Origin Story- The Drive

Ordinarily I would reference the transition- forest turned to road turned to ride turned to something (likely a storage shed) turned to halls- but on this journey such things were ephemeral and ineffable. I only remember looking up at the moon, full in the night sky, and then the moon (or the sky itself perhaps) winked at me. Eye open, to closed, to open once more, and in these passing seconds it felt as though the stage shed its skin beneath my feet.

From night it began and at night it ended. In the forest I find myself still, so I meander in the direction of the road. I feel inspiration lag behind words as these days of rest end, but it feels as though a song starts to accompany my steps, or will, as a familiar concept begins to fill my mind as if winter clouds, before drifting to the ground like snow. I perk an ear toward this stormfront and feel myself drawn into the landscape, the lyrics and notes becoming slightly more clear with each passing foggy breath. I look up once more, seeing both snow laden cloud within and the stars all sparkling in their correct places around me. This comfortably dissonant spacing fills me with wonder, wonder which I form to structure, to words; words themselves as if gaining life and dancing the spaces all around and in between where I stand on each of these paired stages.

"Can and/or make sense?

How might sentences arrange

That chains are cherished

Adorned with splendor

Omnidirectionally

Ornate And Ordered?

Do I thread with skill

Mindless as I might yet be

In, out, through and through?

Or do I stand firm

In storm a skill all its own

And threads all stitch clean

Own food and own clothes

Was it this license you gained

Soul orphaned no more?

Complex and hazy

Heavy yet unburdening

Here within the core

Strange and alien

Beautiful and important

Work done, rest joyous

Turn ear toward wisdom

Ask inordinate questions

And whisper answer."

"No one heard and no one came; no one helped and no one stayed. Some ghost stories have ends so beautiful that they resonate in eternity and light up the sky that all may see. May this be that tale for you my origami bird, my symbolically green paper odd egret."

I tromp through the snow, now present here, blanketing both tree and ground. As I approach the road I consider how remote this place is on a good day, and how that might amplify in a realm such as this. Having left my skates behind I prepare for a long walk when I see the snow has begun blanketing something else as well, a vehicle of some kind. Even in a place like this my first thought is of whose vehicle it might be, but a still raised and unusually shaped section of the roof catches my eye. I walk over and brush off the snow, snow which indicates its bearer has been here for some time at least, to reveal a large red bow illuminated by moonlight. My suspicions waning now, I walk to the driver's side door, preparing to subtly peer inside, when I notice a keychain still hanging from the lock. Outside of the new car keys, baby yoda and a patch of chainmail confirm that it is my keychain. Certainty is always a matter of a threshold crossed, and so I turn the key in the lock, open the door, remember to pat my pocket to confirm my wallet and driver's license are still on my person, step inside, and begin the drive. 

It is unclear where I go or how long it takes. My mind wanders as stoplights and street signs pass in a flurry. I start to notice a pattern within the mosaic of their colors and timing, both flashing and static, now that the focus on the spaces and time between them has faded and shortened. Rather than some specific revelation though, I let my mind first settle on the realization that this is a way in which our subconscious mind experiences the world, a point of view I have been graciously invited to share here. While the worries of needing to stop and go and yield and etc. normally blind the conscious mind to these patterns, all the while they are present and accounted for on this level. In a realm where "random" may yet be an illusion, every light seen first as yellow, turned red by final approach, every light seen green the whole way, even the timing of every siren and horn, is a message, or at least part of one. Perhaps these things are simply saying hello, perhaps there is more to such subconscious communiques, a code meant to remain encrypted, by and large, from curious conscious minds. Perhaps the entire hope has been that a conscious mind might one day combine curiosity with aptitude well enough to finally cut through the apparent static to hear something more, at which point the flood gates could open and paradise could bloom. For me at this moment though, this puzzle of color, light, and shape is simply saying "I am still here, the infrastructure holds strong even now." I yearn to hear more, but I am happy to hear this in the present moment.

The flurry ends and I come to rest, stopping at the side of the road. It is unclear where we find ourselves now, stepping out of the car, greeted by the moonless starry night dazzling overhead. Clearly some sort of backroad, there is not a man-made structure in sight, unless one might count a wide strip of dirt stretching behind and before us as such. It feels as though an attunement has occurred though, an alignment, as now looking up I sense a most subtle pattern spoken by star's coordinated twinkle, more quiet than the gaudy unintentional displays of mankind, but nonetheless audible, in this synesthetic state, and all the more reassuring. The vast shore of sky echoes the same message that this structure remains, regardless, until the right end is seen. In response thoughts form to words in a sonnet, as ordination, in a sense.

"Is it a fool's errand to want so much?

To feel that prayer alone might bring more?

That one might rescue without need for touch?

That one might open without fist on door?

How else would holy remain as its own?

How else could one ever construct this bridge?

If I am you then are you not alone?

To be together we must part a smidge

So in your absence letters are addressed

So dust assembles before you arrive

Silently tests are observed and assessed

Remotely thoughts structure that you might thrive

Image or resonant masterpiece still

From birth not human's choice or husband's will."

I feel something like a tangibility in the air, hard to pinpoint or describe; perhaps it is a fog pilfered from elsewhere. It surrounds us here now though, and I look back at the car, look up at the sky, and decide it is a nice night to part ways a while. Just as well, I notice patting my pockets, I left the keys in the ignition. 

I begin to wander down the road, mind slipping between somewhere that might be called here, and somewhere that might be called there. With hands in my pocket, I watch the dirt slide under me foot by footstep, until a shooting star brings my eyes skyward. A wish is made, to be sure, but headlights behind pull me from this trance. Who is driving these backroads at night? I think of my soulmate and naturally step to the side as the mystery car drives on down the way. I smile at the car and imagine where she and I might go, when the time for travel is finally upon us both. 

Like this I wander, with her in my arms, in my mind anyway, here and there wondering about my companion as well in this most vast of cages, these most ample halls. If one could be sky, could be as wind or even breath, why would one deign to enter these lungs or any others? Is it a matter of which corner one began in that highlights the greenness of that which grows in each other? What then of the wanderer who travels to far corners in mind alone, body simply waiting for the touch of lover's face to replace the smooth slide of glass against fingers and thumb? Could everywhere, hypothetically, be called a corner to one who never fully stays put? Even now I feel these steps taken take but a few minutes, the advantage of The Bard's slipsliding between realms.

Curious once more to see what my surroundings might offer, I look up to find myself in the suburbs of some sleepy city. "Enjoy the work flying by; adore the rest which lingers like the dew on a cloudy autumn morning." I do a little dance, wondering if this expression of rest for me couples with work of some kind within these feet subconsciously. It wouldn't be the first time, and my mind settles on moons in various places and contexts until I look out at this one, half full, and with a wave say "Hello moon!" Suddenly aware of my volume I cringe for the echo, but fog still settling here as well dampens and envelopes me. A few more attempted moves land me beneath a convenient street light, on timer, turning red. As it does I notice a car parked just as conveniently, and with a suspicious squint and timely contrast change I confirm that it is mine. I shrug; stranger things have happened, I consider, in these vast halls. Door already ajar I step inside and consider aloud "What is next for us on this most unusual of adventures?" Right on cue a single car horn beep draws my gaze to a solitary lit up spot from a few blocks down and perhaps a road over.