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Beckoning Waves


Adam Gilson

 I awoke this morning to see a violin on my desk. I picked it up, wondering why it was there. Some deeper force within me moved me to put it upon my shoulder. I scraped the bow across the strings, and heard music. A part of me felt it was Bach...but I wasn't sure.

In my very soul, I felt as if I had surfaced from a long submersion. Awoken to a world that was unfamiliar and harsh to me. Nothing I once had was available to me.

All that was left to me were questions: How did I know how to play this violin? Who is Bach? Who am I?

I moved from my room, and saw two children quietly eating cereal. Their faces seemed at once new and old. Laughter and faint giggles echoed in the back of my mind...distant memories of birthday parties and training wheels.

Uncontrollable tears washed across my mind's eye. I felt tiny faces pressed against mine, wetting them with unspeakable sadness.

Who were these children? Who's memories were I feeling envelop me? They looked at me, could feel I was dealing with these thoughts.

They if they had seen me before.

They if they were used to my confusion.

I moved on.

I saw a piano. Dusty. I paged through the music I found in the bench...violin and piano duets. Composer's demons put to death through ink and paper spring forth brief explosions of love between two musicians, vibrating and twisting the air.

Heartbreak...or heartache? I was wondering if there was a line for such things.

A car was outside. The keys I had found in my robe opened it and started it. I drove. Not knowing my destination. That didn't matter. I already was where I was going. The only real destination was death. I hoped I wouldn't arrive.

I parked. I got out. I walked on the great grass lawns. I dodged the large inscribed stones and side stepped various flower arrangements. The air bit into me. No forecast has austere as a weather condition. I ignored it.


"In Loving Memory..."

I knew this person. Her children caused me confusion. Her piano caused me sadness. Her life...gave me pause. I wondered. Had we bent the air we breathe to our own musical whims? Had we forced time to beat for us? Where is the line?

She {had} loved me. She always will. I felt that move me. Cold comfort in times of need, to perhaps find myself again.

Numb to such things, I return to the house I woke up in. I sit here and type this down, to remember it. If I awake tomorrow, I wish to know where the day had taken me.

I am long in this queue. My life is no longer outside of myself. I live inwardly. I desire for things that few have. I hunger for things that rarely appear to me. It motivates me. Takes me to the next shallow breath.

I choose not to remember the life I once lived; either too painful, or too real. I am immersed now in a world that cannot be touched. That I can manipulate with the mere pressing of some keys. I do not have to control myself. I am hidden to those I interact with. I am the wind.

No need to practice countless hours. That ends in chaos. I create all that I wish here. I am secure in what I know. And I am drowning in it.

And yet…I think I can fly above this all. With even the faint memory of her, I can find myself again. That sense of self-import that was vindicated by her love must live on, or I will crumble. I still retain that within me, to grow with out.

I know what I must do. My flagship of temperament will never sail into these disillusioned waters again. I will set my compass to her love, and I will remember: A persistent universe, left unchecked, will engulf all that are willing and needing to be swept up in it's beckoning waves.

And I will live again.

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