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Greens
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Note: Contents fictional.
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- - - - -
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I¡¦m extending into the grasses. I¡¦m becoming part of them. I can feel them beside my arms, closing tightly, holding tightly. I¡¦m feeling the grasses, the green and fresh grasses. They¡¦re whispering to me, speaking to me, muttering with the wind and the clouds. Grasses and sensation go along together, and walk with me.
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I expect it to rain in any moment. But the sun is hanging high above in the sky, shining brilliantly its light. Its force pushes down on my numb body. Its intensity is burning me, but the rain hiding underground fights with it. These two forces fight within my body, and who knows which one wins.
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The rain I¡¦m expecting has not yet come. But something is flowing within my heart, falling in my heart, sinking, yet struggling at the same time. I turn away from the gold in the sea and look down to the greens. The earth that brings me alive now is trying to absorb me back, to my origin, to my place.
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Not yet, not yet, I whispered, as my hand reaches out and begins pulling the greens away, one by one. I will not return. Not until the rain has all fallen, when I can turn back to the heart of gold.
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- - - - -
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September 26, 2007
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Box of Markers
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Note: Contents fictional.
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- - - - -
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On Monday, I picked out the red marker and sketched a red, red rose. I ignored the thorns and leaves that would have ruined the loving sensation. The flower bloomed before my eyes. I could see no bleeding heart.
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On Tuesday, I picked out the yellow marker and drew the sun with its blazing shines. I drown my soul in that brilliance, wishing it to rest there forever. It returned to me nonetheless, though bringing back a little radiance it captured from the light.
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On Wednesday, I picked out the green marker and dabbed the paper into grassland. I could not help seeing the little demon that hid behind the strokes, so green like emeralds yet so green like limes.
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On Thursday, I picked out the blue marker and twirled it until swirling lines covered the whites. They reflected no light, all grayness and nothing else. Deep beneath the ocean, I saw a dead whale floating to nowhere, its soul gone.
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On Friday, I shut the box tight. The colors within were shielded away from the outside winds. I shall not open it, not until a brand new day starts again with the purest color of shimmering white.
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