Me, Myself, and Mind

I had a beautiful dream. In it, I was surrounded by a cavity of emptiness, having no place in time, nor the universe. A voice that didn’t sound like my mother but had those balmy mannerisms of hers asked me, 

“Where would you like to go?”

And I told her

Please show me the most beautiful mountain in the world.

And she conjured a boulder in the black tar that stood solemnly surrounded by smaller, smaller slates. How pitiful. I asked her,

This isn’t a mountain, this is just a rock. Why would you show me this?

She told me,

“It isn’t time yet, you’ll see. Have patience. Where else would you like to visit?”

And I told her

Please show me the most beautiful beach in the world.

But, with much disappointment, I was met with an unbelievably sad ocean, colored dirty moss and coupled with debris that oppressed the surface of the languid waves, the sand like wild cardamom seeds and cinnamon. Again, void of all reason, this was clearly nowhere near being the most beautiful, let alone a pinch of normal. So, I told her,

Why show me a beach adorned with junk and toxic waste in its waters? You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? This is no doubt ugly.

And again, she told me,

“It isn’t time yet, you’ll see. Do you want to go anywhere else?”

This time, yes, this time, I told her,

No, all the places you’ve shown me so far aren’t beautiful at all. I don’t want to go anywhere else. You’ll only disappoint me again.

A pause stirred in a now empty landscape. Then, in that same indifferent tone, she said,

Such a shame. Do you get it, now?

And then her voice echoed into the endless bounds of the abyss. What a beautiful dream.

Dandelions Will Always Drift

The most joyous day of the year, lavish in tinseled ornaments and burn-to-the-tongue cocoa and hearty laughter, was not actually. My unfortunate aunt had suffered from cancer for such a long time, and we believed she was getting better, just a little bit. I had seen her during Thanksgiving a month prior, so I wasn’t of the idea that it’d get worse. Life can jolt you awake from any expectations you may have. And you become too disarrayed to realize what had just happened. I awoke with news of her passing, with Christmas lights hung up front, and a tree filled with colorful bulbs and verve. Christmas day, with warm cookies, and even warmer gatherings, was plundered with solemn. She lived a life of love, despite the hardships she endured. She loved her only son so, even when his father left her to raise him by herself, so so early. She loved him with all she had, even when she was bound to fluids. I’d only see her once or twice a year at family gatherings. And I remember she’d crochet small animals to give them to me. I wasn’t close to her, though I wish I was. A sprouted dandelion out of a sidewalk dip, youthful fragility. Fragile to the changing conditions, yet stood her ground. My aunt, who I did not know well, a passionate woman, and a flower waiting to bloom.