves of nerves that wiggle your toes and fingers? My secret hiding spot is in your energy. The intangible heat and radiation that ignites your very ability to be – exciting your electrons and powering your muscles, slowly working my way up to splash around in the glimmering lake of the iris to take a peek at the world outside of my confined home.

I looked out at the world today, majestic green and gold spanning all around. Small, vibrant, happy marigolds, dancing calmy in the wind; a tune so sweet to their fibres, as they basked in the multicoloured dusk. My home was collapsing around me; the cells and cavities that had once been a beloved playground of excitement, were closing their doors. Suddenly, my place of comfort is slipping away, and I have found myself forced to find a new place of solace. The marigolds look back at me, welcoming and warm. I heard that plants have cells almost like home, and perhaps they will be able to accept me. With a bouncing frequency of fear and anticipation, I collect myself – a swarm of invisible ants scuttling from her legs and arms to gather for the journey. The same window where I had looked out, and many had peered in, was now the only exit.

As I seep out, and away, from my cooling body, I creep cautiously along the lines of my old face. I feel every ripple of skin, as the small hairs brush against me. Vibrating quickly, moving slowly, I am calm and happy because that is how she made me. The energy of her, gave me my bounce, my will to go on, the inaudible music that helps me to travel. Even though we are different beings, I was part of her; she created me and shared with me her strength. Having a body mother also gave me her abilities and senses: the ability to see, hear and access my surroundings. As I enter my new host, I notice those senses beginning to fade. With my dulling ability to see, I peer out one last time, and see the beauty of her face, forever frozen in a sad, confused shape; her ruffled eyebrows and pouting lips, questioning an unanswerable question. Her form may not exist forever, but I will. She is beautiful, and so am I.

My vision slowly disappearing, I experience a darkness. Something that once seemed scary suddenly feels normal. I can hear the wind. I can feel the warmth of the setting sun. I scurry around, visiting my new cells, shaking them with my positive strength; I know I have carried her here with me. I no longer need the senses I once had. I am happy with the life I know. There was not enough space in one flower for all of me, for all of her energy. So, we separated. Yet, I can feel her, I can feel me, in this field of flowers, swaying in the sunlight, slightly brighter than they were without me here. I glow proudly every day, twinkling and vibrating in the rays that fall upon me. At night, I feel the compassion of the stars, radiating above, reminding me that my family of energy spans far beyond, keeping me company wherever I go. Even the clouds and rain, when they come to visit, are kind and humble. I feel the energies of other body mothers, who live on in our delicate, nature-filled world.

The blades of grass hold me close; I am home.

Short Story

About the author

Maya Jennings Martinez

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