Many of us had gone to a wonderful land, a place where labor and love produced fruit.
I had seen the challenge in the eye of a young sprinter, and I had begun running the distance. I ran all of the way up to the penacle, faster than ever before, and within the threshold of my breath. The lessons of this place had made me a more powerful individual.
It was after that, shortly, that many of us were ushered onto a journey into the flawless heart of this land. We had received the Special Invitation. The King and the Queen even had been willing to travel,
to us, just to meet us! But that was unheard-of, and so many of us proceeded on a trip of great distance, through the magical realms, via the mechanics of fantasy.
Many invited could not handle the knowledge. The experience was over-whelming. They had to return. I saw friends give up, but I knew I would go the entire distance.
We saw phenomenon of nature, designed perfectly into the architecture by consciousness and appreciation. History seemed not long enough to account for the fabrication of it all. We dined and were entertained. We traveled endlessly. Every step was filled with light, wonder and awe.
The selfishness of a spider man caused the pressure of our flying machine to lose stamina along the way. This could not be accounted for, as mortals had never taken this journey, and so the Captain had no idea something like this could even happen. So when we arrived, we were lacking in steam as we rose and rose, and rose and rose -- like a telescope extending -- upward, toward bliss, toward the Center. And we did not make it.
No one could understand it. Not us, not our guides. We had to go back.
So, my woman and I were returning home. We returned through the gardens where thousands of us had lived and learned the ways of this place. Still, everything was wonderful in the way that we had always known our special land to be wonderful. More so now, as our hearts had the perspective of having journeyed -- unsuccessfully -- to see the Center. For, along-the-way, we had seen the fundamental marvels of this civilization... We could see now the awesome heritage upon which this utopia had been built.
We met a strange man sitting on a bench. He was holding a piece of the magic, a crystal from that Special Place. He would gaze through it, much to the exclusion of everything around him. We asked him what he was doing. He explained that if you look through the magic, you will see the magic. He believed that if he found another rock, complementary to his current piece, then...I don't know...perhaps he would re-experience the Special Place? Transport to the Center?
My woman sat down next to him. Damien and I exchanged glances. Fascinated, she asked, "Why would you
think to do such a thing?"
He laughed effortlessly. I was now watching him, comparing myself to him. He said, "As a boy.." blah-blah-blah. A cute story about a cute behavior that led him to develop these theories. By the end, she was relaxed, her hand had fallen to his unkept curly locks, and her fingers automatically adjusted his hair.
I saw her eyes turned heavenward, from my low vantage point. She looked on him with fascination, as though she could not resist his enchantment, his mystery. He was only funny-looking to me. His peculiarities reminded me that I am odd myself -- made to feel special only by her love of me. And I thought, "Why should she choose me?"
She realizes herself at that moment. Her fingers recoil, twisting. She is shocked at herself, chiding herself, "Arrgh, Stop!"
The man says zealously while gazing into his rock, fingering it, and cradling it gluttonously, "After all, life is just touch-and-go."
Damien speaks, in his blistering way, accusatorily at her, "Yes, it is just touch and go, isn't it?" My heart feels broken. I stand and walk some distance, perhaps to smoke, but even my cigarettes seem in on the betrayal. I look at their backs, not needing to, because I know she is getting his number. Her sketchbook is open.
When she stands, she catches me snapping all of my cigs in half. I turn to walk away, feeling replaced. I further bemoan my own dramatic self, because now, behind my back, I can feel Damien challenging her to choose her man.
She rushes ahead of me and falls to her knees. "Forgive me, my King." I stop and am stuck in myself. I look at Damien. His mouth hangs open, stupified by, and almost jealous of her action. I look back at my baby, she is beginning to cry, on her knees, supplementing to me, begging forgiveness.
This is not what I want, and I drop to my knees to face her. She kowtows even lower, cowering to be beneath me, sobbing. I try to reach out to her, to hold her close, to raise her, but only our knees are kissing, our bodies unable to come together in this position.
