Saturday, May 28, 2016

The Mind

By Celeste Regal

You drive down the shadowed green road; cloistered overhang comfort. A memory of another time, curtails your present circumstances. Euphoric recall of freedom these roads brought with such regularity. The mind transforms events. An expanse widens on the horizon. South Louisiana, a lost love, engages softness. Sense deprivation reverts rebirth in the stream of time, always circulating, always waiting. Fingertips in waters of return. Thirst satiated. Remembrance of self buried in relentless urbanity. The story you tell changes to a liquid narrative. The blood moves. You long for another mirage.

Crank the gear. It is all that is known. Electronic surveillance, climate controlled voyeurs interrupt the bit of silence you came for. Oblivious to nature. Sunscreended guzzlers waiting at the pump. You curve under the respite, hoping not to be part of the herd field grazing. Call on the guru. Ask for another attitude. Infestation scrambles with festooned myopia. Where the road gets lost you bow and search for a ticket out. The blackbird understands nothing. Allows joy without payment. Its being a bridge to cross. Lie down in solitude. The diaphanous doors open on either side. Exit leisurely. If still enough, wild things come, rubbing the brow. Singing in the ear. Eternally pleasant. Bad smells overruled.

Noise can inhibit dreams of the next destination. You imagine the Thar desert, new friends, new ideas. Workmen run machinery, backup beeps piece the air. Soon this will be over, the next terrain perhaps a rerun but at least different. When you run the course, all fades like a month old gardenia. A faint fragrances lingers, entices the bargain from before across the corpus collasum. The blue moon came and went unseen but you continue to believe in the restorative power of displacement.  It is a point of view, a way to frame things. As if you have not starved, eating has not the glorious release of the broken fast. We live by comparison, by relativity. Some look for the hidden trail not wanting a continuous cycle. On the other side of the day, breath stirs the traveler's need.

No comments:

Post a Comment