As I stood in the rain surrounded by the darkness of night, from the hill I could see all around me; lights flickered from the street lamps and windows, and I realised for the first time I’d been walking among the graves of the living. Their minds’ stone edifices to life on earth.
The drops glistened on the edge of my hood, as the dampness embalmed my legs. My body was alive but my soul was dead, destroyed by too much knowledge and a lack of any meaningful purpose.
The end of this pointless game we call life looked possible, but that wafted over me like an unimportant breeze. I thought, maybe I just need to touch another soul out there in that void, just to confirm everything in this universe is in the same misdirected boat.
But the emptiness went deep down inside of me, so deep it seemed to open up into another dimension that was a vacuum for things that had ceased to exist. I was not depressed or lost, nor was I lonely, I was just waiting, but for what?
My mind retreated inside itself, leaving the real world to fade away like a forgotten thought, here was my unseen prison, where another real world kept calling me. It was starved of answers, and I felt its sad and beautiful pain.
In this world I was everything and nothing, where time skipped and danced in circles, as if allowed freedom for a moment from its appointed course. Where I lay, still and chained by hidden forces, held in a vice between the unthinkable and the unknowable, veiled from seeing what I really am, by what I really am.
My physical body shivered, and so did that inner world. I was back watching the rain imitate the colour of silver on the wet grass. Time to walk back through the graveyard of the living: to join the dead minds in their march across the plains of evolution; to try and fit in, to try and hide my difference of mind, my unnatural slant to life.
Was I scared or sacred? Their meanings eluded me by their infusion. I wonder, I wonder, kept cascading through my mind, like some key waiting to find its lock. My feet squeezed the grass of its newly gathered moisture, as my instinctive autopilot guided me home.
At last a drink, hot and repetitive sated some physical need, but my thoughts were jammed, as something below that, made symbolic whispers to my soul. Something called me without words, without intent, without reason. Was it my destiny to contemplate an empty future, to give substance to a forbidden dream.
I knew lying below what I was, lay some unquestioned reality, sleeping undisturbed by what we are. Dormant but not dead, ready to awaken when some ultimate configuration of existence is reached. As I stroke its slumbering cheek, I mark its lair, and so doing map its moving contour.
Light stretches across time to hit the face in front of us, and then reflects with its stolen information through our eyes, to be decoded by whispy quantum bits of energy spinning in our brains, but its dark in there - inside that grand interpreter light is barred at all levels. It eats the residue of what was, and is content with its out of date meal.
I wonder! I wonder! Repetition nails thoughts in place, but only to see time disregard solidity, and put on a face of rust. Time the last victor, the devourer of eternity, paradoxes - the enigma machine, churning out a coded code to waste great efforts of reason.
“Answers” a shout comes from the gallery of life. But the play has hardly begun, and answers are always pregnant with questions - some sort of divine insemination I think!
Its time to disregard the rules, and the makers of rules, to find what links what is out there, with what is in here, and if what is in here was not, then would what is out there, be out there still. O.K. Words may fail to explain, but maybe its time to think without words, to look at the horizon and not see the sky and earth as two, but as one.
How! I wonder how! Yet how dare I, I an un-expert contemplate so great a mystery, that philosophers have not dreamed of dreaming? In the past I think they would have said, “It has fallen upon me”, or some such thing. fallen as in like an avatar maybe.
We see no limits, yet we are short sighted, we carve the future out today, yet know not what we carve. Do we just whittle away and leave ourselves with nothing? Or will an idol remain, marking our place for all time.
Some idol that contains the marks left by the sorrows of humanity, that stands above existence, a statement of the effort, the pain, our struggle reflected in its eyes. A last wittiness to say we were here, we lived, and claim this part of time, this part of space. This can’t be erased, not ever.
If not, then God sleeps and we are his nightmare, and as he awakes his scream shall become reality, and haunt him, till it devours his unbegotten mind. All must be one at some level, yet one stands so close to zero.
One stands so close to Zero!......