An Eye on I

TL;DR “I have been here.”


I am here. In a tunnel wide enough to handle my height and the the width of my thoughts. The tunnel is circular and dark; the only shimmer of light is an afterglow from a distant source. The paint on walls—”if any” because I cannot really tell—is smothered with the thoughts and expectations of a great many. Look! Look here. It says “A male child, if only you will bless my home with a male child.” This is the writing of a female human. Where from she placed this here, I have no clue. Turn your eyes over here and take another look, “This office keeps eluding me. If I could only get this. But what have I done outside whatever is needed?” Yet another female hum… ah no, this is Lilith! This one is really interesting. To think that beings like Lilith and her kind also write wishes and words of lamentations upon the these walls; it’s hilarious really. And  there are many of its kinds here. Therein lies my curiosity. In the beginning times of pondering, the questions “Where am I?” and “Why am I here?” seemed to serve me with hope, with meaning, with a purpose, a promise of some act when I escape this long dark grisly tube. But I have been here for so long, time itself has started writing its wishes on these walls. Below—where my feet tend to find respite after every toil here—there is wetness. I have not discerned the nature of this liquid but it tends to be very still. I do not know if it is the light at the end of the tunnel which colors this liquid but the shade does change at many random points. If you could walk with me, please. Let us take a note of what changes. Maybe you could help me discern what is. Theatre at its finest is reduced to child’s play with the drama of this liquid and its luminescence. Ah! I remember the theaters of old. I remember walking in with my friends never expecting what emotions lay in wait for us inside. It was always a jolly ride: from thrilling, to sad, to empowering, to loving, anxiety, confusion… oh they were many; I would not be able to name all of them even if I had all the time in the world—memory doesn’t. Such thoughts are one of the few things which keep my color in this tunnel; for how long I have been I here. Look at me digressing with you right here. I must have been really boring. Thanks for bringing us back to the topic of discussion by pointing this out to me. Interesting, isn’t it? The color of this mystery liquid has changed again. It now reflects a different light on the wall? Yeah, that’s how I know the color of the liquid has changed. You can’t really tell from looking down. The light ahead has always shone transparent; it’s radiance is my only proof of its existence. You always have to keep your head up, keep your eye on the goal… even though the goal blinds you. Notice here again, the colors on the wall has changed again. Through my time here, I have not been able to give names to these colors. They just are as I am, I think; still looking for meaning in what they do but are forced to believe they are a consequence of the light at the end of this tunnel. They are dependent on the pulsing of this light which is far beyond their reach—if they ever fantasize about reaching it—and a liquid well below the level on which they exist. There is nothing scientific about this explanation but they must believe it in order to be anyway. Oh really? I have not taken time to consider the disparity in these different words on the walls. It is almost like… hold on a second. The tone of these others behind do not really follow through with these others in front. Let’s see what this one says. “Melius est parum cum iustitia quam multi fructus cum iniquitate.” Doesn’t sound much like a wish to me. This one commands; how odd; it is tagged “T.O.T.E”—again! Whoever owns that tag, whosoever laments under that tag needs to learn how to make himself understood because he always leaves me confused.  This is not the first… this is not the second… this is not the umpteenth time he has written something that makes no sense OR is completely off context. Latin? Yeah, I came to learn multiple languages because of this endless grope. I am yet to find another in this predicament I find myself in. I have said before, I have been here since time immemorial. I have questioned the writings of time on the wall too since when I came about this dark tunnel. How I came to be here is also a mystery. I have tried looking back, to see the beginning, but all I see is a great poetic darkness with a dilemma in its meaning: “Here I am, creator of the light”, “Here I am, an epiphenomenon of the light”, …just to name a few. All I do now is walk towards the light, since this is common in this dark confusion. It has served to fill my actions with purpose. Look at it and observe how it pulsates, beckoning, “Hither. Hither.”

My feet have developed a relationship with this liquid and the light unknown to my consciousness itself. I have lost all control. Yes, I want to edge closer to the light always. Goodness knows I cannot live another day—can I use “day” now? Time itself is lost here with me. I cannot live another moment with the thought that I am not yet with the light; that this warmth is only but a promise—a never-ending promise. Despite the strive exigence, all parts of me which my legs are not require rest. Given, all they do is follow the lead of the least tall man in the crew. Once they despised him, “Lowly basterd! Filth! You always tread in dust and mud. We try to protect you with everything we had. We even build a home for you with the finest leather. You complained that you were not comfortable in it. We got you a snuggie made of the finest cotton from the fields; still you chose to ground your house in swamps, dirt.” They would spit on him—all manner of inconceivable things were done. This must be what pushed him to sign this contract with this liquid in this tunnel. This little agreement—how is it that the least becomes the one which everyone now has to listen to… or is it just the environment? Kinda reminds me of when I lied in the world oblivious of worlds. Step by step, step in front of step, my feet keep moving forward.—oh look here, the color of this liquid has turned to “sky”; you could see little patchlets of cloud beneath my feet… some even go as far as rising to the surface of the liquid. The agreement is such that the liquid rises to embrace each foot on every landing. The rhythm has continued steady for—it’s almost a millennium now; if my counting is correct. Yet the light eludes me, despite such loyalty to its course. Look at this one: “Even up the waterfall, fishes fly. ~ T.O.T.E”. What this could mean… what this could mean? What sort of creature is this… “T.O.T.E”?-? I couldn’t tell myself. It has managed to make everything which crosses its path as mindless as consciousness itself. If the complexity is not high, it resorts to complex languages to write its stories upon the wall. Don’t fall back now, the words get more interesting towards the light, I presume; the lamentations definitely get scantier. Keep up! The journey is still enough for us to talk about frivolous things like “getting faded”. Come on…. I would like to wait for you to catch up but you know the nature of my legs—autonomy is its creed now. You really are getting faded? Like here… now? Where did you get the alcohol from? Oh!

You’re actually fading. My bad. Don’t panic, it happens to many, many a-times; yours just came a bit too soon. We have not had time to really get to know each other. I have not had time to explain myself. But if I was to, know this: You are here—you read the writings on the walls, some you understand, others you just glide past—you learn on the go, sceneries get created and broken down with every new thought—you create your environment in your terms—you become a new being, a new be-ing, a new “existing continuity”… void of what was and what is to come. When you see and acknowledge the light, your feet move under you on their own—the process continues too long, you fade into redundancy. The light becomes but a figment of your imagination. You created all that shimmer and shine. This redundancy causes you to momentarily realize and eternally forget. When you see the light again, I will be reborn, you will be by my side—idempotent—we will walk, we will fade, we will be return, we will repeat, we will be here.

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