It swirls, I feel the world tilt slightly, spin back into focus, the moment already seen, or has it? I step forward tentatively, testing the earth, feeling its momentum. Steady, I wait, hands loosely holding the bag, and apple shaped logo branding its origin. I squeeze my eyes, and open them. Clarity fills them. I think back to the night, I think back toward the days before this moment. I think back to the years of misguided wanderings, sayings, teachings, thoughts. This morning is like the rest, a routine I have fallen into with the ease of resting a weary head upon a welcoming grassy pasture. The delirium of senses focusing into normality, made labored by the dreams of the dark hours of sleep. I now walk confused, questioning what was reality and what was the conjuring of a swelled imagination. The dark eyes of the passers by catch the region above my forehead. The obscurity of the bright dandelion like cluster of hair upon my heavy head causes the stairs. I move past not allowing myself to study their faces, not returning their curiosity. I can feel the strain of an empty stomach upon my limbs, the steaming empanadas transferring their energized molecules into my slow hands. The dream stays with me now, I can feel its reality stir my senses, causing emotions all too real. I shake my head again and focus upon the blue horizon as it is absorbed by the small buildings at the end of the street. I check my pockets, feel the slippery texture of a 5000 peso bill, the dream was not real. I did not hand this reluctantly over. I did not attempt to vocalize those thoughts. My feet rush up the stairs, causing the noise of entry to echo throughout the wooden walls of the apartment. The T.V. is screen now mirroring off of my eyes, as the warm diverse taste of dough stuffed with care, slides down my throat, warming the strained walls. The dream focuses now. I close my eyes and see it clearly. The punches thrown, the words dealt, the love gained and subsequently lost, the memories had.
Its all a lie now.
Its all lost.
But the fear was real.
The unsettling feeling in my heart leaves now.
They all have the same theme, they all share the same line of thought, the same horrid reality: Trapped in the states, work starts in the morning, the ones I love back in Chile, the ones I love in the States, the conflicting emotions. Old love regained, new love lost.
Upon the sudden awakening to my alarm, chanting the same monotone voice, urging me to "wake up" I am lost. I am lost in my mind, studying the meaning. Someone once said dreams are the preparation for reality. They mentally and physically prepare you for situations you fear the most. As ancient man roamed the planes, his dreams were filled with escaping the predators he faced as he attempted to survive, his body was prepared. An evolutionary trait hard to deny easy to forget.
My dreams are closely aligned with reality, they seem more real than life sometimes. Reality? Reality is the perception of existence. Something with even the most basic philosophical student can argue to a fallacy. My perception of reality differing from yours, yours differing from his, and his differing from whom? Life is a mystery, a mystery which can never be solved, a case for which there is no ending. We attempt, we declare scientific discoveries which further our understanding, but in truth we merely nibble at our trapped limb of perception, hoping to escape before the lost blood, smothers our life. The exercise appears futile, believed by me to be so. But that is as far as it ever goes, beliefs. We claim to be scientific and hold no beliefs, but the attempt to solve the mystery to further our slight understanding, is to believe that the mystery can be solved. It is to believe that we can figure out why we are here, and where we go? The only absolute in life is that understanding will never be achieved. Our bodies know this, as they slowly loose cells, and limit our time to ponder, to question, to discover. What is the purpose of life? What is the point? Questions asked by a weary brain after a night of cerebral exhaustion. What would be the point, if one could never feel truly rested.
Love?
Empathy?
The point I find for myself now is my own, neither advice or an answer. Advice is greedily given, and rarely accepted. I purely ask questions and work toward a life which supplies answers.
She sits, back pressed against the window of the adjoining building. Her body shakes with the convulsions of deep emotions, hurt, the inability to understand why this sadness must be thrust upon her now. Her friend's hand tenderly rested upon her back, hoping to ease the pain, hoping to right the perceived wrongs. I watch the foam. Eyes, expertly now, making sure the right amount floats tranquilly upon the golden brown liquid. No people sit at the bar, no stories to be shared today, only the heat is my companion now. I wander out of the door, my eyes catch the scene to my right. The tear stained face, the glistening of the running nose, sadly the face is dearly familiar. A face I had seen the week before, with a smile, laughter easily flowing from our conversation. Sharp feelings of an unsettling and unpleasant nature sneak into my heart, the same emotions I feel upon realization in my dreams. Weights meld with shoulders, my feet feel tied to the earth, my mind feels itself shift into one train of thought. It has been nearly two months since this feeling has entered my conscious mind. I want to help her, to solve her problems, to hear her pain. My lack of Spanish bars these urges, slaps the helping hand violently. Work ends, I wander slowly, with feet feeling as though the slog toward home.
They look at me, their eyes sensing the change in mood, there actions slight but noticed. Dinner warm, offered into my hands, they say nothing, having learned something past loves had not. Later that night conversations with old friends offer an unnoticed relief to my over empathetic response. I smile, and head for my beckoning bed. The next day is as the rest, just as I could have dreamed, just as I always wanted. My home is here. My happiness is here, my dreams have followed me here, but I watch them now with a curious nature, their turmoil no longer plagues my heart.
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