Eyes Open. Awake.
13 Oct
I feel that it’s optimal, now, to tell you more about the young man who followed the young woman into the attic and discovered that he didn’t need words to know what love is. He simply needed to follow her into the attic.
There are only two things you need to know about him. The first is that he isn’t who he thought he was through most of his life. He isn’t good or bad, strong or weak, healthy or sick, or even shaven or unshaven. The second is that he is transforming before our very eyes. And one can see it in his eyes.
Deep, dark brown. Focused and then unfocused. Yearning and then present. Lost and then found. Decided. Wanting so badly to understand. Knowing that he already understands. But unsure of his own understanding. Beyond believing that he is in the light if he so chooses. As are all of us spirits. In human form. Learning to be spirits again.
The young man was chosen. Not in the sense that he once believed – not chosen over anyone else, or chosen to do anything that others cannot or will not do. Simply chosen. It is no more complicated than what his eyes say. And what his eyes see.
When he went into the attic for the first time with the girl, he didn’t understand what he was getting into. He didn’t understand that within the attic, he would hold the girl. But within the girl, he would hold the attic. And that while he held the attic and the girl, the girl and the attic would hold him too.
In another world – the one he left when he went into the attic – the young man knows how the rest of the story would have gone: After coming down from the attic, the two of them would live happily ever after. Together. Until they were no longer happy. Then they would make each other’s lives miserable. Or bland. Until they moved on. Or didn’t.
In another world – the one he is committed never to return to – it’s easy to begin fairy tales but impossible to finish them. Whether it’s the job, the body, or the girl, we believe that we can eternally possess whatever fairytale forms exist on the outside. But form, by nature, cannot be eternally possessed. So when it vanishes, as all form must do, we find ourselves hopelessly trying to pick up the pieces of own misunderstanding.
The young man wants to dwell with the girl in the attic forever. But the attic isn’t suitable for eternal dwelling. At least not for humans. Because while it may be a place where convening happens, it isn’t where one eats. Or plays catch. Or goes on walks. All of that happens on earth outside the attic. Which is where the orchestra of life also happens to be playing. Live!
The young man steps down the stairs leading down from the attic, opens the closet door, and enters the TV room in the house where he will sleep for the night. He lies down on the couch, closes his eyes, and wonders what the difference between awake and dreaming is. Then he falls asleep. And has a dream in which he sees himself. Eyes open. Awake.