volume one hundred and fifty-seven

graceland part 3

📍Written from Mulubinba (otherwise known as Newcastle) while grey clouds rolled in looking like they might mimic the thunderstorm sounds playing in my ears as I wrote.

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This is part 3 of my Graceland story. To really appreciate where I end up in this volume, I suggest if you haven’t yet, reading part 1 here and part 2 here.

All of my emotions had built up inside me. It was an intense feeling of gratitude, sorrow, beauty, wonder, passion and also, calm. I was out in the open air and yet I felt completely tucked in the meditation garden. I felt the same safety of a blanket fort as a child. 

The peacefulness was surprising. It was immediate. It was impossible not to feel the power and presence there anything but intensely. It was also hard for me to feel it. Hard for me to allow it. To let it take over. But I did. Something told me that if I permitted the electricity there to touch me, everything would be okay.

Serenity. 

The sky was clear and blue above, and the tall trees were full of lush greens that saw the end of summer and created a soft canopy. I was in deep awe that such a beautiful place was created for Elvis to come for quiet reflection and heartbroken he didn’t get to be there more. I was so thankful I got to be.

Even with lots of people around, I was able to have every part of my consciousness taken over. I have always believed in a power greater than myself. I have to. This was the first time I met them. I lent in. God was in the garden, too.

My weeping eyes and racing heart decided to change my plans again and return the next day.

My cowgirl boots clicking on the drive were all that I could hear. It was early and mostly empty but as soon as Graceland came into view, the feeling overtook me again.

I chose the highest step in the garden overlooking Elvis’ grave. I put on my sunglasses. I closed my eyes. The tears began to pour. I meditated. I felt the presence of God. I felt the presence of Grandma and knew where she had left me to go to the day before. I felt the presence of The King living on to touch every person that allowed it. I felt the desire for generosity, for kindness, for understanding, for peace and for myself. To lean into myself. 

I meditated on the beautiful home and all that I experienced the day before. I meditated on my week in Nashville where I witnessed person after person following their desires, going after what they love unapologetically and giving it every piece of themselves to bring joy to others. I meditated on the night before spent in BB King’s Blues Club where I was transported to sit in every decade of Beale Street.

All that could be heard was the water fountain trickling.

I prayed:

“Tell me how I can follow — and hang on to — the passion and fire in my heart?”

I asked this over and over and I listened. The wind picked up and trees rustled right at that moment on what had otherwise been a still and hot morning. I heard a voice. Not Grandma. Not Elvis. It was God. Or as I now call them because that is where I met them: Graceland.

Graceland said without hesitation, loud and clear: “You’re already doing it.”

I left the garden after a gentle nudge from security. I said my goodbyes and slowly made my way off the property and to my Uber to The National Civil Rights Museum. My plan was to experience this important place, then head to Sun Studio which I had missed the day before, and then make my flight.

Graceland, God, whoever, once again had other plans.

My driver dropped me off at the bottom of a driveway behind a building and directed me the way to go “Towards that motel”. I was hesitant and thought he had dropped me at the wrong spot. I was stopped, in immediate prayer, at the top of the driveway when I realised this museum was built on the site of The Lorraine Motel where civil rights leader Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. 

Had God followed me here? God had to be here, too.

The sections of the museum were set in chronological order. I slowly made my way through. Around the time I had planned to leave, I was in 1955 with Rosa Parks and in no hurry to get to the future. I decided that for whatever reason I was not meant to go to Sun Studio on this trip. I finally listened and instead chose to spend all of the time that I could, learning from the voices of the Civil Rights Movement.

After almost four hours the tour ended with viewing Dr King’s hotel room. I again allowed myself to stay until I had decided I had been there too long, for this visit. Until I had said all I needed to say and pray all I needed to pray.

I left the museum knowing I had enough time to grab some food before heading to my plane. The map said there was a grocery store at the end of the street and left. I walked to the end of the street and something told me to go right. 

After a few steps, the restaurant came into view. Inside was split into two rooms, divided by the bar, with booths along all of the walls. A classic American diner for my final meal was being offered and was perfect.

One booth was free by the window but I did a lap to weigh up my options. I saw there were no other options and returned to take the vacant seat.

The server brought me a menu, I ordered a coffee, I started reading the newspaper, and then I looked at the wall beside me. 

I was sitting in a booth with an Elvis signature and plaque on the wall. I wondered if he dined there, too. I reflected on my favourite Elvis song If I Can Dream, and all of the pain, anger,  sorrow, pride, rebellion, rawness, grief and mourning that sparked him to write it. In all the times I had listened to it, I never thought that where we had Dr King taken from us and where Elvis might have spent time were just a short walk from each other. The assassination rocked the world, and here it was all so close to home.

I mentioned to my Uber driver the table I had gotten. I told him how after I came out of the bathroom there were people lined up to take photos who had been dining, waiting patiently.

“Woah!” he said. “That was meant to be. I don’t know how you did it. He used to sit at that table every time he went to Arcade. No matter the time of day, there is always a waitlist to sit at that table.”

Lovely reader, head into the comments and tell me about somewhere you know you’ll go back to one day.

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here are three things i struggled with this week:

➿ Getting to the end of the thought when it’s just looping in my head.

🐾 That it is my last week with Mo and Evie, my current, perfect, gorgeous doggos.

🙏 Trusting the plan and not forcing things to go Lauren’s way, when I know very well I am not in charge of the outcome.

here are three blessings from this week:

✨ I keep thinking to myself “I can’t wait to live the life of my dreams” and then I get to remind myself that I already am. The wait is over.

☎️ Thankful for friends who talk it through over the phone.

🍩 Doughnuts.

here are three goals for the coming week:

1️⃣ One thing at a time.

🧘🏻‍♀️ Yoga every morning.

🌞 A hotel by the beach means sandy feet.

pics or it didn’t happen:

my happy place

I love you and I appreciate you reading my letters because I really enjoy writing them to you.

🧡, LD (lauren deborah | she/they)