The Interminable Life of Emma

There, sat a wise little girl. Wiser beyond her years, little did she know before going into the woods to sit with nature on this beautiful Sunday, spring afternoon. Emma, she who had a sensation and feeling of knowing that her life would simply fall into place. Never questioning and never doubting. Emma, this eleven year old little girl, simply knew she had to stop the chaos around her by being still in her little corner in her neck of the woods. On the ledge of the tree trunk, Emma sat and pondered about her ancestors and how there will one day be a version of herself, long in the future, whom she wishes she could help the next “mini-me” she called in her mind, unknowingly realizing spirit could hear her.

As she sat on the trunk, she began meditating. The meditation happened in a profound way as she had never purposely meditated prior to this moment. The sun was gazing into the roots of her hair, which were beginning to turn her roots even blonder. Emma felt the sun gazing in her roots of her hair, which she felt a parallel connection the moment her flip flops dipped off her toes and feet into the grass. Emma’s scalp connected to her feet, her scalp connected to the sky and universe beyond--while her feet remained grounded on presence in Earth’s real time realm. She felt as if the sun shining into her scalp had a resonation with her feet being rooted into the Earth’s core. She knew then, eyes closed, birds chirping in the distance, and heard a call of her name. Emma knew that she was, in fact, on some type of voyage at this point in time. She kept her eyes closed while porched on the trunk, and it felt like a dream, though she knew she would then learn why she was chosen. Emma heard a calling of her name, and wondered if she should answer or not--though her intuition had spoken before she could respond herself…

“Yes? It is me, Emma. Who are you? How do you know me?” asked Emma. The sensation of tingling toes, and colours behind her eyelids, displaying an image of one older woman sitting on the trunk beside Emma.

This wildly woman with witchlike spirits answered Emma, “I am an older version of you. I have brought you into this realm with our older self so we could help the next generation.”

Emma began having an epiphany…Me? She thought to herself, this is who I am when I am older? The older version of Emma began to speak again. “You need to stay calm, for what I say next shall awaken your spirit guides, who will come forth and join us on this trunk. I need you to know that you have psychic abilities and can see auras. This explains the colours you’re seeing now. You are an empath and psychic with abilities so profound, which you cannot share with anyone--you know your friends, your family…strangers, the reckless, the realists, the idealists...for you know what each of these beings are capable of. For, we have lived in each of these realms in physical form once upon a time.”

Emma felt she was in a dream, which consciously she was. If one were to see Emma sitting on the trunk, they’d assume she was just another little girl embracing her down time in nature, you know, just being a little girl.

Further on into Emma’s awakening--which is what you would call her experience--the older version of Emma, with the colourful aura, began to speak of detrimental issues that will arise within the next decade of her life. Older, wiser, more knowledgeable Emma explained dictations that would happen all before the ripe age of twenty. She will experience racial issues, being a mix of white and black in this lifetime, which she will dive deep into and find her own self love. Though knowingly now, she will always have support from her ancestors. Emma wondered about prejudices, stereotypes, conflicts from those who have not lived in her shoes. She was worried for her parents at the time, the reasoning behind why she had been on a trunk, in the middle of the field, in the first place.

Emma spoke to her older self, “I wish I could find a way to solve the mysteries beyond my family being middle class...while there are others categorized in our society's world to be lower class or wealthy.” Emma’s older self listened, and smiled at her. The figment of imagination while meditating was so strong that a mysterious little black book came out into the palms of the older and wiser spirit.

Older Emma spoke, “You will find the answers in this little black book if you are capable of using your imagination. You have lived in many worlds, my darling, and you are wiser beyond your years, for we have lived many different types of lives." Young Emma, only eleven years old, felt a sense of relief and freedom, all by taking this little black book--which seemed to have frills, dents, and was made of real leather many moons ago.

Emma grabbed the book and said, “Thank you, but how will I know what to do with this book? I just don’t understand how reading a journal or escaping in a journal will protect me from this cruel world?”

Wiser Emma responded, “My dear, this little black book was our first notebook, stemming from thirty centuries ago. You are a beacon of light, hope, and courage to those around you in the next following years. When you feel hopeless, discouraged, lost, or even inspiring, be sure to write down your thoughts. I will see you the next time you feel awakened by a new sense. Maybe it’ll be a year from now, maybe sooner. I wish you strength. Give my love to our mother and father. For they also have lived in each of these centuries with us.”

Wiser Emma suddenly disappeared, vanished, up and left, leaving Emma to open her eyes. Suddenly, Emma, the young psychically developed eleven year old, felt rejuvenation and a sense of hope. Not knowing how this book could travel through centuries upon centuries...Emma held the little black book and dedicated it to a journal of fighting for change in this world, in the present time. She held onto it tight, put her flip flops back on, and was then present in the realm of the real world once again. Emma grabbed the little black book and explored the pages for a while, until she realized that her parents were going to worry for her being gone so long. Emma tucked the little black book into her scrunchy and faded yellow book bag, wore her flip flops, and flopped out into the real world after watching a few bunnies frolic in front of her.

Once Emma reached her home, her parents had asked how her day was. She said, “Nothing out of the ordinary. When will dinner be ready?”

Her mother replied, “Shortly sweetie. Why don’t you go on upstairs and take a quick shower after being out adventuring all day.”

Emma took off her flip flops and stumbled up the stairs with her faded yellow book bag. Not considering showering, Emma decided to bring forth her strong meditative powers back into the realm she had escaped to before--because, clearly, time stops for everyone else when she is in that world, or her mother would’ve had a conundrum knowing how many hours she sat out there. Emma wasn’t sure how to do it without the grass to root her feet, and sun to scalp her hair…though she now felt powerful. Emma took the little black, fringed, leather book out of her bag. She took a deep breath, letting out breath after breath. She wrote in the journal.

...If I could come across a large sum of money to distinguish the differences between lower, middle and upper class, I would create a profitable donation centre. To allow young women and men, classified on the basis of not being a white powerful man or a white powerful woman. I would create a safe space for those to come and share their experiences. There will be walls throughout the building meant for the artists of different cultures to express themselves. Those who are into math and numbers can help with the donations and sorting through the piles of money that will come forth based on the high reputation our community will make. Those who are into film, writing, theatre, and creating in any way, will be able to use the studio and theatre to come up with relevant information, as well as older information about racial culture. All so that we can help those who would like to learn. Internet exists for a reason, and that is to create change. Those who are great at the internet, using their marketing and social media skills, will join in the office in our building. This is the beginning. Though to begin, I need a sum of twenty thousand dollars. I have no idea how I will come up with this money, for my parents are middle class and no eleven year old girl is taken seriously for funding a large business project such as this one. Unknowingly how I will make these donations to help fund the city’s first discrimination free space, I am sure I will achieve this for I believe in myself.

Emma had fallen asleep after dinner with her parents. She found herself the next morning, with a strange feeling that her wildest dreams of funding her business had came true. She just had a feeling. Emma climbed out of bed, went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. It was a school day, Monday now, so it was early and she had positive feelings for her business venture. She also had mixed feelings about feeling this way as she was only eleven years old, no way in creating a real business so to speak of the majority of others who would look at her with crazy eyes. Emma finally made it onto the bus, and went on with her day.

Emma realized that she had forgotten her lunch, though her mom had given her some pocket change in case this ever happened again. It happened far too often, so she had just enough for chocolate milk. Emma decided to go against the crowded cafeteria today, and into the school’s art room, where there was a vending machine. Emma inserted her toonie. Within a few minutes, there was no chocolate milk coming out and Emma began to get frustrated. Emma shook the vending machine, though nothing would shake. That was her last two dollars, and no lunch was in sight.

Emma went to sit in the back of the art room. She took out her backpack, and opened the little black journal, to read what she had written. She skimmed the pages for the heck of it--then instantly closed the book. Hundreds, after hundreds of dollars came pouring out of the vending machine. Emma was confused and worried this was the doing of the vending machine being out of order and this money belonged to the city. After counting the money, it was what she had written. 20 thousand dollars. Older, much more wise Emma displayed through her eyelids, then popped out beside her.

“Sweetie, I told you you were smart, and more powerful than you knew. Go change the world.”