Stories have been told for years, even from humanity’s very beginning. They have been subjected to theories, unverified evidences and misinterpretation. Translations and the transfer process play vital cogs in maintaining its authenticity, its relevance, and its eventual transformation into being facts. That being said, it is your sole responsibility to determine whether you have the heart to believe what I am saying here or just see me as plain nuts. Whatever reason you might attract, here I present my tales, fragments of my imagination. Delve deep with caution, you might find yourself in there and be trapped.
Time Lapse
Afflatus
Between the Ladders of Infinity
Forbidden
She is Thou, He is I
The Day Quietus Turned Her Back On Me
“Go back…”. Words that became nails to his cross, more unbearable than that of the actual wound from the sword which struck him deeply. His glance searched the source of the voice, a voice he came to adore, but he saw no one. “Go back to where you came from”. It echoed in his head like a curse, a curse that would haunt him like a wolf howling at the moon.
How he love the moon, its majestic face illuminating the vast darkness, casting shadows tat dance in madness. He looked up, there it was, hanged for a moment, smiling at him. He smiled back. Notwithstanding all the suffering that is embracing him like a mother snake protecting her little ones. But it lasted for a moment, just a speck in time, for the torture of that voice derailed the little sanity he had left, yet again.
His eyes, once so pure, became dull, empty as a starless night and lifeless as a kiss in the wind. They were merely animated by tiny crystal drops relentlessly decorating his pale cheeks. His face is covered in gloom that even Despair will close her own eyes in shame. Unfathomable and dreaded was his mind, a battle ground for his raging thoughts. “Why was I forsaken in this time of coldness, when I am fireless?” “You deserved it, it is your purpose…”, a faint reply was heard.
The clouds that caged his thoughts faded away and sprung a new chain, he then understood. He was evil made flesh.
The voice, in which he thought is as close as a heartbeat, mustered a soft laughter, perhaps wrapped in a discrete satisfaction knowing that he is trapped in his own darkness, the reeking stench of his lies and deceit. Eclipsing what his missing heart has spoken of, the only tongue a heart can ever speak of—Aphrodite’s crown.
A crown so enigmatic that living and dying for it blurred the line of comprehension, that when encountered by its blinding reflection, one would turn away and escape its light for reason of uncertainty, which in turn give birth to mediocrity. His mind, even when hammered by divinity, stood still, embracing what he believed from the beginning
His horns grew bigger, like branches of a tree that got entangled as time passes. Entangled with the knowledge that sprout naturally from itself. Itself being his awareness, demagnified and bleak, draining everything he stood for into fragments of lost memories. A black hole cast upon his very core, a frail prisoner.
“Forgive me..” whispers carried by the winds, a spell so profound that it stole is throat from him. His cries, once of formidable strength, able to echo even in the corners of the nine circles of hell itself, is gone. All that is left is a silent roar in his head, a fragile rage that does nothing to mitigate his plight.
He remembers the voice, its source he knew, it has a face. A face to which he was drawn, made him forget everything that ever existed. Everything that revolves around him. Yet he regrets none for everything happens for a reason, be it known or otherwise. His heart was charmed by hers. Cradled, in a manner that of a loving mother upon setting eyes on her precious child for the very first time. That intimate, inexplicable moment no one could unsee, undo, nor unlove. His filled heart was captivated, transcending even her own comprehension. He was healed, even so he need not be. Touched by the gods themselves, new lie bloomed—a rebirth.
A sacred unison was forged, bonded by blood, unwritten yet unbreakable. “I am aware of the consequences…”, and a hidden passage, a portal of trust was unveiled. The air was filled with bliss, ecstatic faes slaughtered every fiend of darkness, guilt and sorrow. Lilith has her unique way of indulging their existence. She never whispers incantation to their ears, they are willing victims, worshippers of her undying enormous divinity. Making any forms of life a captive, triumphant captives.
Yet triumph does not seat exactly on the same throne in the Cerebral Kingdom, it is true even with deities. For Aphrodite have her own triumphs but at times, were never enough. Realization embeds a curse so deep that even witches of higher knowledge tremble in fear with the mere thought of undoing such.
Upon him, two curses were offered through the air. One as potent as the other. One deliberately uttered in ritual and the other freed inadvertently. Both found him, blanket him more than a shadow. A serpent embracing him tightly, weakening his very core and making him gasp for each breath. No one cares, not even himself, as he wore these anathemas like he was clad in gold. “You deserve this…”, the voice.
The pain of his wound became stagnant, almost nothing compared to the twin curses. But he has to thread the path, the path that leads to nowhere, in between the past and the future, but not the present. Between everything and nothing.
Nowhere But Up
He heard your voice like a gentle wind caressing his ears, even when the room is full of random noise. His heart skipped a beat with each word. The four-cornered walls are filled with colors and laughter but yours were the only one he ever saw and heard. Amidst the clinking of bottles and the ceremonial sips, he gazed upon you without his eyes looking directly at you. Yet, somehow, he saw you as clear as pristine waters — beautiful, in a way no one could have ever perceived, not even yourself. Hours passed, but his time stood still, not knowing, notwithstanding the fact that the night is demonstrating its loveliness in full, glorious form, ready to devour anyone who’d be lost in its web. He did not care. All he wished for is to be possessed by your meekness, to be enslaved by your tapping hands as you utter enchantments projected on screen. He sat there, by your side, cherishing every ticking second. Bottles and plates emptied, doors opened, closed, steps taken, and then you were two.
He wished for prolonged time, alone…with you. The poison he drank has no influence over this, it was his heart calling. You knew. You trust him, with all your heart. And so the stars smiled, like never before. He put his arms around you tightly with his eyes closed, feeling your heart beating. Music to his ears. Your scent has captured him completely, he breathe it all in like an infant who has just been born to this world. It nurtured him. He touched your lips. Slowly. Your eyes closed. But he can see through them, they seem to call him, closer. Beckoning the call, his lips touched your forehead. Your soft cheeks. Your nose. He felt your breathing. Warm. Alive. His lips converged with yours. A sudden charge of majestic energy encompassed both your existence, fiery and passionate. He felt it. You did as well. He got lost, caught in a labyrinth of rapture that he wish not to be taken away from. His arms wrapped around you, caressing. Your soft, wordless whispers became melodies that would persistently be engraved in his mind, forever. You become a part of him. Undying. That moment was heaven revealing its face, unveiling its form.
But the ancient, bearded one holding a scythe and an hourglass has been awakened, much to his dismay for he wanted to be drowned, be immovable from this moment, never to let go. But Chronos moved and so did the world around him. His thirst for this moment in time is intoxicating, the intensity is blinding, even when it is relentlessly being replayed in his mind. He wanted to go back. He begs to go back. He shut his vision closed, because true beauty is invisible to the naked eyes. Then he sees her, in his own strange machine.
Nowhere But Up
The goddess, at the moment, is in flight. For how long, I do not know, it could be forever. But time is of no essence, it has no vitality anymore, for she already brought me the air I needed and it boiled my freezing blood for consumption. That is sufficient, yet again, the question regarding its longevity offers me no certainty. Like that of the hunger of a slave before a decent meal, I still feel my stomach wanting for more, even if to want more would be greed. Considering that everything is temporary, that permanence is extinct, this appetite is justified. Blessed are the souls who recognize contentment over unappreciated abundance.
I am a spoiler when looked upon with typical perspective and I would be your tragedy given the eyes of Adam. Somehow, the goddess lost her omniscience for even assuming that I am weak. She is not all-knowing after all, for strength is my anonymous twin, hiding behind crystal eyes, disclosing nothing for the taking of all. However, any explanation is unnecessary. The goddess is superior and doubts are not welcome. The thing is, somehow, the degree of difficulty digesting my reverie is so enormous that even the Great Ones falter and stumble on their footsteps. I am not one who would consider myself as one of the chosen few who outshines others. We are all wired differently in each other’s eyes, I am as strange as you are as I see you. The goddess is in flight and nobody can stop her, I would not even dare. I am a master of my own world and she is in hers. I refrain to engage and take influence. Even the Varda-led stars will not be able to pluck my elegant darkness from within me, in spite of it gnawing through its light. But the goddess had seen me embracing everything that I believed I won. Why will she flee? Perhaps her superior whispered, answering the question as it reflected me. It is fair. And pure. Gods and goddesses have their ways and so be it.
How lovely could it be to have my wandering soul back? Slowly fading in into me, its splendor empowers me beyond comprehension. For no one could ever take that away permanently, even the goddess herself. At times, I willingly expose my vulnerability to her but now is an exception, even if I could. Somehow, the goddess is within my grasp for I am still at her wings, but I have been reborn and has taken the path where I truly belong. I could not betray my roots a second time. I will not and will never be enslaved by emotions that the goddess ought not to see ever again. Like death, it is certain, unlike everything else. So I have known.
The goddess is in flight, I say again, and with her flies time. I stand still where no one ever held my hand and forced me to take a different step leading to unbeknownst gateways. I treasure my own path and am not afraid to be brought down to my knees by failures, for life itself is not the destination. My voyage defines me, within it lies satisfaction and fulfillment.
The goddess consumed my rotten being and vomited, not to my disbelief for it is foretold. Yet I still see her with the same eyes, for my shadow have been revealed before her, with her holiness having the littlest of awareness. It will not cease amidst the decaying spells, for what I brought is endless and abundant in my forlorn heart. Transcending the grave, my afflatus ablaze, but now will be stagnant, constant and ignored. In this instance, this may seem meaningless and of no substance to the goddess but the radiance of my own being will emerge and pierce her limitlessly when my mortal coil is finally wounded. For now, not yet, hidden I will still be and unknown is where I lie.
The goddess is in flight, all is as innocent as I am in the light of acknowledging. My comprehension towards such comes as a result of being a regular sightseer in this voyage that she is currently into. Yet I have reinforced myself not to be ruled by those same head demons, the other me. This is another manifestation that I put up battles, even with myself, for me not to succumb to weakness but I falter at times and severely gets hammered. The walls are high yet enticing, the summoning of iniquity, to mortal eyes, is strong. Everything seems to just come and go, a monster and a saint at the same time, duality in one, after all, we live in balance. If monstrosity pulls me away, then I do not have to worry that much. Infinity would be as strong.
Still the goddess glances at me from a distance, blazing sun but I looked away in caution even if the wanting, her eyes thread through mine, is exceptionally commanding. The chapter has been completed and acts as such is seemingly insignificant. While contemplating will not be harmful because the nuisance is now just a memory slowly fading away, I abstain from doing so. Besides, I have seen what I needed to see and felt what I needed to feel, so for now, I beckon my blindness and stay numb.
The goddess heard my voice without me moving my lips. I do not have to, anyway. Nevertheless, the words lingered on for a while, in the heart of the holy one, not knowing that those words were not figurative but undeviating. Yet it lost all its potency, all its mystery. Where were the hands that pulled me up and accompanied me in a flight originated out of godly thoughts? Still there but these hands let go and divorced with my own. Spiraling down I go. Other souls needed her hands more than she thought I need it, she is after all a goddess. With that premise, my apathy is resurrected.
The goddess is in flight above me but I will keep walking with my head cast down. My heart then follows.
Nowhere But Up
Shadows fill the night sky, hiding the stars and slowly encasing the moon in a black box. As the dryad walks slowly through the murky Forest of Despair and Emptiness, she comes upon a wounded warrior singing his requiem to the world. His voice caught her attention, so she closed her eyes…stood still… and listened. A feeling of peculiarity gripped her for she had walked this forest for ages in solitude and yet she wondered how a mortal, weak and powerless, is able to cross her path. For it was known that in the Forest of Despair and Emptiness it was a rarity that anyone would be on the same ground as the dryad. Nonetheless, if anyone did, they would wither and die.
He leaned against a massive tree, blood on his hands and a dagger, barely showing his face as his was covered with a silver mask. On his body, an array of battle scars, etched as if they were intricate symbols carefully designed as ornaments. But amidst all the blood and scars, he seemed numb to the pain. Reason has nothing to do with it, only her presence.
He continued to sing like no one was watching, unbeknownst to him that she is listening. She remained silent but her ears wandered and danced to the melancholic melody of his chanted cries. It lingered on until her initial intention to remain anonymous became futile. With eyes closed, her angelic voice rose in a chorus to his song sending thousands of ravens in flight into the deepness of the night.
Suddenly the moon revealed itself and thin rays of light seeped through the thick forest like hungry predators chasing their prey. Slowly, he removed his mask as if the advent of the moon gave him signal. His sweat-drenched hair splayed over his face like black veins crossing his eyes, caging it behind them. A sudden silence. Nothing moved, she stood still. The impulse to heal this wounded mortal is relatively strong within her, yet her powers are bound not to help beings not of the forest.
The mournful chants gently faded and came to a halt, awakening her from her reverie. She opened her eyes and found him there by the tree gazing at her. He held out his hand and she drew near the wounded warrior. She took his hand and sat by his side against the tree on the damp soil. He felt a sudden comfort as he speaks to her. She listened to him, telling tales of his battles, listened to stories of his victories and defeats, picturing every word in her mind. In return, she spoke to him telling him of her wanderings and fascinating encounters over her years of journey. The exchange of words was subtle and sincere, magical, even.
She had no encounter with such mortal yet she could tell that his heart is pure…all the more reason why he eluded death at the sight of her. The powers that engulfed the forest worked in reverse, for instead of bringing demise upon him, spawned new life. His wounds were beginning to desiccate as the bleeding stopped.
What transpired has taken its toll upon him as he looked expended, paving the way for her decision to leave him alone so he could rest. She hid him under the leaves with a mystical spell to conceal his presence since the gods forbid to keep mortals alive in the forest. As a result, for the moment being, they had to part ways. After a time, she came back to see him hoping that upon her removal of the concealing spell, he would endure all death whispers. Her faiths shone and his wounds were completely healed, the scars were clean and a certain glow redefined the windows to his soul. She was elated that the wrath of the gods was not upon him. That delight was evident in her eyes
She had always been cold as ice, but suddenly with his presence, warmth bathed her heart and a different blood flowed through her veins, she was ecstatic. She craved to hear more of his exploits, and once again, under the pale glow of the moon, they sat on the ground, exchanging words and filling each other’s emptiness.
Time elapsed but theirs stood still, bestowing a powerful bond between them. Now without having to utter a word, they conversed and profoundly comprehended. Like magic. Fires blazed and filled their surroundings. They were brought to an altered state of consciousness. Into another world…into another dimension unknown to them.
With hands clasped, they looked at each other’s eyes, seeing through their reflections a vision much of an awakening. The source of words finally touched. Good and evil, warmth and coldness, sorrow and joy, pain and pleasure…all the opposing forces of nature were suddenly mixed in a rough whirlwind, sending them to different vistas. Very much like the transition from reality to dreams, a marriage of both the firmament and the abyss. They felt like they were in heaven but in its twisted form. The flames consumed them. They became one.
Death has not taken them and neither the fire died completely. Warmth filled their skin as a seemingly insignificant flame burns constantly in their hearts. It served as a key, revealing the paths of the forest never before seen. Illusions of doors and pathways, flashing like the northern lights in the sky, presented a whole new realm before them. The dryad herself was mystified by such visions for they were sights that she had never seen before. Even with her lengthy time of existence in the forest, she never knew that these hidden paths existed.
The landscapes emit so much splendor that his eyes were not able to focus on a single scenery. Her eyes depict his. No one knew if the gods were the ones responsible for such beauty, nor if the place existed long before them, only to be hidden in secrecy, awaiting the worthy to unravel the mystery. They may never know the truth behind the majestic hidden forest but its revelation alone transcends both their imagination. They were already slaves to its beauty and lights.
She suddenly danced elegantly through the winds, circling in subtle motions like being guided by the winds. He watched her with eagerness. Each movement of the dryad did not escape his eyes, she was floating like an ascending angel and her hands were like butterflies in flight. He was entranced. Her dancing built up magnificently for she was listening to and captured by an odd-timed music that she seemed to be enjoying. It was his fluctuating heartbeat.
He was, in some way, paralyzed by the euphoric moment. He cannot move a limb yet he felt he was floating with her, blown away with every sway. She then slowly moved closer to him, turning and spinning around him as if she was casting a spell amidst his amazement. He gave in to the imaginary spell only because he wanted to be consumed by her, a willing victim he would be just for her.
For the longest time since his forlorn chants, words failed to escape their lips. They were communicating to each other’s souls through their glances and movements. Still dancing gracefully to the rhythm of his breathing and heartbeat, she held him carefully in her arms as if he owned all the fragility of the world. He was as fascinated as a newborn, staring deeply into her. She was his shield.
He thought he had the understanding to everything, but the very moment with her, taught him otherwise. The elegance was filling him up with inexplicable bliss, making him lose his breath and mind to the swelling exultation encompassing him all over. It painted his mind how angels actually dance and he thought he loved it, in fact, he did. They made the doves envy with their dance in flight.
The wind carried her aloft as she held his hands in pure intimacy, gently walking her fingers through his palms, his arms then his back, his hair then his lips, his eyes then his face, walking her fingers through him. He found no reason to stop what was happening, not that he wanted to. For he could go on through all eternity just holding and embracing her. Being as close as he could possibly be to her soul, he never grasped any thought of remorse. Because to him, it was everything. It was all there was, all that matters. Other than her beside him, there was none, nothing existed. Not even the honor brought by triumphs of the grandest battles in different ages that the warrior fought in, could come nigh to the priceless treasure that his hands was holding at that very moment–her.
She was the missing vital cog of his existence whom he was unconsciously searching for in his lifetimes. It was unclear to him what he was looking for until that instance that she found him in the woods. In her, he found the preciousness that no kingdom and wealth could ever offer him. Not even eternity itself could rival. For without her, he would betray immortality.
The dryad was singing, dancing and smiling, an indication that she was relishing the time they were both having. He knew that, like him, she finds this occurrence primordially uncharted. Both of them were in a deep trance that their dance in flight lasted for centuries, locked in an embrace as close as their souls and as tight as their skins.
It has been said that several lifetimes have passed yet to both of them time stood still and was frozen. The sun never showed its face upon them but their entwined souls know no darkness. The flames in their hearts were ablaze and were enough to light up everything around them, including the moon which glowed extremely like it never shone before. They had given birth to a new world–their own world.
Awakened, he endlessly looked into her eyes as if there was nothing to see other than those two charmingly, sparkling stars painted on her ever-pleasant, soft face. She could melt him with a single glance in any given instance without even trying. The power of her eyes, to him, was as dramatic as the sunlight kissing the abyss of the vast ocean.
Words were of no vitality to them as they only traded passionate looks, breeding a mystery that only the two of them could possibly comprehend. They pierced each other’s souls with wordless spears of adoration and respect. So even without her moving a lip, the warrior knew that she adores him dearly and deeply, depicting his feelings for her. It was deliberately mutual and it was perfect.
Their lips united another time, still as passionate as the very first time they touched. Maybe even a hundred times more passionate as their tongues lost modesty. Both of their hands became explorers of pungent desires, freely waiting to be unveiled like wild beings, hungry and thirsty. They ripped each other’s outer shells apart to give way for their inner beings–their souls made love timelessly and intensely amidst the skies and the winds. The fire in their hearts grew more madly and they glow in unison above the swaying grass in the woods as the moon closed its eyes in shyness. The warmth of Aphrodite’s daggers drained their floating bodies as it continued to follow the motion of the winds. And they became a fragment of each other’s existence, just one blood flowed through their veins. So prominent and enormous they had become that even space and time could not hold them. Twin souls, they are one since olden times.
While still enclosed in a tight embrace, she discovered that his eyes were suddenly flooded with tears. Tears of overflowing joy, of fear and amazement. It touched the ground like a raging rain, summoning even the dead flowers to bloom. His joy and amazement need no enlightenment but he fears the fact that all he holds dearly, goes away eventually like a curse. That in every long, dark cave that he had struggled in, whenever he finally sees the light, it seemed that it fades away from him every time. He knows no reason why.
He had died a thousand deaths amidst his battles, and his scars and wounds tell her so. He tried to eclipse the tears but failed. It kept raining. Because he treasured her so much. She was his light. To see it fade away was his fear, and the moon wept with him.
The harmony of their beating hearts came to an alarming pace for one lagged the other. The synchronicity was halted as a result of a void, placing the hearts’ cadence in disarray. It was his heartbeat fading slowly.
In an effort of trying to revitalize his dwindling heartbeat, the dryad, fully aware of what was happening, drew a breath from her very soul and kissed him. Yet very strangely, he continued to lose strength even after she had given him her consecrated breath. His half-opened eyes looked through her with all his devotion and adoration. He still saw her, even in that moment when the underworld was trying to cloud all his thoughts.
Her kiss of life could not stabilize his weakened heartbeat, this truth struck her with unbearable sorrow. She might lose him. Her powers were insufficient to save him. And for the first time, she cried out for help. No one responded, but in the moment when she was about to abandon all hopes, came voices from nowhere. Finally, the gods heard her and spoke in unison.
“Forbidden is this undertaking but upon seeing that thou and the warrior possessed the purity of hearts and cleanliness of souls, thou art given a choice that no other gods hath given any other creation before. After the flame in the warrior’s heart die down, thou art granted the powers of giving half of the flame in thine own heart for him to live, and thou and the warrior art given the blessing of being together for the remainder of thine lives. But in consequence, thou art condemned of all wealth of the forest, and of the forest itself, that for many ages thou hath given life and hath lived in and hath guarded. Thereafter, there will be no turning back.”
The words of the gods echoed to the dryad as clear as pristine waters. It made her shiver. For she loves the forest and its wealth, and no one could ever feel otherwise, the reason being that it offers everything one could possibly need. Yet she adored the warrior so much that she wanted to save him at the same time. She could not bear the thought of losing him, giving birth to a new scar, a new wound, a new death.
But the warrior embraced her with all his remaining strength, leaving a promise that through the skies and fires, he will always be with her. His heartbeat, like a lost song, faded away with each passing second and finally reached the end as the flame in his heart flickered and dance before going out with resistance. A part of the surrounding dimmed, offering a moment of silence.
And in her palms engraved the key to his life and his death.
Nowhere But Up
She floated on her own ocean of tears while unknowingly transfiguring the desert. Her body, transilluminated by a source uncertain, peacefully lies at the surface of the “water”. With eyes shut, her thoughts glided in depths she has never delved into.
“Was it all too late?” She silently asked, depicting waterfalls. She is still weeping. It was daytime, yet there was no sign of light from anywhere, save for that one strange source which serves like a spotlight upon her withered, lying existence. Time defeated aging, so it seemed, unmoving. Her consciousness was on a celestial journey that she, herself, knows nothing about. “When will it stop?” But did she really want to cease it all?
The continuous, bizarre absence of enough light never seemed to bother her oh, so “peaceful” moment, which words alone cannot define. It is like taking the 18th breath of the Merkaba meditation, leading one into the 4th dimension – a world of the spirits, but including the scars and wounds.
The streams of tears from her sewn eyes veiled half of her face, expanding the water where, for hours, her body was nailed. From atop, her solemn solitude was reminiscent to that of Calvary, devoid of the two crosses, yet the forsakenness that encompassed both scenes was precisely locked. And he holds the key. But not the only key, for another is hidden within her deeply engraved craving for utopia. A tool that would uncover her to manifest her real self.
Deep into her coma-like trance, her higher self had spoken softly to her in tongues that were foreign even to immortality. But not to her. Her ears were walled from the three-dimensional plane around her, yet the words echoed within her. Crystal clear like her tears that gave birth to the body of water embracing her. Enough to pierce her thoughts amidst her timeless slumber.
Calmly being swayed by the “waves” that she unconsciously created, the caress of her tears delighted her whole body but was not enough to silent the voice of her inner self, repeatedly whispering, “You must have fins to learn how to swim”. Not because of her early age nor of the exodus of her mortal lucidity, but largely because of her anima holding her by the neck that she crossed the threshold of obscurity. She wanted to break the chains that bind her self from facing all of her fears, but she thought that would only open a path leading to disarray, so she gave in to the voices that she was hearing. She was precise, notwithstanding the persistent crystal-like fluid flooding her eyes.
Memories of him unexpectedly eclipsed the halo of strength that occupied the space supposedly reserved for the possibility of her setting eyes upon him again. Truly, despite the primal thought of him not coming back, she desired their paths to cross once more. Even if she knows not what to do when that moment arrives, nor if that moment comes to fruition. For destiny is cruel and they are both captives waiting for it to take its course.
As she pierced deeply on devouring all thoughts about him, an enigmatic change was revealed in the the waters, turning a portion of it into red. Unaware of what to become of her ocean of tears, the piece of “paradise” within her continued its embrace. When suddenly, the rain fell, so she thought, breaking her peace as the windows of her soul remained closed. The “rain” touched her entirety while she wondered why it was unusually warm. A riveting feeling roused her as the warm liquid fell to her lips, and to her bewilderment, it tasted like blood! Slowly, the sources of tears pry open, ending the weeping, finally.
As she opened her eyes, a figure suspended aloft greeted her sight. She was so enthralled with what has unfolded before her eyes, that she never noticed the once crystal-clear ocean of tears surrounding her was turned into a sea of blood. Yet her all-white dress was free from bloodstains. Wet, but remained in pure, cleansing white.
The calm, red water was suddenly disturbed by a wave-like splash from beneath her. She felt something moved from her back as she was intensely looking at the figure above. It came from her. Before she could turn her eyes to see what it was, the red ocean cradled her up. To her amazement, she grew six wings, each as twice as big as her. She was a seraph!
Her wings swiftly flew her towards the figure from the sky. From her distance, she could hardly see what it was. Just a blur, a silhouette, a source of the “red rain” which touched her lips, breaking her long serenity.
With an immeasurable acceleration, she drew nearer to the figure, casting its very existence to her sight. She finds no reason why, but the figure’s pull on her was tremendous, like a mother to a child. As she drew nearer, the figure was unveiled, it was a man baring his heart. Her own heart was hammering, unreservedly, as she stared at him. She cannot resist touching him, so she did. With both hands, she held his bleeding heart like holding a fragile hourglass of life. He was wounded. Weak. Dying. Her hands never left his heart, as if it served as a life support to a timed mortal. She kept her sight only to him, winked not even once, as the warm blood of the man gloved her tiny, soft hands. She could feel his slow breathing and despite its abominable outer shell, she could see thorough him that once he was of great beauty.
His beauty, nevertheless, was veiled by all those wounds caused by a rather strange mutation. It never escaped her. She could clearly see everything, almost like a goddess of omniscience – know everything, see everything. The “red water” below them got thicker as his blood fell like rain on a stormy night, rapidly furious. His blood eclipsed her earlier tears.
In the twilight of his last breaths came silent words. He spoke to her without opening his mouth, yet she heard him and his words touched her soul, “Worthy, I am not…” Her eyes formed crystals but her inner self held them back as his lifeless body floated with her in the sky.
Shivering, her left hand reached for a bloody fabric garment that she saw on his hand. She wrapped it around her tightly. It was her shawl.
Her other hand was still holding his wounded heart when her fingers found its way to a ring embedded in it. Engraved in the ring were bold letters that spelled out her name. She gently wore the ring that bore her name on it. It shone like the stars in the darkest of nights. It was hers, by destiny. She knew. The lifeless body by her side was him whom she loved, but the actuality of which remained a mystery. Even to him.
He was a fiend. His horns were broken and he suffered innumerable wounds. A bleeding fiend with a heart trying to betray what he really is and cease his mutation to manifest his devotion for her. He adored her but she was blinded.
Birds serenaded. The sun revealed its face. A bow of seven colors exalted the ether. She screamed in silence.
Nowhere But Up
The moon painted the night sky with beauty as he, the vespertine soul, gazed upon a kindred spirit through a vibrant screen. The darkness of the lunar scene outside gave birth to the stars that, in some way, provided the moon company. Like that of an offspring to a lovely mother, the stars put a smile on the moon’s face that made it spell-bindingly eye-catching.
His eyes glared through the screen as if it is a window leading to a dimension beyond human imagination, although in that particular moment, thoughts of her existence was as foreign as the dead tongues that humanity’s first beings spoke in. Nevertheless, she touched him deeply in a manner so indefinable.
He then revealed to her a glimpse of his mind’s reflections and she responded. That of which made him unwillingly charmed to gain more knowledge about her, the kindred spirit. They are, after all, both children of the night, and that, somehow, made sense.
The connection did not cease. Furthermore, it became intense and rewarding as he treasured it so preciously like a fragile heart, one that can decide dramatically the fate of one’s life. The result became lovelier, more light, each passing day. A light that abyss dwellers like him were uncomfortably deprived of.
However, the underworld is nothing new to him, he frequent the place for he is Hades’ friend. Yet her impression did not escape him, he feeds on it like the thirst for water after a painful drought. He embraced it as if it was the last thing to hold on to in a crumbling world. How can such light mesmerize someone of the underworld? The mystery is so blissful and nurturing to him.
A gathering of kindred spirits was announced. His fervor heightened, so amplified as he was talking to her continuously regarding this. He waited for days for that moment to come, the moment he could finally meet and gaze upon her in the flesh, not just in the images of reflection flashed through a screen. His eagerness, however, took its toll as he was let down by his own self.
He was shattered. He collapsed for killing himself as he always does. His moment slipped away into tiny pieces but she was ecstatic for she had set eyes on yet another old soul like her. While she was having the time of her life, he laid shattered come his resurrection. Heaven and hell.
Fortunately, his death did not last that long, for another gathering spawned. He cannot let this go to waste like the previous moment. He need to see her no matter what it takes and no tragedy could stop him from doing just that, even the temporary loss of breath. Consequently, he prepared himself for the great opportunity offered upon him. The intense enthusiasm is still there, like a raging ache. He became a stranger’s captive, a slave to an unknown entity. Nothing like it.
Then came the significant meeting, he was alone and she was likewise, and though they came there for different personal reasons, it was perfect and enough. He saw her and the gods smiled. He ceased breathing for a moment as she approached him but he did not reveal any traces of it, like the secrecy that binds the unsolved mysteries of life itself.
They talked to each other like there was no tomorrow, as if they knew each other lifetimes ago. So real, so pure, so sincere that it gave them something to hold on to, divinity made flesh. In a world of lies and deception, that moment was godly.
He spoke his heart and soul out and she listened deeply, she spoke her heart and soul out and he listened deeply, the kind of treasure that will make the deaf and the mute regret their fate considerably. It is something magical, perhaps.
He never felt like that for a very long time so he quivered in a very encouraging, yet odd, manner. She made him laugh an honest laugh and he thought that was so special. Indeed, he also thought, so special for strangers to talk to each other with such depth and substance. He adored it, adored her.
He was reborn in a different, yet distinct way, like the once beautiful angel of the ether who revolted from the structured frame that everybody else embrace. The rebirth, the radical change that in the eyes of the models define sin. He appeared to be fearless, for everything seemed nothing to him, everything had no meaning, save for the thought, the need, for him to be with her at that very moment. For him, that was heaven within a grasp, a piece of paradise in his hands. Therefore, he embraced it. Yet, inevitably so, the moment had to end, leaving him still breathless but incredibly euphoric.
The absence made his heart go fonder, he was talking to her even in his deepest sleep. He cannot shield himself from the irresistible essence of the soul that enslaved him beautifully. He thought it would be relatively very foolish if he denies his desire for him to lay eyes upon her again. Destiny was unexpectedly generous for it smiled at him gracefully, subtle yet very meaningful.
That smile came upon him like death, unforeseen, and for this reason, made it even sweeter than it already was. The extension of her momentary solitude had put joy upon his heart for it also meant prolonged time with her. His heart pounded like footsteps of dinosaurs running after a prey, the excitement crawled upon him anew and he could not be less grateful.
In eventuality, he had laid eyes at her again, but this time it redefined the meaning of intensity and took it to a characteristic of extreme degree. He looked at her in a different level, transcending words to describe it for there is none, his feelings was as pure as the consciousness and innocence of an infant child. He tried to cage his senses, tried so hard but he did not find a way to contain it for it was too strong and his heart eventually burst.
His heart gave in. The brimstone and fire of hell is cold in comparison with the flames that stood gloriously amidst the two souls that harmoniously bonded. The energy was so enormous and encompassing–the embrace, the touching of the source of sound and words, the slow opening and closing of the windows of souls, the warmth of the blood when pressed on skin, the locked hands of compassion, the scent of the air when breathing deeply.
Everything was in its proper place, like an assembled puzzle, each one is needed, impossible to solve with a missing cog, all are vital and connected. Perfection has its own way to reveal itself and that moment is one. He cannot deny it, even she, for he sees it through her eyes the way she looked through his eyes. They both clearly saw sincerity and deep serenity in each other’s arms.
The moment. Time stood still, they wounded it.
Seemed like forever. Two nights. The moment. The world ceased. The moment, that was all there was. That was the only thing that matters.
Utopian bliss poured upon their feet. He revered her more than his life. She knew it. Nocturnal souls and kindred spirits shared the same dream. In that moment. So it would seem.
Nowhere But Up
A month had gone by since the incident floored me literally, but it never really crawled away from my thoughts. I have been trying to escape from it but the grasp is strong. Every fragment of the incident flashes back in my head like pesky mosquitoes that have never sucked enough blood for the day – thirsty and crazy and kept coming back. It reminded me in such details, as pristine as if I was in some suspense thriller film and was casted as victim number one.
It was the second to the last day of the second month of the year, roughly some few hours before dawn, I lost track of time. Nothing new there for I usually have no sense of time after drinking the night away. After having a few rounds with some acquaintances I was on my way home and was sitting next to the man named “the cab driver” whom I paid to get my tired existence home in one piece.
We were talking senselessly but merrily as we pollute the night air with our smoking vile, somewhat creating clouds coming out from the cab’s open windows. The man was a former musician so we got along well and talked about a myriad of stuff regarding the so-called rock and roll lifestyle, whatever that means. I think he was cool so I decided to tell him that we take my usual route home to spare him from showing me his masterful maneuvering technique in tight spaces. More importantly, for him to get his arse back on the road as quickly as possible before wee-hour-passengers like me get extinct.
I compensated the man for he kept his word and stuck to our agreement – to take me to my destination in one piece. In this regard, I willingly took more steps than I was supposed to when I could have easily requested the cab driver to bring me right in front of our gate. Stupid? Maybe, but at that time, it seemed that it was the right thing to do. It appeared immaculate, as if some voices whispered in my head that I should do exactly that. It was not the first time that I have done such or should I say, in an unexceptional perspective, it was not the first time that stupidity struck me. I am a loony bin visitor occasionally, besides, who is not? So despite our abrasive uniqueness from each and every one, we all have something in common, I guess.
The dawn was deprived of suffice light and some busted streetlights undoubtedly contributed to the loveliness of the still darkness before my half-opened eyes. I was walking, a little slower than my usual strides, with only my own blurry and distorted shadow as companion. I have convinced myself that I was not that drunk, but that is the drinker’s mantra, right? Like a stupid spell to cloak the alcohol’s effect. Then out of nowhere, a shadow that differs from mine started to move rather hastily towards my direction. I shrugged it off and did not give much attention since it happens to me all the time. It was a typical scenario, so I thought that things cast weird shadows as you walk down silent, dark pathways. I am so used to that.
So I continued walking, erasing all suspicious thoughts, when suddenly I was able to inadvertently take a glance peripherally of something shimmering on my right side. It alarmed me so I took a quick look and saw a knife and at about the same time that a hand touched my back and uttered something that was not audible enough for me to comprehend. I was uncertain regarding the hand and the words because my focus was on the knife and not really on anything else. Other thoughts just vanished in thin air, without me having to hold and digest it for a while.
Everything is such a blur, fast-forwarded to a high degree. After seeing the knife, it finally occurred to me that I was in a situation that I am not used to this time. I spat out a remark, “Uuuy!” realizing that this was not a joke, turned my back and tend to run the opposite direction. Unfortunately, it was a blunder in gigantic proportions for there were others lurking behind my back, waiting for me to commit that mistake. I was so accustomed to Freddy Krueger’s humor not knowing that it was Limp Bizkit’s front man that I would be hearing that moment. Now I know why the figure in a red cap kept saying “Sige, tumakbo ka!” Those words echoed to me as if I was in some military camp hearing a power-hungry commanding official belting his lungs out in my eardrums. However, “Fred Durst” made that impact with a whisper.
Eventually, it came to a point that my only option would be to slug it out and resist them. One versus four or five or six, I cannot tell but the number was insignificant as one thing was certain – I was obviously outnumbered and was on the losing end. Undoubtedly, if I were a competitor on some sort of a fighting game, no well-minded and expert gamblers will bet their bucks on me. I was prey to my young predators.
I swung my fists aimlessly against my adversaries, who seem to be coming out from all directions, not really minding where it actually land. Just a way of manifesting my desperate and absurd attempt to prolong their foreseen, glorious conquest, at my expense. I do not know how the Fellowship of the Ring won their battle against the armies of Mount Doom considering that they were largely outnumbered, because I, inescapably, was denied of any chances of pulling it off, able to stand and have the same fate as them. Realization suddenly came tumbling down and I with it, reminding me that this is the real world and it was staring me in the face.
After maybe two grueling minutes, I found myself kissing and making love to the ground, a predicament that did not propose disbelief. Amidst the kicking and cursing, I yelled, “Tama na! Tama na!” To my amazement, some bastards do know how to listen and actually do what they were told. They stopped nailing me down and slowly walked away from me in reverse, planting their gaze upon me while I embrace my bag as if holding the most precious of possessions.
Reason may be that I just wanted to experience how it actually feels like to be in some fight. I have not been in a real fight since the day I was born. I was a fistfight virgin. Not that I crave to beat someone’s ass up and do the macho stuff but the curiosity of being in a battle has haunted me for a long time. Finally, I acquired the ancient knowledge of how it actually feels like as my curiosity threw me down, big time. Maybe, just maybe, that was the reason. Yet some other greater ratio tells me that it was not. I still am figuring out the why and what but I am not in any haste.
The ceasefire gave me time to stand up for a second and as I slowly raised my head up, my nose bled like a scarlet well dripping through my dirty-white, short-sleeved polo down the ground. I was a mess. Bloodstains redesigned my polo instantly. In spite all, I felt no pain, cheers to the alcohol I consumed that night! However, I was exhausted, slowly losing the little strength I had left.
All my predators were in front of me, their faces depict masks in the middle of the dark, unrecognizable even to my beer-infused eyesight. They were mere silhouettes, which was the closest I could get myself remembering. I was not drunk, by the way, I remember the drinker’s mantra. The sacred incantation of convincing yourself otherwise. Hail Dionysus! The name you unconsciously bash when having blackouts and patched-up memories after the long-hour drinking spree.
I was yet to stand up straight when suddenly one of my predators hurled a rock that found its mark right on my face. Just like that, I was dancing with dirt a second time. All seemed fuzzy for a while, thanks to the golf ball-sized rock thrown at me, that I hardly recognized the face of the one that rapidly approached me and took away my bag. I did not let go of my bag right away while lying down. We were playing tug-of-war when it came to me that what I was doing was foolish. I was definitely not carrying the wealth of the world in my bag so I decided to let go and let the other fool win the tug-of-war. Besides, there was nothing of value inside the bag, just some communication device with numbers and letters on it which lights up when pressed, some random rectangular papers that have faces printed on the left side, digits indicating its value and some people’s signature.
Then it hit me, my bag did contain some things that were important. There were audio and video CDs, some of which were not mine. Tolkien’s The Silmarillion book that I also borrowed. Some scratch papers, which seemed trapped in my bag for a million years, containing irrelevant random thoughts written down that may be prologues to epic pieces. Some images that preserved lovely memories. Not to mention the accumulated dirt inside my bag brought about by daily don’t-touch-my-bag-leave-it-as-it-was-yesterday habit.
As I lay in the ground alone, I saw my predators fading into the vast darkness, one of the few moments that the absence of light betrayed me. I also came into a realization that pain is an illusion and Maynard James Keenan is correct. That moment was an indicator, for I felt no pain but still greatly exasperated.
The scoundrels were gone and I stood up feeling incredibly weak as if I fought head-to-head with Doomsday. I looked down my polo to check if what happened was all just a dream. Reality greeted me with a grin and found out that I was truly a mess. The blood on my clothes told me so. “Looks real to me”, I sighed.
Then the voices in my head spoke softly, telling me that I should not show up at home in that state for it could get uglier. I thought of my mother, she has a weak heart especially with this kind of incident. So I decided to go to someone I know who is near, someone more likely to be still up during those hours, used to dealing with such situation and would not panic and be calm somehow. I only have one person in mind – my childhood and closest friend in our neighborhood who is not of our bloodline.
Suddenly, I remembered the knife so I thought I have been stabbed most probably but I quickly trashed the idea and convinced myself that I was not because I felt no pain as of yet. Fortunately, I did not gather enough courage to look for wounds. I was running, I thought I was, but realized I was too weak to run, so I probably just walked fast but felt like I was running. Glided away like a ghost.
Faintly, I was favoring the left side of my stomach and holding it with my right hand. I do not know why, but I was still devoid of any pain. Yet again, a toss to alcohol that somehow served as an anesthesia considering the battering I withstood. Each passing second was draining me and I felt like the wind was carrying me aloft but unable to see the beauty of the stars and the moon if it hanged in the sky during that moment. I was a zombie.
In that condition, I was able to reach my friend’s abode and I screamed his name and banged their gate like hell. Then out came my friend, my earthly savior at that time, calmly asking me why I was there. A peek of my head hanging above their gate was initially what he saw. So as he opened their gate, I asked him “Pare, tingnan mo nga kung me tama ako?” and after checking my body for lacerations, he replied, “Wala naman pare, ah.” Nevertheless, I was quick to suggest that he take a closer look and he did and regretted to inform me that I indeed hosted stab wounds. I felt terribly weaker upon hearing it, twice faster than that of the previous rate that I was losing strength. The dreaded thought came to me closer than ever – that I might die.
My savior-friend rushed me to what he knew as a nearby hospital but unfortunately, we were denied admission for reason of unavailability of appropriate facilities to attend to cases like mine. I have later found out that that hospital was a “lying-in” clinic. A silly incident to lighten up my then crumbled spirit.
So my friend decided to leave his tricycle, our ambulance, and get a cab for us instead, which he successfully did. I was beginning to feel intense pain, perhaps the potency of alcohol was beginning to die down and what a time to come, I told myself. Just perfect.
Silence surrounded me and no words left my lips neither, I am too weak to even speak. The ride to the hospital took forever, even when I knew that my friend clearly informed the driver that I need to be in a hospital right away. Feeling anxious, I screamed, “Bakit ang tagal? Malayo pa ba?” repeatedly. Good thing, I was obviously bleeding so the driver probably understood why I was acting so irritated, otherwise, I could have easily pissed him off with my act and could eventually end up with the same dilemma.
The agony was raging and it made me even frailer, spiked with the constant blood that I was losing from my gashes. I was praying, “Please not like this, not like this.” I am not a religious person but I am spiritual. Yet death was knocking, so close that I could actually smell her. I ceased talking and my eyes were less than half-closed, I was in a daze.
Remember those scenes in movies wherein a character was about to die and he/she sees blinding, white lights? That was true for me. I did see it. There was nothing but the lights and it felt like I was unconsciously there. Walking through the valley of the shadow of death, so to speak.
I saw it for a few seconds, only because my friend, embodying a true one, probably noticed that I was too quiet, suddenly tapped me and told me that I should not sleep. He just would not let me. His voice woke me up from my psychedelic state and his constant “Pare, wag ka matutulog ha, kung hindi papatayin kita!” encircled my ears and kept me awake. I owe that much to the man. He proved that he was not kidding when he told me several times that he would always see me as a brother. Somehow, I knew.
We finally reached the hospital after enduring several minutes, which felt like days, of suffering and my angel friend needed to leave after my admission to attend to important things he left regrettably at home. There was I, left to the mercy of the nurses in the Emergency Room. Several of them attended to me and started asking me what happened as they stripped me off my clothes and body-piercing jewelries. I know that they were just doing their jobs but I easily got annoyed with their questions since I was more concerned about the great pain building up within me than giving a detailed account of what happened. A simple reply was all I could afford – “I was stabbed”. Nurses come and go but they always came back to me with the same questions, “What happened? Did you know who did it?”
The next thing I know was that I was being stitched by one of the nurses, to stop the bleeding somehow. I was too numbed by the much greater internal pain for me to take notice of the needle piercing my skin during the stitching process. I then realized that I knew nobody from the vicinity and my predators might have followed me all the way to the hospital waiting for the right opportune moment to finish their business. Paranoia took the better of me and that freaked me out.
Trying desperately to contain myself to run berserk, my eyes scanned the area for suspicious-looking, other than me, individuals including those cladded in white robes and uniforms. I performed that scrutiny amidst the undying ache hammering me internally. For several minutes, maybe for hours, I stayed lying down in one position in spite of its tiresome nature while waiting to see what happens next. Nothing much happened save for the increasing number of bloody (literal, not the Brit expression) patients in the Emergency Room and me trying to shake off the nightmare inside my stomach.
Roughly, more than an hour had passed by when my sister and aunt came. This gave me someone I could talk to regarding my complaints – why was I still in this room? Why was it hurting that bad? Was there a doctor somewhere? All the queries from a patient clearly in suffering. Perhaps I got the goat of the nurses that they inserted those soft plastic hoses into my nose and into my you-know-where. Those things were vicious to anyone, pain was not an illusion that time. That was the first time I got hospitalized that I have known of. I believed that I have a high tolerance to pain but the experience really turned my tolerance knob to the brink of collapsing, it was horrifying.
My father came after he had contained and pacified my mother at home – she lightly passed out after hearing what happened. My father’s and sister’s eyes talked to me and gave me hope, as if they were shouting at me that I needed to be strong and stay alive. It appeared to me that I had no choice but to do just that. It was truly amazing to see those eyes.
Then came the dramatic entrance of the doctors. After examining my x-ray, which I felt had already gathered dust from the longtime of waiting, proclaimed that I needed to undergo operation, just to be sure. Upon hearing that, I asked one of the doctors what were my chances of surviving and he replied, “You could die, you could live, but I hope you live.” I do not know if that was supposed to be funny or I was just losing my sense of humor at that time, but I did not laugh, nor even smiled.
The statement clouded my mind with what-ifs and uncertainties. I thought to myself, if that was the case, that since I was in a 50-50 situation, I might as well not go through the operation because there was no assurance after all. Soon enough I told my aunt that I refuse to undergo operation anymore but she told me that I must and the doctor was just kidding – a statement that I knew she just brought up to strengthen my wounded hope.
What was I supposed to do? I was lying helpless in bed so there was no other way but to give in to what she told me. Yet the thought that I might perish there bothered me incredibly. The reality that I have no certainty of what could transpire and the truth that the outcome was out of my hands have put me in the dirt. It made me insane more than I already was.
I know how fascinated I was with death but for the first time, I was scared of her. I could not explain exactly why but I do not look forward to meet her just yet. Not because I love and cherish my life or something like that, I simply do not want to end up lifeless that instance. Possibly, I was scared, maybe because I refrain from accepting that my mortal coil be cut in that fashion. For it would be very hard for the people, my love ones, whom I would left behind to accept the tragedy. I know it would be a spirit-grinder and I despised the thought of it.
In the middle of this brewing storm inside my mind, I was uttering prayers every given opportunity while I was being carried away to the judgment chamber – the Operating Room., There were nurses again along the way, asking me the same questions as when I first came in hours ago. There was even this one that made a comment regarding the way I look and remarked, “Kaya naman pala nasaksak ka, ganyan itsura mo eh, ang dami mo pang tattoo. Ikaw ba yung nahold-up or ikaw yung nanghold-up?” Not verbatim but close. Under normal circumstances, I would have had smiled on that one but I was busy praying and have totally jumped into my outside world like the autistic that I was, so all words that I have heard were just passed by like bees buzzing from nearby.
My exclusive ride, the rolling bed, transported me from places to places, as I lie down faced-up while all those ceiling lights danced before me, hurting my eyes. I felt like a celebrity behind a pageant of flashing cameras. It sure did make a perfect cloaking alibi when my eyes tend to well up. I was not crying, the light made me blink too much.
The magical rolling bed finally reached its destination and found myself repeatedly asking nurses if I could truly survive the operation. Some just kept silent and looked away save for one and to my gratitude, told me that everything would be fine. It was music to my ears. Like hearing a chorale of angels amidst beautiful harp symphonies. While it was heavenly, I shook my head and told myself no, not yet. “Everything would be fine” that was all I wanted to hear. In all honesty, I needed it.
I was inside the judgment chamber. Almost everyone in there began talking to me, telling me how cute my tattoos were, asking where I got them made. My reply was blunt, straightforward yet lifeless. I know that they were just trying to help make me feel at ease by leading my thoughts to go somewhere else rather than just drown to the thought that I was about to be cut open. It was a nice gesture but it did not work, I was so fixated to the one thing that I should not be focused on – the operation.
Upon seeing it, one asked me about the scars on my forearms and I told her that it was my way of paying homage to Johnny. I was humoring myself because I was chickening out as if my balls were shrinking to microscopic proportion. They were strapping me to the bed, I supposed, as one nurse carefully placed something like a gas mask and instructed me to take ten deep breaths. Being the obedient person that I was, I did, while I looked straight at the light in front of me.
Suddenly all was fading away. It was a strange feeling all over again. The only thing I was hearing was the sound of the beeping machine, the indicative interpreter if you are still with humankind or not. A few moments took its course and I have found myself in the arms of Somnus, without even encountering the faces of those performing the task at hand. Not that it mattered. I was asleep.
My soul left my body and went on a journey to somewhere so far that I do not even have the slightest of idea where, nor if it was really taking place. I was dead to the world. Blankness was all there was. Not a single fragment of memory had been aroused and explored. It would appear that Sandman has taken me to a grand tour in his kingdom and I could have enjoyed my stay there. I was, for the time being, his willing captive, subliminally traversing the vast landscapes of the world of the unconscious.
After forever, my eyes concluded its long repose and vision of an unfamiliar room slowly crept in. I carefully surveyed the surroundings, frame by frame, for winged or horned beings but fortunately gazed upon a nurse next to a table at the very end of the room. I was in the recovery room, alive, alongside several empty beds.
I tried to move and found out that my hands were bound and the next thing I remembered was the nurse’s needle finding its way into my skin. I have no understanding what it was and what it was for but it did not bother me. I was still too weak to even question the trivial. Perhaps for the reason of undergoing the procedure and the meds, I began throwing up some really nasty vile. Was it still the beer that I downed the night before? I shall never know.
It felt like I was in a very deep sleep for a very long period of time. As if it had gone all the way up through judgment day and only the sound of angels’ trumpets made me awake. The sound of judgment day trumpets came in the form of voices of friends outside the room, conversing with each other about something that I was unable to decipher. It was an indescribable pleasure to hear their voices again, their random laughter and all that, somehow told me that I survived and was still in the face of the earth with them. The thought of losing them or them losing me has all been erased. I was extremely relieved, prayers were answered. I still got influences up there after all. Resurrection, the heavens allowed me to do a Lazarus.
I was still in a drowse when the nurses started pushing my bed out of the recovery room to the ward. I was like hallucinating, just floating there above the bed and slowly gliding. The gliding stopped and the faces of my family and friends glowed and gave birth to smiles, opening their lips to manifest words but my comprehension was nowhere to be found. It was like trying to solve a difficult mathematical equation. I was not able to speak that much or maybe I never did at all. All I can muster was a lame resemblance of a nod, or so I thought. They understood since I was clearly lacking strength and obviously in need of rest. Weak yet silently ecstatic.
The remaining days at the hospital became a routine of sleeping, injections, pissing, getting irritated and waking up. A vicious cycle that would go on for a week yet felt like years. A few things would shatter that loop and would somehow paint a smile on my face. There was the constant visiting of those lovely souls who genuinely gave a damn. My mother, who managed to compose herself, and my immediate family who took turns and endured the sleepless moments of taking care of me on my semi-catatonic state.
Other friends, on their own accord, even sacrificed some drinking nights just to be able to visit me. If only drinking inside the hospital was allowed, undoubtedly, they would have brought in their own bottles and the ward would have been transformed into a virtual venue for Octoberfest. Also, if that would be the case, my stay in the hospital would have been prolonged.
Some even made an oath to be there everyday. I was very much grateful and blessed, to say the least, for words were not enough to describe how I appreciated everything they have done for me. It was godly and can never be repaid. On the other hand, I felt unworthy of their time and concern since I do not see myself as that important. I suppose a drama here and there would not hurt, I just felt like shoving it in here.
Every visitor astounded me, for I was attracting enormous attention from all of them. I was not used to situations like those and unsurprisingly clueless on how to handle such. In fact, I would never get and would never want to be used to it. One reason for the attention may also be the undeniable fact that I just looked good decorated with stab wounds, scars and all. Yet I would never recommend it to people lacking attention to get stabbed and be hospitalized just to have all the attention they want. That would be totally nuts but if you have the taste for madness, then give it a shot. Just do not give the impression that you have not been forewarned.
Without the efforts and time spent by my lovely visitors, I would have unquestionably drowned myself in boredom. Not to take the limelight away from the abundance of jesters we have had in the ward, they too rekindled my forgotten laughter. They were all naturals, as if trained by the legends. The dreary confines of the hospital walls would have torn our lucidities apart if not for the hilarious imagination of those who may have considered the hospital as home for quite a long time.
For five days, my throat never gets to flirt with any food nor any liquid besides my own saliva. I was being “fed” with some bottled-liquid hanged beside my bed through a plastic hose injected in my veins. Those pain relievers and antibiotics that they were introducing me through the needle were strong, so strong that I felt really drowsy and needed to sleep after every shot. There was even one of those drugs that I could actually smell and taste even if they have not gone through my nose and mouth. I was like a hippie during the great era of the Flower Power, hitting on LSD every day and promoting serenity by throwing peace signs all around. I felt like that with every shot and to think that I had to take it every eight hours just blew me away. That was three times a day of sweet, tranquil hallucinations. Those injectable drugs were really something else, but they were effective, I must admit.
All plastic hoses that were connected in my body were finally removed and it felt good being “unattached” again. I knew I was getting better since they allowed me to eat and drink, in the real sense of the words. Hospital food never tasted any better than that. In fact, anything edible would be ambrosia after any long period of food abstinence. I was not complaining.
Two things were then added to my usual itinerary. I was told that I had to perform the “careless whisper” and should be doing act two to be genuinely out of danger. Those would be the doctor’s indicators if the operation was successful or not. Sounded easy but it was not an easy task, considering that I have not eaten nor drank for almost a week. It occurred to me that I was still not completely out of peril’s grip.
However, after a day or two, the shit demon and its cohorts granted me my wishes and in the long run, I was officially given the green light to step outside the hospital gates. I was released after releasing, and both felt great. It was good to be back outdoors, it was like being born all over again, experiencing freedom after a long time of being caged. At the same time, feeling anxious and uncertain. The dreaded transition of moving forward.
A friend drove me and my father home, ignoring his previously planned itinerary for the day. I enjoyed watching every passing view through the car window with the look of ignorance, as if I was seeing those vicinities with new set of eyes. Weird but satisfying. I was outside again, appreciating even the dull and lackadaisical elements of city traffic. Truly, everything changes with perspective.
It has been almost a month now since I left the hospital and I have been hibernating at home, staring at the walls and ceiling, counting cobwebs in the four corners of the recuperating chamber, also known as my room. Unparalleled to my desire, I have been clean, well, not that clean but nearly, from the forbidden pleasures of the world. Perhaps, that was the logical pathway after having been through an appalling phase in my existence and survived, nevertheless. It was summoning me, a magnetic force of sorts. I gave in, maybe for a while. Yet I remained grateful to have been offered fresh air to breathe once more.
There were lessons to be learned and mine was that I should have stayed out longer and drank some more beer so I could get home around 6am when people are already up and awake, to eliminate life-threatening incidents such as what happened. More people, more witness, lesser delinquency. If people could find their humanity, that is.
Seriously, it made me think of what I was going to do next time given the second chance, or what sign did it actually show me, what’s that supposed to mean, those kinds of stuff and more. Well, I supposed, I do not have to change everything, I just have to look at those things that were driven out of track and try to get them back in the journey. For instance, I think I have been a lousy drinker lately, which is clearly out of track, so instead of normally drowning fifteen bottles a night, I would now have a limit of ten. No, I am not going to preach like a prophet or something because I know that you already dig what I mean. Besides, I am not a messiah and obviously does not look like one neither, and even if I actually were, you would not pay attention so let us all save ourselves from crap and be real. With all honesty and sincerity, I believe that we know what is best for each and every one and we should stick to that as long as we are not stepping and stomping on anyone.
Indeed, we all are given a leeway to commit mistakes and all that dirty stuff occasionally but that is no excuse. I wonder if my predators could read this and agree. A saint I am not, you see, I am a sinner too just like you and the one next to you, otherwise we should have grown our wings and halo by now, rather than wishing for additional middle fingers to stick out. Nonetheless, I guess we should sometimes try to look away from it and drink some righteousness as well. The harmony of an equilibrium and having a terminator. All is well in balance.
My time has yet to come, I am assured of the that now. Maybe the Heavens thought that the world would not be the same without me, it decided to bring me back, for you to cherish and enjoy your extended time with me. Perhaps because we of the countless, sold-out gigs scheduled this year and I have not finished my recording sessions yet with my brothers in Præna. Whatever the reason may be, I am very much beholden, my eternal and immaculate adoration blown out to those lovely souls who stayed by my side, you are all truly remarkable (you all know who you are).
Wait, I am supposed to have supernatural powers and promote truth, justice and peace for all mankind, right? What happened to that? Bugger, I am back at being human. However, that is one of the few interesting aspects of life, not knowing what comes next. Its surprises either gets you up high in the clouds or floors you down as you shatter to pieces. Get used to it. Everything is intended to happen, as Bjork would croon, “it’s not up to us, it never really was”. Well, this is my second crack at life, seven more to go.
Nowhere But Up