Into the Darkness Beyond
It’s pitch black outside. I sit at the counter with my coffee, listening to the dishwasher run. It feels as though I am inside a spaceship or getting an MRI. The spaceship idea is certainly more romantic. I stare silently at my Calico, who is seated in the center of the kitchen floor. Our ancient ritual. In different spaces, in different seasons, we sit across from each other and gaze into each other’s eyes.
Along the periphery, kittens play and explore. They are distant planets in chaotic orbits. It’s cold. Whenever I think this, I remind myself that it isn’t snowing, that this is California, that the cold doesn’t come close to threatening one’s existence the way it does in other environments. Nevertheless, I’m wearing a hat, scarf, and jacket as I sit at the counter drinking my coffee, staring at the cat, drifting through the deep darkness of space in our whirring, humming spaceship…
Silence has been the thing. This morning. This month. I’d rather not articulate, or think in streams of dialogue, or even coo niceties to feline friends. My thoughts are in pictures instead of words. I envision color combinations, recall images I’ve seen lately, usually photos of creative projects. This morning, I’m picturing a garland of paper stars on a thick ribbon. I’d like to make one.
In this way, I am retreating from modern civilization and society. I’m hibernating in pre-linguistic beingness, in a cave of quiet filled with flickering light and mesmerizing pigmented images. I am either from the future or from the past. I am either in the abyss of space or in the womb of the earth. Without words, there’s no difference.
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