Everyone soon realized that Mac's brain was not that normal. No because she would not talk to people, as she was very expressive anyway, and got her way around things pretty easy even in silence. Plus, whenever she could feel a loving atmosphere, she would spend time revealing all her hidden secrets. There was nothing wrong with that.
But sometimes, for no apparent reason, she would quietly travel with her mind to dark places, perceiving the dangers of the unbalanced world she had been thrown into. Everyone then would see in her eyes the extraordinary amount of sorrow and despair she was able to feel. It was unpleasant for her to notice how easily she could transmit her sadness into others, she who only wanted to spread joy and beautiful feelings.
- When are you going to finish your supper? It's very late, you should be in bed already.
I looked at my mom but was not really seeing her. I was navigating through her inner fluids. I thought she was stronger than she actually was. Her mind continuously sparked joy and happiness, as a love machine gun. Her love was infinite. Her bones were strong but the tissues of her joints were worn out. Her sweet weaknesses softened her strong charisma. Her beauty was overwhelming.
Her family started worrying to see how easily she could overreact to the subtlest impact. Anything could trigger her escapist mind, anywhere, everywhere. But her sensitivity was not always taking her to a bad place, sometimes it would bring rise to a feeling of melancholy that trespassed infinite sadness and brought her an emotively beautiful kind of joy. From time to time, she could feel the ecstasies of the beauty of nature making her heart exploding in harmony with the pulse of the Earth. Genuinely, is this intimate connection with nature what has helped her surviving all the odds. Here above, we are deeply interested in understanding how the nature of the force of life operates in an emotional way, and humans provide a rich field for this study.
But how inside, how outside. Mac's reactive personality could be a mirror of her body, or the other way around. The doctors were not always clear or constant with their diagnosis, and continuous blood tests were done, in order to find out the source of her hypersensitive body and its reactions. Her body produced way too many responsive white cells, eosinophils, as an army of soldiers of life always alert and ready to defend her, even from her own self. An state of alertness that could eventually have detrimental effects on her health.
Perhaps for that very reason, the non physical intelligence had so carefully chosen her extraordinary mother. Mama Chariot was what humans call a Cum Laude Doctor expertise in Histology, the study of the life cell and organic tissues. So committed to her work, it was funny to see her running with a glass slide to pick up a sample of Mac's blood, every time her nose bleed, before bringing a tissue. She was always proud for having been able to show to her Biology Phd students, those difficult to capture eosinophils. But she could read her daughter organism in a unique way. She sensed her daughter physical limitations and life threats, and understood her life might be shorter than expected. So she made an early decision about the kind of life she would like to provide to her: that of freedom.
Mac was monitored to prevent the sudden death syndrome as the vessels and heart walls could failure at any given point. Even though at the beginning she loved missing school classes, in which she was never really present anyway, her low blood pressure made her faint in every blood test, giving her psychedelic trips that started to scare her, returning screaming in a very agitated state. After after few years without clear medical conclusion she begged not to be brought to the hospital ever again. And her desire was respected.
Mama Chariot was a woman out of the ordinary. Extraordinary intelligent, she had been the first woman studying at her faculty back in the 40s. Some men would have confessed to her childhood priest friend for having seen her wearing pants. She had lost her father at the age of two, and had to combine her studies with the harvesting of wheat fields, the breeding of poultry and turkeys, small game hunting and cooking, and all the other tasks at their road stable and village lodge. And she did with the virtue and the beauty of Don Quixote's beloved Dulcinea. All throughout her life, she maintained the curiosity of a child, and the caring heart of a Pleiadian universal mother. She needed all to face the dismissing jealous attitudes she had to face throughout her entire existence.
- Mum, is it possible to die from sadness?
- Yes, it is.
- That's how I died.
Even if Mac's life was quiet and she could decided every day rather she wanted to go to school or not, everything seemed too intense and overwhelming for her. She could not handle much stress and could not focus her attention in anything for long, except on her drawings. She could spend hours drawing and coloring carefully designed scenes of what she often referred to as the life behind her eyes. The scenes were fantastic, nothing to do with the limitations of her slow paced life. She found a way to live a much richer life, without the hassle of confronting reality.
She would love to hear aunt Hope stories from the beginning of the century, like that one of her great grandfather rescuing the king from his air balloon trip accident, and carrying him in his horse cart to the nearest train station. Her imagination flew out of that minuscule village, with no more than fourteen inhabitants in winter time, lost in the middle of the abyssal plain of vast fields of wheat drawing infinite flat horizons.
Even though she barely got to live in the ancient lodge, as it had been vandalized and burnt out when she was little, she feel at peace at the humble new construction, which preserved the old adobe walls as a sort of stand up memory of its earlier glory. She tried to spend there as much time as she could, reading mystery books and dreaming with the familiar ghosts happily trapped in the site. It was heartbreaking to see her cry tears of sorrow every time she had to return back to her hometown and abandone the spirit of her loved village, Greenfield.
- Can I reach the moon at the end of the royal path with my bicycle?
- Yes you can, if you start pedaling now, you will touch her before she rises high up.
- Ok, I might not be back for dinner.
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