Exile

It was just another day of exile on the beach

A self-imposed exile

At least it started out that way

But in his mind, it has turned into a quicksand-ish struggle of mind over emotion

Or emotion over mind

Or…

Yep, that’s where he was stuck.

The days and nights flew by and blurred together until the sun and the moon,

and the clouds and the rains and the northern lights all fought each other

to gain control of the skies, the heavens, the horizon.

And he sat there, looking at it all

But not really looking

Just kinda staring off in the distance

Each wave of water disappearing into the next until

the turbulent seas appeared as calm and flat and smooth as glass;

A permanent shrug of the shoulders.

And the confusing thing,

he thought to himself,

is that he didn’t feel hopeless.

Just not hopeful.

“Where does that leave me, then?” his mind said silently.

The wind started to gently blow and the leaves in the trees started rustling.

Then the trees started swaying back and forth the way trees do when confronted by wind

Bending, and bending, and bending some more. 

The forest shudders with each ever-increasing wind gust

The man felt a cold shiver run down his spine, and his sense of fear started to…

…wait a minute…when did the beach become a forest?

And he sat there, looking at it all

But not really looking

Just kinda staring off in the distance
not really seeing the forest through the trees;

A permanent rolling of the eyes

The days and nights flew by and blurred together until the sun and the moon,

and the clouds and the rains and the leaves and branches all fought each other
to gain control of the heavens, the skies, the horizon.

He didn’t even know how long ago that first day was

And couldn’t really figure it out, either.

Never mind the fact that what was once a beach

somehow became a forest

A forest where the tree branches

reached up and poked holes in the sky,

And down came the rains,

Pouring, pouring,

Drowning him

And he sat there, drenched

Water dripping off his eyelids

Blurring his vision,

Not able to stare anything

And eventually he had to close his eyes

Close his eyes to the rains

Close his eyes to the confusion

Close his eyes to the wind and the sand and to his exile

His self-imposed exile...

…that now sat in a self-imposed darkness.

Blind to everything

Unable to see

Unable to feel

Unable to scream

Unable to…

think.

think.

think.

I’ve been here before

(he thought)

(yes, he started thinking

in the absence of all

in the blindness,

there was not an absence of thought

therefore there was not an absence of all

therefore there wasn’t nothing

there was something

he was not alone

he was not in darkness

he was not in exile

he could open his eyes

he did open his eyes.

And he could see.

It was foggy.

He was on a beach.

At the edge of a forest.

After a rainstorm.

On the next day...