I realized I was not paying attention. I had allowed my mind to wander. My back hurt. My ankles hurt from overextension and certainly my pride hurt. So much for cleaning out the upstairs junk room. I could barely walk. I struggled over to the recliner and pulled the blanket over me. The fat grey cat, hearing the trigger of the recliner footrest moving, leapt up to snuggle on my neck. We dozed.
The sound of a crash, rattling glass, and a cat standing with puffy tail on my chest woke me up from a lucid dream. I grasped the fragment and clung to it. A beautiful voluptuous woman woman was lying on a fainting couch wearing a full gown draped carefully over the side. I recognized her face, one of my teacher’s students and a fellow traveler to Egypt.
“However, even if you are recognized as the high priestess that won’t help you in knowing who you are,” I whispered to her.
There was a surreal quality to her appearance. Then as I looked closer, I was sketching the folds in the dress and indeed the entire painting.
The crash of a favorite artpiece (horses by Azoulay) had dropped from its wall mooring to hide behind the bookcases. This has always been a very effective way my teacher had to get my attention since his death. Yet, I was awake enought to remember this fragment. The group is at work again, but it is a much different group.