Wednesday, March 2, 2011
The Sensation of Space
Darkness. There is an immense amount of darkness. Like a newborn baby opening its eyes to first light, I open my eyes to a glittering blanket covering, encircling me and it pulls away from me sending my body into the emptiness. Far away enough that I can no longer feel its proximity. My body is naked, vulnerable both frightening and invigorating. But the glittering remains, and I am floating. How strange it is to continue afloat with nothing neither holding on to your body nor surrounding your frame. Am I floating up or down, horizontally or diagonally? I try to grasp on to the sensation trying to determine which direction I am going and it scares me when I cannot answer myself. Then, as the realization that directions do not exist here in space washes over me, it leaves behind it a fear of the unknown lingering within my heart. Am I moving, or is everything around me moving? I feel the answers like a weight on the tip of my tongue but they refuse to move forward out of my mouth. In an effort to keep my mind from spinning like my body out of control, I push my questions to back of my head and leave it empty. Then I float. I listen to the silence and I allow my naked body to really feel the pull of nothing. It truly is beautiful, this feeling, this sight, this sensation of space. The lights continue to glitter igniting the nostalgia of Christmas and birthdays. My heart becomes aglow like the lights around me and I’m no longer floating instead I am soaring through my childhood, my high school dances, my wedding night. The darkness surrounds the light yet I push it away and continue to soar through the nothing. This must be what it feels like to fly. The sensation is so vast, so grand that I forget to close my mouth. I take a breath. Then, in an instant the soaring is gone, flushed away as my lungs grab onto nothing and panic overthrows me. The glittering becomes sharper like warning signs and the glowing in my heart is replaced with a feeling of terror. My body begins to convulse and as I look onto my flailing arms and my rising chest, I see my skin turn blue. The nothingness becomes cold as it hugs my frail frame. Slowly the alarm within my head begins fall into emptiness as brain cells die off. One by one, moment by moment, thought by thought. A star implodes, dying in the distance, bursting a hole in my once comforting blanket. And with my last brain cell, the feeling of beauty returns as I remember my first kiss lit by new year fireworks. Then it is gone, and a ringing takes over my ears, and my body is still and the heart monitor flat lines and the doctor lays down his shock paddles… and my room in the comatose wing is finally empty...The sensation of space returns.
Past the Never-Ending Field
The air was thick with fog when she found herself back at the edge of the field. Behind her, a realtor kicked around clumps of dirt describing the many benefits of the surrounding land. As the woman continued to speak, each word faded within the girl’s mind for she was already lost in the twirls of the fog and the shadows of bent cornstalks.
She stood still, careful not to take another step for she knew that if she did, she would forever be lost within the fog’s grasp. Now was not the time.
She was standing exactly where she had been that day, the day of her discovery. Two steps up from the bald headed mound between the moss-covered rocks, she remembered the exact sensation of the dirt against her bare feet.
The field had frightened her at first. The sea of cornstalks seemed to go on forever, even from the view at the very top of her house the field went on for as far as the eye could see and though it frightened her, she always felt herself staring at it. On windy days, it looked like a green ocean, its waves undulating across the land and she would find herself drowning in its undertow.
“Who plants the corn?” She had asked her mother while looking at the field through her kitchen window, “There are never any farmers.”
Her mother thought for a moment as if her daughter had made a good point. She too had never spotted anyone near the edge of that field. Then she sighed and shook her head. It was silly to think of such things.
“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough.” Her mother had said.
It was because of her mother’s answer that the girl had found herself at the edge of the field that day. She had wanted to look harder and try to ease the ominous feeling she had whenever the field came to mind.
And so two steps up from the bald headed mound and between the moss-covered rocks, she’d stood there trying to separate moving stalks from moving people, hair from tassels, and human ears from golden ears. But as she continued to stand faint from the heat of the summer’s sun, she found it difficult to recall the difference between the two.
Shapes began to drift across her line of vision. Shapes that soon melted into the form of a cornstalk. Whispers began to reach her ears, whispers that became lost in the sound of the summer breeze. Out of the corner of her eye she’d see faces but as quickly as she’d turn her head, they’d disappear. Then suddenly, one of the shapes stopped drifting.
The girl clenched her bare toes into the ground below as she stared into the eyes of a young person neither female nor male. Its eyes held onto hers, suspending her as the wind continued to blow and the sun continued to beat down upon her bare shoulders. She could feel her breath become shallow and her mind go blank. Then, in an instance, the person turn sharply tearing into the vast cornfield and like a natural reflex, the girl dove in after it.
Never tearing her eyes off of the blurred shape in front of her, the girl continued to run. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest to the beat of her feet against the hard soil. With each lift of the foot, her toes would unearth new ground and new rocks. Leaves of the cornstalks whipped by her cheeks, scraping and slicing into her skin but she did not feel the stings nor did she feel the pain of the rocks as they poked into the pads of her feet.
A yearning began to build within her, a yearning for something new. She had to continue on to the end of the field, she had to find out what lay beyond its neverending lengths. At times, a fear would crawl to the top of her throat telling her that there was no beyond and that she would forever be lost within the stalks of the field but she screamed at the fear to disappear and continued to run as salted sweat dripped down into her mouth.
The yearning continued to build, masking the fatigue that lay within her overworked muscles. It began to bubble up within her chest egging her on and pushing her to continue running to the beat of her heart. The shape in front her had become more blurred within the shaking cornstalks yet she continued to run.
She could feel her body screaming, begging for her to stop. Her face dripped with sweat and blood from the blades of the cornstalks but she closed her eyes tight and ran faster. Then like a bullet let loose from a gun, she tore out of the field and felt onto her knees, tripping over a moss covered rock. She coughed and sputtered, her eyes closed tight. With her hands planted in the ground in front of her, she gasped for air as her mouth filled with bile.
Then, as he body began to calm and her breathing began to quiet, she opened her eyes and felt her breath slip away once more. The ground she was kneeling on was a pure emerald green, tracing the edge of a thick, ancient forest. Mist crept out from between the towering cedar trees past her body and into the cornfield.
She pushed her pained body up from the ground and stood, listening. The forest was silent but behind her, the songs of crickets and wind blowing through the stalks echoed across the field. She sighed softly and without a glance back at the ever-going field, she picked up her feet and slowly walked into the woods.
She glided past the tall ferns and the waist high shrubbery. As she walked, slowly the mist enveloped her in silence, shutting out the sounds of the field behind her and before her the shrubs gave way to the moss-covered floor of the forest.
Almost like a house that’s been abandoned for so long, everything around her looked untouched and she feared that if she continued to walk forward, the delicate silence would break. Then through the silence she could hear the soft sounds of feet padding against the moss and soon small frame of the person she’d been chasing came into view.
It stood there staring with eyes wide once again. A ray of sunlight sliced through the canopy of tree tops and shown onto the creature’s face revealing the true emerald color of its eyes and hair. The creature’s mouth curved to form a smile and slowly started to walk towards the girl as if gliding across the forest floor.
When it stopped not a foot away from the girl’s body, she opened her mouth to speak but the creature raised a finger to her lips silencing any thought that she had once owned.
“It is not time for you.” The creature whispered into the girl’s ear. Its lilting and unnerving voice sent a shiver up her spine.
Another ray of sunlight cut through the tree branches above and the girl looked up to it letting its warmth flow across her face. She closed her eyes, allowing her mind to empty and the silence to surround her. Then slowly the silence began to fade and the sounds of crickets singing filled her ears. A sick feeling reached her stomach and she found herself not wanting to open her eyes, knowing that what she would see before her would disappear.
Her mothers voice shattered her feeling of emptiness and caused her eyes to flash open. Before her lay the expanse of the never-ending field, mist slowing creeping out from the shapes of cornstalks. With tears brimming her eyes, she raised a finger to her lips touching where she once felt the creature’s cold skin.
When asked where she’d been that afternoon, she’d told her mother she’d found the farmer. Her mother had looked at her strangely for only a moment then shook her head dismissing her daughter’s vivid imagination. After that day, the girl ceased to speak of what she’d seen and what she’d found past the never-ending field.
The woman looked down at her feet, smiling at the two tiny footprints of her nine year old self. She glanced back quickly at her real estate agent and laughed quietly to herself. The lady was facing the barn talking of how one could make a fortune farming the surrounding land but the woman and the realtor knew that there were no farmers. Each year the corn grew without the help of anyone, a mystery to townspeople.
She sighed softly and raised her finger to her old lips. Her skin was now wrinkled and her body frail. Her white hair fell around her body in a long silver blanket. Then looked back at the field before her, the woman stepped into childhood footprints, creating new much older ones within the dirt.
Then like a curtain opening to reveal a grand show, the fog cleared before her revealing the view of sea of stalks and the familiar face of an emerald eyed person.
“Its time.” The creature whispered with its lilting voice.
The old woman smiled and took a step towards the person allowing the fog to close behind her, enveloping her in silence and leaving her real estate to talk about the mysterious beauty of the never-ending field.
She stood still, careful not to take another step for she knew that if she did, she would forever be lost within the fog’s grasp. Now was not the time.
She was standing exactly where she had been that day, the day of her discovery. Two steps up from the bald headed mound between the moss-covered rocks, she remembered the exact sensation of the dirt against her bare feet.
The field had frightened her at first. The sea of cornstalks seemed to go on forever, even from the view at the very top of her house the field went on for as far as the eye could see and though it frightened her, she always felt herself staring at it. On windy days, it looked like a green ocean, its waves undulating across the land and she would find herself drowning in its undertow.
“Who plants the corn?” She had asked her mother while looking at the field through her kitchen window, “There are never any farmers.”
Her mother thought for a moment as if her daughter had made a good point. She too had never spotted anyone near the edge of that field. Then she sighed and shook her head. It was silly to think of such things.
“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough.” Her mother had said.
It was because of her mother’s answer that the girl had found herself at the edge of the field that day. She had wanted to look harder and try to ease the ominous feeling she had whenever the field came to mind.
And so two steps up from the bald headed mound and between the moss-covered rocks, she’d stood there trying to separate moving stalks from moving people, hair from tassels, and human ears from golden ears. But as she continued to stand faint from the heat of the summer’s sun, she found it difficult to recall the difference between the two.
Shapes began to drift across her line of vision. Shapes that soon melted into the form of a cornstalk. Whispers began to reach her ears, whispers that became lost in the sound of the summer breeze. Out of the corner of her eye she’d see faces but as quickly as she’d turn her head, they’d disappear. Then suddenly, one of the shapes stopped drifting.
The girl clenched her bare toes into the ground below as she stared into the eyes of a young person neither female nor male. Its eyes held onto hers, suspending her as the wind continued to blow and the sun continued to beat down upon her bare shoulders. She could feel her breath become shallow and her mind go blank. Then, in an instance, the person turn sharply tearing into the vast cornfield and like a natural reflex, the girl dove in after it.
Never tearing her eyes off of the blurred shape in front of her, the girl continued to run. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest to the beat of her feet against the hard soil. With each lift of the foot, her toes would unearth new ground and new rocks. Leaves of the cornstalks whipped by her cheeks, scraping and slicing into her skin but she did not feel the stings nor did she feel the pain of the rocks as they poked into the pads of her feet.
A yearning began to build within her, a yearning for something new. She had to continue on to the end of the field, she had to find out what lay beyond its neverending lengths. At times, a fear would crawl to the top of her throat telling her that there was no beyond and that she would forever be lost within the stalks of the field but she screamed at the fear to disappear and continued to run as salted sweat dripped down into her mouth.
The yearning continued to build, masking the fatigue that lay within her overworked muscles. It began to bubble up within her chest egging her on and pushing her to continue running to the beat of her heart. The shape in front her had become more blurred within the shaking cornstalks yet she continued to run.
She could feel her body screaming, begging for her to stop. Her face dripped with sweat and blood from the blades of the cornstalks but she closed her eyes tight and ran faster. Then like a bullet let loose from a gun, she tore out of the field and felt onto her knees, tripping over a moss covered rock. She coughed and sputtered, her eyes closed tight. With her hands planted in the ground in front of her, she gasped for air as her mouth filled with bile.
Then, as he body began to calm and her breathing began to quiet, she opened her eyes and felt her breath slip away once more. The ground she was kneeling on was a pure emerald green, tracing the edge of a thick, ancient forest. Mist crept out from between the towering cedar trees past her body and into the cornfield.
She pushed her pained body up from the ground and stood, listening. The forest was silent but behind her, the songs of crickets and wind blowing through the stalks echoed across the field. She sighed softly and without a glance back at the ever-going field, she picked up her feet and slowly walked into the woods.
She glided past the tall ferns and the waist high shrubbery. As she walked, slowly the mist enveloped her in silence, shutting out the sounds of the field behind her and before her the shrubs gave way to the moss-covered floor of the forest.
Almost like a house that’s been abandoned for so long, everything around her looked untouched and she feared that if she continued to walk forward, the delicate silence would break. Then through the silence she could hear the soft sounds of feet padding against the moss and soon small frame of the person she’d been chasing came into view.
It stood there staring with eyes wide once again. A ray of sunlight sliced through the canopy of tree tops and shown onto the creature’s face revealing the true emerald color of its eyes and hair. The creature’s mouth curved to form a smile and slowly started to walk towards the girl as if gliding across the forest floor.
When it stopped not a foot away from the girl’s body, she opened her mouth to speak but the creature raised a finger to her lips silencing any thought that she had once owned.
“It is not time for you.” The creature whispered into the girl’s ear. Its lilting and unnerving voice sent a shiver up her spine.
Another ray of sunlight cut through the tree branches above and the girl looked up to it letting its warmth flow across her face. She closed her eyes, allowing her mind to empty and the silence to surround her. Then slowly the silence began to fade and the sounds of crickets singing filled her ears. A sick feeling reached her stomach and she found herself not wanting to open her eyes, knowing that what she would see before her would disappear.
Her mothers voice shattered her feeling of emptiness and caused her eyes to flash open. Before her lay the expanse of the never-ending field, mist slowing creeping out from the shapes of cornstalks. With tears brimming her eyes, she raised a finger to her lips touching where she once felt the creature’s cold skin.
When asked where she’d been that afternoon, she’d told her mother she’d found the farmer. Her mother had looked at her strangely for only a moment then shook her head dismissing her daughter’s vivid imagination. After that day, the girl ceased to speak of what she’d seen and what she’d found past the never-ending field.
The woman looked down at her feet, smiling at the two tiny footprints of her nine year old self. She glanced back quickly at her real estate agent and laughed quietly to herself. The lady was facing the barn talking of how one could make a fortune farming the surrounding land but the woman and the realtor knew that there were no farmers. Each year the corn grew without the help of anyone, a mystery to townspeople.
She sighed softly and raised her finger to her old lips. Her skin was now wrinkled and her body frail. Her white hair fell around her body in a long silver blanket. Then looked back at the field before her, the woman stepped into childhood footprints, creating new much older ones within the dirt.
Then like a curtain opening to reveal a grand show, the fog cleared before her revealing the view of sea of stalks and the familiar face of an emerald eyed person.
“Its time.” The creature whispered with its lilting voice.
The old woman smiled and took a step towards the person allowing the fog to close behind her, enveloping her in silence and leaving her real estate to talk about the mysterious beauty of the never-ending field.
Pieces of Me
Like the feeling of barnacles upon my barefoot and the sound of silence as I sat in peace upon the moss ridden logs of my childhood forest, there are pieces of me that are embedded into the veins of my body and the frame of my soul. I gathered them as I walked through life collecting them, possessing them, entwining my life around them. They are me. I am Me. I am not myself without them. Without the feeling of loneliness that followed me around as a child. My only friend for miles, without it I wouldn't have the stories that I wrote, that I lived and breathed through as I grasped for a life that I could not lead. Where would I be without the scar on my head, a result of a slow motion scene as I stood watching a soaring island of ice make its way towards my head propelled from the hands of an angered girl. Angry girls equal angry amounts of blood seeping into the white of snow on that chilled winter day as a crowding of children stood watch. And my crumpled body was lifted by the foreign aged arms of the new principal and dragged off to a waiting nurse. There are scars upon my body dotting the constellations of my life. Upon my brow where a knife cut into my month old body removing a part of me that threatened my life, my appearance, my existence. Beneath my eye where without warning, I felt a writers tool puncture my skin releasing its ink into my blood and releasing its holders anger upon my body. Upon my hand for when I grasped a glass too tight, my palm for when I shattered the door of my home. Upon every inch of my body there lies a whitened mark of dead skin more shiny than the rest, reminding my of my ceaseless carelessness and of my many adventured journeyed upon untried paths of the overgrown gullies surrounding my life, my world, my home. And so these are the pieces of me, the stars of my life, the dots that make up my constellation. But you wouldn't see this constellation unless I told you of it, drew it for you, traced it out. Instead all that you see when I walk in this world is one light among a sea of stars.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Temporary Home of Visual Obscurities
If there actually exists a person who's eyes look upon the words of this blog and the words of my stories... let me apologize to you for my lack of new material. I have not been writing short stories for a while due to a sudden motivation to continue on my novel. This is why you do not see any new words upon this page, well at least any words of great significance. So while I continue to write my novel, I'll post pictures and this blog will be the temporary Visual Obscurities.
Enjoy.
P.S If you are wanting to know, I am 38,000 words into my novel.
Head in the Clouds
I've been intrigued by skies lately...everywhere I go, I see something breathtaking. It's amazing that I always seem to have my camera with me.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Social Skills of a Calico
This cat keeps appearing at my door, its green bulging eyes staring me down as a I eat my dinner. My own cat, I've noticed, has no social skills whatsoever. If my cat was a human and wanted to get to know a person, she'd wait outside this person's favourite restaurant and when they leave, she would run up and smell their napkin. For instance, she watches this cat from a bush and then when the cat leaves, she runs up and sniffs the grass. My cat is a pure bread stalker.
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