Her headache began as a slow boa constrictor
Romancing its self around her body from the bottom up
Squeezing for sustenance from her supple, ripe mind

This incredible pressure would pin her focus to a needles point
A hair trigger aimed for good reason
Efficient strokes of effort
---the only way she knew how to operate

She needed to stay on point
On task
On call
On egg shells and pins and needles
The rare guardian against power, liquor and rage

a blow to the head in defense of a friend at the age of seven left her this way
hot, frozen pain
her body folding toward sleep under the tremors that flushed her senses
tremors like rail road spikes under hammer
each blow driving consciousness from her immaculate grip

flood gates would spring open and dreams would crash down on her
the headache just the first wave of floodwater she would soon be submerged in
a dam broken from her innermost sense of self

just as the pain started as a boa and became a hammer and the hammer became water, so did the water become light
a light that rushed through, within and beyond her
a flow of information - images, ideas and vast emotion
before long, figures walked to her from this light

a humble girl with sharp thoughts and mindful tongue
a queen, a general, a bold statesman
devils, politicians and freedom fighters
family not yet her own...
familiar strangers and strange familiarity

finally, a man as big as sassafrass mountain
kind and austere
bold and soft at the same time

it was all just murmurs at first and she thought herself mad
she’d wake up like she had seen a ghost that told her she’d better not tell
and she didn’t, not ever…

What she did do, was use what she learned from these visions
That became a form of communication down the coast, through the south and into the north
becoming a General in these dreams, strategizing with the other mighty spirits
Discussing routes and opportunities, resources within the enemies borders and the perils of their risk

They spoke of networks under the pointed confederate nose
pleaded with enslaved minds on a white picket fence
Convincing, compelling and not taking weakness for an answer

She inspired and was inspired
Driven by a light that poured through her like a curse
With pursed lips she held that focus like a sword
General Tubman indeed
The Conductor
Impelled by something she saw as god
A divinity that coursed through her temples and flowed through her every move

It doesn’t matter if it was god, hell, it doesn’t even matter if there is a god
When someone is propelled by an energy like that, it is divine
and it will not be stopped
For every time that pain overtook her with that awesome light,
She was refueled, refreshed and reintegrated into the fabric of our collective unconscious

O’Moses they said…
O’Moses, The General
Conductor of dream, life and freedom