As Channeled by Gia Prism
Freddie Mercury comes into my awareness with the song “The Show Must Go On.” I hear his booming vocals and I can feel the angst and anguish underneath. This is a different side of Freddie not often associated with the high-octane performing genius, but it’s the one he shows me most often. It’s the real Freddie, the raw Freddie, the vulnerable Freddie still working through his wounds on the other side of the veil.
He heaves a great sigh and I feel him settle in...
“It’s the virus,” he says. I can feel that it’s weighing upon him, watching from above as we struggle in its grasp.
“The heaviness of waiting," he says. "The terror. The slow, inevitable terror of a disease that feels as though it’s around every corner. In your world, it is. In my world, it was a different sickness, a different waiting. It was the inevitability of dying slowly, painfully, with nothing you can do to stop it.”
I see him, feel him, as he sat and contemplated his fate all those years ago. When at last it became clear that, yes, he had AIDS. That there was nothing to be done. That he’d eventually wither away and die like so many before.
“Will I be alone? And what will be left? Will my legacy be enough? Did I do enough? Was I enough? No matter how I put myself on display for the world to see and feel, I wonder — always — was it worth it?”
He shifts now, away from his thoughts of the past and into his present state of mind:
“I see, now, that of course it was. I had no way of knowing then just what my legacy would be. To see men and women loving and living freely, and to think I had some small part in that—well, this makes the bitterness worth it. Truly.”
But now he brings forth another emotion: anger. Rage, even. That the world is fighting a virus that, much like the one he succumbed to, continues its senseless onward march. And although the whole world is going through this together, few people seem to agree on a sensible course of action forward. Yes, despite being unified by this global event, in many ways we feel more divided than ever.
“These are the times, watching from above, that I feel more helpless than hopeful. When I simply can’t fathom the ineptitude of humanity that won’t stop the foolishness, the selfishness, the senselessness ... It has to end, it really does. It just makes my blood boil.”
I ask what he would do and say if he were still with us, in human form. How would he face the crisis we’re in? Would he have any words of comfort?
He sighs and I feel his anger recede:
“Tell the world to keep on loving. Keep on living. Keep shining that brilliant light. It will keep you warm in the darkness, and it will light the way home.”