This must be an earlier Earth. It looks so young. Do not forget that we are looking from outside Time, so my witness of this ancient occurs both as a present event, but also as a memory. As I get closer to the surface, there is a sensation of life that I wouldn’t have thought possible. Everything is vibrant, from vegetable to rock; they all seem to carry more substance than on the Earth I know. It is as though the fauna contained more of their essence, their animal-ness. It seems the birds, far larger and brilliantly radiant carry in themselves more of whatever it is that defines them as “bird.” Each entity, I realize is simply being itself to the truest of its ability, and they all are great for it.
The rock is great for its hardness, its shape and it’s color are its merits. At the same time, the water is great for its fluidity, it’s refreshing, it lack of form and color are its merits. They all serve to compliment the whole. Seeing a world so fully enacted hit me with a sensation of music. Not that could be heard in my ears, but as the player might feel a fervently pounded piano. It moved through me, but I moved it as well. It was a song of the Earth and me because I had come into it.
As it should have been - I hear from inside me.
Suddenly I am filled by shame. Each of these uncountable leaves, grains of sand, seem to overpower me because I know that they have been truer to their nature than I have ever attempted of myself. The dust in the air is a greater dust than I am a man.
The choice was made to separate you from this - The voice again. I understand that the “you” it refers to is in reference to all Men, but it might has well have been spoken to I alone for I know it to be irrevocably true.
However, while I watch, I can see a sudden darkness appear like a blotch on white linen. Some part of me is broken hearted at this, but whatever is controlling this new vision (I am unsure if it really could be the Void moving me along, or if this is entirely a product of my subconscious in which case I would be leading myself).
Whatever is moving me feels alien, but familiar. Like being led by an utterly trusted friend, I was bound by its instruction, yet unopposed to where it was taking me because I knew that it would not lead me to harm.
My invisible guide tells me that the shadow is painful to witness, but only because I do not yet know what is to come. It tells me that this all is necessary. We rise again to a greater distance to perceive the Earth as a singular notion rather than a composition of unfathomable detail.
I am quite sure that this is done strictly for my benefit. I watch in turn in front of me. As unstoppable as its spinning is for me to cease, so is the spread of darkness.
The shadow in front of me is overwhelming the light I had been a part of only moments before, back in the ether. Or was it years? I could feel my conceptualization of time’s pursuit working its way back into my thoughts. In all of this, I am reminded of remorse. I can feel it festering in me and I can feel it changing my balance as I am no longer a part of the medium in which I am suspended, but merely an object placed in the vacuum above a world.
As I fall to the ground, all I can think of is how this is not what I want. Where I’m going is not the real world. It is not the world as it is supposed to be. It is not the world as will be forever. I want out.
It’s like being back in dark, running from the armory. I have a body a again and it screaming. Get me out here. Please, please, get me out. Get me out!
I hear a voice. It’s sounds like a stranger, but it’s overbearing and unavoidable, so I have to listen. You cannot leave yet. This is not the sage advice I had hoped to be sent from a bodiless advisor, but it meets the presupposition of a distant omnipotent ruler that some part of me had always feared was living just behind the sky. I look up, and I see nothing but clouds and blue.
I know something is wrong, this isn’t how it was before. I was part of that voice, wasn’t I? Hadn’t I known it like I know myself? Was that just some fantasy that had been built by the drugs I took before going to sleep?
Before?
That word has no meaning here right?
Or was that earlier?
What?
I am dizzy cork.
I tell myself, “Remember Lao, none of this is real. You had too much of something and it’s still working its way through your system, but your closer to reality now.”
In an instant, I finish this thought only to feel the ground beneath me shaking as though in response to perjury. The voice comes back.
Why are you running back to your weakness. You have been shown the truth and now you want to pile your old ideas on top of it? Do you believe it can be hidden so easily?
I can’t answer. I’m too confused to make sense out of the conversation I am having with the sky. The voice sounds ferocious, thundering, consuming. It continues.
You didn’t want to come back here. Why was that? Why do you now doubt what you know to be the truth?
Maybe it isn’t ferocious, just overwhelming to the point that if I continue to be pummeled by its vigor, I will come out of this discussion alive.
You begged to kept away from this place. Why is it that now that you are here, you cannot turn away?
Definitely overwhelming. Too much for me to stand against, but I can remember now that it does not want me to confront it.
“Why did I have to come back here?” I asked. My mind was drifting back to a place above the ground. I remembered that I liked that feeling.
I can feel the voice inside me again. I cannot answer how I had forgotten my guide. It isn’t in my ears now. It is moving in me.
What are you willing to do to come back to this place it asks. I am caught somewhere in between the dark Earth and the white Light.
“Anything,” I answer, “just let me stay.”
I am bathed in something warm as I hear the Light reply, Not yet.
I woke up and found my arms were in searing pain. My hands were covered in my own blood. “Oh God, what the fuck?” I thought. I looked down to see dozens of deep scratches pulled from my elbows to my wrists with my own finer nails. Like I had been scouring myself. They wrapped around both the underbelly and the exposed outer flesh. It was as though I had been trying to break out of my body. Was that just some uncontrollable by-product of the dream? I had managed to escape from Lao the organism and didn’t want to be put back in?
Regardless, it hadn’t worked. I’d traveled out of existence into the realm of the Real, but I had also returned. If I wanted to escape again, it required some outside influence, because I couldn’t do it on my own. Like a beeswax candle to cure the darkness of a dream, I just had the wrong tools.
First things first, I needed to get cleaned up. My thoughts, I knew, would have to collect themselves.
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