My visitor arrived or wafted about before settling at my near right and as the visitor extended one hand the chain reaction began in earnest.
The silhouette ignites my mind in a whispering second and the merry-go-round begins to take flight as it spins into my core. Memories are all whirring about. Past, present and future all embrace as one as the pulsations in the physiological centers hum along. Jettisoning through rivers that branch out into definitive yet vast tributaries, each image contained within the memory that once breathed speaks of the infinitesimal.
All roads never converge, they may take turns to converge after diverging. What was masked as a crossroads is a pit stop - a mental truck stop. After the inspection or retrospection, the gears are then engaged and the truck moves forth, keeping in mind that it has a wealth of images, sounds and thoughts that are all derived from the origin of the point or the first derivative which was inherited from my progenitor.
Sweeping through what can be the soul are mirrors that are miniscule. Perhaps they are sub atomic and act as mini reflectors that cast shadows along the nerve infused walls which then form convoluted corridors with infinite doors, or passageways, that can never be counted - not with the ‘electron’ eye, never mind the human eye or mind itself. In this passageway, or doorway all senses collide or they may be filtered. The alchemist within begins to work on the secret formula weaving the spell of happiness or content. Invocations are soothingly stated, orated almost. Sometimes these are sung or recited in order to affirm and reaffirm the very reason of existence. It is within this corridor that I find myself entertained in various ways for I know that there is never a guaranteed resultant. The journey may be pitted with tribulations and misdemeanors. Pleasure may collide with pain or ignorance. The coldness may stifle the passions and keep them at bay until the sun rises or an eclipse occurs during a particular wisp of a moment or planetary alignment.
As I walk through the corridors and peek through the doors I do wonder whether some items may be permanently disposed of. What use is there to retain items that are never used or will never be used after their use by date? But that is the essence of the memory my dear, according to my visitor. Do I question or completely ignore the final tug of war and deliver my eternal trust to my self ?
Befuddled and no wiser than before, the eternal slumber awaits as my visitor observes my fading light. To an outside observer the final act is simple, almost sublime. One closes one’s eyes and disappears at a speed that would have perplexed Einstein. For me, as I end life’s journey, one succinct word can describe the climactic end as my life energy dissolves.
Supernova.
