Posts Tagged reality

It’s that fleeting moment when you hang in the balance; no longer awake, not fully asleep. Where reality and fantasy enmesh and become one; and you know with clear certainty, in the deepest most secret recesses of your soul that what you thought was only a dream, was actually your truth…

It’s that fleeting moment when you hang in the balance; no longer awake, not fully asleep. Where reality and fantasy enmesh and become one; and you know with clear certainty, in the deepest most secret recesses of your soul that what you thought was only a dream, was actually your truth…

There comes a certain “feel,” no matter where you happen to be, whenever his thoughts turn in your direction.

It starts at the basic level of the flesh; like the cool breeze on a crisp autumn night; tantalizing and chilling all at once.

Your blood pressure rises, heart rate increases, as he sends invisible waves of desire, cascading in your direction.

At the sound of his voice, a chemical reaction triggers, and suddenly you are seized; with a mix of exhilaration and excitement like none other you have ever known.

A connection is what he seeks; the ability to reach out and snatch you from reality; pulling you into his realm of illusion; with nothing more than his thoughts and voice.

Once he connects, the feeding begins; everything you want to hear, anyone you want him to be; larger than life, too good to be true; having searched for eternity and now loving only you.

Before you can blink, you are on a downward spiral; surrendered completely while careening out of control.

He drains you empty, while filling you up; taking every scrap offered, pillaging the rest while you dream.

Making his exit as quickly as he comes; a puddle of nothing, you remain on the floor. Left alone, to sift through the pain; cloaked in his filthy blanket of noir.

She made the mistake of reading the list of Top Ten News Headlines. Reminded, yet again, of the insanity that surrounds us; the human beasts we are forced to co-exist with. A truth that at times, is almost too much to bear.

Lab worker held in Yale student’s slaying – Mom finds slain bodies of 2 kids, ex-husband – Case casts spotlight on sex offenders – Hofstra student recants rape story – Millionaire gets 8 years for sex with orphans – Teen could be charged in smaller L.A. fire – Bone found at Calif. kidnap suspects’ home – Notre Dame sues ex-worker over $29,000 tip – Woman arrested for spanking stranger’s child – Prison log: Execution trouble due to drug use

She finished the list, turned off the computer and gently shut the lid. Walked to her bedroom, closed the curtains, climbed into bed, pulled the covers over her head; and wept.

Some people laugh and call it cute.
Some people label her anti-social.

Some think she’s naïve, lost in her own world.
Some call her a self-centered bitch.

Some say she’s an overprotective mother.
Some advise she should cut the apron strings.

Some get it.
Some never will.

She didn’t ask to be here. Wasn’t an errant soul who mistakenly happened into this world; sent here as punishment for behaving badly, or waiting for that next big reincarnation, in search of a real adventure.
But she is.
Here.

That doesn’t mean she has to like it. Doesn’t mean that by being “one with the universe,” she must accept that being part of the “whole,” means we are “all one.” She’s not certain if she will ever accept that as truth. Perhaps that’s why she’s here now. Perhaps that’s the one thing that keeps bringing her back; over and over again.

She has a very clear vision of the duality of good and evil that lives within each and every human being. Possesses an uncanny ability to penetrate the façade, see behind the veil, and into the soul where good and evil resides. A gift? A curse? Call it what you will, but its something she has lived with her entire life. Defining and honing in her adulthood. Used as a tool to reason and rationalize paths taken in her youth. Researching and recording events predicted, premonitions seen, déjà vu witnessed.

Her path is a winding one. Her journey is of a spiritual nature. Not in search of God, for she knows where He dwells, but rather to obtain a better understanding of the why’s and how’s of this material world, as well as the afterworld and those who dwell in between the two.

Knowing for certain that when we reach the highest realm of being, we will be shown the ultimate reality; when everything else leading to it, is nothing but illusion; an illusion that all too often is filled with real life monsters, who take lives and destroy souls.

There is a very real battle of good and evil, existing in all corners of the world, every single minute of every single day. Well aware of the ever-present threat, she does not wear blinders because she’s too weak or uncaring to handle the truth of the world. She does it out of necessity; for her own personal survival.

She is unable to return the gift she was given; to lift the curse and see only what she chooses; incapable of numbing herself to the truth within the illusion, by allowing herself to be spoon fed images that television executives and the media think we need to see and hear, by simply tuning in and zoning out. It doesn’t work that way for her.

But, oh, how she sometimes wishes it did…

Just as it began
To materialize
For the first time in
His life

Wrapping his head
His heart around it
Embracing with wild
Abandon

Shifting perception
To a clearer view
Uninhibited
Filled with wonder

Unveiling calm
In the storm of
His life
To his true self
Introductions made

Freedom offered
At too high a cost
He weighed the options
Too much to be lost

He fabricated a story
That fit the bill
Sold his soul
For that house on
The hill

Building his arsenal
Of material possessions
At the end of day
Believing he’s
Made it

She was waiting for him when he got there, bruises on face, bundle in tow. He didn’t recognize her. Why would he? She was just one of many. Nameless, faceless, irresponsible wenches; whose babies he’d single-handedly managed to save. Each representing a jewel in the crown that Christ would one day bestow upon him.

He strategically positioned his signs; alongside the road at the entrance of the driveway, where passersby could view, as well as anyone come seeking services. He was particularly proud of his newest acquisition; a six foot mini-billboard, sporting a larger-than-life African American toddler; holding a toy in one hand, a smile that would melt the hardest of hearts and a message that read simply – “I was Saved from Death by Adoption”

She stepped forward, arms outstretched in offering. “You gotta take her cause I can’t keep her.” He looked at her strangely, “Pardon me?” She quickly looked down into the sleeping face; wrapped in the pink and white stripped blanket they’d sent her home with from the hospital, then back at him.

“My mama done kicked me out and my boyfriend beat my ass. You told me everything would be alright; when I came here that day to get rid of it. But everything ain’t alright!” He looked at her dumbfounded, “Surely you don’t mean me to….”

“Listen mister, you stuck your nose in my business without being asked. You preached a good sermon of guilt when my mind was made up. I done knew the day I came here that I couldn’t raise no baby. I ain’t got no job and now I ain’t even got no place to live.”

He reached in his bag and pulled out a pamphlet; the same one he’d given her that day; listing all her available options along with several choice Bible verses, threatening hellfire and damnation.”Here, take this. There’s a number on the back you can call for special services.”

She shook her head and thrust the baby into his arms, “I used all the money I had on bus fare to get here. I ain’t got a phone even if I wanted to call. I got nothin…don’t you get that?!”

The baby started to cry. His eyes grew wide with fear and his hands began to tremble. He started to protest; something he’d been doing publicly for the past fifteen years; but she was having no more of it.

“You wanna help? You wanna stand here and judge people when you don’t know nothin about their life or what brought ‘em here in the first place? You gonna stand here and pretend to care; claimin you’re doin the work of the Lord? Then you best be ready to back up that claim! You cared for this baby enough to save from death when she was in my belly, well now she’s here and she ain’t got no one that can care for her. No one but you!”

She didn’t wait for a response, but quickly turned and ran up the street, got to the corner and vanished from sight; leaving him with an unwanted child and choices to ponder; none of which he asked for, and none that would come easy.

She watched the pendulum swaying; back-and-forth, back-and-forth, the incessant ticking once maddening now soothing, almost comforting; a constant beacon to cling to when the light faded and her world turned to black; but the beacon an illusion, just as time itself. A man-made tracking device used to run our lives by; but insignificant in the scheme of existence, as we edge ever so closer to the precipice of reality.

And in her mind she heard the chime, ringing out upon the hour, the half-hour and that delicate tune whenever the doorbell was pressed; the main focal point upon entering the foyer; bejeweled adornments gracing their wrists, worn on chains or pinned to lapels. All consuming, ruling their lives; moving too quickly, conscious of its ever-present looming, watching helplessly as it passed them by.

In the end with nothing left to cling to, no hope of ever leaving alive; they did the only thing then knew, trying to buy themselves more time. A simple truth not to be grasped in the whole long lot of their lives; that time could not be bought in any form.

Yet the magnificently expensive grandfather clock chimes upon the hour, bearing witness to life’s long arduous journey; gracing the lobby of the old folk’s home, with their names etched upon a plate of gold.

It started out as an “oh, by the way,” and ended in mild confrontation. Her doctor having suggested she start weaning herself from her medication; mothers little helpers that alter the chemicals in her brain and make her happy; even when she’s not; a dose taken daily, sometimes twice, for four long, numb years.

Fuck weaning…she quit cold turkey and had been cruising along just fine; focusing and channeling her own energy; aligning her chakras; becoming one with the universe and when necessary, curing her pain with chi-gong. She was pleased with her progress, pleased with her self for taking this step; this monumental step on her path to healing.

“Well, what the hell happens when you have another episode?” he paused only long enough to take a deep breath. “I’ll tell you what happens, that’s when I call your doctor and tell him to deal with you…”

Episode; defined as moments when she becomes a crazy bitch; when the shit gets to be too much and she blows her stack, says what’s on her mind, what she thinks, what she feels; even if it’s not what people want to hear; fueled by anger, fear, frustration and overall hatred; for being forced to set her dreams aside and play a part in a game prescribed by society; a game in which she no longer wants to be a pawn.

He walked out without another word, she turned and walked to the bathroom, opened the medicine chest, shook out two blue pills, popped them in her mouth and chewed with malicious intent; savoring the painful bite that assaulted her mouth then swallowed without so much as a drop of water; wanting the bitter taste to linger.

She turned off the light, made her way down the hall, climbed in bed, set the alarm and called it another day.