In one of the beginnings of a world and time that may or may not be this one, something saw fit to assemble me, and I can only guess (given the nature of the universe) a few others with an odd collection of extra bones, memories not our own, and eyes that see beyond the world of most.
Someone poured the wind inside me instead of breath and give me a heart deeper than the sea, and broken as a shipwreck.
If woman was made from Adam’s ribs then I am no woman and am made from the backbone of some other-gendered thing. While I have no doubt I have a soul, I have a deep and enduring suspicion that half of it is wandering around without me like the shadow of Peter Pan, while pieces of other Souls leave their memories of screen doors and architecture and faces I’ve never seen, inside my head.
At night I dream of crows and strangers ask me the directions to a place they assume I know and I’ve dreamed the dreams enough to be afraid to ask myself why I have the answers and know the way.
There’s no guide book for explaining the sensation of feeling spread out across places and times. I’m beginning to wonder if there are no gods anymore because perhaps they spread their souls out among the people with no explanation. No matter what mythology you choose, the gods never think too carefully about the consequences, do they.
Whatever made me gave me a heart that is spread out across every city in every corner of the world, strung together by a silver cord I wrap around around around as I struggle to collect its pieces in alleyways and cityscapes and in the eyes of those who shine out fluorescent-like when everyone else’s seems to be lit by Edison bulbs.
When I was younger I used to say my head was too full, and a glow would start in my chest and explode through the top of my head and I swore that I would break apart, and often wished I would. I saw things at night that only children’s hearts know the real names for; old things that are the antique reason all humans fear the dark. Eventually I learned to pretend I didn’t see them.
When I was younger I knew I held the winds inside me, and maybe something else that made my mother believe the devil could be pulled out of me by men who likely slept at night never seeing anything but the back of their own eyelids. There is no devil so far as I can see,but In my experience, Pious men hold the devil inside them far more often than not.
At the age I am now (younger than my tongue, but older than my teeth) I believe in everything and nothing. I see and watch everything and pretend that I don’t. (I am not an oddity To be collected)
Maybe I stand with one foot in this world and part of the other somewhere else. I have few answers which is still more than I had and I will never run out of questions. I know this,
We are more than we have been told and less alone than we have been led to believe, and one doesn’t have to stare into the abyss in order for it to turn it’s gaze your way.
I am a broke-down temple with no gods to speak of, but I (like you) am infinite.