Nonika’s Comments (group member since Jun 27, 2013)

Nonika’s comments from the Join the Writing Table! group.

It's very late, or is it early? I wake in a dark room. The air feels as if some large dinner party has recently evacuated the room, taking their follies to the streets to chase youth and ache with sentimental longing for old light. Light that has grown dusty and plagued with mold. Light that doesn't exist. I leave my house to discern the travel path of the fresh, disrupted atmosphere I smelled in my bedroom. It's more of a taste actually. Cheap beer in the back of one's throat or maybe hours after excited conversation over endless cups of coffee. Sand-paper mouths and expired melatonin. Crossing the front lawn, I'm seized by a foreign and somewhat terrifying thought. The grass between my toes really feels much more like the follicles on the scalp of a child. It races beneath my spot in the grass where I seem to be planted. I feel more inanimate than I've ever felt before. Life thrives beneath me at eons per millisecond and I ponder like an elderly man on a busy city block, trying to follow the trails of heat and light that entrance me, the adolescent emotion and angst of younger beings than I, except this energy beneath me expresses neither of these things. It hints to me that it even finds those emotions petty, harrowing. I feel with lucid certainty that the ancient civilization beneath my primitive limbs has experienced life times over and still is without end. They understand my perception of them perfectly and have the utmost empathy for my inevitable short-sightedness. They converse a multitude of times faster than I can blink my heavy lids and conclude that they will let me in on an infintesimal yet delightfully cherishable secret. One that shakes me to my core with doubt and commands me to elation simultaneously. Much like when a parent truly confides in their child the magnanimous love they share, allows them a glimpse of the magnitude of their soul; The dimly lit reaches of their threshold for love. The glowing force I've sensed is now dancing with anticipation, can barely contain the joy it has seemed to instantly become impregnated with. I feel the living stalks of my front lawn fold over and embrace my feet. Show me the only affection they can through the out-dated, futile looking glass that is my humanistic senses. They shift underneath me and a dull grinding sound is invited into the front of my thoughts. It sounds much like as if someone has ignited a wooden top on a rough granite surface and amplified the sound a thousand times over. It captivates me.....apprehends my heart and mind, unifies my scattered fears and hopes into a solid pillar of light pulsating in the spot where my backbone seems to have never existed. In an instant I'm erased, transcended to the sacred ecosystem of this peculiar, wise energy. The closest I can come to describing this experience is to being immersed in golden, ethereal jell-o. Images without borders dart to and fro, wholly aware of my presence and vageuly acknowledging my wonder, my undulating awe. I'm pulled deeper into this holy realm. The pressure is damn near unbearable. In fact it is unbearable, but my being hasn't a fraction of worthiness to deny it. I hear frequencies that I imagine resonate in the deepest, most private dreams of wisened elders. People who have tasted life in copious amounts. It comes to me as if through a CB radio. These formless shapes encase me, penetrate my thoughts as rain penetrates air, shifting matter out of necessity. I am shoved into a beautiful surety that is unending. A mandatory certainty of existence, of balance and perfect calculations down to the most minute factor. The universe is not a black void, or an equation or a well-oiled machine, it's a crystalline network of endless interaction that constantly exists and has never existed. Strands upon strands of vibrating force bursting with potential. Mankind is only a fractional beginning, but it is also a fractional end. This thought does not sadden me. Suprisingly, it brings me solace. Its the most these far away entities can hope to explain to me, some justified peace in a sea of oblivion, but I know in my heart of hearts that it's only the humble tip of a translucent iceberg of love, learning and multi-existence that my flawed filter of a human mind could never comprehend. Even though shards of that same iceberg are strategically and immaculately placed throughout every person's carnal capsule. Little glittering slivers in our veins that wait for the right cadence in blood flow to speed through our gradually slowing circulatory system to pierce our hearts with foreign yet familiar truths. They shatter as they fall into our blind psyche and melt in the heat of our skulls, seeping into the wrinkles of our brains, saturating us with truths. We marvel that we can grasp these truths and feel foolish for never recognizing them before. The lifespan of these shards that hail from this gargantuan, omniscient monolith of knowing is displayed before me and vanishes as rapidly as it came. I'm catapulted through every realm that unceasingly exists, over and under and through the shimmering body of constance we label as time. I find myself back on my front lawn, shivering. Tears cascade down my rigid, motionless face and I wonder why they remind me of icicles melting in the winter. I'm dragged back into a transparent humanity.