Local Flavor
I see myself, often, submerged in the ocean's esoteric chasms.
Under gleaming displaced light and a haze of salty foam I doze off, between thinning air and embracing darkness. I close my eyes and listen to the world churn and mumble around me in its muffled beauty, wondering if they can hear me too. Sometimes I can grasp familiar voices and forgotten words that push me deeper underwater into a world once buried in the past. Here I drift aimlessly in the midst of schools of fish and delve farther into unknown factions of my mind.
I am, however, scared of fish I might encounter swimming here. Scared that maybe I will drown or that I'll lose my way or that I'll never return to the surface... But all these fears I notice aren't true, maybe, somehow, I don't need to breathe to stay underwater, I don't need to ever see light again. Maybe one day I can become an orchid drifting in vacant spaces, enjoying every dripping moment in time, delaying death through blissful peace.
Maybe im a pelagic being.
Condemned to the mystifying depths of the human ocean, where I find only myself and all of his reflections, pointing outwardly into infinitesimal directions. For this is how I develop, through theoretical construction, through anomalic ideation of multiple me's. I am not one, but many, oscillating and absorbing energy, shaping my troubles into clear pathways that lead to a long winding road befallen by warped oak wood and a nostalgic gust.
I walk alone on this road. Only I notice the sun dropping, time stopping, and the skies clearing for the myriad of stars to twinkle and gleam and share their illustrious visages with me. Around me I hear the world so vividly, the sound of nature pulses in the summer air like a living creature waiting to be startled. But still I shuffle forth in the shaking silence of my own solitude, inattentive at the fact that I cannot ever go back again...
I don't think about it often, but I know that there is someone waiting for me at the end of the road. Someone who see's me in mornings light, who originates from earths womb, who colors the sky deep blue and knows what to say. A she who watches me with her aged blue eyes, and doesn't place me in contempt nor distaste but in comfort and fervor. Her steps are subtle but sweeping, her voice is coarse but fluid like a thick honey milk freshly poured. And her touch transports me to the innermost sanctuary I can imagine, two pillars of marble and a door to match in coated merry white. And behind this door... a tear of emotion and beauty sheds. A certain knowingness, a revival of truth reveals itself in such lucidity that can never be seen again.
It is gone now and may never be seen again, but I will, one day, see her again.
I walk alone on this road. Only I notice the sun dropping, time stopping, and the skies clearing for the myriad of stars to twinkle and gleam and share their illustrious visages with me. Around me I hear the world so vividly, the sound of nature pulses in the summer air like a living creature waiting to be startled. But still I shuffle forth in the shaking silence of my own solitude, inattentive at the fact that I cannot ever go back again...
I don't think about it often, but I know that there is someone waiting for me at the end of the road. Someone who see's me in mornings light, who originates from earths womb, who colors the sky deep blue and knows what to say. A she who watches me with her aged blue eyes, and doesn't place me in contempt nor distaste but in comfort and fervor. Her steps are subtle but sweeping, her voice is coarse but fluid like a thick honey milk freshly poured. And her touch transports me to the innermost sanctuary I can imagine, two pillars of marble and a door to match in coated merry white. And behind this door... a tear of emotion and beauty sheds. A certain knowingness, a revival of truth reveals itself in such lucidity that can never be seen again.
It is gone now and may never be seen again, but I will, one day, see her again.
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