Monday, August 17, 2009
I never really understood
what he said
but every now and then
I find myself barking with the dog
or bending with the irises
or helping out
in other little ways
There was once a little girl.
She danced on air, she played with characters pulled from depths in her imagination.
They were sweet little fairies and talking animals, the characters would jump from heights down into her sparkling playtime. Playtime and fancy never had an end. When she would wash rugs outside, she was an Egyptian handmaid to a queen. When she would lie in the covers at night she was hiding from an enemy army in a swamp, she writhed in the blankets because there were snakes at the bottom, (it was a stuffed octopus.) At dinnertime she would eat at a feast in a stone castle, instead of on a marker covered table in a small suburban house.
Draping herself in a wine colored blanket, she told her family that it was on her because she was cold, but it was July. The truth is she didn't want anyone knowing that it was all a game, she wasn't cold, she was always pretending that life was different than it actually was. The blanket was a cloak, a royal cloak, it was currently being worn by Her Imperial Highness, Kera Keralli the I, an Archduchess of Russia.
Forward, forward, at fourteen she was still playing games, running around in back of the house swinging on trees. She wasn't in the back of the house, she was swinging on a tree in an Amazonian jungle, guiding a lost party of adventurers to a hidden treasure located in a cavern.
She had a puppy. But, it wasn't a puppy, it was a lion, in an African Desert, and they walked down not a residential street, but a ditch, and there they captured poachers, and made friends with squirrels (which were actually giraffes.)
Forward, Forward, at seventeen she was playing trickier games, buying clothes from expensive shops, acting as if she could do this any day. Eating at exquisite restaurants, and playing the heiress. She wore cubic zirconium necklace, but it wasn't cubic zirconium, it was an antique diamond necklace, given to her by her great great grandmother, who was the wife of an Eastern European autocrat (He owned half of the black forest and was best friends with Albert the I, Prince of Thurn Und Taxis, and it was decreed that her great great grand daughter would marry his great great grandson, Albert the II, and thus become a princess).
She danced in clouds, clouds in her head. It was always a bit overcast there.
The pretending continued and it didn't hurt anyone, but herself. She had no real life. Yes, there were goals, but there was always plenty of time. And even if there was work to be done, it was always better when it was something else, something imagined in her head.
Then something terrible happened.
...Forward...ever so slightly...
She conjured a falseness which was close to reality... it was reality interwoven with dream tightly, so that they were forced to coexist. One could not continue without the other.
In the imaginary world, the house of daydream, there were heartaches and depression, but she had even made her scarring adolescent depression a glamourous thing. She was full of herself, she believed that everything in this world existed to fulfill a purpose in her imaginary world. Anything that was encountered in her life was merely something to be transformed, improved, and beautified, so that it could hold a special place in the house of daydream. After the conjuring...the house of daydream began to creak and it quickly crumbled into dust.
Without warning reality came running after her, tracking her down, and giving her no more escapes. The true nature of things stood over her staring in her face, shouting for her to examine her actions and their consequences.
All of the fanciful musings had changed her perceptions from what they should have been, they crushed down on her. The worst part is that reality had touched her dream world a little bit ago... and now there were several others involved, and that didn't help matters. She was mashed into a helpless little pancake. She wasn't sure how to fluff herself up again without fancy.
And so she lies on the cloud and allows it to carry her wherever it wishes...forsaking her will.
I feel very sorry for her, this is the problem with dreamers, when someone isn't one (meaning that they are a sane individual,) they are far less likely to feel the pains in their own realities, with the same poignant intensity, and regret. These people can overcome struggles without a dramatic
Somethings last a long time.
There is a solution....and I will let you in on it a little later, when I figure it all out. Now is not the time for unveiling.