Flux and Flow: a stream of consciousness piece

I randomly roam the roads, wandering wherever my heart takes me.  Nothing is as it seems, but everything is beautiful.  Perspective defines things as otherwise, but deep-down everything is perfect—perfectly itself.  Glowing, glittering, gardens of goldfish swirl about in the ponderous pools of my thoughts, bringing sweet, thirsty thoughts to my mind, to my soul.

                The soul: never-ending, “changing but never changed, claiming but never claimed,” one’s soul is always one’s own.  It may be affected on the surface by life’s experiences and other human interaction, but within it is never the same.  And there’s nothing more amazing than that.  What a wondrous world we live in.

                Jellyfish lazily drift about in the ocean surf as I gaze in awe at the beauty of this coral reef.  Color explodes around me, this busy, boisterous world of so many dazzling creatures, all interconnected in the chain of life.  One creature cannot exist without the other, like fire and ice, good and evil.  Dualities are needed; without the opposite of one thing, there can’t be the other.  Good would not exist if there was no evil, no fire without ice.  To know both is to better know the world in its entirety.

                Philosophical conundrums thrashing through my mind, turning my brains to a mush of confusion.  There’s nothing certain in this world, except the fact that everything’s uncertain…but maybe that’s what makes life so fantastic and incredibly unique: the fact that nothing is certain, that anything can happen.  The sun may rise and set each day, the seasons may go by every year in an unchanged progression, but no year, season, month, day, hour, minute, or second is ever the same (even though it may feel like it some days, especially when you feel your life is stuck in a rut or you’re in a winter that seems to never end).  Regardless of your internal stasis, however, the world is always different and changing. 

Even internally you’re never truly in a stasis.  Every day changes you: makes you happier, sadder, better, worse, more depressed, or more joyful.  The psychology of your mind itself is amazing: at any instant your mind or whole outlook on life can change just by a mere thought that runs through your mind, a mere sensation that you feel, an event you see/partake in, or a person you encounter.  Up and down, flux and flow: human life is like the tide.

This may be why we feel so closely connected to nature when we stand on the ocean shore, feeling the tide pulling at our toes, gazing out at the infinite azure of the sea.  When we’re at the sea, we are connecting to our own souls, souls so interconnected and similar to the sea: perpetual, always shifting and changing, and ever-beautiful.       

 

Loreleigh: a twist on the tale of Rapunzel

Loreleigh

You may think you had a sheltered childhood, but I can guarantee it’s nothing compared to mine.  I’d never even seen the outside world, much less been allowed outside. I’m not exaggerating.  At all.  I’d grown up never given an idea of what the outside world looks like, never even seeing another person.  The only physical things I’d seen from the outside world were food and water that was brought to me every day, twice a day, pushed under the slat beneath the door.   It’s difficult for me to describe what life had been like for me, but if I were to summarize it into one word it would be this: meaningless. 

When the only person in the world is you, and there is nothing to be seen except the four white walls that surround you and nothing to be accomplished except eating and drinking to stay alive, it’s hard to find any meaning.  I think I would have died of depression and hopelessness if it wasn’t for one essential ability that I inherently possessed: the ability to think and to dream. 

My mind was a means of transportation, a means of escape, to transport me into any situation, to any location, to see and/or be anything.  I’d spend hours upon hours just gazing at parts of my body, letting my imagination run wild.  Looking at my hands, I’d imagine that there were communities of fantastic creatures living in my squared-off pores, that my veins brought water to those communities, and that the creases in my hands were roads and bridges for the creatures to travel over the water.  I’d map out pictures of my imaginings and my dreams with the remnants of my food, trying to make sense of a world that I knew nothing about.  Of course, at the time I did not know there were such things as roads and bridges or even other creatures, but I instinctually knew that there had to be more to life than just these four white walls.  Rest assured, it was a major shock when I finally did see the outside world, and this is where my story truly begins….

-----

Groggily, half-asleep, I opened my eyes and staggered to my feet, peering into the darkness for the source of the unfamiliar sound I’d heard.  I saw nothing but the walls and the silence, both surrounding me, as usual.  Nothing odd or new.  Sighing in disappointment, I slowly began to make my way back to my bed when I heard the sound again.  I jerked my head around and saw the door shaking and shuttering.  Something or someone was trying to break in.  Or trying to break me out.  My heart soared and beat fast in both excitement and fear of the possibility.  I wanted to see the outside world, but I was also very afraid.  The unknown is a most fearful thing, especially when the unknown comprised most of one’s life, as it did for me.  My life and the whole world was a mystery that I’d been sheltered from in my little room. 

The shuttering-shaking of the door continued until finally the door burst open and blinding light poured into the room.  I screamed and frantically shielded my eyes, as the light literally felt as though it was burning them.  I stood there, cowered with my hands over my eyes, for several minutes until I eventually garnered up the courage to peek into the light. With extreme caution, I slowly peered into the spaces between my fingers.  Even seeing a broken picture of the world outside my door, I was filled with wonder.

My senses were overloaded.  There was so much to see, to hear, and even to smell.  The very first aspect that astounded me was the explosion of color.  Being locked in this room all my life, I’d been accustomed to only seeing the white color of the wall and my dress, along with the blandly brown color of the oatmeal and meat I was fed.  I found out that I knew only opposite ends of the spectrum.  I discovered that there were seemingly millions of shades in between.  I also noticed that the light of the outside world brought a whole new perspective to my mind.  Everything was not as it seemed.  The world was not the hopeless, uniform, sterile one that I had known my whole life; it was instead a world of such hope, magic, beauty, and complexity.

Besides the sights to be seen, my ears and nose were bombarded with a symphony of sounds and smells.  From the soft whisper of the wind that tickled and kissed my skin and gently swept my hair across my face to the loud chorus of chirping birds, there was so much to be heard that my ears were constantly ringing.  As if this wasn’t enough, my nose was overjoyed with a myriad of fresh, luscious scents.  I breathed in deeply and sighed in ecstasy, high on the smell of the grass, the dirt, the flowers, and the very air itself.  I was so in love with the newness of the world around me that I hadn’t even noticed the handsome young man who stood in front of me, openly gazing at me with his mouth gaping, until he gulped and then uttered a single word.

“H-hello”

I jumped in surprise and fear and jerked my head toward the source of the sound.  Now it was my turn to gaze with my mouth gaping.  Standing before me was a creature who strikingly resembled me.  He had the same arms, the same legs, the same face, but it was the differences between us that especially struck me and filled me with wonder.  He was much taller, his shoulders were wider, and his whole body appeared much stronger.  His hair was much different than mine, too.  It was short, brown, and even appeared in stubble on his face, on his chin and upper lip.  His face was what enamored me with him most of all, especially those eyes.  I’d never truly seen eyes before, except via my reflection in water, much less actually look into them.  There was something extremely powerful and magnetizing about eyes, especially this man’s.  Such emotion, such complexity, such vitality…and most all, such beauty.  His eyes were a pure, refreshing shade of light blue, a cool glass of water in which the longer I gazed, the deeper I dove into its depths. 

In the mean time, while I openly gawked, a curious pink color slowly spread across his cheeks, and his eyes shuttered open and closed.  Eventually he looked up and began to speak again.

“Umm…so…yeah…hi.  My name is Henry.  What’s yours?”

There was a prolonged silence as I just stood there, both confused and fascinated.    I’d never heard a human speak before, and therefore I had no idea what Henry had said, but nonetheless I instantly fell in love with the rhythm and melody of his voice.   I wanted to respond, so I tried to imitate his voice, which didn’t work well at all.

“Ur…m…ry…hiii….” I babbled out.  It came out in a surprisingly high-pitched voice that made me clap my hands over my ears in pain.  Henry looked on in amusement and laughed, another sound I’d never heard before.  It was a low rumbling sound that radiated warmth and became instantly contagious.  An involuntary laugh flowed out of my lips and caused my body to shake in unfamiliar ways.  It was an odd sensation.  Once I began to laugh I couldn’t stop.  The laughter racked my spine and caused me to convulse in a delicious pain.  I almost fell to the floor, I was laughing so hard, but Henry quickly caught me up in his arms.

“Woah, careful,” he said, his face mere inches from mine.  I felt a peculiar but pleasant warmth course across my cheeks, and my heart, skipping a beat, fluttered out of control.  “You okay?”

I smiled in reply, unsure of what Henry had asked but loving the sound of his voice.  He took that answer as a “yes,” and smiled back a smile that made my heart melt.  For a brief, magical moment, we smilingly gazed at each other, Henry’s arms holding me securely and tightly against his warm body.  Sadly, however, the moment abruptly ended when Henry came back to reality and realized the intensity of the situation.  He loosened me out of his grip, flustered.

“Sorry,” he muttered.  I, of course, had no idea what Henry had uttered.  All I knew was that I wanted him to keep holding me.  I didn’t know why I was feeling this way, or even what I was feeling exactly, but of one thing I was absolutely sure: I didn’t want this feeling to end.

----

Henry

“It was love at first sight.”  I used to roll my eyes at that phrase, but I was now starting to see that it could be true.  I’d never really believed in much of anything before I met…her.  It’s crazy.  I mean, we just met, and I still don’t even know her name, yet I think I’m in love with her.   There’s just something about the girl.  I can’t figure it out.  Well, there’s no denying that she’s super hot, but it’s more than just her good looks and her body; it’s her very soul.  I can just feel the beautiful joy and wonder radiating out of her, such a kind, sweet spirit.  I’d never met a girl like her before.  Pretty much all the girls I knew were self-centered, vain, and avoided me like the plague.  But not this girl.  This girl seemed to actually be attracted to me! 

Imagine that, right?  Yeah, I’d always been the awkward, nerdy guy.  You know the type: always picked last in gym class but always picked first for academic, school projects?  Yep, that’s me.  You could definitely say that it’s in the family.  Mix the egg of a marine biologist with the sperm of a psychologist and voila!  You’ve got me: the insecure, awkward, nerdy dude.  There’s one gene I am very thankful for though at the moment, and that being my gene of curiosity.  If it wasn’t for my curiosity, I never would have met the gorgeous girl standing in front of me.

See, my dad does research in psychology, and he always had freely shared his research with my mom, me, and anyone else in the public who was interested in what he did, but one project he had kept secret from us—from everyone—for…well…I’d say at least 15 years.  I never would have learned about his secret if not for the suspicious conversation we had had this afternoon.

“Where you heading off to, Dad?” I asked.  I had just stepped out of the house and was making my way to my car when I noticed my dad getting into his SUV.  He jumped, startled, and turned a guilty face toward me.

“Oh, uh…I’m heading off to the office.”

“The office?” I asked, my eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.  “But it’s Saturday.  You never work on Saturdays.”

There was a beat of silence as my dad shifted uncomfortably.  I knew something was up.  There was something he wasn’t telling me.

“Yeah, well, I just have a special project I need to work a little extra on before Monday,” my dad said.

 “Oh. Okay,” I said, totally unconvinced, as he quickly got in his truck and sped away, in the opposite direction of his office.  So, there was only one thing left to do: I got in my car and followed him.

               

                   

   

               

   

               

               

Faith

Time passes

Moving

faster and faster

Growing

shorter and shorter

Gripping

stronger and stronger.

 

As the tentacles

of Time

tightly tie themselves around me,

the Octave of Death climbs

higher

and

higher.

 

The inevitable Death lurks

closer and closer,

And I am not safe,

But you don’t have to feel safe

to feel Unafraid.

 

 

The Stages of Heartbreak

The following poem is quite a bit different from the poems I usually write.  It is composed of a series of nine different segments (nine stages of heartbreak).  I actually wrote this quite a while back, but I took a long time editing the piece and, to be honest, finally got the courage to put it out on the web.  This poem is a very personal poem for me, probably the most personal one I've written before.  Like most of my poems, it was inspired by my own experience, but unlike most of my other poems, this one is based on a deeply painful emotional experience.  I tend to keep my emotions to myself, bottled up inside, because I have a difficult time expressing myself verbally, and I'm afraid of exposing my weakness to others.  Writing has always been my way of dealing with and expressing these emotions.  Creating this piece was quite therapeutic for me.  It helped me sort through my emotions, and shortly after this piece was written, I was proven right about there being hope because I indeed found "my prince."  We have been together about four months now, and I've never been happier.  So, if you ever feel like there's no hope and your heart is broken, remember that you are so beautiful and realize that there is someone out there who will truly love you and truly treat you right. 

"Every girl has a Prince Charming... yours just took a wrong turn, got lost, and is too stubborn to ask for directions." --Adam Young (Owl City)

 

 

The Stages of Heartbreak

 

1.       Realization. 

 

A chill of comprehension

begins to course through my body.

A sick feeling that seeps

from my throat

into my chest

and

twists

my

stomach

into

knots.

 

2.       Shock. 

 

Like a flash of lightning or the shot of a gun.

It happens so fast,

so sudden. 

I finally see the light, and it blinds me, so that

I can’t think.

I can’t speak.

I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

 

3.       Numb.

 

It’s as if I’ve been given a shot of Novicaine. 

I feel nothing.

Trapped. 

I’m trapped inside this oblivion. 

I speak and I hear,

but my words don’t belong to me,

and all that I hear is so far away,

Incomprehensible echoes.

 

 

4.       Pain. 

The numbness ebbs away.

An earthquake quivers through my body. 

An explosion of emotion causes me to slowly shatter

before your very eyes.

 

Regardless of my endeavors to conceal it,

I wildly flinging my emotions,

the shattered pieces of my heart,

on display for you to see:

confusion,

denial,

passion,

sorrow,

anger,

hurt; so much hurt. 

 

Punched in the chest.

Ran over by a truck.

Shot in the back. 

The only way to deal with the pain is to cry,

clinging to you as tightly as I can. 

 

It’s painful knowing this is the last time I will hold you,

but it’s better than the emptiness that will come again when you leave. 

Can’t let you go.

Can’t let myself forget. 

5.       Shame.

 

I don’t want to let go.

I don’t want to forget.

I know I need to. 

I’ve humiliated myself. 

This isn’t healthy. 

 

With deep racking breaths,

I force my tears to stop. 

I can’t let you see me this way. 

I need to be strong. 

I release you from the vice grip of my arms. 

You make a joke, try to ease my pain. 

Wild bloodshot eyes,

a trembling smile,

I hover on the brink of disaster.

 

6.       Losing it. 

 

“We’ll always be friends.” 

“I’ll always be there for you.” 

“I’ll always love you.” 

“It’s for the best.” 

“You deserve better.” 

 

I never knew how painful words could truly be until the moment

these words are said to me  

Because I know what they are leading up to:   

“Goodbye.”

 

How can one word be so painful,

 so hard to hear,

without shattering once more? 

You say it.

  I respond,

a whisper being all I can manage. 

The door closes behind you. 

Never has a sound made me lonelier than it does now. 

Never.

The sound of it slices through me like a knife,

My heart is officially broken. 

I scramble, picking up

the pieces.

 It’s no use.

I’ll never be able to put them back together again. 

 

Watching you drive away,

the earthquake starts all over again. 

I fall to the floor,

a flightless bird.

7.       Internal bleeding. 

 

(((I try to remove you from my mind.

I need to move on.

I can’t let the world see my hurt.

I keep it bottled inside where no one can see,

denying that it’s there at all.

Fake smiles,

pretending everything’s alright.

Inside I’m bleeding from the internal war

among my memories

 and my mind.)))

 

  

8.       Coldness. 

 

Trying to keep the memories away,

they still return. 

They make me warm for a few moments.

When I realize that “memories” are all they really are,

I’m left feeling empty.

Bitterly cold. 

I’m constantly cold.

I can’t get warm. 

 

I’m just so sick of being alone. 

I wish you were with me, holding me tight,

taking away this bitter chill that racks my body and rattles my teeth. 

You don’t truly realize what you’ve got until it’s gone. 

I feel so empty without you.

Life goes on.

It must go on. 

  

9.       Rebirth. 

 

The pain will never completely disappear.

 I have learned to deal with it and learn from it. 

Life is beautiful. 

I am beautiful. 

 

My prince is out there.

 I won’t stop until I’ve found him.   

Like a phoenix,

I rise from the ashes. 

It’s time to live. 

It’s time to begin again.

 

 

 

 

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

The wondrous wind woefully wails,

and a rumbling radiates the air into reverberation.

Lightning lividly lights up the sky

like legions of lightning bugs.

 

Now the clouds cluster: masses of gray that burst at the seams

into rain that rapidly races

 down

in

sheets of

gray.

 

Standing in the middle of the storm,

the thunder resonates through my body,

the wind whips my hair like waves across my face,

and the icy rain slices across my skin,

soaking my clothes and sending chills down my spine,

chills of frigidity, fright, and fascination.

 

I am mesmerized by this melee,

the madness and majesty of Mother Nature:

how something so dark and dangerous can still be

so beautiful.

 

Reflections on Life

Greetings, friend.  I may have neither eyes to see nor feet to move, but I have come to know and see many things.  Our kind doesn’t need eyes to see or feet to move in order to know and see the world around us.  We simply feel the world; we are one with nature.  I would be very pleased if you would come and listen to me speak, for I have much to tell and little time to tell it in; I feel that the end of my life is drawing very near. 

Earth, the place I call home, is a place filled with both wonder and woe.  In my 100 years, I have seen many changes, both good and bad.  The change of the seasons, alterations in species and populations, and the miracle of new life occur every day.  These are causes for wonder, and my soul sings to experience these wonderful events, but there are also terrible changes.  These changes are brought forth by creatures called humans. 

Like humans, all animals are able to think and perceive all kinds of amazing things, but unlike the other creatures, humans regrettably use this power of perception to do terrible things quite often.  They have a terrible need for control over one another and a need for possessions; greed is their downfall.  I have seen wars, pollution, cutting down of my fellow companions, murdering of helpless creatures (even of their own kind), and countless other evil deeds.  I can only sit helplessly and watch these terrible events unfold around me.  I try to communicate with the humans, urging them to change their ways, but all they make of my communication is a series of creaks and moans.  It is terribly frustrating.  All I can do is pray that the next generation of humans will learn from its mistakes.  This sometimes happens, but the greed never truly goes away.  As I near the end of my life, I think I have discovered why this greed exists; humans seem to keep this greed to cover-up their fear, their fear of the unknown.  Humans live forever wondering what the meaning of life is, when it really is right there in front of them. 

Having lived for so long, in constant observance of the world around me, without possessing corruption and greed as the many humans I have come to know to possess, the meaning of life becomes clear.  If you don’t already know the meaning of life, then it would be almost impossible for me to tell you, but the best way I know how to explain it is this: the meaning of life is in the very word itself: “life.”  The meaning of life is “life.”  What makes this definition tricky is that “life” is different for every individual creature, but this is also what makes the definition so beautiful and marvelous.  Life is startlingly unique and complex, an intricate snowflake; no two lives are the same.  So, as my death comes nearer and nearer, I do not face it with fear.  Death is only the next stage of life.  Therefore, I shall greet it with open branches. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bittersweet

Sitting on a shelf, cozied up with my family under a fluorescent glow of lights, I thought to myself This is the life.  Sure, it was a bit crowded in the little box we lived in, which we shared with two other families (making fifteen of us in all), but we never had to worry about any of our family or friends leaving us.  We stuck together, literally.  If you’re confused right now, don’t worry.  It will all become clear soon enough.  I hope my story will help you to make a change in your…er…diet.

Most of the time, my life is sweet and care-free, but there always is the fear lurking beneath the veneer of happiness…the fear of being bought.  This fear especially rises to the surface in the spring.  Usually when one thinks of spring, he or she thinks of life and renewal, but for me spring means one thing only: Easter. 

Easter is a time of death.  The best two hopes that my kind can have in this time of death are that they won’t be bought, or they are bought and hidden in an Easter egg hunt and never found.  These two scenarios rarely happen, but they are the major two hopes that we cling to. 

The only other hope we can have is that the person who buys our package will forget about us and let us go stale, thereby sparing our lives (since humans don’t like us to be stale).  True, life after this can be a bit uncomfortable, being perpetually stiff and living a life among trash, but it’s much better than being subjected to the cruel and unusual torture that humans dish out.  I shudder just thinking about some of the things humans do to my poor, defenseless kind, especially knowing that my story contains some of these tortures.

So, one particularly bright and beautiful spring day not too long ago, my brother, my sister, my friends, and I were having a fun time making faces at and scaring the human children.  This trick didn’t work with adults because they never looked closely enough at us to notice our expressions…or maybe they did notice but would never admit that they’d seen it happen.  Well, this spring day, for the first time ever, a pair of adults did notice our faces, but this backfired on us: instead of scaring them, we amused them. 

“Ooo, look at that soft, sugary goodness!” the young woman said, her blue eyes dancing with glee and desire.  As I looked into her enormous eyes, I could see a purple sparkle reflected back at me.  “They look so delicious.  We should get some.”

The young man next to her grinned in amusement and squeezed her hand.  “Let’s pick some out then.”

“Hmmm…I don’t know.  There are so many choices…” the woman said, biting her finger in serious contemplation.

The man laughed, amused by her solemnity.  “Choose wisely, Ella.  It’s a very serious decision.”

“Oh, I know, Michael,” Ella said playfully.  “So I’m going to go with…that package right there.”

My heart sank.  Please don’t pick us, please don’t pick us…  But, alas, they had picked us.  All we could do now was accept our fate and hope for the best, but with the looks of this evil couple, we were sure to be doomed.

Fast-forward to Easter Sunday.  The couple had recently returned from church, had finished feasting on their Easter ham dinner, and were now preparing for dessert.  You’d think that on such a holy day as Easter, and especially after just getting back from church, that these people would show us mercy but no.  Dessert was to be served, on us.  Literally. 

“That was a delicious meal, dear,” said Michael.

“Thank you, honey.  I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Ella said.

“Now it’s my turn…to provide the dessert!” he said.

Sitting on the counter we shivered in our box, terrified.  We were not only going to be eaten, we were going to endure one of the worst forms of torture: the microwave.  As Michael approached us and ripped open our packaging, we said our prayers and goodbyes and held onto each other until the very last moment, when we were torn from one another’s side and popped on a plate. 

“Are you ready?” Michael asked.

“Yep!” Ella chirped, bounding over to the microwave.  “Let’s explode ’em!”

As Michael placed us in the microwave, and the horrendous finality of the door’s slam closed around us, I wept for not only myself but also for the terrible cruelty of the human race.  But when the microwave turned on, and we began to heat up and expand, even through the pain and suffering I felt an odd peace.  I knew this wasn’t goodbye forever.  I believed we’d see each other in Heaven, and I was right.  So, as we bloated and melded into one mass of sticky marshmallow goo and were shoveled into the hungry humans’ mouths, our bodies may have been consumed, but our souls lived on.

My life on Earth as a Peep had tragically ended, but my life in Peep heaven had just begun.  I hope my story has inspired you, human, to be a little more courteous of my “peep”-le, preferably steer clear from Peeps at all costs.  How about a chocolate bunny instead?