text: EMANATION You never knew that she had an infirmity until she struggled through the garden door. The limp only became distinct as she dragged her left foot slightly. The clumsy movement scraped her trainer and the bottom of her jeans on the floor. The constant pressure meant that the jeans were roughed up and frayed at this spot and the trainer clearly showed signs of being worn away. Once I’d noticed the limp I could then see that the whole of her left side sat awkwardly on her body as if it hadn’t been sculpted out fully by her maker, but she clearly carried herself positively so this gawkiness was hardly discernible. And what a positive force of nature she embodied. From the minute she appeared you knew she was there. You could feel her emanating something powerful, forceful, a vibrating energy field. She was hypnotic. “So what do you want to know?” she said plunking down on the damp garden bench by the now emptied swimming pool. The garden was strewn with crunchy, shrivelling autumn leaves, a motley yellow, brown, green flecked carpet. Her large, round face was framed like a shaggy lion with a thick, curly, dark brown mane. Her sharp blue eyes pierced. I had been finally invited to do the article because I had known her mother through work on the local paper and I helped her parents when they were left struggling with an unruly press pack in their road. I hadn’t really wanted to do the story. I’d initially walked away as I feared I wouldn’t do it justice. That I wouldn’t be able to capture the beauty and remarkable gifts this 17-year-old girl offered to the world. I’d been ordered back by my news editor and told to tell it straight. What did that mean: tell it straight. As if she could read my mind she quickly made it clear: “I don’t want something mawkish - you know - a poor me piece. No playing on my disability or being sentimental. Tell the truth. See me properly and tell it as it is. No embellishment. Take me as you find me.” I found her directiveness mesmerising. Actually, I would have been scared to do anything other than as she requested. It wasn’t an order but in its forcefulness I could only obey. I found I didn’t want to dramatize or overwrite. All I wanted was to strip my words back to their power. Allow her to stand in her truth, as she asked. And what was that truth? “I suppose I want to know what happened? How did all this start?” I replied. “I just woke up and I could see colours everywhere. Not just the usual colours that things have but layers upon layers of colours. Colour had been split into spectrums all around me. Light came out of everything. It spilt everywhere. As I put my foot down everything burst into light and colour with each step. I thought I’d entered a cartoon-land it was so bright and zappy. “I’ve never done drugs but I thought perhaps this is what it would be like. Now I’m saying this, I’m surprised I wasn’t freaked out but somehow it all felt normal to wake up and find that the world around me had gone psychedelic. “I felt that I was being held by some enormous being who’d stripped my eyes and opened them up to a new way of seeing - an alternative parallel universe. I should have been scared but in fact I felt comforted and supported. “It was only when I came downstairs and walked into the kitchen that I realised something was wrong. My mum started shrieking and dropped the milk carton on the floor. Of course, usually I wouldn’t be coming down the stairs by myself. I’d need my mum or one of my carers to get me down and plump me into my wheelchair. So, as you can see, me lumbering around would have been a bit of a shock for everyone.” Lazarus Girl and Miracle Maid were already names she had been called for her remarkable transformation. Her mum had told me that Miriam had been born with Cerebral Palsy and had never walked properly. CP is like a stroke at birth or in the womb when the infant is deprived of blood or oxygen, or both. Miriam’s mother never knew what had happened but was told that the birth had been uncomplicated. Medics believed that Miriam had suffered an event while in utero. Miriam’s mother couldn’t remember any shock or distress, except that the family cat had died when she was about eight months pregnant. “As I bent over to help mum clear up the milk I was struck by her crying and the tears dripping into the milk which was running across the kitchen tiles. I remember thinking ‘why is mum crying?’ I still hadn’t made a proper connection with the weirdness of me walking around.” “And now?” I asked. “Of course, I get that this must seem like a miracle. In my head life felt normal. Instead of wheels I was using my legs. Wheels, legs, I was mobile so I hadn’t made the distinction before. Even when I was walking in my colour dream I was me. I was just getting on with life, getting around as I wanted. “And yes, legs are easier, before you ask. And am I doing anything different? No. I suppose it’s nice to be able to come up and downstairs but it’s not like I’ve taken up running marathons,” she laughed. “I like to be able to help out more. Mum has even got cross with me for not emptying the dishwasher. That would never have happened before. I think I like her getting cross with me now. It means she’s beginning to forget that once I couldn’t do those things. She now treats me like the others, like my sister and brother.” “How do they feel about it?” “Probably glad they don’t have to hump me around and put up with me being the special needy one anymore.” I think that the world will always see her as special but decide not to say anything. Instead I wondered if she still saw the colours. “Not quite in the same way. When the Being is here, then I do.” And there it was. “What can you say about the Being? If you’d like to discuss it of course.” “Only if you tell it straight.” I agreed. In the end isn’t this what everyone wanted to know about - the Being? “I know some people want to call it an alien being. I think they’re scared of any notions of something more divine. Mum and I call it my archangel. It seems to like that. I’m not sure if it’s a he or she. To be honest I think it’s non-binary, though sometimes it feels very flowy and feminine and other times very strong and energetic and masculine. Most times it’s just there, glowing all these colours, dynamic and mega powerful.” I thought that was a good description for Miriam. She emanated. “When I go back to the start, I recall that it was speaking in my head and telling me to get up. Now I hear it all the time. If I want to know something I just ask and I’m told. Of course, before you inquire, I’ve asked what it is. It just smiles. I’m happy with that. Does it really matter in the end?” I say that many people want to claim her and her Being for their own cause whether it be religious, or science or psychological. She laughs, “Church groups of all denominations have called or turned up on the doorstep. Some of them are very annoying with the talk of Christ and angels or possession. We’ve had the ufologists and crop-circler types - they’re fun but the NASA and shadowy government figures are boring and just want to take me away for experiments. Mum’s got really good at dealing with them now. “Whereas the psychiatrist and psychologist bunch want to explore my higher being energies. The Being laughs at this and shows me how to get rid of them, politely of course. We’ve got techniques for not answering the questions.” She looked fierce. I was glad she was answering mine. I wondered if the Being’s powers were fearsome. “I know it doesn’t want to harm me. I know it’s here for good. Like now, it’s saying what do you really want to know?” “What? It’s talking to me?” “Yes. It says you’d really like to understand the power of this world, this universe. What stands beyond time and space.” I admitted I did. I wanted to know how this girl had already performed miracles. A deaf boy could now hear. Another child could walk. As news of her work filtered out I could understand why Christian groups were muttering about the Second Coming and that many wanted to bow at her feet and call her a Messiah. Now she was revealing that her gifts came from channelling this entity. “Come,” she said, standing up and walking over to the family’s empty swimming pool. Below, in the shallow end, a puddle of rainwater held soddened Autumn leaves and twigs. “The force of life is like this pool of water. All we have to do is use its energy to gather in all that we need. Water has its own power. It’s the mover, the gatherer, the transformer.” As she opened her arms and moved her hands the water flowed with her actions. She opened out her left arm and made a gathering gesture with her hand. At the same time the puddle below moved and all the leaves and twigs were washed into a neat pile in a corner. I stood in awe. I felt I was witnessing magic but I knew it was more than that. This was some stranger, deeper truth, a different kind of beauty. I found myself saying: “Wouldn’t this be amazing if we used water more constructively?” Miriam smiled, probably like her Being. “I’m glad you understand.” At that point I wasn’t sure who was talking; in fact, I no longer cared. Instead, we stood in silence together in the custard Autumn sun and admired the gathered-in leaves.