As he made his
way through the old cemetery, he took his time pausing to look at different
names and dates, and to touch the flowers and stone formations until he saw a
building ahead, at the end of the track. Not that he would ever remember, but
his heartbeat quickened and footsteps grew lighter as he passed into the light
filled space. Light poured through a conservatory like windows along the sides
of the high ceiling and over his shoulders as he lay down upon the floor to
bathe in the sun’s energy, recharging himself amongst the shadows of the dead.
It may have
been a couple of minutes, it could have been an hour, but time disappeared
around this portal and when he opened his eyes, a reflection of himself stood
nearby, watching him. Believing that he was in a dream, he shook himself but on
looking around, could no longer see the doorway through which he had entered
and turned to himself and tried to speak.
To say that an
old gypsy told me late one night while the lamp light flickered in the eyes of
children awake for too long from their beds, that I should expect you, would be
a lie designed to distance myself from the lack of surprise that accompanies
this point of recognition. But, how could I not know you? There’s a part of me
uncomfortable and afraid that you will catch my gaze and know me; but you do
already. That’s the point. You know all of me and while I am keen to see the
beauty I believe in, you also hold the ugliness that I think I try to hide. Did
I toss coins, draw mandalas; attempt to summon the undead or conjure your
silent knowing? As I stepped within these walls, dwarfed by their magnificent
history, by some nefarious magic did I create a partition of character? The
birds are still and the wind has dropped. Even the stage-managed sun’s rays
stream in through the windows and you are here with me, a kinesthetic reminder
that perhaps there is something more. If so, are you expecting me to nurture you,
feed you? Are you the promise of something more or simply a reflective
intoxication, a positive hallucination of who I think I should be?
The strange
thing about sentience is that it embodies one’s intrinsic potential for the
achievement of enlightenment and until one is faced with such a being or
understanding, any concept of perfection, purity or even beauty is marred by
the conditions of the flesh and this life-state. He thought he espied angel
wings from the shoulders of this echo of his own likeness and became aware that
the edges of feathers seemed almost singed.
As I become
more aware that your breath is my breath I want to embrace you, hold you; eat
you to return you to the part of me I cannot normally envisage. Perhaps it’s a
sin to be a soul-eater, an unnatural consummation but here you are; larger than
life, my proof made flesh and anyway, where would I begin? What is required is
an act of love. Still no sound from the birds and the sky is the same as when I
entered this place. Am I in some gentle, silent purgatory? And if so when did I
die? Why don’t I know if I am here or there and why doesn’t my voice sound over
my heartbeat? I need you to tell me, talk to me, reveal anything. But no words pass my lips and a
thousand questions fall away as I see the most perfect part of me exist quite
separate but still with an invisible, umbilical connection, I feel it. I feel
you.
If you are
faced with your soul in some strange time portal, be sure that in preparation
you are armed with a thousand questions. Be sure to have rehearsed them until
they are tacit for it is more likely that perfection and beauty – the truest of
perfections and beauty, that is, your own, are on display and that you will be
overwhelmed with love. Everything living or dead will smell like the sweetest
frangipanis, the gentlest roses; a honey-bee’s hive and you will forget your
questions.
In the
realization of your utter perfection, your omnipotence, your power, I crave
you, I am empty without you and we are yet to speak. You with your charred
wings and me with my life not yet lived. I love you, my soul, and my heartbeat.
I love you.
The smell of
his own beauty was without doubt the one thing that overwhelmed his senses. And
so his heartbeat gathered momentum as the wings of his soul enfolded him, as
the heart beat of his courage grew stronger and the texture of all the
potential he carried, stroked his flesh until a distinction in sensation no
longer existed between the two of them.
Imatges © Predrag Pajdic, 2012
MOI, MOI!
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