She tells me that my skin smells like coffee. I tell her it’s what happens after a few months of the same thing. Sometimes it’s necessary, I say. At least I don’t smell like a chain smoker. She looks away and plays with a pencil. If it’s a bother to you, I say, I can put on cologne or something. She admits she likes the aroma of coffee. But coffee and sweat is a little strange at times. Then she laughs. The sound is feeble before the darkness swallows it, like heavy smog on a summer day.
To someone like her, or anyone sane, living this way isn’t living at all. But a dark room, or perhaps physical blindness,opens the eyes of the soul. That is what I believe. It’s months since I’ve withdrawn from the “world”, but to me, the worldI reside in is much more fascinating than what lies outside my doorstep. She still comes to visit, bringing with her a light fragrance of rose and vanilla, maybe a few petals of cherry blossoms in April, maybe the scent of rain and wet grass,maybe the hint of alcohol in her breath. Outside, I might hear the sound of a Saint-saens or Chopin playing from the radio I leave on. On summer days, some Abba or Bob Dylan. Everytime she walks in, with her the taste of an old life, is like a jolt through my body, wrenching my spirit from a distant land where there is no anchor, no gender, no construct.
When someone asks why I write, I tell them that I have no choice. Sometimes it’s conscription and other times,imprisonment. In either case, it is warfare. I am called to march into another realm—most of the time, alone and reluctant—but I do so anyway. There isn’t a choice, because I don’t belong in the world that she belongs in. I exist on the vertical axis; I am called to transcend the concrete matters of history and politics,events and people, construct and subjectivity, experience and emotion, system and structure, into a world where abstraction and spontaneity of imagination and romance reign, a world of eternal philosophies and myths, interconnection between all that humankind has accumulated through the millennia, all of which are no longer contained within clear order or rules,where colours whirl and spin around like dancing cartoons on Saturday mornings and palpitate like a Pollock in ecstatic merciless orchestration of a grand symphony of human consciousness composed of ideas, thoughts, memories, archetypes and hidden themes and sharp insight and wise old sages; it all converges into a myriad of particles, and light shines through these particles. This is a world where there is no up and down, no left and right, no right direction. Being called to walk in this world, takes tremendous energy, but it is a noble task and a privilege.
When I am compelled to write, my hands tremble, my mind ricochets with automatic gun re and my heart bloats with unbearable intensity, threatening to detonate if there is no release. But even when I’m not led with the Muses, still, I heed the call and sit down and force myself to. Lock myself away from the world with a cup of coffee and beg into transcend to the realm of ancient imagination. There are not many who have access to this world above, and if I do not make use of every moment, what will my purpose in life be?
Those who are called to walk in pace with the eternal spirits, have a purpose. It is to show this otherworld to those who cannot perceive it. It is to create a bridge and merge both worlds together. Those who read will catch a glimpse of the wonder, heights and the depths and the infinite horizons of such a realm. It will resonate deep in the soul. We reveal truth behind the horizontal plane, the prophetic meaning behind symbols, the truth and lies behind monumental history,the conspiracies and secrets behind the system, the human condition behind the storm of emotions and conflict, the ebb and flow of the universe, the darkness and the light of life itself. We unlock minds so that they too can live a little more.
Published in Of Forests and Clocks and Dreams, Inspiritus Press, 2016
This is piece is just a glimpse into my world, a thoughtful message for anyone passing by.