Capricious

4 - Lost in Iridescence

"Experience is the teacher of all things."
- Julius Caesar

I'm beginning to find those places, those people, those things where I feel warm, where I feel I belong, the edges of other worlds. Sitting in the corner. Cushions of teal and grey. Wooden tables, round and smooth. Sofas and chairs, comfortable and curved. Dimly lit, spotlights and candles. Contemporary art, photos and frames, of streets, of cities, of life. Painted bookshelves and the inviting aroma of coffee. The chilled, flowing music that calms and relieves. Serving those things that excite me, fruity and fresh, smooth and strong. I relax. And as I relax a new world opens up, a new confidence, a new strength. I can do things I have not done before, just by being truly comfortable. The pressure, the stress, the weight subsides, I let go.

I often want to be people I'm not, a writer, a mathematician, a historian. Instead I'm falling down this path I never wanted, and I'm too afraid to start over.

There are so many different worlds to explore. So much beauty and yet so little time. Lives taken away, stolen by study, by work, by money. Worlds we scratch, just the tip, never being able to delve into, to fully realise. For fear of losing time, of losing chances, of going against the system. We want so much, but we are afraid of falling into new worlds that we don't know, that no one we know knows. Oh how I want to experience those worlds. But how, when there is no one to explore them with?

Sudden loss of existence. All senses vanish. Lost not in time or space, but soul.

My head is swimming, floating along a current that I know not from whence it came. Carrying me along, drifting in deep waters.

Large glasses or white suspenders. Tiny mouth or flaming red locks. Small nose, thin eyebrows, black ribbon in her hair. Just more passing attractions.

Violent background noise singing a song you care not for. Pounding, swinging, volume, pitch.

That running shock of melting brain, of sudden warmth, of swimming smiles and breathless rivers. The world transforms into playful, phosphorescent panache. A phase of irrational joy shifts into me from above, caressing, freeing. Illuminated bliss. I can't help but smile.

I take it in so deeply, let it play around inside me, rip at my lungs. I need so little, to precipitate, to drop off from the world and splash into another. I let it wrap its coarse, prickly branches around me, fading me from seeing the sky above. Still looming, falling out of context, out of meaning. I know not why I'm smiling, pointless stretching of the lips. Something is stuck inside me still, in my throat, in my stomach. A polluting mess of deception and joyful sadness.

I feel myself living in the music. Each turn in beat, in rhythm, is to dance through another life. The music speaks, a language that talks to us immediately, not through the proxy of words. We make it more our own with how we take it in, how we interpret it. People use words to communicate emotions, to transfer feelings to one another. Because we crave these interactions, because it's the only way we know how. We want to be able to use less words. Till we have to use none at all. Till we can trade these feelings, communicate on a baser level, just looks, just expressions, just being. That is what we crave, to be known. We speak because we start so far. We listen to music to help us along. We live through it. A crossing with another life. Because lives don't simply belong to humans, they belong to everything, animals and trees, ideas and beliefs. To live is to exist. Lives desire lives. To know and be known. Lives blend, an ecstasy of iridescence is fabricated. And we feel complete. Until we lose a connection. Until the song finishes. Until we breathe our last breath.

Searching constantly. Gloriously shattered. Dreams forgotten.

When you know your dreams went wild with wondrous complexity and pure imaginative delight. When the elements fade across the night and you wake feeling lost, all forgotten. Then waking seems harder. As if you're being forced to face the truth, and you don't want to.

That daze, that bliss, that rush. From passion, from achievement, fromdrugs. My, my little endorphins, how you sate me so.