At night now in our ‘after’ hotel, we can hear the trains pass. They remind me of Lincoln’s Ghost Train, a long sad funeral train that crossed the state of Illinois, maybe even the country, after he was assassinated. The long, slow moans echo in sorrow throughout the landscape.

The trains seem their loudest at night, when there is not so much noise around. They make all sorts of sounds, long and low or fast and high, announcing their variations in speed and moods. You can hear the different meanings if you listen closely. Some seem to be calling out, on the road home. Others drift by on a soft tweet, like a tired bird at the end of the hot day. They come and go, slow and steady but stable. Predictable, not exactly like clockwork but close enough, they pass.

Sleeping is the new challenge. I am so very, very tired, but I do not want to sleep, afraid of what awaits me. Too many signs have arrived to confirm what we already know is the truth, the truth that we face when we are raw and receptive, that everything is connected, the divine is present, and we can channel the presence of our dearly departed loved ones anytime we want. This looks crazy to write, is it crazy to read as well? Once you tune into the spiritual energy that is all around, it’s hard to turn it off. I place myself and my needs at my center to remain centered, grounded in this physical life. Having this experience has been an intense spiritual and emotional reckoning. This reminds me of a book that was featured on Amanpour and Friends last night, by V, the author formerly known as Eve Ensler. The book charts her journey of reckoning with the memory of her father, through her own personal history, and created a change in her so strong that she changed her name to V, feeling alien to her former self, when she identified as Eve.

I am on my own personal journey, too, but for me it is back to Susannah. Since leaving the US in 2010 I went back to using my name, Susannah, instead of Suzi. Wait, it was even before that; perhaps it was when I moved to DC I started to switch back, or earlier even – in LE. You see, Suzi was a nickname that I gave myself when I was much younger, maybe junior high is when I started to introduce my self as Suzi, as I though it was a much cooler, funner name than Susannah. Maybe it was eight grade, when I realised that there was another choice out there, the punk choice, though in that time the term that was used was ‘alternative’. This term was a catch-all for the post-punk kids who wanted nothing to do with the established order of things. They saw through the bullshit of playing along to get ahead, a view that I shared. They were the skaters, as most of them skated; I did not. In retrospect, I have seen them with a new perspective, many of them were from difficult homes, where forging an outsider identity would have been a form of escape, and self acceptance. As we got older, through high school, friend groups began to broaden, across formerly strict lines, divided by class, neighbourhood, IQ, and race. Now us kids seemed a little bit more enlightened about seeing each other as equals, facing the same struggles as young people finding their ways in the world. Everyone seemed to be suffering in their own ways, clawing their way to the top of some imaginary pyramid, constructed by the pressure to be the best, at something, and the goal of being the ultimate success story.

I grew up in the country with no paved surfaces outside so I never learned to skate, whether on a board or skates. Learning to ride a bike was hard enough, I remember the feeling of balancing on my bike and a feeling of great fear, should I fall off the bike I would hit the bumpy gravel ground below and surely hurt myself. I was driven to learn by the fear of pain, that is sure.

The fast freight train passes through with a many-chorded pronouncement of a hoot. Long and strong, it must be heavy freight. The end sounds kind of panicked, perhaps someone was too close to the tracks? The long rhythmic rumble carries on. It must’ve been a long, heavy load.