Week 33 - Slip Away

Slip Away

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Everything I want to let go. Can’t I just let go? Couldn’t I begin again? Can’t I just begin?

I take a deep breath and slip away. Slip away into the stream. Cosmic and chaos and all good things considered. I was told there would be so much more. I was told so many things. Lied isn’t the right word. But told. Told and convinced. There would be so much more. I let the energy flow over and around. I feel the world. I let it touch me. I let it sink in. I take a deep breath and then I am gone.

The chaos is the best part. Always. Call it what you like – controlled commotion, ordered disorder – the chaos is always the best part. You are one with everything and nothing. Inside and out. Forever and never. It’s like surfing on a wave of radiant energy, except it’s not surfing and it’s not a wave. A turbulent flow of gravity. There was at least some truth to that.

I reach out and feel the energy flow, the slipstream... I hold space-time in the palm of my hand. Except that my hand is nothing and there is no fabric of reality to be held. That was one of the lies. The idea that it was an item, something to be seen or touched or felt. Something that could be nudged or pulled or taken or controlled. They were all lies. They always are.

We sail into the sea, we three, and when our ride is done, what shall we be? Three young and dumb. Naïve. Blissfully ignorant. That’s what we were. That’s what we became. That’s what we still are, if any of us is left. If any of that makes sense. We thought. We had thoughts. We tried. We certainly tried. I have seen them forever ago. Or forever from now. Or fornever again. It blends and wraps and intermixes. I can’t tell anymore. They were just here. Or maybe never were.

Everything I want to let go. Can’t I just let go? Can’t I just slip away? Why do I have to exist? Is that a riddle? Somewhere inside is the answer. I never existed and have always been here. Space-time doesn’t know. It doesn’t care. It can’t perceive. It just is. Something that is, can’t be not. It can’t be made or broken or altered or changed. It is, despite what we do to it. Did to it. Tried to do to it. It is and all we are are pale shadows underneath.

The tides take me over. The tides take me away. She smiles at me. Somewhere, deep in the mists, she smiles. I know she does. I know she is there. Even if she isn’t anymore and possibly never was. She is there and she remembers. She has to be. Still. Despite all that I have done.

Consume my soul. They want to tear it apart and consume my soul. What good is my soul when I am no one and nowhere? They look for my body, but they don’t realize I am gone. How can they find my soul when they can’t find myself?

Slipped away. I slipped away. Into the slipstream and the great beyond. The boundaries of space and time. The other great dimensions and all their lovely lights. Pink. The universe always looks pink to me. Slippery little strands of pink spaghetti. I think I’m the only one who sees it that way. I think I’m the only one who can. Maybe I’m right or maybe I’m crazy. None of the others ever explained it this way. Maybe they lied, or maybe they just couldn’t see. They told themselves what they could and saw what they should. But not me. Oh no, not me. I saw mine and they saw theirs. Take the strands and give them a tug and see what happens. What sort of system is that? The continuum didn’t care. The slipstream didn’t care. I could pull all I wanted and it would slip and slide free and tangle itself all up again however it saw fit.

I can touch anyone or anything and yet all I feel is empty and alone. My hand goes somewhere, but perhaps I am but a ghost. I go right through what I should feel and get stuck when there is nothing there. I wish I knew what they felt. Them or her. What any of them felt. We couldn’t tell each other. We couldn’t see what the others could see. Where are they now and why did they forget me?

Everything I am is gone. Everything I was is gone. Everything I want to let go. Can’t I let go? Can’t I let it slide and let the flow carry me away? Where to? Where would I go? What would I be next? Only the stream would know and I am too afraid to slide and find out.

Lost. Once there was a path. Now stolen by the stream. My eyes fail me, or perhaps it was the flood.

Is this it? Do the tides take me away? Does chaos reign supreme? Have I ended or have I finally begun? Both seem wrong. Both seem gone. The path that was once there, no more. The rules and guides and lies and I am left empty. No one to control, nothing to change. The stream is never ending and I am done. Nearly done. Or close to it.

The chaos takes me away. What, my lord, I ask, is left? What can I become when all I am reminded of is all that has gone wrong? I try to hold on, like I did when I was young. The tides swell and wash around me. Set me free. The freedom to be me. I am free. I breathe deep and slip away. Everything I had is gone. Everything I was is done. Everything I want is let go and I am gone, lost to the stream, lost to the undone, lost fornever more.

Related Reading:

The Daily Fischer Day #72 – String Story