I don't really know

Chapter three

Sitting outside, looking over a valley at a mountain range at night. The rain on the tin roof just above your head, the beating of your heart in your chest, everything seems connected. Lightning lighting up the mountains in the distance, lighting up the corners of your mind. Each fork allowing you a glimpse at another world. Somewhere you have never been. And probably never will go. Somewhere where, for you, things could be better. Things could always be better. The smoke billowing up into the roof that covers you head from the torrents of rain that surround you. The rain pouring, splashing, gurgling along the path in front and in that rain you see yourself, carried away by the ever moving flow, the cycle, the never ending tediousity of the world. To escape. To be free, just for a moment, just for a second to feel what it is like to be in a world without boundaries, without limitations. Oh! What you would give.  Yet, you look into the distance and think, over there, over there is a better world, a world where there is freedom, a world without boundaries. Each moment you are being carried away. Freed, as you might say, from the boundaries that keep you trapped.  You realise that it is just another mechanism, another boundary, but that doesn’t matter right now. Now, in this moment all that matters is that it is not the usual boundary. It is not the same. Right now, you understand it all. You can see so clearly, yet all that has happened is another filter. Memories, flooding through your mind. Tears, streaming from your eyes. A cough, and now everything is cacophony of noise. A beetle chirps, whines, moans at the night, a twig breaks and you think you are done for. The screaming in your head has started and it won’t stop; now you scream. A bellow, a primitive groan against it all. A dog howling at the moon. That is the closest analogy you can think of.  You shirt stained with sweat, the floor in front of your stinking of vomit and you stomach yearning for food. You body aches, groans, whimpers against what you have put it through. You push off your seat, attempting to get up. The ground is not where it was. Confused you stumble forward, grasping blindly at anything and something comes rushing to meet you, it’s warm and sticky embrace cuddling you in its arms. The floor. Concrete yet soft, frosty yet warm, sticky, yes sticky, vomit is always sticking. Reality has become an illusion. The world is one, merging together into one big lump, a dirty clod. All in one and one in all. You are I and I you. That is how I know this.