Abjection. Or is dejection, or maybe even apathy? Nah, not
apathy. That would imply not caring, and that’s precisely the antithesis of I’m
aiming to describe. So many thoughts, so many cares. So many countervoices in
my head screaming the exact opposite of the chorus. God knows what’s right and
what’s wrong, but given the shitshow he’s running, I’m not sure he does either.
Watch the Seventh
Wave.
It literally feels like watching one of those crappy disaster
movies unfold, except the tsunami is not water, but thought, and it doesn’t
send a cruise ship careening through City Central, but rather flings the core
of Sun at a target smaller than the eye of a needle.
Not only does it hit, but it squeezes through. Maybe that’s
what I need to do. Like that makes any fucking sense.
On my wave, passing on.
It’s a whole bunch of confused, scared little people
scurrying around, with some absolutely certain about one thing, and some
absolutely certain about exactly the other. Not something remotely different,
mind, the diametric opposite. Repeat
the pattern ad infinitum, until everyone in a crowd uncountably infinite has
found someone diametrically opposed to they are; a maelstrom of noise,
confusion and misdirection as loud as it as wide, as deep as it is shallow, as
chaotic as it is perfectly symmetric. And in the middle, there’s this guy, eyes
straight ahead, refusing eye contact with anyone else, just barreling through.
He thinks he sees a light, you see.
Not just a light, but the
light. Clarity. So close, within reach (within his own mind, if you’ve been paying
attention thus far), but he needs to get through the crowd to get to it. A
seemingly improbable task, but he tries anyway.
Running away forever…
with only thoughts of finding home.
Every step of the way, he’s begged to just listen, LISTEN GODDAMMIT AND VALIDATE MY EXISTENCE, HOW DARE YOU
IGNORE WHAT I HAVE TO SAY, repeated time after time after time after time,
every yell plucking every heartstring with the subtlety of an angelic melody
but with the staining touch of death, and he ignores every single one. Every.
Single. One.
He thinks he sees a light, you see.
But there’s also a voice; except it’s not really a voice. It’s
more of a whisper, but one so loud that when you focus on it, it drowns out
everything else. Even the maelstrom.
And all it says is ‘shhhhh’.
That’s all it needs to say,
because in that whisper, everything else ceases. Sanctity found in a crack infinitesimally
small, that somehow extends; a veil that stretches the length of infinity and
the breadth of all existence.
When the light fades and trickles down into your palm,
Will you, calm,
Raise your hand,
Or
desist, clench your fist?
You are the Sun
Goddess; will you save me?
