Saturday 1 December 2012

B is for Books

Books. The last thing I saw and the only thing I remember. My favourite stories from a life filled with stories float across my vision, partially see-through as memories often are. The hours I lost to those stories, the magic I gained, the incredible ability to destroy the outside world and creep inward into imagination while also jumping outward into the writer’s story. I suppose there were other things about my life. I guess I had a family, at one time or another. I know there must have been a mother and father involved at some point. Whether they were together or united in a test tube they must have existed. I felt a strange glow take over whatever I am now. I must have had friends too. The glow continued so I guess they were very important to me too. So, I was a person of books, family and friends.You must lose everything except your final thought when you die. Or, you must only have that in your conscious thought. The glow made me think that there were still memories in me of my life, but that they were buried too deep for me to access them.
Buried. I remember that word. That’s what they do to you when you die. They bury you while you deal with buried memories. They don’t know, the living people. They don’t know the synergy of life and memory. I do now.
For the first time I look around myself. I’m not sure where I am. There are no white clouds or half naked cherubs, there are no flames and satyrs. I seem to be just hanging out in the clear air. The sun is out. I look at it and for the first time in my life I’m not blinded. Sorry, I should say for the first time ever I’m not blinded. It’s quite pretty when you can see it properly, golden and roiling like a lightened version of magma. Or like the bouncing golden curls of a child. It’s not scary, just awe-inspiring. Impressive, perhaps, but even that word doesn’t do it justice. I look down. I’m further away than I thought from Earth. I can see the water and the land, the curvature of the horizon. I don’t know how I got up here. Perhaps souls, if that’s what I am, are not supposed to be conscious. Maybe I had a little problem with icing on the way up and it woke me up. Maybe I was supposed to become a star and now there is a star missing because I’m hanging around down here. Hanging around? I wonder if I can move.

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