The boy has somebody new sit by him on the train home. He half thinks about looking, and indeed, looks half way round until just level straight ahead, but can’t complete. It’s back out of the window, no expression: absorbing everyone else and not stopping there. To others, he doesn’t feel; to him, they don’t ~ trying to find a life saying no right now. Crushed into the packet of a schoolboy, so must be thinking once every eight seconds. Prayed upon all white to turn dark, like the blindness doubled. The balance was lop-sided, and the bottom half earthquakes, trying its best to shake off the deadwood, but he hadn’t done it ~ something had stopped him. Perhaps God. It gets fed up and returns back. Feeling is received, he finds other souls, hearts; who show him his, and let him open. Draws two circles to be the key to understanding the deepest mysteries: need and asset love - a symbol of what was given, and the belief. Clocks ticked, assets swelled; need stood puzzlingly ahead. The pastoral world said it: shepherds belong to man as well as sheep. He lives life as a good Pandarus; a net catching external happiness for his own. Drew to metaphysics, to learn Feeling’s depth; thought he found no boundary. One fated day, it was time for a lesson entitled microcosm – the guider said that if he opened a secret door, he could find newness, galaxies, paradise, beauty, depths and wonders beyond imagining. Don’t you feel stupid for being so wrong, boy? Don’t you feel so happy you were wrong? He’s wonderfully perplexed about infinity ~ what a hope, and yet, why learn there’s nothing’s new to learn? After all, his circles are only circles: they can fight the created system, but never defeat what they are. For the first time, he knew, and smiled, and the circles joined hands, danced and sang: tear-aqueous spectrum-colourful dreams. Every life teacher might have their door, but the realm beyond was made for him; so why return? Says Brielle, ‘Your world would pale in comparison; you could not be happy there’. He steps through, soul for the collonae.
The boy is on the train home: mellow and poignant. For all the thought, it’s still just a train. And zoom out, and out – the tiniest, insignificant blip on a great network, at one with everyone else, through the purpose. Loman called the shot: ‘man is not a piece of fruit’. “No”, thought the boy, and he knew and smiled, “I am that microcosm”. Somebody sat by him on the way home. He knew he could look this time. Overcome with nerves, excitement and fear, he found that he was right. It was his guider. She took his hands, the fear was gone; he saw her eyes, the pain was gone; they kissed, and saw Heaven.
It was a message, and still should be that way. I think cryptics are all that work sometimes - it's a measure to remind of the power of a feeling; something that even if it was tried to be explained in words would just could not do justice. That said, I just can't help sharing it, because I can't ever let go of the last few days, and felt possessed and gifted by something awesome: I don't ever want to forget any of it. Most importantly, it's a special tribute to my guider in an hour of need. *Dreams again*