Therefore I am

With each fleeting moment, I am confronted by what is, and what isn’t. This is seemingly a colloquial thought, one might argue that the things we see and feel  are meant to be and that’s it. If we allow ourselves to reach beyond our psyche and tap into unprecedented knowledge,  it may become more feasible that ‘what is’ stems from what exists as much as what is felt, and the interfacing harmony of it. It is the interpretation of time, space, and soul  as the core of our existence.  It is something that is intangible and unquestionably fleeting. It is what René Descartes summed up in five words.

There was a time that I thought being imaginative was a delirious habit. I’d stare at a blanc wall and a tumultuous mind would recreate that wall in the most alluring, pristine way and even add dimensions to it. Whether I realised it then, or not, this was a form of  existing consciousness. Then along came the Ego, the imposter I assumed to be the real me, he’d coax me into believing how awful that imagination was.

Of course he’s right, it’s only a boring wall.

Except that it’s not. It’s whatever I want it to be because I could seat in the core of the soul, where distilled emptiness and silence  harmonises the wall to my creative desire. In a way, it is a knowledge that redefines artistry and philosophy, including writing. Therefore, I employ us to tap into that seat of consciousness, never-mind what the Ego thinks. It isn’t real, but you are.  Your mind can either establish or annihilate you, and I believe that in our own little world, we can be heroes.

Don’t Go into the Woods

“Fear is a misperceived and overexaggerated event borne of the human ID.

What do you think is out there, human or monster? Micheal mused

“I dunno”, Alexander was un-flinched by the wild bush and thorns before them, “Only one way to find out”, she stepped forward. “Come with me?”

Micheal scoffed. “I’m really not that curious, it’s getting dark, and I’m terrible with directions”.

Alex batted her eyes and pouted, “I can’t do this without you. Please.”

Micheal tentatively filled his lungs with air, then led the way.

The air was humid. There was barely space between the sprouting weed to thread upon. The soil beneath them was damp. They were startled by the cawing crows circling the sky above them, then they flew away. They forced their way through the small path, halting by a lake that ran as far as their eyes could see. It split the forest into two halves, the side they were on, and the other side.

“This is the best we’re going to discover,” Micheal fact-checked, “let’s make some pictures and go home”.

Alexander took out her Nikon. Click. Click. She paused, focusing on the images.

“There’s a cottage, over there the other side, we sh—”

“No, it’s dark”. Micheal sternly dissuaded.

But Alexander countered. “Obviously nobody lives there, we may have just discovered a clubhouse or secret hideout”

“Yea, you can tell me all about it later”, disenchanted by his friend’s pervicaciousness, Micheal started to leave in the direction from which they came.

Alexander stood feeling betrayed. She sighed, then begun ebbing against the stream which rose to her knees. There was an old willow tree in front of the hut where two tenebrous crows rested. She swung the door open, stepping into darkness. She fidgeted her blazer for a lighter, and soon a rich yellow glow bathed her skin while illuminating the cottage.

It was slovenly. There were cobwebs on every surface. One raggedy old boot in the corner. A book rested on the table in the middle. She flipped the dusty brown pages, nothing was inscribed. A grimy cauldron on the hearth.

A gale left her in darkness yet again. She fidgeted with the lighter for several minutes until there was a glint. She near damn jumped out of her skin when she noticed an owl on the table staring at her intently.

“HOO HOO are you?”, the Owl’s wings began to shed and fingers sprouted from the feathers, it’s nape elongated, it’s torso broadens.

Alexander’s glassy eyes widened as the bird transformed completely into a human. A Nyx.

“Cat caught your tongue? I asked what you’re doing in my woods?”

Ihow didwhat are you? she couldn’t seem to piece the words together

The Nyx wore a menacing rictus, “there are so many things in this world that would fry your pretty brain if you tried to wrap your head around them.” Taking several steps towards the visibly shaken girl, she paused an inch to her face, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Normally people who disturb me get into trouble, but youI sense somethingit’s not fear”. She crossed Alex, stepping behind. “You came here hoping to find something in ordinary because darkness is the adrenaline that feeds your soul. Am I wrong?

Alexander did not utter a sound.

“I’m going to let you go, she continued, “but, I am keeping your friend”

Alex snapped out of the valor, “what do you mean?”

She grinned, revealing her scattered dentures, “The lad you came here with. He’s mine.”

A glint of lightning revealed Micheal in the corner of the hut, his feet sinking into the ground. “Help Alex, I can’t get out”, he yelled. Another glint and he was gone.

” I invaded your privacy, not him, please let him go.”

The door swung violently open, the woman pointed a crusty finger towards it. “Leave now, while you still can”

Alexander fell on the floor, pleading. Cowering.

The woman spat, “your fear is pungent and your heart is hardened., very well. But, you must come to my cottage, every day for as long as you live, and you must write into that notepad, anything. Everyday. This is your omen, in return, your friend’s memory of this is wiped and he lives. Now go.”

Alex ran out as quick as she could. She could hear ta stentorian snicker. Several crows took to the sky. She dived through the trees but she wouldn’t look back till she got home.

************

The following day, Alexander saw Micheal and sure enough, his recollection of their adventure ended before the lake. He even joked about her new arcane hideout. After lunch, She went back to the cottage. She sat at the table, picking up a pen. She began;

Chapter One: Don’t go into the woods

The Shrine

Her hips sway to the beat of the banjo

Skylight filters through thatch roof

The flicker of light on a solemn night

A hue of blue shades her face

Her pelvis wines

In the center of the shrine.

 

 

The audience watch keenly

Such mastery,

Such art

From a beautifully dangerous woman

Like foreplay for their eyes.

Their unduly gander, in turn, solaced her.

 

 

She calms herself with each exhale

Invoking a fire

Attuned to her chakras.

This dance was passed down

Her grandmother to her mother,

Through generations

It was dubbed;

“the puppet and the serpent,”

For it reached into each heart

Those stubborn, frivolous hearts

Becharming them to her will.

 

 

 

Her body twists aggressively

as though strings attach to her

the one thing she excelled at,

it called to her

unlike the job she so dreaded

so society wouldn’t label her, a trollop

because people are threatened by anyone outside the box.

 

 

Each evening,

she polished her pearls

she donned her shawl

she’d burn the incent

and step barefoot into the shrine.

 

 

Night after night,

her lovelies would pour in

this was where she was meant to be

because even if the world passed away,

this was the one place she reigned as god.

Alien

What would it feel like
if I stand on the edge
If I happen to be in close proximity to it,
then what?

what if I could walk
maybe I am lighter than oxygen
or maybe I’d get a concussion
either way, I have to know.

but baby girl, you don’t float.
beyond sea level,
everything must tumble

Gravity.

Round and round
it’s all fun and games
once, forgotten
twice, twirling

Stop.

My hands look strange,
like tentacles
attached to an alien being.

I wonder,
what is the single greatest distraction
from self-love.

 

The tunnel

 

We thought we could escape our troubles. We thought if we climbed the ladder fast enough, no one would stop us.

 

Across the bed from him, I sat.

“I like you, I really do.”

He blushed, licked his lips and placed a palm on my thigh. I liked that. I shut my eyes and allowed myself to dwell on this simple pleasure. His hands lingered from my thighs up to my waist before grazing my cheeks. I opened my eyes to meet his pearly hazel ones. It was the first time I permitted myself to look so closely into someone’s eyes. It was intriguing to see them dilate. He parted his lips and I listened to the words that fumbled out….

A Volcano erupted in my heart. My being was shaking; like an earthquake, like an explosion went off in my head. My ears could bleed, my voice was gone, My lips were quivering from the horror when he said, “I trust you”.

I jumped up, and for a second or five, I was patting myself as if searching for something. His face grew worrisome and he constantly asked me what was wrong.

“I have to get out of here”

“Where to? this is your house”.

“Nowhere,” I replied, “Just need a walk.”

I sprinted out the room into the night. My legs were moving, one after the next. The people I walked past were staring at me, as if in shock or sheer curiosity. Maybe I have something on my face but I’m acting as normal as I possibly can. My mind is a war zone, the more I try to focus, the more nothing seems to make sense. All I see is a tunnel of darkness that I’ve never been brave enough to walk through to the other side. But now, it beckons me and right there in the park, I could make something out of the rusty air. A tunnel.

“Idara,” I heard a voice call from within the tunnel. It sounded like a child with a thick accent, Western African perhaps, “come”.

“Why” I muttered hesitantly

“Because you will never be able to face your truth if you don’t”.

I heard the fluttering of wings, and seconds later a butterfly was in front of me, so close it could perch on my nose. In a blink of an eye, it’s wings would change from violet polka dot to black with white streaks then to brown and white with blue streaks then again, and again, each time, a unique blend of colors. I was too mesmerized that I almost didn’t notice that now there were two of them, and in a millisecond five, then twelve and they just kept multiplying. They formed a line before me and begun flying into the tunnel. I pushed some air down my lungs, took a step and then another and I was inside the tunnel.

My mind was simmering with thoughts and they were chaotic but with the light from the butterflies illuminating my path, I felt less anxious. I noticed the walls had phrases and sentences inscribed on it and there was a sense of familiarity I had when I read them, I remember them because I lived them.

At the tunnel entrance, I read:   “you were always there for me.’ I recall smiling when I wrote that. I recall feeling lonely afterward.

“when I count my friends, I count 1 person 10 times”.  I know who that was for, it came from a sincere place.

the next one read; “you’re the bitchiest bitch out there, but you’re also the only person that piggybacks me home when I’m drunk”. Actually now I just think she’s a bitch.

The farther I got into the tunnel, the more cynical the phrases were. “This may probably be the last time you see me, I’m not going anywhere but I can’t promise I won’t wander off.”

The other read: “I can’t stand the pain, it makes me cry. I want people to care, I want things to work out”.

At this point, I noticed that the butterflies were reducing, disappearing. I was feeling unsure again, anxious. In an attempt to forge on, I staggered through the never-ending corridor with my resilient companions.

The next I saw went thus; “it’s not in my nature to express myself so wouldn’t it be weird, stupid to people if I started expressing myself? wouldn’t it seem like I was impersonating someone I’m not?” 

I sidled on like a lummox drunk in a grave-yard, I refused to look at the walls any further. I tried focusing on making it to the end, but my mind wouldn’t stop buzzing and I kept on wishing I was out of there, I’ve never been more restless.

My gaze settled on one final inscription on the wall and I couldn’t help but read it through; “so once again I was alone staring at the walls as it were empty like my soul.”

I stopped. Thrusting my back against the wall, I read the phrase again as I slowly sank to the ground. The lights fluttered around me urging me to rise to my feet. I couldn’t move, I’d lost all my strength.

“I was alone…the walls…empty like my soul, alone…walls..empty, empty….

The butterflies wouldn’t stop but I ignored them whilst they continued to vanish.

“Get up,” the voice was back. “Come Idara”

“I can’t,” I yelled, my voice resounded through the walls. I watched the butterflies fade until the last resilient wings were flapping right before my nose. Its light began to flicker and went dim until it was gone. Everything went silent and cold. No insects. No buzzing. No light. Just me alone in the dark tunnel.

“I can’t,” I whispered. “I can’t”

 

Empty

I am so regular, I sleep at 7.30 pm every evening and not a minute later. I never miss my pre-scheduled siestas.

I text all my friends in the morning to ask how they slept, and every night to remind them to rest easy. In fact, a week hardly ever passes by without me seeing them. I call home every other day.

I never forget to treat myself to delicious snacks all through the day.

I wear this dress that accentuates my curves and ends 2/3rd of my ankles and a burgundy on my lips to match. I flip my voluminous hair back every half an hour because I’m going out on a date today, can’t wait, he’s perfect in everywhere.

“Nice dress,” he says

I look down at my clammy hands and manage a vague smile

“I only wear red when I’m indifferent”

“You always wear red,” he points out

My quivering lips broadened into a grin.

“It  must desaturate you to always wear a mask that reflects only what every other person wants to see”

I looked down to my glazed glass, watching my merlot swivel back and forth due to the wind drifting towards us

“You know,” I managed, “Just living”.