I remember the way the branches curled towards me that day, the way they swayed to and fro. It was something beautifully unexpected, a miracle of nature, a divine curiosity. And I remember standing there in wide-eyed awe, losing myself to the sheer loveliness, lost in a state of childlike wonder. Chills crept down my spine in delightful little bits, and goosebumps erupted as a plethora of tingling sensations washed over me from head to toe. But the thrill wasn’t meant to last, and after one breathless sigh I blinked, and the exquisite array vanished. That was when the heaviness began to gather at my feet, and an unforeseen darkness approached from a place I’d never been. As the winds altered their direction, everything changed. And the wondrous splendor of that unforgettable day is still nowhere to be found.
Loneliness it comes in many forms and I have known them all. But I think the loneliest times are when I’m surrounded by a sea of expressionless faces. Those empty-eyed, silent beings always appear to be lost in mind-numbing, alien-sweeping, brain-snatching activity. And if I stare intently enough, focusing long and hard enough, I can almost see those denatured souls being surreptitiously sucked out of every finger-tapping mortal who has unknowingly fallen victim to the technological advances of our times. It often leaves me queasy and fearfully uneasy. For I must admit that I too, have fallen subject to the interest of self-isolation within the matrix. Using it as a security blanket for companionship because community no longer exists within the confines of my existence. There are instances when I do attempt to turn the world around. And with desperate breath I try to disengage from the illuminated rectangle nestled nice and neat between my pale palms. But then loneliness sneaks in, finding me once again. And the screen in my hands becomes the only life left to be found.
It’s easy to relinquish those timeless devotions when disappointments become standard issue, and the old familiar stack of unexpected surprises becomes a thing of the past.
It’s easy to disregard anything that stops feeling like home because the heart can’t reside in hollowed out places, and it needs a strong binding to keep it grounded aside a meaningful attachment.
Intrinsic to human nature, it’s easy to surrender compulsion when magnetic forces end up misaligned; the resistance is a force of nature that cannot be manipulated, for it goes against the natural law.
Another day dims but the light of your love radiates brighter than ever. In this worn out, weary world you’re the one constant, the heart of who I am. You’re my shimmering star, the everlasting one whom I continue to follow. Even when darkness overtakes me, nobody, not one can change my mind. For you live within me, you’re the breath of my soul, the very reason I shine. I love you completely, and I will trust you with my life because you gave me yours.
I’m the girl who collected music boxes. Each one was delicately carved and crafted as if they were made just for me. I remember losing myself in each heart soaring note while the fragile little figures twisted and twirled, delicately dancing to the sighs of my youth. Watching those tiny dancers was one of the only ways I could pass the time while locked away inside my dingy little room. I remember the thin, mustard-yellow bedspread and the thread-bare golden colored carpet. The uninspiring small room couldn’t have been more unappealing, and my imagination was my only saving grace. There was always a book resting on my knee and a flashlight hidden beneath my pillow. Those two items were critical to my overall health and well-being. Although to be found reading at bedtime often meant facing a fate worse than death, but I still took my chances because reading was my only escape.
The window above my bed was out of reach, too high to see anything except the smog-filled sky, and that dreary view seemed to envelop everything, even me. There were many occasions when I was ordered to stay confined to my bed, so I would perch on the edge of my pillow, setting the gauge on the quarter-sized timer that I’d bought for ten cents at the swap meet. The dial was hard to turn and always hurt my hand whenever I tried. But somehow, the ticking noise that abruptly followed after spinning the dial made it all worth it. My spirit was somehow calmed and comforted by the tic, tic, tic. The tiny treasure gave me hope that one day I wouldn’t be forgotten, and I thought perhaps someone would come and rescue me before the buzzer sounded. Sadly, most days, I was just shushed back into silence once the dial made its final round. I always wished the familiar chime would mean certain freedom, but that was just another lie I kept choosing to believe.
It was the year 2117, and a brand new shiny city had been built in the middle of the rain forest. Strangely enough, there were hardly any trees left, just a few scattered vines growing haphazardly on some of the buildings. The Amazon River wound its way through the spacious city, and man-made islands could be seen throughout. Streets were a thing of the past, and boats and airplanes were too. Those who were mentally strong enough could travel instantaneously through mind control. Others who lacked this ability were at the mercy of those who could.
Most of the buildings sat atop wide pedestals and were sporadically spaced throughout the city. Some were shaped like huge cigars standing on end, while others were shaped like flying saucers atop narrower single columned structures. There were only a few ordinary looking buildings, and even those were all elevated off the ground. A maze of passageways existed underneath the crowded city. Vines crept and clung to the buildings’ undersides, and the majority of the passages were dark and vacant.
Most people walked along netted bridges, which had been built high above the city. These bridges seemed to connect most of the buildings so that people never really had to set foot on the ground. The majority of people were very free with their bodies. Little clothing was worn, and most of the people seemed intoxicated and grungy looking. There were quite a few structures built of woven bamboo. These places were used mainly by the lower class citizens. Many of the buildings did not even have rooftops and were instead completely open to the elements. The upper-class citizens were mostly found in the taller buildings, which were all constructed of polished metal.
In the heart of the city was a large open pavilion, and the view from this vantage point was breathtaking. The pavilion was divided into sections by bamboo woven walls. Each separate area held feasting tables, which ran the length of the open rooms. The rooms were crowded, and extra seats were nonexistent. Food was not available for purchase; instead, neon-colored alcoholic beverages were served in shot glasses. These colored concoctions littered the tables from one end to the next.
The rooms were filled with people who appeared expressionless and incoherent. One woman even had her newborn baby lying in front of her on the table. The baby was malnourished and naked, untouched and unloved, with its umbilical cord still attached. One of the woman’s breasts rested along the edge of the table, allowing her baby to suckle while she proceeded to get wasted. A sign above her read, “Viewer Discretion Advised.”
This story is based on a dream I had, February 2, 2017. I wanted to share this dream again because I’m starting to wonder if this is a reality we could one day be facing.
Originally posted February 4, 2017 on my other blog, which can be found here.
His words fester beneath the surface, weary words of disdain and ill repute. But what can I do, and how can I be anything more? For I am just another daughter, a regret still in the making. And my existence is a constant reminder of all he’s ever done wrong.