…Anything, anymore…

…And as I land my first step, as my left foot touches the very first grain of this red sand on this very ground, my mind is flooded with innumerous believable names for this place. But of course none of them stays too long. Each one fades into a more complex, and grows into a more erudite one.

There’s snow on the leafless trees, trapped within crystals of ice, but none on the ground. The sun is just over the horizon shimmering like a fireball, refusing to go down. Something real paranormal seems to be holding them off the ground; something or someone, probably that silhouette that I’ve been pretending not to have seen, since I got here. What else would explain its motion precisely symmetric and conflicting to mine, fastened hard to the sun, which sure does look like a halo behind it?

I remember being told that whoever steps in here, steps in a world of his own, invulnerable and impenetrable to anyone else from the outside. So I continue to ignore that figure, I walk on in search of what I came for. But how long did you think I could go on? It’s a glass wall, a freakishly tall glass wall, extending endlessly. As I touch it, I realize that its ice, weirdly dry and transparent leaf of ice. And after all this, the figure, the silhouette didn’t stop this time, it continued to walk on with me stuck behind the wall.

Well, what else was I to do; I locate something bulky and strong enough to consume the wall. I bolt it up against the wall, and no different than my expectation, it fractures, but holds up straight. Everything on the far side appears to be broken; it’s like looking out to the world through a shattered windscreen. But the figure holds on, and walks back to where it should have been, had it not kept moving forward. Well, the wall, it crumbles into splinters of ice, which once again do not touch the ground are blown away indefinitely by the wind. I stop to wonder if I could call it snow, but no longer could the thought keep me from noticing that everything on the far side still holds its cracks embedded. Everything, including the figure is still fractured.

The figure leans back against a grey brick wall. Does it expect me to follow? Yes, I do hesitate, I do try to betray my own instinct, seems easy for a while. There’s a war raging within me, a battle between the two longstanding rivals for prudence, my instinctive nudge and my experienced, incorrigible self. Another time, another overflow of thoughts, another overspill of feelings; does the figure see my world as fractured too? Why is it still waiting? What is it waiting for? Does it want to fix it? Do I appear broken too? Is it just me or someone else really there? And a few million more like those… I stay, I wait to wonder, and then contemplate the irony of the wonderment. Is it too late now, too late to walk, too late to talk? I feel jammed for some reason, unable to think clearly and with no desire to let go, unable to leave, and not wanting to stay.

The figure starts there, and I take my first step for the second time. I start to feel cold for the first time, but somehow manage not to care, not now! It has started to snow again. The pure white flakes touch the ground to turn red, and then melt away. This place confides in me for the first time, it beheld white sand all along, tainted by the blood of everyone who had ever been here. But I ain’t gonna bleed, not now! I brush against one of the trees in rush and find it not cracked anymore. Everyplace I go, everything I touch is not just unbroken but also tells me that even if, on any level, it’s a dream, I am not to wake up yet.

The dissonance, with a flicker, with a touch dies away to dwell into a deep silence instead. I remember having heard that inspiration always comes cloaked, and tantalizing like this, but I don’t remember being here before. This is different. I’m not looking for anything anymore, but something, I hope, is looking for me.

The Masquerade - A scene from 'Miracles'

[Don't wanna reveal names yet. Bear with me please.]

She was cold, choked in the pungent air that filled the miasma. A feeling that had silently perpetuated over the past year deep inside her subconscious was all geared up to surface any moment. She was trying too hard, too hard to shove back the mere thought of losing control. If only she could figure out the precise moment that led her there. Though she had walked down her blurred memory lane, driven through M’s glib and vivid dreams and glided up the myriad of possible futures, the present or anything tangible for that matter seemed to have left her with nothing but uncertainty.

J had caught a glimpse of this saturnine look on E’s face, the last time, right before she vanished into thin air, leaving behind a musty bubble of air.

“Don’t you think this party is a little too low profile to admire your paranormal performance of disappearing? Or going invisible… what was that again?” He said, as he sashayed up to her.

She was always annoyed by these subtle sarcastic comments that J instinctively made. But right then she could use some reconciliation. Her demeanor, by then, had grown too mercurial to pull off a consummate pretence.

“That certainly is disappearing, going invisible would cause people bump and crash into me. It’s a party, your party, remember? And anyway, nothing is further from mind as of now.” She grew defensive and stood on her toes as she spoke.

“Wearing masks as a theme doesn’t seem such a bad idea now. Does it?”

“Not bad, just stupid enough. I don’t understand why you would want to wear masks in a party. Isn’t the entire concept about celebrating, and getting to know people?”

“It indeed is. And I’ve given my guests just that, an opportunity to be themselves and get to know people as they are, not as they would have been. By making them secure of their identities, I’ve given them a chance to leave behind their mundane expectations and apprehensions.”

“That’s not true….”

“…Not everyone can read minds, remember?” J interrupted.

“I wonder if a mask would have taken my mind off M’s untimed visits.”

“I’m sure, you’ll grow habitual. After all, it’s a perpetual masquerade, you see, the kind where everyone is the architect of his own disguise and even the genius of his own malaise. It’s Life.”

[I'm gonna leave you at that.]

Drops of Coincidence

Call me crazy, should you now 
for I am here, and I don’t know how.

Two drops of water, not too far away 
chimed through the rocks, got stuck in the way.
Two 'strangers' slipped on the damn 'nuisance'
And for all they knew, this was just a coincidence.

Talk, they could for they had a lot to laugh at.
But then, they thought, “Where’s the fun in that?”
Like glaciers, they could melt away, leave behind this moraine 
And they did try, it’s just that they slipped again.

Call us crazy, should they now.
For we are here, and we know just how.

The Face of True Emotion

It was a face, a face of the feeling, an emotion that exudes from the rest of the body in slow motion, deceptive as a hologram, and convincing as an incorrigible fact. The face was placid as the whites in rebellious piece of art, but evasive as the skipped words of a love song. Defied, denied, thrown away and then picked up. Caressed, embraced, and with a mask then covered up.

There was an unidentified, unfamiliar, exceptionally rare power, a magic abiding beneath the mask. The mystery, an insatiable black hole as it seemed, collided with the brightest comet. Another face, the one sure of itself went right through the mask, crashed into the face, and with a flicker in the top left corner of its left eye pulled the eyelids closed.

As the eyes opened, the mask disappeared. It’s envied, the face of emotion, that particular deceptive, convincing one. What has remained is the power, the now identified, familiar, still rare power, the magical face, the face of true emotion, the face of true feeling.

Her second 'first encounter' with confusion : A scene from 'Miracles'

As the day broke, she imitated the smile effortlessly as her dream wryly smiled at her memory. The memory that had conceived the dream last night, and had rolled the ball too far to return, was not ever to fade away. Her mind, the cradle for both, the dream and the memory,  was in fact a little too preoccupied to be called awake or even to fall back asleep.

Not just preoccupied. Entangled, as a matter of fact, in a wreath of thoughts and feelings. Thoughts, that were transparent, some invisible and others impenetrable. Feelings, that were vivid, some incomprehensible and others inexplicable.

Her ears could still hear a melody, a euphony rather, having more words than music. Like the shell that carries along with it the sound of ocean, the air had held on to their words. Everything in that room ricocheted one or two words towards every other thing. Everything fell in place, in time, in order. She could virtually touch the dominoes falling around her to complete the mosaic, her life.

The thought scared her a little. A world beyond her own but she was there, a momentary stay where she never wanted to be, and an unforgettable memory that was once forgotten tantalized her. She had been unknowingly dwelling on the things, that she was convinced could never be.

Leaving would be easy, but then she never had a knack for the easy things. Staying would be just as hard, but would it be worth the effort? It was her first encounter with what others recognize as ‘confusion’, for the second time.

Alix and Alex: Creating Coincidence

[The northwest corner of Schmagen library echoed with their whispers. Alix got up from across the table in a rush, walked over swiftly, but sat next to Alex rather limply.]
Alix: “Listen close. What I’m about to tell you may not be absolutely candid, but as of now, as I speak it is going to burn the very last cell in my body.”
Alex: “One of the few skills that I excel at- listening ‘coz you see… I know when to stop talking. You go now.”
Alix: “Yeah, you’re gonna have to be just a little more serious this time.”
Alex: “Consider it done. Go on.”
Alix: “I haven’t been myself for a past few months. You see, I’ve been trying to discover, define who I am. But all I seem to be doing is losing bits of myself, transcending them from perceptible to more self conscious with every attempt.”
Alex (interrupting her): “Since when are you so fond of defining things… and yourself? “
Alix: “I’m not a sound believer of defining things, but for this once I feel like this is the only way even to fumble through. And moreover it’s not about ‘defining’ defining, it’s…”
Alex (interrupting her): “May I dare ask the context of the vaguely candid confession of yours?”
Alix:” It’s more about the creating firm projections, the way you, and others see me. That, I believe, is not to be played around with, not in numbers far beyond comprehension. It’s beginning to scare me.”
Alex: “So it’s more like experiencing something for the first time over and over again.”
Alix: “Yeah, sometimes. All I know that even if I can or cannot change someone else’s perception, I myself should be aware of who I am.”
Alex: “Do you believe in coincidences?”
Alix: “Are you even listening to me? What does that have to do with this… Well! Yeah maybe I do.”
Alex: “Yes, and that in itself is a coincidence. So anyway, what I’m trying to say is that there are so many things around you happening in a breath, that most of them go unnoticed. But only those that are of interest to you get labeled as ‘coincidence’.”
Alix: “Yeah, okay, okay! But how is that even remotely related right now?”
Alex: “Well! You are like that breath. Only the parts that are of interest to others will get labeled. They’ll never be able to see what lies inside. The violet beneath the blue, the ghost behind the curtain, the eyes in the twilight, they all go unnoticed.
Alix: “Are you suggesting me to give this up then?”
Alex: “No. I’m suggesting you to confront them, the decisions that you made against yourself, and the choices that you made under the impression of self defiance. Betray the search for reasons, befriend the alibi.”
Alix: “As powerful as it sounds, I’m not sure if it makes much sense.”
Alex: “Let the moment pass… It’ll make sense.”
Alix: “Uh huh. Then perhaps I’d be able to label call all this a coincidence.”
[The northwest corner of Schmagen library, with only two of the six seats occupied, was quiet, reminding them of just what they both had grown to be for each other.]

The Fall

When I was finally standing on the moon’s smoothest surface, its gravity started to disappear.  And somewhere in between my conscience was entangled in the persuasion of a star that for sure, looked closer from up there. I walked around the entire equator several times with the night sky in my eyes and the star in my mind.

Never did I feel the need for oxygen, ‘coz every time I looked up, the star took my breath away anyway. Never did I want anyone to talk to, ‘coz then I would have to listen to what they had to say. Never did I want anything more than nothing, ‘coz everything I needed was in front of my eyes.  I wasn’t afraid if I would fall down, ‘coz then, maybe I’d be another star in the skies. Never did I try not to get lost, ‘coz I knew that I didn’t want to be found by anyone but the star.

I’m hanging from a faint mnemonic vapor trail of the fall. Now that the gravity has entirely disappeared, the moon’s leisurely falling down on earth, the vision’s blurred. The star’s brightness resides inside of me, more intense than anything, inspiring me to stay far from who I thought I was, closer to who I really am. But a splinter of stardust also lies in me. I can simply dwell into reality and let go of it. If I do, I can land safely for it is the only weight I carry.