The Tower of Brahma - 28 - we're all the main character (edit)

09/23/04

Everything is different.

Where am I? Who am I? How did I get here? My eyes open for what seems like the first time and I see the world lies before me, open and blossoming wild.

In the dark my naked sensitivity cries alone.

I am a writer. Writing down the words of my life as they click out the drama. Alternating thumbs slamming letter after letter, casting the spell. I'm walking down the cold New York City streets and putting something down onto my handheld portable device. Digitally drawing the chalk outline of my former self. That crying monstrosity, whining and misaligning my life.

He is gone forever.

I'm twenty eight years old now. My next stage falls from the tree of life, and I'm loving that freefall plunge to the ground. I started writing a book and then the story became my life. I have seemingly tapped into some positive force that is guiding me towards some amazing adventure. The lines between fiction and reality have blurred a bit, and now it seems as if I truly am the main character. My story has just started and like a stone skipping across calm waters, segments and situations play out with the dramatic resonance of perfected life.

The lights dim just for us as incidentals blink out of existence. She has guided me into this life, reminded me that I am at the controls, and inspired me to plot this mad journey across time and space. I stare into her auburn eyes and feel the divine infinite that lies between us. Although I can't fully see it, I sense this void between us is composed of layers upon layers of story. A mosaic collage of personality pasted up, each fragment a puzzle piece given to us by those we have, and those we had, in our lives.

I used to feel sad about this space, sitting in this dark alone, these walls and barriers preventing the sublime merging of our souls. But my intentions were wrong, my perceptions skewed. They're decorations, accessories, costumes, and yes, occasionally walls, damming the flow of turbulent and tumultuous change. We're all fragile inside this singing white light.

I walk tall these days. Upright and confident, looking people in the eyes and not turning away. The mad poet has birthed the king deep within me.