Sunday, November 16, 2003

Head Clearing Run 

Running along the trail, his shoes kick up spurts of dust. He races along as though trying to outrun his own shadow, the phantom that trails his every move, inescapable. From what does he run? Why does he rush headlong down the rocky trail risking the skin on his knees and the Grecian projectile of the nose that adorns his countenance? Is it his past? A woman? Un faced responsibilities? No matter, he is lost in his mode his train of thought his zone of obsolescence his gin soaked blindness to the world around him. Maybe this is his only escape, his escape from the realities of his everyday world. Ahead of him a small band of quail make way as he comes bursting through the undergrowth,. No longer does a trail unfold before his feet, he pushes on and on, his chest heaving his breath rasping his muscles aching a small rivulet of blood escaping his right nostril leaving flecks of crimson on odd leaves and on the collar of his shirt that says “honk if you love geese” while in his mind he hates geese and wants to run every one over that he can owing nothing to god or country nothing to his family nothing to his job why must he remain in this filth he calls a life in this refuse he calls a career wanting nothing more than to get out and do the one thing that eludes him in life but graces his every dream -beholden to no man no company to no person save himself. But thanks to the filth entrenched in his mind since birth he has “responsibilities’ to be a good employee a good citizen a good whatever someone else says but not that to which he aspires in his repressed unconscious. Back to our star player who has just crashed down one side of a small ravine, not making it up the other because, owing the slow in his progression to the rock upon which his foot landed twisting his ankle tearing the tendons the cartilage but the pain does not register, just this unexplained need to drive on. No weight will his traumatized joint support so he pushes and pulls and drags himself from the water over to the far bank and in a tousled rage he attempts to manage his way up the far bank past the violets almost smashed by his passing to get back to the field he saw from afar that was as the field in his dream to which he must flee in order to free his mind and make himself whole again to break free from the bondage of this world to the freedom of wherever it is he needs to be.

Breaking through the last bush he falls forward into the clearing and finds himself on a beach rather than a mountain field the clear blue stillness of the sea before him leaves him gasping not from lack of breath in his breast which shows no sign of his efforts but from an overwhelming calm and the serenity afforded by the scene. A young island girl clad in light cloth that showing her femininity this is not a little girl but a young woman guileless and innocent and bearing no sign of shame or embarrassment at her exposure to his stares. Watching this siren he sees no reason for shame no reason for the Puritanical taboo placed on the human body so prevalent in his world, which he just escaped through that hedge over there that is no more but is instead a palm tree and a little hut from which he hears the soft humming of she who is the mother of this vision of beauty that engulfs his whole person, her brown skin almost luminescent in its beauty and perfection, her auburn hair bringing tears to his eyes in its simple beauty. He staggers, trying to regain his feet, wounded tarsus forgotten, her soft yet firm hands and full of strength and life assist him to vertical stature. She pulls him to her-encircles his sodden frame in her kindly arms-lays his head upon her shoulder-and encourages him to do that which he has been yearning to do for years-he weeps. Sobs, Cries, years or repressed grief flooding from countenance, unrestrained joy at the relief sought and now found, out it all comes. In time his purge recedees to soft whimpers, sounds since infancy. His efforts wane. She takes him by the hand. Gives him a smile that seems too big to allow respiration. A quiet and firm tug leads him to the hut. The woman inside gives offers him a a soft knowing grin, though sad and pitying. She knows from where he came. She too escaped from the vampire’s clutches-the land of Dracula the sucking life draining thing that has a name but to which people aspire to smother and conquer and find love bourne from annihilation of the unspoken dreams of a better life, but which they-these simple people and the newcomer have no use no desire no need to accept the ruse as necessary all they need is right here and they have it all and now they mean to share it with him and the love in his heart swells so big that it bursts and he drops to the ground. Awaking days later, thoughts of the old purged expurgated from his soul, he sees he is surrounded by many, enlightened angelic faces. It is obvious by the serene auras they emit that they too have left the old behind to embrace the new. They smile at him, their love and support an almost visible wave that washes over him, leaving him reeling and blissful. They take their leave of him. All but her. She will remains, He knows that now and he knows it is right good perfect necessary and all he could ever want. Once more she helps him to his feet and they go to the waters edge and stand there staring out into infinity knowing that there is no way back thank god that they are here to stay and will no longer be bothered weighed down enslaved by the all consuming machine. It is done. And it is good. They wade into the sea, the water silently slips over their heads. Cleansed, they emerge from the water, souls renewed, lives saved. They fall to the sand, embraced by a deep comforting PEACEFUL and dreamless sleep envelops them. They rest knowing when they awake, the dawning day will be the first of many sans guilt, sans the weight of the world upon their shoulders. A new beginning. The final beginning.

Friday, November 14, 2003

I will get to this one soon

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