By James Bridges
There’s a glare. It’s in the window in the backdrop of the room I just entered.
Ocean waves crash.
Slow motion. Like a Deftones song, and maybe a drop of magic. I’m swimming in a dream.
I look over to my right and I notice a man in a suit smiling and laughing with another person in a gas mask. There’s a floating set of handcuffs drifting in front of me in a smiley pattern.
Have I gone insane?
A police woman is catching a tennis ball with her boot. Of course… there’s the beautiful women in swimming suits giggling for no apparent reason. There’s a politician and he is sitting on his hands. Something is hanging from his mouth that looks like an extraordinarily long tongue. I can hear children playing but nowhere to be seen. I notice a tiny bug in the corner of the room dancing and pointing at the window.
More ocean waves crash.
Smoke fills the room. No worries.
We are now in a spa floating amongst clouds. Somehow we all fit in. Dreams…
A police officer looks over at me and asks what is wrong? A bloody and abused black woman is laughing as if this is the best day of her life. A priest walks by and throws a purple rubber duck in the mix. For some reason I found this to be the strange part. So I followed it.
It led me walking down a small pathway. There were twists and turns along the way.
I made it to a clearing and there was a purple flower in the center of an all white room. The urge to look away from this flower was nonexistent. I could not think of anything other than this flower.
Now I am in a small white room. No flower. No priest. No spa. Not even smiley face shaped handcuffs. Just a white room and myself. I close my eyes.
I imagine being on an island. At first there’s fear. Fear of being alone. Fear of abandonment. Fear of loss. Fear of worthlessness.
Remember the sounds. The ocean waves. The children in the distance. The little bug in the corner telling you to look. The people laughing and not playing roles.
Then there’s the glare. All you have to do is look into the glare.