A whole new world of adventure awaited him. Bleak and forever. Wonderful and excruciating. Seminal and large.
It's hard quite to describe that feeling you get once you reach the midst of something so massive, so convoluted, that the brain stutters in apprehension at the sheer magnitude of mechanics to resolve such requisition.
Yet, he approaches, as we approach all things: curiously blind and furiously fervent -- a type of magical commitment that is neither here nor there, but rather everywhere.
The specks across its border, her silhouette it seems, was magnificently futile in its absolution to beckon that which listens, that which waits; instead, a rather full and complete spiral shape formed its outward appearance that beckoned a single call from the inner universe that makes up all things being, all being things, but most importantly, all rings flings and flying things.
Fly, he might. But for now, never try. The time approached with an ominous presence that shook his skin and rattled his boots; bones stretching across lavishly strewn tendinitis creeping across his mental aptitude for what was -- or rather, what was not.
To put a finger on a feeling is to put a word on a page -- often times doable, but never really fully accomplished. He wished not to fully accomplish anything at this point in his Journey. Yet he knew from the depths of the pools that commited his bowels that there was no Choice to be made at this time. The Door beckoned. His mind entered. And his body would not be held back for long.
At least, that twas what he expected at the very moment it hit him.
It is a generous term here. It implies a certain knowingness of the nothingness of some thing, some object -- anything really.
No, this was not that. This was a completely novel and foreign object of such magnified stature that he knew not whether he sat or stood or ran or walked or laughed or existed.. If anything existed
Was this the gatekeeper herself, answering his call ?
What call, was the best question, he supposed.
Yet in that same moment of thought, train of reckoning, he realized he had purported all of this much before its inception at this very moment. Yes, he understood it now, the dreams rushing back like a flood-gate finally released amongst the desolate barrenness that was his woefully under-engaged landscape now before.
He remembered flying. He imagined soaring. He both understood death and was it, synonymously, synergistically, sympathetically, and all at once.
That childhood was not one he often remembered. Had he been so foolish to shut off his past as to forget that very essence that had brought about this whole circumstance in the first place ? Intrinsically rhetorical. He chuckled. In that sacred place of the mind where only ego is safe to gasp for life even in the most destitute of times.
The night he slept, slept for a lifetime, slept for all of this lifetime. Decided the fate that now the gatekeeper held up to him like a beacon of amnesia that suddenly and completely throttled his heart back to its beat.
Her lips were tucked inwards yet all her thoughts were directed completely outwards and completely at him.
That touch was familiar, a nested familiarity, like an object always sensed as innate yet never outwardly experienced as alive.
Oh, but she was alive. Just as alive as he had ever been. Although perhaps that was also called into question at this integral moment.
To say things lead up to one another is to say that one domino befits the next -- sure, such is true in the laymenic doldrum of everyday minutia. But days don't exist everywhere. Nor do dominos. Nor did any of this confoundedness at the time of his tired, drawn out and destitute melancholy.
He, the gatekeeper, she, the student.
They had learned, would learn and always knew to be together was to be at Home.