The Scene of Somewhere

The Seattle rain hadn’t stopped for weeks. Dark, menacing clouds were constantly covering the heads of the people below. Sixty suicides were reported this month; but I didn’t blame the rain. The rain was my friend; the only element that kept me sane. It was my favorite show to watch from my tiny bedroom window. There I would sit for hours at a time, forgetting my previous plans, to watch the gentle drops glide across the slick glass. It reminded me of a symphony, complete with its own instruments, crescendos, and pitches. I heard them all. Against the gutters, the pitch was high and resounding, echoing through the silver tunnels with each pound. Against the windows, it was harsh and lurid, but rolled swiftly down to the nets of objects below. Against the cool ground, the rain was gentle, tenderly meeting the throngs of puddles with a soft, pleasurable, plop

. The symphony grew louder as it reached the climax of its tune, pounding each instrument with twice as much force. Suddenly, a violent crash of cymbals broke the tense air, touching some far of place with its golden branches. I wished to myself that I could catch these golden cymbals, save them in a jar maybe, to use their brilliant light for the immeasurable amount of gloomy days ahead.
A slow roll of drums interrupted my thoughts, remaining strong for an entire thirty seconds. The drums’ pace quickened, its sound growing louder and more intense with each second that passed. Eventually, I heard the drums scream their last breath before settling into a quiet hum, then vanishing completely. The sweet rain was teasing me, laughing at the roof above my head. It threatened to strip me of this coverage, just during the times it came to visit. In answer to this mockery, I whispered back that, I would be forever grateful

.
I then asked the rain to do with me what it willed; to drench me, to dance with me, to render me senseless. I wished it to fill me up until I overflowed with its radiance. I watched motionlessly as these secret wishes drifted out to meet the cold embrace of the storm.
The clock in my kitchen read 3:24am. Though I wished it, sleep was no longer an option. My mind had lost itself in the thoughts of somewhere. This somewhere was far, far away, and I knew my mind wouldn’t plan on returning any time soon. And so I let it roam.
In this somewhere, I imagined a clear, rainless sky. This sky, however, resembled no sky I had ever laid eyes upon. This new sky was brushed with a shimmering pallet of blues and greens, oranges and purples, soft pinks, and deep, deep reds. I also noticed one curious color that I could not seem to identify; but without it, this sky would not be nearly as striking.
In this somewhere, I saw a vast distance, interrupted only once by a distant tree. Even from far away, this sapling appeared to be very corrupted and malnourished. As I ambled closer, I noticed a little stream to the right of the distressed mass of tree. Its slimmed, hungry roots were pouring out of the broken ground and dangling over the stream, as if to form a bridge. No wonder the tree looks so poor

, I thought, it can’t reach its main source of survival.

The dreadful scene looked as though the stubborn water had created a protective barrier, in order to shield it from all who wished to enter. By doing this, it was killing the tree. Watching it die, even.
The humble tree loved the water desperately, it needed the water for its own survival. But the water was repulsed by the tree’s roots, and therefore cast them away. I felt sympathy for this poor tree, lingering on the border between life and death when its ticket to life existed so remarkably close. No matter how desperately it struggled, its sullen roots would always come up short.
This shouldn’t be. It wasn’t.. right.
With an airy glide, I closed the distance between me and the scene of the tree. With a sudden heavy weight, I crashed down on my knees so that I was eye level with the sickly roots. I felt a terrible sorrow for the tree as I observed the sight up close. It was frustrating, and I became angry with the selfish water. Could it not share even a drop of its clear liquid? I glared at its miraculous transparency with accusing eyes; no reflection stared back at me. I thrust a hand into the icy stream, breaking the surface with a severe splash. I cupped the liquid into my palm and brought it out into the open, examining its strange, elusive glow. Reaching forward, I positioned the hand full of liquid so that it hung directly over the tree’s distorted, colorless roots. Then, with a focused glare, I released the stream’s contents and watched anxiously as they fell.
One by one, the nourishing drops hit the surface of the famished branches, making an angelic sound of chimes before they sunk in.
Where the drops made contact, a rejuvenation occurred.
The tree was growing stronger.
My eyes widened with pleasure and surprise as I frantically scooped handful after handful onto the budding tree. If I worked long enough, I could manage to shower the entire tree with the stream’s contents. I pressed on. But after a while into my task, I began to think.
What would happen when it was time for me to leave? Would the tree and the water continue their terrible one sided friendship?
I refocused my eyes in order to stare at its still dangling roots, holding onto nothing but air.
Yes, when I left, the tree would surely die.
My narrowed eyes glared angrily at the arduous water. Why did it have to be so difficult?
With an fiery determination, I grabbed every single root from the air above, and held them in a tight bundle close to my chest. I shuffled my feet quickly forward until I felt them engulfed by the icy stream’s waters. Then, unwaveringly, I lay down, so that all of me was covered, forcing the roots and the waters to meet. After I was sure they would not retreat, I loosened my grasp to bury the tips of each one into the firm, clay bottom. I did this with such precision and care, that I knew they could never be unearthed by the stream’s will alone. When my task was complete, I stepped backwards onto the dry shore, my eyes never leaving the scene.
All at once, the tree rose to life, untangling its mangled roots from each other one by one. The new, thick roots grew longer as the tree grew higher and stronger than ever before. It did not stop its growth when it seemed to surpass even the sky itself. Lustrous leaves adorned the once broken branches, filling every open space with their overwhelming abundance. I watched speechlessly as I noticed a color flourishing deeply throughout its newly formed limbs, giving the tree its final touch of absolute beauty; it was the same color that had been present in this mysterious sky. This color had never been seen by a pair of earthly eyes in all of its existence, for it was often taken away too soon for the true color to settle into focus. It was the color of earth on the first day of its creation. It was the color of laughter and of ideas, and of hopes and dreams. It was the color granted only by one.

It was the color of life.

The Drowning

I feel the restraint that comes with the freedom. I try to ignore it, hoping it will vanish; but it does not. Its awesome presence grabs me and throws me back into failure, the failure I had just barely climbed out of.
I am submerged… drowning.
I can sense the freedom I once grasped hovering along the surface above me, just out of reach. My lungs cannot hold the air much longer. They grow weary and long to be free of this iron cage. I sink deeper, losing hope.
Above the surface there appears a shimmering figure, blurred from my view by the crashing waves. Take my hand

, it seems to say. I’m not convinced. I continue to slip farther into silence. Trust me

, it whispers.
The voice is familiar, a voice I had heard many times before. A voice I had loved to hear. A voice who had, indeed, saved me before. I remembered this voice.
A hand stretched out towards me, begging me to take it. I thought about this, evaluating the task. But my mind was made up. I knew this voice; I loved this voice. I cast my hand up to meet the others embrace, and with one fierce wrench of my arm, I sent my rescuer plummeting into the waves. Without so much as a thought, the figure wrapped my frail form in his gentle arms and began to carry us both to the surface. I struggled against his weight and aimed for the bottom of the pool that lead to nowhere. I made it very clear that my fate was sealed, that he could not possibly save me again. Yet he continued for the top, striving towards the freedom that still lingered there. I screamed violently in protest. I knew deep down that he could save me, if I just allowed him to. If I was willing to submit, I could be carried away from this mess of drowning and never return again… If I was willing

. I did not deserve to have the will to be willing. I knew this. And I accepted it with the direction of my fate. Downwards. I swam, dragging the shimmering voice with me. The farther I whirled into the pool, the darker the waters, and the heavier the weight upon my shoulders. I grew weary from the exhaustion, and fear welled up inside of me from the darkness that was closing in all around. My pace slowed, but I continued to swim.
I turned to glance behind at my past, but saw nothing besides the cold obscurity of nightfall. By now I could no longer see the surface that I had once called home, and the weight upon me had grown almost unbearable. In this realization, I stopped, fear overtaking my soul. I glanced around frantically at the blackness that never faltered. And I felt afraid.
Then, a faint voice echoed softly from the shadows.
Take my hand

, it invited, with the same gentleness as before. I turned slightly to search for the voice’s source. Trust me, it whispered again. I did not understand. But the voice shone brilliantly, the only light against the pitch black scene. I had carried him with me all this time; the voice of light had never left my grasp. Despite the deepness of my sorrow and determination of my ignorant ways, the shimmering voice had remained, ready to save me if only I was willing

. From the inside of the light came an outstretched hand, more inviting than anything I had ever seen.
I stared at it with awe. I closed my eyes, thinking about my options. I couldn’t do this anymore. I knew it, but could not bring myself to admit the fact. My burden had become too heavy to go on. The darkness was too much, it consumed me now; the presence of light was a foreign feeling. The hand beckoned my acceptance. I floated forward slowly, still uncertain. Then, in a second, my decision was made, I could not go on down this pathway, I would not go on. I could stop… if I was willing

. I took the hand with as much force as I could gather, and without a second to spare, we shot upwards together, like a bullet from a gun.
I broke the surface with a gasping breath. Finally, I tasted the freedom once more. I opened my healing eyes to the overwhelming presence of light, remembering where I was; I was alive

.


"Lead me, with strong hands,
Stand up, when I cant,
Don’t leave me hungry for love,
Chasing dreams, but what about us?
Show me you’re willing to fight,
That I’m still the love of your life,
I know we call this our home,
But I still feel alone.

Father lead me,
‘Cause I cant do this alone."

-Sanctus Real

The Gates

The boy could no longer feel. Feel pain, that is. But he had known nothing but pain for so long, the relief of it was like numbness to him. He looked around with confusion, but with an overwhelming knowledge that that was exactly where he was supposed to be. Underneath his feet were clouds unlike any he had ever seen before. Their indescribable beauty shone with resolve, filling him with strength and peaceful understanding. The boy glanced around, taking in his other surroundings. To his left stood a shimmering fountain made of pure gold, and flowing from it came water dazzling as crystals. Intrigued, he moved closer. The nearer the boy came to the fountain, the more he thirsted for its contents. His desire was on the brink of overflowing as he leapt forward, approaching his destination with exceeding grace. Standing at its edges, the boy dipped a cupped hand into the cool waters and raised it to his lips. As he drank, a sudden chill of joy swept through his body, causing him to shine as strong and bright as the sun. Never in all his life had he felt this incredible before… this ALIVE. The young boy had drank the final drink of life. He was resurrected, never to be torn down again. His joy was immeasurable. He must share this joy with his family… his friends… with the whole world!
But where were they? He glanced around questioningly. In the distance, the boy’s new, strengthened eyes could see golden gates shining with amazing brilliance, warmly inviting him to come closer. He took a step. Never had he felt something like this; an airy lightness glided him along the path to his destination. The path was narrow, but never once did he think about retreating. He kept his eyes forward and focused on the light. He longed to touch the gates, to absorb their deep light into his renewed self. Nearing the end of the pathway, the boy leaped with all his might to shorten the distance between him and the gates, reaching out his hand with a burning desire to hold them in his grasp. It felt as if he had been searching for them for as long as he could remember, and they had been there, waiting. They screamed Freedom, Joyfulness, and Love. These were things he had been blessed with on earth, but to fully enjoy them without the fear of Confinement, Sadness, or Hate had always remained an unreachable fantasy. Just then, his delicate hands folded around a gleaming bar of the magnificent gate. Every emotion at once seemed to flood through his gentle form. Knowledge, Peace, Understanding, Joyfulness, Healing, Innocence, Love. Everything a home should bring. The boy could only laugh a thunderous laugh of joy as the overwhelming emotions bombarded his soul. He did not stop laughing until a voice shook the clouds beneath him, and the atmosphere above him.
“My son, welcome home.” He knew this voice.
“Father, you have blessed me beyond what I deserve.”
“I have blessed you only that you could bless me. Well done, good and faithful servant.”

And the boy was home.


Dedicated to a recently lost friend, he was truly a blessing to this world. Love you, Luke.

The Circus of Tomorrow

It was night time, but I didn’t sleep, I never slept. My racing thoughts kept me wide awake, strangling me with the intensity of their grip. Sitting up, I resolved that I was getting nowhere in the maze of my mind, coming to dead end after dead end. Right when I thought I had the perfect path figured out, a hedge would grow in front of me, blocking my path. All I could think of was the thoughts of tomorrow, and what the rest of my life would bring.
Freedom.. Independence.. Possibilities.

But with the freedom came the Expectations.. the Worries.. the Fears.

Fear of failure. What if I failed? After wishing and dreaming of freedom for so long, what if I couldn’t handle it? What if I’m just not good enough…
I couldn’t think here, in the cramped space of my bedroom walls. I had to leave; I would grant my mind the freedom it had been longing to receive. I stepped outside, feeling the crisp night air hover against my skin, brushing the loose strands of hair off my shoulders to hang long across my back. Where was I going? I hadn’t thought about that, but something in the night seemed to guide my path. And so I walked. After a while of silent thoughts and shuffling feet, I reached a bend in the road and turned to the left, onto an unknown street. The night was dark, and menacing, almost inviting me to hide in its blackened crevices, never to be found. I contemplated the idea. By now, I saw the park that was, I suppose, my destination. My eyes began to play tricks with my mind, putting me in the midst of chaos when I was in complete tranquility. Not a sound but the draining of water on street corners penetrated the nights glare. But I was in a circus. Images of brightly colored sets and wild animals filled my vision. Wild-eyed children ran everywhere, marveling at every aspect of the lively scene. And there I stood in the middle of it all; trampled, unable to move. My life had run over me. I was a prisoner to the expectations it had set. I was a worrier, a seeker of what tomorrow would bring. I always forgot to stop and absorb the present, to live and bask in its security. It was exactly what its name stated… a present. A gift that I was constantly rejecting.
I walked over to a small, man-made pond near the entrance to a wood of trees. Bending down, I stared at my reflection. Dark brown locks cascaded past my shoulders, almost grazing the surface of the murky water. I saw deep blue eyes overflowing with knowledge, but accompanied by sadness and confusion. Confusion of the knowledge that was really unknown. These emotions, plus many more, gathered themselves into a single tear that glided slowly down my cheek and broke through the surface, creating a ripple that seemed to disturb the entire pond. I didn’t want to cry. I hated it. My long, dark lashes began to clump together as I blinked away the sudden tears.

An hour of weakness.
A week of tribulation.
A month of success.
A year of pain.
….A lifetime of worries.

How foolish. Tomorrow is not guaranteed to me. Today should be my focus; the here and the now was all I had for certain.

I left the park with a new understanding… already, the circus around me was beginning to clear.


"Staring all around me the clocks wont stop ticking,
I know I’m losing time,
But what can I do?
Another day of life has been cast into yesterday,
I’m racing forward,
But what can I do?

I hear the clocks tick faster with every breath I try to take,
Maybe if I stop then the clocks will stop too.
I hold my breath but their hands are like icicles,
Freezing me in place,
I’ll never win this race.
What can I do.
What can I do?

Stop and smell the roses,
take in every detail,
When you’re on a mountain,
Remember how it feels.
Never say you wont to the things that you haven’t done,
Take the day by the hand, and just run.

I see my hour glass waiting on the floor,
The sands keep falling when I ask them to stop,
I feel like panicking, running out the door,
But at the end of the day I can't run anymore.

Remember at the end that you have lived all you could live,
Remember at the end that gave all you could give,
Take the day by the hand and just, run."

Imprint

Publication Date: 08-12-2011

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
Thanks for the inspiration, friend.