Ontological Musings

I hear the whirring of cogs and gears as my mind begins to buzz and hum with that eternally raging manic energy that I have missed so much. Breathe deeply. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe deeply. No. Deeper. The thoughts rush in like a torrent. I am underwater. I am drowning. No sign of land. No sign of land.

Is this real? Is any of this real?

The sky mustard gray, as the filthy earth shifts beneath my frame. This world will burn one day. The sun, old and tired, will spread out past the moon, and set this world on fire.

The moon. My sister the moon. Cold and lonely. Hidden from the sun. She hangs silently, the guardian of the night. Silver glittering stars hum to her. Their song crackles on the cool night breeze.

The Earth. My mother the Earth. I was born of her, I suckled at her breast. Rain washes her, freeing her of the day's dust and filth. Sweet Mother Earth. Sing to me. Hum a soft sad tune. The hills whisper my name, calling me to live among them. Free, like a wild beast, naked and unafraid. Flesh and blood sustain me. I am the hunter, god of the forest, clad in browns and greens.

The beast, my brother the beast. I long to live like him, ferocious and filled with an unbridled fury. Hungry, always hungry. And free.

Is this real? Is any of this real?

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SELAH.

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Is this real? Is any of this real?

I can feel the stars burning, warming my skin. They buzz and crackle across space and time. Hidden behind the day's blue sky, they hum and whisper. I can feel them burning, turning, twisting. Hear them roar, as they slowly consume themselves, in a blaze of energy and fury. I can hear the stars. I feel them warm my skin.

Worlds turn to dust. Supernovae exploding at the edges of galaxies and systems. Turning and burning, small dots of light.

Pause. Stop. Can you hear them? Listen.

Whispers of worlds long gone cry out to me. The sputtering muttering echoes of ashes and dust.

I am bigger than my body.

I can hear the stars as they burn. I long for them to consume me, gone in a blaze of energy and fury.

Madness, madness. All is madness.

Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani?

Dust and bone. Dust and bone. All I am is dust and bone.

Pause. Stop. Can you hear them?

Listen.

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I have been here before. This place seems so familiar.

My name. I don't remember my name.

These hands. Are these my hands? They seem alien, and somehow foreign.

I live inside this frame, this form. This is my body. Muscle and sinew, flesh and blood.

My name. What is my name?

A long blue vein across my thin wrist - I see it pulse faintly, in time with the beating of my heart. Tick tock, tick tock.

Is this real? Is any of this real?

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AMEN.