The final installment of Brother Gypsy’s dance with the Veil between this world and the next world. Where do we go, and what do we do between now and when we get there?
I danced with the Veil again and came back. No, before I walked across the veil, walked through and came back. The time before, I just sat there. I didn’t walk it. This time, I rode the boat from the River Styx, except this one looked like an old wagon from a 30s movie, like I told you. And some old black lady in the back of the wagon didn’t like me being there, because she knew I hadn’t paid the fare. I didn’t pay the Ferryman.
Maybe that’s the ticket. Maybe if you don’t pay the Ferryman, you don’t get to stay over there. They bring you back. That old black lady, she didn’t want me in the back seat of that taxi, that horse-drawn taxi. I don’t even know if she was seeing what I saw. She could have been seeing something totally different, because she was dressed in a black funeral dress with one of them cookie-box hats with black lace, like women wore in the 60s.
I can’t tell if she was seeing what I was seeing, but she didn’t want me in the back. I hadn’t paid the fare. That or maybe she just didn’t like the fact that I was in her car. I have no doubt that somewhere tonight, an old black woman crossed the River, crossed the Veil.
She was sitting all proper, like you would expect an old black woman to do, with her purse all tucked up on her lap, one of those hard-sided, patent-leather purses with the strap and the clasp, and the above-the-knee skirt, you know, that one-piece dress from the 60s. I have no doubt that somewhere out there, an old black lady died tonight, May 15th, 2011. Yeah. I hope she finds her way. I hope she finds her way to someplace really happy for her. Some place where she doesn’t have to be proper. A place that doesn’t have discrimination, because she was from that era. I don’t think she saw me. I think she saw what she expected to see: a white man invading her territory, not another woman. In the back of the bus, crossing the river, or going down that dirt road in a Lincoln Continental.
We all choose what the River Styx looks like. This time, it was done in 30s movie props. I don’t know what it’ll be like next time, but there will be a next time. Wow.
I could be mad. It could just be the metal poisoning. I’ll let you be the judge of that, because you’re of sound mind and body. But you saw my eyes. You know my heart, my mind, my spirit. If I’m mad, you’ll never take this anywhere. But I’m not mad. Maybe You’ll make us famous. Yeah. And of course, I’ll never know, because you’ll never tell me if you did think I was mad. (Me: “Yeah, I would).
You’ll just sit and ride with me into the madness because you love me, hoping that I come back, saying, “Yeah, Gypsy’s having delusions from the metal again.” Anyhow, I’m gonna go have a smoke.
Image by Goodnight London via Flickr
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