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Posts Tagged ‘monsters’

She was carefully applying her mascara in the rear view mirror, stopped at the red light at a busy intersection. The turning of my head to notice caused her to notice me, and with her wand frozen in mid-air, we exchanged one of those only-girls-can-understand smiles. Then, just as quickly, the light turned green and each of us took off into our respective universes.

Today, like a pent-up quarter horse bursting out of the barn into a vast green field, I broke my month-long illness-induced hiatus from running, and could not stop. I had set my sights low, thinking I’d walk part way and stay close to home, but the bright rising sun beckoned me out of one universe and into another, and before I knew it, I awoke, still running, a little unsure how I had gotten that far from home. In the middle of Nowhere I was, but I knew this nowhere far from home. Now I had to figure out what possessed me to get so far away, and get myself back to Somewhere.

The thing is, the trip to Nowhere was such a blast! I hated to drag myself back to Somewhere. Following the white reflective strip on the opposite side of the road, the morning traffic on the busier stretches forced me off the white line, less for my sense of safety and more for the drivers. Veering off my straight line caused me to reckon with tall grasses and morning dew, soaking my shoes and socks. The steady rhythm of my pace allowed me to shake off the highly irritated fire ants whose piles I had pummeled with my unseeing feet deep in the tall grass. Stopping for nothing, I savored and ran through each cramp, flash of joint pain and finally, the rogue pebble that made its way into one shoe. Damn, I can feel the sear of the blister-to-be. The calendar says autumn, but this area defies such man-made seasonal designations, and the sweat signaled victory in endurance.

There was comfort in the discomfort, endorphins in the pain.

Arriving home, the swing under the welcoming giant oak tree called out to me as I transitioned universes yet again. Walking it out, I circled around and took the oak tree up on its invitation to join with it. Mounting the swing, “Enya’s Caribbean Blue” was up next on my iPod – I’d forgotten I had that song on there still. I immersed myself in this universe now, gaining momentum and, once high enough, alternately assuming a reverse-planking position. I gazed upwards into the canopy, spotting bits of blue sky through the trees outstretched arms which hugged me close underneath. The child in me dared to tilt my head backwards once at the peak of height, seeing the world upside down in a deliciously dizzying moment.

The man watching me from behind was upside down, too. So were his two little dogs. I hit pause and allowed myself to come back to earth so I could greet the surprised onlooker, who appeared to be trying to figure out if I was trespassing, and if it could be considered trespassing when one was clearly enjoying themselves in one of life’s little pleasures typically reserved for children. My self-assured explanation that I was cooling myself after a long run, getting the breeze in both directions by swinging, caused him to laugh and wrap up the pleasantries and move on.

Thus I was awakened out of another universe and catapulted into yet another.

I find myself traveling between and among many parallel universes throughout the course of any given day. And yet, I am supposed to believe that only one universe, one reality, exists.

I have gradually over time began to suspect otherwise.

We are finite in our ability to sense what we perceive. An inquisitive, wide-eyed child knows, but is trained by “trusted” adults to deny what is so apparent to the child. Where the child seeks validation for their very-real experiences, the adult makes the other dimensions simply not exist.

Thus with nothing more than a bold statement, there are no monsters under the bed. Or, as the little one says, “Yi-yons in the woods” across the way. Fierce lions, from his account. No, he is told, no yi-yons in these parts.

But the child is not so sure, not so easily convinced. If we can talk ourselves into or out of anything, can we also talk other things into or out of existence? The mind is such a powerful thing.

Sometimes while mentally in one universe and physically in another, I ponder whether I am imagining things, or if it is really real. I fool myself into believing that it is not real if it is appropriate to do so, and later my mind wanders again and I am forced to reckon whether it was really real and I suppressed and denied it at will, or if it is pure figment of imagination.

Maybe I am thinking too hard, as I have been accused, and as also being accused of using this to communicate in other dimensions. Guilty as charged, on both counts. Have we not all slipped into a dual existence between our online habits and our non-online habits?

What is real, anyway? I would rather expand my mind and entertain the possibilities of things I can’t prove, than pigeonhole myself into one dimension. I would rather acknowledge the monsters under the bed and give credit where credit is due, than spend energy and a lifetime being foolishly self-assured of falsehood. I would rather enjoy the painful process of risk than waste away in comfort. I would rather be damned for trying and doing, than damned if I don’t.

Hey, God…thanks for the trip. Thanks for multi-dimensional universes and for the generous samplings of each one despite our limited awareness. I pray that the monsters under the bed, and yes, the yi-yons in the woods, can someday know the joy of reverse-planking on the swing. Maybe they’ll come out at night when we’re not looking and party under the oak tree.

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