None shall sleep! None shall sleep! Even you, O Princess,
in your cold bedroom,
watch the stars
that tremble with love and with hope!
But my secret is hidden within me;
none will know my name!
No, no! On your mouth I will say it when the light shines!
And my kiss will dissolve the silence
that makes you mine!
No one will know his name,
and we will have to, alas, die, die!
Vanish, o night! Set, stars!
Set, stars! At dawn, I will win! I will win! I will win!
The spring evening settles around us as we keen, sailboats shifting and clattering, restless in our berths. We are trapped souls, our barren masts scratching skywards, pulsing, almost vibrating against the indignity of our nakedness. Waiting for the disguise of darkness to camoflogue our wounds. When the wind settles, if she settles tonight, we can rest in the seductive whisper of water, caressing us towards a dream.
We are still alive. We are the clinical trials which never took place, finely aged and toned veterans of the Decade of the Brain, the bravest of the Big Pharma Guinea Pigs. Prozac GenOne Survivors. You find us on discussion board threads like Crazyboards, Out of the Fog, or PsychCentral. Shape-shifting, starboard wingmen, over sensitive to the tide, we have all, most of us, lost count of the months, the years even, we survived as anchor-outs.
The energy healer comes aboard at dawn, his dancing lizard didgeridoo draped over his shoulder. He is framed in fluid yellow, reminiscent of a sunrise just beyond my grasp. He rubs the Awakening bell to summon me up from a drugged sleep and settles me back into Theta consciousness. I am floating on a narrow bed vibrating with colors, cleansed by tingshas and Tibetan singing chakra bowls.
He strikes the Hu Yin ‘Tiger’ Gong.
“Where are you?” he asks.
I have traveled so far. His voice so far away. But he is insistent. We have work to do. His time is precious.
“Where are you?”
And so I tell him.
I am tossed and turned, violently catapulted within the water as it surges into the room, bursting through the walls of the building, barreling through city streets, creating into the ocean. For a moment, I find myself on shore, beached alongside Richard Parker, but before I can even experience awe, I am violently sucked back into a sea tunnel.
Breathless, loosing consciousness, I awake, trambolined out, reborn, buoyant in the body of an angel fish. I flick and swish through the water, bend and slide around rocks, alongside pearls reveling in the grass as it teases the thin of my gills. In a flash around a bend I am swallowed into the sanctity of a family, seamlessly swept into a school of angelfish. As if I were never alive before. We are magnificent. We dart and weave, dancing through the water, gathering speed, We are our own illumination. We move so fast everything around us a blur … gaining momentum …