sir reel ii

3/11/2021

Still sitting here. Here in this harshly lit room, but at least they’re not fluorescents. My mind often forgets. Forgets the wonder of that which I can’t see. How the lights are able to bathe us in their unnatural glow. How the vibrations in the air interact with the impulses between my ears to generate the perception of that which can never be explained– reality.

What is reality but a single word in a single language generally agreed upon by a select group of individual fragments of consciousness coordinating together in some inexplicable ineffable cosmic dream? We cannot know what cannot be known, or to us cannot be shown. Living life and perceiving present moment reality is an act of faith. Or is it?

These seeds were planted long ago, a sowing without knowing what it would grow into. A single act of surrender, a self-destructive form of faith. I tilled the soil and nurtured my fields as best I could, but who could have predicted the stampede? Even then we carried on, our fever crop our only means of revival. In the mists of survival, we looked to the heavens and saw only brutal clear sky there– an angry canopy devoid of atmosphere. We bowed our heads in defeat as the sun scalded our necks until the clouds gathered to drown us in an acrid acid flood.