FatElvis
01-25-2013, 06:27 PM
The Return To Wonderment
The fresh waves flowed upon my body; my body its beach, and its waves my spring. The anger of animals exhaled towards Heaven, and their sadness drained beneath the soil. The trees yawned closer, enlarging through my vision, and bringing me sweet caresses. The groans of the day awakened the night, and the moon echoed softly, and birds landed to sing for the grass and for me. I sat up straight to touch the sky, and the sky reached down and gave me comfort.
But at each moment I felt the visions growing dimmer, the smells growing fainter, and the touch striking away from my finger tips. The most beautiful visage I had ever beheld slipped away from me, and I could not save it.
I felt my head ache, and unwillingly returned to this wretched Earth. I would consider my trip to the other place a dream, but my memories and feelings were far too vivid to have been dreamed. I had existed in a strange, beautiful, other place. But now it was gone, and I felt the most precise worry that I would never again behold its wonder; instead being stuck in the waking nightmare of everyday existence.
My mind hurt, like withdrawing from a drug, but I summoned enough mental ability to ask those who specialized in altered states if they could give me aid to return to the place of wonderment. But since I had returned I experienced difficulty in even simple communication with others. Those I asked for help spoke in ways I could not follow, and when I tried to explain my visions they looked as if I were mumbling in a foreign language.
I decided to try the library to see if there were any books that could help me to return to the other place, but after weeks of searching all sources, nothing even remotely similar to my experiences were discovered.
With no other choice I waited, hoping that my longing to return to the other place would eventually dissipate – like waiting for the hurt of a break-up with a romantic partner to end. Weeks passed, but if anything my agony grew stronger.
When I could take the pain no longer, I threw myself into a church and begged the priests, Jesus, God, and whoever else could hear me for mercy. I crawled towards the massive cross that carried a massive Jesus upon it, and cried for answers. “God, why have Thou shown me a place so awe-inspiring and then tore me away to this Hell of Earth?!”
The reply was inconceivable: the gleaming, metal Jesus Christ turned his head down and looked at me. I stared up, directly meeting God's gaze. My lips trembled, my body tightened, and I felt a wave of nausea overcome me like none I had ever experienced. The horror of what was happening froze me in place, but so great was my need for answers that I finally asked: “Why? God, why have you done this to me?”
Then the statue moved its lips, carefully enunciating the following words: “Because I hate,” and He was still again.
The fresh waves flowed upon my body; my body its beach, and its waves my spring. The anger of animals exhaled towards Heaven, and their sadness drained beneath the soil. The trees yawned closer, enlarging through my vision, and bringing me sweet caresses. The groans of the day awakened the night, and the moon echoed softly, and birds landed to sing for the grass and for me. I sat up straight to touch the sky, and the sky reached down and gave me comfort.
But at each moment I felt the visions growing dimmer, the smells growing fainter, and the touch striking away from my finger tips. The most beautiful visage I had ever beheld slipped away from me, and I could not save it.
I felt my head ache, and unwillingly returned to this wretched Earth. I would consider my trip to the other place a dream, but my memories and feelings were far too vivid to have been dreamed. I had existed in a strange, beautiful, other place. But now it was gone, and I felt the most precise worry that I would never again behold its wonder; instead being stuck in the waking nightmare of everyday existence.
My mind hurt, like withdrawing from a drug, but I summoned enough mental ability to ask those who specialized in altered states if they could give me aid to return to the place of wonderment. But since I had returned I experienced difficulty in even simple communication with others. Those I asked for help spoke in ways I could not follow, and when I tried to explain my visions they looked as if I were mumbling in a foreign language.
I decided to try the library to see if there were any books that could help me to return to the other place, but after weeks of searching all sources, nothing even remotely similar to my experiences were discovered.
With no other choice I waited, hoping that my longing to return to the other place would eventually dissipate – like waiting for the hurt of a break-up with a romantic partner to end. Weeks passed, but if anything my agony grew stronger.
When I could take the pain no longer, I threw myself into a church and begged the priests, Jesus, God, and whoever else could hear me for mercy. I crawled towards the massive cross that carried a massive Jesus upon it, and cried for answers. “God, why have Thou shown me a place so awe-inspiring and then tore me away to this Hell of Earth?!”
The reply was inconceivable: the gleaming, metal Jesus Christ turned his head down and looked at me. I stared up, directly meeting God's gaze. My lips trembled, my body tightened, and I felt a wave of nausea overcome me like none I had ever experienced. The horror of what was happening froze me in place, but so great was my need for answers that I finally asked: “Why? God, why have you done this to me?”
Then the statue moved its lips, carefully enunciating the following words: “Because I hate,” and He was still again.