I have a few memories that I think I’ve stolen. I can’t quite remember if they are mine, in my actual memory, a dream, or a story I’ve heard from my cousins. A couple of them are haunting, and I feel just the memory of the memory is enough to have shaped my life in some way. When I recall them, no more details ever come to mind. In fact, details get lost or added from different ones. So now, I have a fragmented ‘may be my memory’ to share: My sisters, cousins, and I were at a huge Black (family name) reunion. It was at some weird, seemingly deserted, campground with cabins and one of those monkey bar domes in the middle to play on. I was wearing purple spandex shorts. We played tag or hide-and-go seek and my sister was separated from me. I remember being tiny. I remember the frantic lost feeling. I remember thinking I saw someone jump in to one of the cabins so I followed. I walked on the creaky thick planked wooden floor to the corner of the dusty cabin where there was a bed with too many quilts on it. There was the distinct shape of a body under those quilts and I walked closer. It was an old lady and she popped up and began yelling at me. That’s all I can grasp, but I know whatever happened after that was never re-told to my parents, making me think I was in my older sister’s charge and she didn’t want to get in trouble. It always felt like a secret. I think this was one of my first memories.

During our early years, we are taught to crave sleep. I remember morning conversations with my high school acquaintances, “Hey. What’sup? How’s your day? How ya doin’?” And the answer is always, a pained yet resounding, “Tired.” I remember yawning at least thirty times an hour until about noon. Coffee wasn’t a thing for high-schoolers yet and we began class at 7:20am. Whatever we were supposed to be learning would just not enter my brain. Every minute was a struggle to keep my eyes from closing and my body from entering that amazingly numb warm hum state. Most rooms kept a chilly temperature of just above freezing to keep our bodies as rigidly awake as possible without becoming popsicles. But no cold could keep my mind vigilant. I think school gave me my best lessons in meditation. Always in that half asleep zone, my mind would wander into dream-like trances, where I could focus on my goals, and my issues seemed meaningless. I would see dancing colors pulse in my mind’s eye. Red to orange to yellow….. down the rainbow scale and back. Sometimes, I would pick a person’s head to stare at and practice how quickly I could see their aura. (This was also practiced at church every Sunday). I got very good at it.

Cut-to college years: I refused to schedule a class earlier that 11am. I finally had a choice….. kind of. Some core classes were only offered at 8am. AHHHH, not again! And the boring ones! So my meditations continued. But this time WE HAD COFFEE. Four more years of exhaustion, mixed with parties, all-night studying and painting, horrendously obnoxious roommates, and early mornings, and I had about HAD it. I graduated cum laude and on time, but the day after graduation, I went into a two year hibernation. I needed to account for those thousands of hours of missed sleep for the past 18 years … (because we took naps in preschool). When I awoke, the grandest and most beautiful adventure of my time on earth erupted. I had choices, I had energy, I had naps, I still had coffee, and I had time. Life began. School was just one big mediation session, preparing me to feel freedom full force. For everything else I should remember learning, there’s Google.

• Ay, there’s the rub.

Adventuring and navigating my way through my time spent living on .water Island, St Thomas, USVI. Trying to keep my artistic flair and excersize my passions!

For a few brief months, and semi- accidentally, I was an Alpha Gamma Delta. Freshman year of college: I remember during orientation day, being handed a nicely colored pamphlet with pictures of smiling girls all over it doing fun things. There was one girl my age that was at Wayne State University with me from our high school. We weren’t that close when we were younger but this new world instantly bonded us. We did everything together, and she quickly became my confidant, and my best friend. Well, she received this same pamphlet and exclaimed to me, “We HAVE to join!” My moms voice rang in my head, “Join a club. Join a social group. Be social!” I never would have thought that would mean joining a sorority.  Somehow, this landed me in a huge dankly carpeted conference room of some forgettable building on campus with hundreds of other girls who were also rushing. I remember feeling awkward and like everyone could tell I was an artist and a different thinker and wouldn’t fit in to this new class of popularity. But I thought it could be some kind of fun social experiment for myself and I could experience all these movies about pledging and college first-hand. So, in a fog and a whirlwind, I stood in lines, was sized up by the different sororities, made horribly awkward meaningless conversations, filled out paperwork, and was bid on: CHOSEN. There were four houses to fight for. I chose AGD because there was one girl who I had seen on campus that was just so cool and independent and artsy looking and fashionable and NICE. So when I saw her at recruitment day, I wanted in her house. After a few strange rituals, I was a squirrel- an Alpha Gamma Delta, and said girl was my “Mom” and I was her “Daughter”. I was given gifts, clothing, sisters, and…… homework. I didn’t really understand the point of learning Greek and memorizing prayers and songs, other than for tradition’s sake. Sororities, especially AGD, are (trying to be) known for their philanthropic work in the community. The founders were 11 strong women livin’ in the early 1900’s who focused on community service, diabetes awareness, and education. This part of helping the community really was endearing to me. The homework: Not so much. I was taking 18-20 credits a semester and ALWAYS had art homework- which usually involved pulling many all-nighters in a row to finish a piece… on top of every other classes’ studies. It really should be on a resume; Figuring out how to somehow juggle all of what college is WHILE being in a sorority. I found it near impossible. And soon, the magic of rituals, mystery of tradition, and fun girly conversation wore off and I became disenchanted. Every meeting was such a chore to attend, and every dollar they sucked from me felt like thousands. (That’s right, giving money was a huge part of sorority world.) At every meeting I repeated the words in my head, “What am I doing here?” 6 months in, and I started searching for my way out.  Later we found out that in the city of Detroit, three or more women living together is considered a brothel, and illegal. So no beautiful big white pillared house for us. Just the guys. Specifically, the Pikes. Pi Kappa Alpha. The hunks. The jocks. The nerds that dreamed of being jocks. This was the movie type frat house: Horrible hazing rituals, weird black cloaks and candles in the basement, parties every weekend with tons of booze and bitches.  Through all of these coming of age typical popularity contest shenanigans, I still felt a part of something. Is this what keeps girls in? People would wave at me on campus just for wearing a shirt emblazoned with Greek letters. I was invited to all of the parties, I learned all the hit dances, went to the bar every weekend as one big intimidating group, and attended all of the mixers. Mixers were parties sororities threw with a certain fraternity…. felt like a weird mating ritual where we just chose a guy to hone in on and have a few try their hardest to sleep with you. There were rooms with fog machines, rooms with flashing lights, rooms with many beds that definitely smelled like hook-ups, rooms with strangely colored pills, rooms with movies playing, basements with low ceilings, dripping walls, and moldy carpet, and rooms littered with beer boxes and cups. The bathrooms were horrendous. Puke and stains everywhere, all the time, never any toilet paper, and humming halogen bulbs that flickered- I always thought it seemed like the perfect set for shooting a heroine overdose scene. Luckily, in every house, there would be ONE guy that kept an immaculate bathroom that ALL the ladies flocked to. It seemed these frat houses were just labyrinths of games, booze, trash, and sex. I always felt uncomfortable and never found the room I wanted to be in.  One night, two sororities had a mixer with PKA. The normal room chaos was happening. I remember the cupid shuffle playing non-stop with drunk kids stumbling all over the house trying to dance to it. I was with my friend from high school that joined with me; we were in two different houses now so we didn’t see much of each other unless we had mixers together. We shared many glances that screamed, “What the HELL is going on?’’ and “What have we done?” All of a sudden, just like you’ve seen in the movies, red and blue lights flashed through every window in the house. My friend and I looked at each other and said, “F this, we are too young to get caught being in this stupid house.” So we ran out the back door where a hundred unknowing people still sat, smoked, and drank. Sweating, we flew to the corner of the fence and decided the only way out was up. Over the ten foot wooden fence we went. I can’t remember how we climbed it and got over…. I DO remember the scrapes and bruises I had the next day so I can only imagine how stupid we looked. Where were we going to go? We were miles from our dorms on campus and it was midnight in Detroit so walking would be super dangerous. Across the street from this frat house, there was this tiny hole in the wall bar, (that could have even been the name), nestled in between two buildings that no one ever noticed. We were only 18 but fueled by our liquid courage, decided it would be fun to sneak into a bar this night; keep the story going. We walked in, the bar went quiet, and everyone stared. I went straight to the bar where there was a row of drunk well dressed men sitting. I ASKED THEM TO BUY us drinks. (what?). AND THEY DID! (WHAT?). I remember getting a glass of beer and the bartender TOTALLY handed it to me with a smirk. Looking back, I’m 98% sure she served us O’Dooles. I was trying to act so suave and grown up so of course, I accidentally dropped the glass and it went everywhere. These well dressed men happened to be post-wedding drinking. We explained our situation and they thought it would be awesome to relive their college days (they were probably 45 years old) and begged us to take them to the frat house. So we did. (duh). We made sure the cop coast was clear- Now I question if the cops were ever really there because the party was STILL going strong. They were not well received at the house.(Also duh). After one quick refusal of the keg to these men, they decided we were lame little girls and high-tailed it out of there. These moments were so poignant, I can’t recall how the night ended. Probably non-dramatically. I probably walked home and nothing happened.   A week after this, I quit Alpha Gamma Delta. I wrote my resignation letter, which is tradition, and it had to be reviewed. (Try and tell me no!). The president emailed me asking me to stay, but how can you go back from this? I wrote her and said something like, “It’s not you, it’s me.” P.s. Once you leave a sorority, you CAN NEVER COME BACK. Ever, ever, ever. The door is shut. You are shunned like a Mennonite that loved Rumspringa too much. So this obviously meant being treated like a pariah on campus. Oh, and numbers are important to them. The house that has the most girls, gets the most school funding. So they try their hardest to get you, don’t care when they have you, and hate to let you go. My final email back was the president telling me there is a quitting fee of $300. ARE. YOU. DRUNK? I never emailed back. No one ever tracked me down. I enjoyed the next 3 years of college life ritual free (aside from my OCD). I was very much over frat parties and drunk boys. I heard whispers that my exit inspired a few others to leave as well… Including my “Mom.”   Since those days, I’ve realized my favorite kind of relationships are the organic ones. I do like to get dressed up and hit the town every once in a while. I do still think squirrels are adorable and I still stay in Facebook touch with a few of the girls that I made decent connections with. Part of me wishes I could have had the big house with tons of girly roommates that stay bosom sisters forever, but I think it was important for me to learn what was uncomfortable and how to actually quit something. I still have an impressive resume, and the taste of O’Dooles still brings the burning pain of embarrassment to mind.

Picture: A piece of fire agate found April 2011, at a craft show in Sedona, Arizona. This piece is about  3″x 2″. It represents the transition between October and November well for me. I’ve tried to translate this depth of layering and opal sheen to paint, but haven’t been successful yet!

A Myriad of coincidences are happening in my life DAILY, and I need some answers. JUST this week three very strange things have happened. I have a male coworker that I love to bounce ideas off of, as he gives extremely straight forward advice from a different perspective than my own. We aren’t very close but I still feel a very calm and safe vibe about him. At our job, we have to call out names of customers as their order is ready for pick up. One day, my coworker yelled the name Kylie, and I felt this instant urge to think on it. I randomly repeated the name while looking at him and asked, “Was there ever anyone in your life close to you named Kylie?” He smirked and said, “yeah.” Seemingly a little weirded out. I then prodded, “ Romantically?” and he smirked again, let out a throaty laugh noise, and nodded. I noticed his eyebrows were a little raised and he kept one eye on me for the next few days like I really creeped him out. I didn’t let him know that this creeped ME out too. This happened about three months ago. We have since become a bit closer and talk about many things. Just three days ago- may it be noted the moon is in a high waxing stage- He was showing me pictures from childhood because he knows I get a kick out of learning about EVERYONE’s past and family and heritage. He flipped to a photo of a young girl that he said was his niece. Doing something niece-y, that his sister sent him to be a proud uncle. I again felt that strange urge to say random words and said, “She looks like a Brooke.” WELL guess what. Her name is Brooklyn. At this point, my coworker knows of my powers/my strangeness and just shakes his head and laughs a breathy laugh. (He then asked me to identify his nephew by name and I couldn’t). Strange moment #1. On to strange moment #2: I’m at work on a quiet day. My boyfriend calls me and says he urgently needs a picture of his passport that is at home; a short drive away. Since I had time, I ran home and grabbed his pile of passports. He has a few as he is a Merchant Mariner (Captain), and a German and U.S. citizen. All books are a different color but I didn’t have time to untie them so I brought them to work where I’d feel better about time. As I am holding these passports, a young girl customer that visits daily, and is often surfing the inter web and commenting to me on pictures and stories she reads on her cell phone, yelled to me across the kitchen, “Colleen, have you seen how many different colored passport books there are?”  I stare at the pan of three passports I’m holding in my hand and I take a step back to give her the most baffled stare. She looks at me as if to say, “Why are you looking at me like that?” I say, “Taylor, look at my hands!”She says, “What are those?”I say, “THREE DIFFERENT COLORED PASSPORTS!”We can’t believe it. She had no idea I was holding them or went to get them. She shows me the picture on her phone she was referring to of twenty different passports. Three of which were the same ones I was holding. Again, WHY? The third coincidence just happened moments ago. My boyfriend and I had to stop by the local marine store for some boat gear and I had to swing in to the small grocery store to get few random items for what I would call a fancy dinner I’m planning for tomorrow. Honey was on my list but my boyfriend was rushing me and I know this store to only carry the fanciest and most expensive honeys that are actually all just dyed high fructose corn syrup. So we leave and I’m racking my brain as to what substitute I can use at home. When these kind of things happen, I file them into a folder in my brain I should call, “Constant Anxiety until Solution is Found.” In order to get home, we have to jump on a boat to our island ferry dock, then take a motorcycle home. The groundskeeper of our HOA in our tiny party of a tiny island is a local wise man who I rarely see. He calls us over to his porch and I see he is working on something. He closes a jar and hands it to me. It’s honey. A huge jar of local, Water Island, real honey. I was speechless.  I find these things to always happen to me around the Waxing moon stages. Anyone have similar stories? Are these our past lives sending us messages? or predictions?