I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee...
Every once in a while our unconscious stumbles across the magical line between knowing and unknowing. As if attempting to create imagined happiness inside a cage of self-imposed misery, a vision comes to us that is unshakable in it's tangibility, almost impossibly real.
One such revelation of truth came to me in that pixelated world between sleep and awake, and so vividly imprinted itself upon my mind that I can not help but shudder with the recollection at the varied and unpredictable times it chooses to come back to me.
I stand in a small, dimly lit office trimmed with rich mahogany over warm neutrals. The warmth of the room is enriched by the glow of a bronze desk lamp with green glass shade, the type that typically adorns the desk of a lawyer or accountant. The subdued lighting contributes to the heavy somber feeling that hangs thickly in the air, the kind that results from the announcement of some inexplicable tragedy or bad news that could not be predicted or avoided.
Beside me in a wooden rolling chair sits a man, a nameless man, face in his hands, elbows on his knees. His suit jacket long ago discarded and forgotten, tie left in some unremembered place, collar unbuttoned as if somehow this will make the world more bearable. He runs his fingers through his no longer pristine black hair with an inaudible exhale, as across the room on a faded brocade couch an older, indistinguishable man continues his rationalizing explanation of the night's catastrophe.
Reaching out a hand, this nameless man snakes his arm around my thighs, pulls me to him until my legs are pressed against his body slumped in the chair, burying his face against my hip. His expression remains forlorn, but somehow the warmth of our contact stirs an unspeakable emotion that passes back and forth between us in a free exchange of intimacy that washes over us, isolating us from the world. The room begins to fade away, and I am suddenly hyper-aware of the details of the experience of him.
The first thing that I notice is the fabric of his shirt. It is soft and almost nonexistent in consistency so that brushing my hand across his arm my fingers almost reach through the material to his skin. Underneath his skin is soft and tan, hot to the touch. I become aware of a burning heat wrapped around me at every point of contact, a chemical reaction between us that penetrates into the pit of my stomach and travels up until the hair on the back of my neck stands up from the power of it. His scent overcomes me, ethereal and intoxicating. As I begin to separate this overwhelming heat from the wave of emotion that has enveloped me, I suddenly become cognizant of the breadth of his shoulders pressed against me, the strength of the arm that holds me and then I realize his face has tilted up, looking at me with piercing eyes full of sorrow. Sorrow that melts into unspeakable relief as the barrage of sensations I have felt washes over him and for an instant we are one being. It is a moment unlike anything I have ever experienced in waking moments.
The evocative authenticity of this experience has haunted me for days. In sleep my subconscious struggles to reclaim this moment, to discover the identity of this perfect being who held me in his arms in a moment of tragedy and found solace in my presence. In waking moments my mind fights to comprehend what that feeling was, as it lies just outside of my understanding.
It is as if someone challenged me, said to me "You don't know what you're missing" and in the mystic realm of Morpheus my mind reached out and achieved this....this...this is what I'm missing.
Words cannot do justice to this experience. Even as I write this I am saddened by my inability to capture the true essence of it.
For once in my life, words have failed me.
One such revelation of truth came to me in that pixelated world between sleep and awake, and so vividly imprinted itself upon my mind that I can not help but shudder with the recollection at the varied and unpredictable times it chooses to come back to me.
I stand in a small, dimly lit office trimmed with rich mahogany over warm neutrals. The warmth of the room is enriched by the glow of a bronze desk lamp with green glass shade, the type that typically adorns the desk of a lawyer or accountant. The subdued lighting contributes to the heavy somber feeling that hangs thickly in the air, the kind that results from the announcement of some inexplicable tragedy or bad news that could not be predicted or avoided.
Beside me in a wooden rolling chair sits a man, a nameless man, face in his hands, elbows on his knees. His suit jacket long ago discarded and forgotten, tie left in some unremembered place, collar unbuttoned as if somehow this will make the world more bearable. He runs his fingers through his no longer pristine black hair with an inaudible exhale, as across the room on a faded brocade couch an older, indistinguishable man continues his rationalizing explanation of the night's catastrophe.
Reaching out a hand, this nameless man snakes his arm around my thighs, pulls me to him until my legs are pressed against his body slumped in the chair, burying his face against my hip. His expression remains forlorn, but somehow the warmth of our contact stirs an unspeakable emotion that passes back and forth between us in a free exchange of intimacy that washes over us, isolating us from the world. The room begins to fade away, and I am suddenly hyper-aware of the details of the experience of him.
The first thing that I notice is the fabric of his shirt. It is soft and almost nonexistent in consistency so that brushing my hand across his arm my fingers almost reach through the material to his skin. Underneath his skin is soft and tan, hot to the touch. I become aware of a burning heat wrapped around me at every point of contact, a chemical reaction between us that penetrates into the pit of my stomach and travels up until the hair on the back of my neck stands up from the power of it. His scent overcomes me, ethereal and intoxicating. As I begin to separate this overwhelming heat from the wave of emotion that has enveloped me, I suddenly become cognizant of the breadth of his shoulders pressed against me, the strength of the arm that holds me and then I realize his face has tilted up, looking at me with piercing eyes full of sorrow. Sorrow that melts into unspeakable relief as the barrage of sensations I have felt washes over him and for an instant we are one being. It is a moment unlike anything I have ever experienced in waking moments.
The evocative authenticity of this experience has haunted me for days. In sleep my subconscious struggles to reclaim this moment, to discover the identity of this perfect being who held me in his arms in a moment of tragedy and found solace in my presence. In waking moments my mind fights to comprehend what that feeling was, as it lies just outside of my understanding.
It is as if someone challenged me, said to me "You don't know what you're missing" and in the mystic realm of Morpheus my mind reached out and achieved this....this...this is what I'm missing.
Words cannot do justice to this experience. Even as I write this I am saddened by my inability to capture the true essence of it.
For once in my life, words have failed me.