Here I am...
Seated on a chair in a room, surrounded by the tall, gloomy walls.
It is raining outside, perhaps...if so, the ground is wet and on any of the leaves, the drops of rain are sliding down, linger on ... suspended, the leaves are bending down of, the sorrowful weight of drops... and all of a sudden, they split and drop down...one by one...like the moments are running away from me...
I tap my fingers on the arm wood of the chair, like tapping the keys of a piano, and playing a mute chord which is combined with the sound of the rain. It is raining outside, perhaps. Now I sway my head gently to this silent, mysterious melody that I've just composed...
My memory does not go back to the PAST, and there is not any image of the FUTURE, all of my mind's asset is NOW, and the awareness of these words which I don't know who said:
"Sentenced to one year in this prison" ...without knowing what is my offense...
and I just wish to be out and ...I wish it rains...
A little ladybird is crawling up, along the leg of the chair so slowly, as if she is sliding UP against the gravity...upper and ...upper...now she is on my right hand, by my left index finger, in a smart rapid move. I catch it and hold it under my finger, now she is the prisoner...the agility of my movement to catch the ladybird throws my mind into the PAST ...and I hear my childhood's voice saying:
“AHHA!...I caught her...let's see if ladybirds speak.”
A vague sorrow, settled in my tiny childish voice, brings me back to NOW...
"What offence for?"
Rubbing ladybird's back gently causes a pleasant warmth in my finger that flows smoothly along my arm...gradually it changes to a vibration...toward my right ear...transmits to a continual sound...HHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEESSSSSSSS...my concentration on the line of sound tears it to pieces... generate blanks in it...H E S...and my mind by its deceitful effort to make LANGUAGE ...try to draw words out of it...HES...
"Ladybirds speak..."
I leap out of the chair, in a mad panic, and throw her down and crush under my feet immediately. When my look cast on the ground, I fear more because it is hard to count up how many ladybirds I've crushed by NOW...
"Since when am I here?."
His shadow on the ground takes my look toward the door; he is standing there, on the threshold of the door. He leans his right shoulder on the frame of the door, and bends his head on his left shoulder, crossed arms, looking and sniggering at me... I turn my head to the other side, gently, to avoid his eyes...
"I don’t remember since when I've been pretending not to know this "Jailer" is my "lover".
His big strong (taut)muscles are visible of his tight black T-shirt.
"A trained body for the fight that he will be defeated in it...like a GLADIATOR"
*
*
*
I miss my SELF, sometimes. So, I go toward the mirror. It is hung over there, the old, clouded mirror of ancient, which I look into it to find my SELF. Since thousands of years I've been looking at this mirror, all my incarnations. It is getting old , I am not. I admire my SELF, and leave. But my image stays still in it. I come back to the mirror to say:
"I know your illusive playing to frighten me..."
But when I get before it, I see someone is behind me. Farther back of my image in the mirror, a little girl, naked but an ancient tiny bonnet has tried to cover her fiery red hair. Her scared face is pale, gazing at me with tow red-rimmed eyes...I open my mouth to ask her: “How did you fall...” But she vanishes...
I should bear in my mind that never frightens any angle when they feel safe with me...She is my mere visitor in this prison...
*
*
*
Night, more powerful than rain and wind, passes through the walls of the prison, NOW...it is night here...
*
I lull my "Jailer" to sleep by a kiss, as every night and as soon as he sleeps, all his greedy, devilish, grubby, ill thoughts, come, grab and drag him away in a Horizontal line to the battlefield of vain as every night.
I feel pity for this GLADIATOR who is knocked by his thoughts. So I don't give the thumb down for him
and I feel pity for this JAILER who does not know he, himself, is a prisoner here because the KEY is in the hand of someone else.
Now I am alone in bed...I feel alone...in the bed...does it make any difference?
*
*
In the middle of the night I woke up of feeling a hand, that lands over my back, warm and gentle, a masculine hand, but I don't get any feeling of the rest of the body... just a hand, kind and soothing, is creeping and caressing along my spine, tenderly ...toward my head...gives me unutterable of joys and peace. I feel an amiable vibration in my body, and when it touches my head, in a pure ecstasy. The hand pulls me out of my body and takes me up...upper and upper...on the wings of wind in imaginable speed...I fly
but...I hesitate...and desist..."something is left behind...maybe...the word that I didn't understand perhaps..."I linger on...in the very delicate plane of awareness...like a leave on the stagnant water ...then ...my body swallows ME...quickly, and in more than "imaginable speed" I go back to my body...
HESITATION...is what brings me back to my body...HESITATION makes the walls of my prison, tall and gloomy...
*
*
I am in the bed, rub on the back of dead GLADIATOR gently and say softly: “This is not my SIN that we never go together, anywhere, in any VERTICAL line...”