- Books, Literature, and Writing»
- Commercial & Creative Writing»
- Creative Writing
Short Story: A Letter from a Soul Trapped in Purgatory
I hear sometimes that people believe God is dead. That he doesn't hear song, meditation or prayer and has faded into the event horizon of time, long forgotten of this world. Some feel he is of antiquity, a story or notion of the past, of holier periods where he conversed through vivid and inspirational allegory with sages, prophets, medicine people and soothsayers. Some sadly wander in wonder and disillusionment that so little evidence of God or Godliness remain. Even more than ever, there is a search for robustness, innocence and purity of life sometimes found in a flower, under a rock, in a piece of wood or at glancing a rainbow or a passing smile. It is all somehow dissipating into the background- a natural virtue consumed by a viral-like civilization that extends its tendrils like metastasizing cancer over the planet. With fast food, fast talk, fast love and fast times, who truly contemplates the esoteric romantic notion of God? I know some do. Was there ever an enduring, intimate and authentic God? Even I wondered this, too.
In the growing years, I suffered strange ailments such as blistering fevers but none so prominently as my ability to fall asleep anywhere I sat still for too long. I used to jest that it felt good to 'leave my body' even though after waking I often still felt exhausted as if I was working even harder while I slept. They joked that I must have Mononucleosis and teased that I was 'Sleeping Beauty'. When I was awake and refreshed, I whispered to my horse and only companion, incidentally, named Black Beauty, and spent endless days wandering the woods by myself, a child of nature, and at other times my nose in one book or another. It was in the woods alone that I delighted and felt most at one with the world and there I developed sweet and tender relationships with forest and farm animals. I often noticed thunder clouds would gather above me but seemingly when I wished to sit and bask in sunshine, they would part... except perhaps for the time I was struck by lightning at age 13.
Honestly, I didn't start remembering and holy 'waking up' from a conscious slumber until 1999. Until that point I had been, like the rest of you, involved in the rather ordinary pursuit of bare bones survival, paying bills, raising kids, pursuing career and goals. Along the way, between maladies and dodging controlling personalities, I too, was trying to discover and realize my true self. For the most part, I was nobody, a face in the crowd where egos of sorts deemed my successes or triumphs as trivial- nothing was ever good enough. I strived harder and harder sometimes reaching virtual perfection for which I was then sharply criticized. Year after year, perspective and memory grew dimmer to where I questioned how bleak reality had become. But not much kept me down for long. If I were an element, I must be Helium for regardless of circumstance, I persistently rose and bounced back. Nonetheless, still in appreciation of all the elements, I loved the rain so, I noticed the rivers and creeks were so low and the fauna beginning to wilt and fade in freshness and vibrancy. There were no more buzzing bees and fluttering butterflies outside my window sill. "Never more, never more!" I think a raven cried in the distance.
Though bright green eyes were ever peering to meet a match in another being most of my life surpassed without any meaningful indication of such a hopeful encounter. By chance, I would occasionally meet a kindred spirit but soon they would be stolen away, seduced or become victim of 'an accident'. While some garnered by my side to professionally and spiritually groom me in throughout the years, others stepped up attempting to play confusing ruses within my life. So often life itself felt but 'a game' as influential, plastic and cosmetic laden marionettes stymied on this stage for my attention meanwhile a black widow continued to spin a smouldering web in my shadow. Commercials and branding bombarded my existence within real life pushing the latest wares or fad of consumer addiction. Then one day an anxiety ridden and concerned lover ventured to take me to a film entitled, the 'Truman Show'.
I began to realize how obsessed this civilization was with it's compulsive penchant for stories and drama where the plot lines were excessively repetitive with its boring climaxes and disappointing conclusions that always ended in my slavery. The mundane significance of patterns and scenarios in the city were so easy to identify, everything was so predictable, I thought I might lose my mind. To this point, I later removed all connections to interfacing media and isolated myself in an inability to trust anyone any more. Some had learned the rules of engagement, to not come too close anyway, to the detriment of their own demise as the world realized I was heavily guarded by minions of an egocentric puppeteer and narcissistic omen. My own true soul mates remained out of reach.
By this time, when I was at my best they called me Snow White for my healthy satin complexion, blue black mane and full cherry lips. The jealous and the wicked, really nothing but groupies, with their cheesy western couture and painted faces offered nothing more than chasms of time devoid of intellectual ideas, did pursue me to no end. Soon, I was mocked as Rapunzel, referring to the length of my mane and the extensive periods of isolation away in my condemning ivory tower away from 'them'. The last Cinderella, a virtuous counsel and slave who had once suffered from a heart of glass but no more, always held a midnight vigil hoping to escape, not to any ball, there was truly no escaping... the wait. I was sickened by fairy tales and all things Disney and my tragedies that somehow often manifested as mockery on the big screen. And the waiting was years in agonizing bleakness of unreal reality, wondering when the 'green eyed monster', the one that haunted my dreams, would seal our destiny. Meanwhile, the flush green Boreal forest where I resided decayed into a barren dust bowl where sand storms beat against the door, a rap, rap, rap...forewarning of his slithery and millennial approach.
But that old serpent, he could not remember too much, he had long forgotten I was a patient and meditating Cobra, the abbot of all space-time. And indeed, time had not stolen all youth from me yet. And everyday, I primmed and prepped with a curl in my hair and paint on my nails and the company of a pot full of coffee or tea. What he did not know, I had learned very well, the marionette's dance like debris upon the sea. My lonesome travels and meditations with ample isolation had unleashed a fiery phoenix of memory. With crisp crystal clarity, through the traumas of time, enlightenment was unveiled to me. And from consciousness sprung unfathomable dimensions expanded unto the highest perceptions of super consciousness. I finally achieved self-actualization and was fully awake.
So, a tap, tap, tap, came at my door one dusty and blustering day. There stood a beautiful young man so lean and strong with eyes that were piercing peridot green. With a twinkle in his eye and a blinding flash of teeth, he winked at me once, and asked if he might rest a while and perhaps bother me for a drink. I ushered him into to my humble home with a shy and demure nod and grin. We spoke for hours of philosophy and life then weeks passed by entranced in each others eyes. We were seemingly, hardly, inseparable and outside the temperatures and seas were rising while the landscape was violently disappearing into eternity. And I could hear the cries, oh the agony of cries of humans begging for reprieve. The only ones quiet, so very mute were the loyal and diligent creatures fading into extinction.
We entwined us two serpents and it was like in the very beginning, like when we sprang from the slews. Myself and my counterpart, the day and the night, puzzle pieces that were never quite fitting. One with abundance and one without, remained a hungering and consuming void. Perhaps one is the embodiment of a wondrous galaxy, the other a mysterious black hole. A creator making amends with her ominous oppositional force. A long time ago, he begged a chance to switch places and do my bidding.The most beautiful dark entity frozen and heartless, in longing dared to challenge the universe. It was a heinous crime, an experiment where dimensions collided till eventually purgatory presided on Earth.
Forever bonded, yet always divorced, the paradox of all time. I removed his cross and he is no longer lost whilst the moon and morning star shine bright in the sky. For in the continuum, we cannot be together nor apart, so in this union we are thrice. It is a resolution of the ultimate conflict for the devil or, 'de ville est vraiment Christ'. Certainly it is an unusual unity, where we both paid the highest price. In the most literal sense, it is the balance of power within experience in the existence of life.