We all have something to hide—some dark place inside us we don’t want the world to see. So we pretend everything’s okay, wrapping ourselves in rainbows. And maybe that’s all for the best because some of these places are darker than others.
Suddenly, in my daydream, I was taken back to an old familiar dream—the one where we are floating through space in a small refrigerator. We are shrunken small enough to fear space itself. We float off to outer space at the manifestation of that very feeling. We cry over the loss of our homes, but it’s this very emotion that brings us together as we fill the void of the cosmos in mind, body, and probably spirit.
I realize I’m repeating myself, but I can’t get over this feeling, the fact that deep down inside of my body, there is a space that is in total love with some part of existence. I don’t understand it. I don’t believe it at times, but, I do know that it’s real.
Living grows round us like a skin to shut away the outer desolation. For if we clearly mark the furthest deep, we should be dead long years before the grave. But, turning around within the homely shell of worry, discontent, and narrow joy, we grow and flourish and rarely see the outside dark that would confound our eyes. Some break the shell. I think that there are those who push their fingers through the brittle walls and make a hole, and through this cruel slit, stare out across the cinders of the world with naked eyes. They look both out and in knowing themselves and the mechanics of everything they breath. Perhaps we all have our little slits in the wall that we peer through when we are lost and searching. And, maybe, this hole provides us with too much information. I have chipped away at the circumference of my knowledge, and I can finally slip through the hole. I can see two versions of this world: the dark and the light. The dark is just dark and if I stare at it for too long, I’ll go back in time and slip into a deep depression that has a way of taking over me. But, the light is a burning passion that comes to me like the rain to the trees. This is when I escape. This is when the dream becomes real. It’s lovely to run the meadows up and down. There’s this sense of immortality. You never grow weary, your breath stays consistent—your entire body working as it never had within the gates. I’ve made it to the sea where I believe few have run to discover. The sea breeze has always brought me clarity. It’s hard to get enough oxygen on land. It’s hard to breath.
When I come back, It’s hard to look you in the eye because of what I know. You have no idea how real it is. It prevents me from opening my mouth for fear of what you’ll say. Are you the angel of the dream or are you still consumed by the pressures of this world? Though, who am I kidding? I’ve never been one to look you in the eye, so maybe you don’t notice me. But, perhaps you’ve been discovered. And, maybe I’ve run your landscape a thousand times without you knowing.