The UnfathomableClaire de lune
5
  •      Loneliness, a frigid void that lurks within us, is nothing but a cold reminder of our status in the universe. We are born alone. We die alone. For some, who are successful at distracting themselves from the static way of how the cosmos exists, may perceive themselves as having connections with others, and thus not affected by the solitude. Natheless, such sweet deception never stays perpetually, for at the end of the way, the truth awaits. For others, it is too loud to ignore, the painful gospel of reality. It breaks through their fort of avoidance. It invades into the boundary of ease in which they clumsily drew, lest life would be a chaotic battleground of the artificial meaningfulness and the natural nothingness. And therein, loneliness snatches the deceptive blind of the human race, forcing one to face the abominable epiphany of nature; that we are entirely and endlessly alone.

         For me, and especially for now, what I have been avoided has finally set in. And not by choice, it seizes all of the warmth in my heart. Suddenly, at this moment, I perfectly comprehend the life of a man on a deserted island in the middle of the vast chill ocean. Looking up, the man sees nothing, but the unreachable multitudinous seas of stars, existing tens of light-years apart from one another, and it is among them that he exists, yearning and begging them to be his companions. Alas, the cry for amity will not reach them, for they are, as ignorant as our knowledge of the universe, unaware of his insignificant presence. Looking up, I see nothing, but the bare concrete ceiling. Here, I sob alone in my tiny island in the middle of the vast sea of fog. Once again in my life, and this time possibly for eternity, loneliness has established a stronghold in my heart. Remember the lonely whale? I reckon I'm equal to them now.

         I gaze into her room; therein, lies fragments of hope, scattered here and there across the room. Each bit gradually evaporates into the contaminated air. The fog gradually flows in through the ajar window like the wall of water escaping a fallen dam. 'What would it be like if I just lay down here?' I ask myself despite the fact that the answer has always been portrayed multiple times. And there, I lay down staring at the mundane rectangle ceiling. 'Is this going to be the last picture I see? Quite sucks,' I murmur to myself. The divine scent slowly creeps into my nostrils. I close my eyes, unclenching my muscles, letting myself flow with the fog. Floating, I can feel the warm Neptune of a tropical island. It embraces me with a welcoming hug, crooning the traditional lullaby of Potenus. From the dark, a gorgeous garden of veronica-purple lavender materialises. On top of my head, no longer exists the dull ceiling, but a dome of a clear blue sky. Towards the east, the zephyr of summer tickles my cheek, while carrying the heavenly fragrance to the far far away land. O up the little cloud, I can see the angels mingling with each other, teasing and laughing indefinitely. I saunter along with one of the never-ending bushes, squinting my eyes against the flickered sunshine from an after-rained puddle. Suddenly, an unexpected sound chases my back. My eyes enlarge with joy at the presence of the creature that has dashed past me. I sprint after the four-legged golden-coated animal. "Bark!" it challenges me, and I gladly accept it. Laughter fights against breath to meet the heavenly outer world. I run on and on, smiling from all of my heart. And for the first time in many years, I feel peace.

         'Stop,' demands an invisible voice.

         Involuntarily, my feet are pegged to the ground. The dog has gone beyond my ability to see. The lavender garden starts to fade away. The blue sky is torn apart like cotton candy. Every particle turns up-side-down, and again, as if I am possessed, I find myself standing one-leggedly on the verge of my window and certainly of life and death. Frozen by the unexpected position, my hand tightly grips the windowpane; its fragility is barred from my consciousness. My feet root deep in the window frame. They are useless now, like two separated wooden sticks standing on the uneven ground. My eyes, in contrary, go wild. They scan all dimensions, and there, upon the asphalted ground, they meet the old friend. 

         Lying surrounded by a mere of blood is a distorted body — no, the distorted body, I'd say, for the former possessor of it is known to me, to us all. Even though the physicality has been altered beyond what we can firmly and certainly call 'human', we all know that the thing, the centre of the existence, we can fully call 'her' is not her flesh but the incomprehensible chemical relation operating in her nervous console, but which one? Can we call the anomaly that has controlled her physique 'her'? Can we really be sure that what had been 'her' all along was 'her' and what we call 'anomaly' is not 'her' that had been enduring the repression of the superior psyche and escaped the mental imprisonment? What if, even in the slightest possibility, 'we' are not 'we' as we know it, but a mental parasite that has taken controlled over this body from the prior host since the beginning of life? What if the nature of the physical host is constantly prone to destroy itself like the body of the entity we call 'Andropa' thus the body, craving to spread its genes, seeks something to stage a coup against its treacherous nature? If so, we, at best, may as well be merely a by-product of such struggle and, at worst, be inconceivably used as a tool to fulfil the flesh's end like a leech used in hirudotherapy. Roistering in the triumph over a colossal being and feasting itself upon its divine fluid, the leech considers itself the Conqueror, Alexander of all leeches, until it is pulled out of its party and store in a dark jar amongst its folks where it can boast about its conquest. "You see," it may say, "I went on this odyssey, and heroically slew this vicious creature. I drank its blood, and yelled to its horrid face, 'This is what you get from bothering the Leechians!' Alas, something forced me to come back, but at least I have spread our superior presence there." In that packed jar, it may be glorified as the exemplar. Some intellectual leeches may verbally transmit such courageous legend to the upcoming generations of Leechians; a legend based on vanity, ignorance, and falsehood. Ha! Such foolish, vile creatures!

         I pull myself back to reality when I see something is happening with the lying body. Although the fog blurred the vision, the sight of the occurrence is unforgettable.
    Submerged in the milky air, the body starts to shake, at first mildly but it becomes more and more violently until her body cracks into an indefinable form — anything, but humanoid. On her forest-facing back, something lurks beneath their skin. 'Could that be the python? What will it look like? It must be hideous,' I watch intently. The fleshly body gradually sunders and from the canyon of repugnance, rises an illuminated entity. It stretches its body as if relived from being packed in such a small space. It has a shape boundary, yet it has no forms. It was born from the cauldron of devastation and valediction, yet I find it tranquil and free; the Eternal Peace. I...want to embrace it. From the ground, it hovers upon the deceased body. I feel like it is watching me, despite the absence of the eyes, scrutinising my presence. I stare through the shining being at the corpse. 'Where is she now?' I think. Like a white aerostat, it slowly levitates towards the sky, and like Moses, the fog parts for it. Now, it stops before me. The moon-reminiscing body gradually transforms into a translucent humanoid shape. It silently gazes at me for a considerable period of time, and I gaze back. One of its hands extends towards me and gently touches my cheek. At the odd moment, everything is light. Both sides of my face soaked with uncontrollable tears. I reach my hand out, hoping to grab its vague existence. But suddenly, it disperses and beams to the sky.

    "It's so beautiful."
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