The Illusions That Called Her Thoughts Home
By Junie Aldrich
Off the coast of a place quite unknown to me she sat. Her eyes were open and her gaze was directed outward towards an unknown blue whose label I feel unnecessary of mentioning. She could hear the waves bubbling, foaming, splashing, chopping; yet it meant nothing to her. Also the smell of fresh grass and the salty spray that ever so often swept or lurched up from where it had once descended were no strangers to her senses. But still; none of it meant anything to her. Days went by and never would she leave the rock she so naturally seemed to belong on, her gaze too, never drifting from the blue blanket that hides from us desires our eyes are not meant to meet. And so when I say that she never looked down nor up, it was nothing but the truth; her gaze was everlastingly fixed straight in front of her.
She often imagined that her eyes must be present within the illusionary blue; half-enveloped by the water, and half-meeting the rays of sunlight being casted down. And that was how she saw the world; right between air and sea. Yet despite that strong feeling of swaying water glazing her bare eyes, she always remained seated, peering out without a hint of expression in her eyes. Despite her blunt gaze, she felt many, many things: disgust, happiness, fear, curiosity, excitement and boredom. In fact, every day she felt yet another new emotion run through her as she gazed from her familiar spot. Yet never did she feel that the emotions soaring through her were her own. She would often ponder as she sat gazing yet perceiving nothing inwardly, whose emotions she was feeling that particular day. It could very well be old fisherman John, who had some of the most extreme feelings of greed towards what treasures the illuminating plains of blue were hiding from him. Just as well it could be the feelings of chatty Betty who saw nothing but a blanket of blue boredom which so inconveniently again, and again each night, would hide the splendors of day from her. But regardless of who she thought she felt within her mind, it didn’t matter; she would always sit contently, indifferent to the world’s happenings.
It just so happened to be a friendly morning that particular day when change finally stretched its stiff bones and greeted the girl. That day the girl’s eyes were directed at a heron who repeatedly would dive down to a lazy depth and come up with nothing except the taunting yearn for food between its beak. The girl laughed pity at the birds’ misfortune, her gaze still directed at the bird but her mind no longer paying attention to its presence. Upon continuing her lazy gaze, she smiled half heartedly as she fell into a somewhat restful state. It happened to be that morning that an old man was hobbling across the desolate rocky landscape where the girl sat. Upon discovering the girl, he said with a pleasant smile, “good morning las” only to find that she paid no mind to him at all. The man’s expression morphed from his warming smile to a disapproving frown as he croaked, “Well that certainly is no way to treat your elders,” and with a thud he firmly positioned his walking stick next to the girls’ perch. “Oh pardon me sir,” the girl responded drowsily, “but I happened to be dreaming in realms of days’ soft sleep, at the time of your arrival”
“Sleep? You were asleep?” the man said with a disapproving chuckle, “that won’t fool me las, my eyes haven't given up on me just yet and I could clearly see that you’re eyes were open!”
“Indeed, sir,” the girl responded, still not shifting her gaze from the ocean “but I find it easier to sleep so.”
“You’ve clearly lost your mind within these stretches of blue, las, shift your gaze for once; come now look me in the eye,” the man responded.
“No sir, I’d rather not sir.”
“Tell me then, why do you sleep with your eyes open? Do you not find it not too chaotic for sleep?”
The man said noting how still and passive her eyes appeared; they roamed else where dismissing the usually reflexive blink.After a pause the girl responded, “No sir, quite the opposite, sir, you see I feel many things when my eyes are open, so much that I have become somewhat indifferent to what I feel. When I close my eyes however, the feelings intensify, transform and become louder. Tell me sir how am I supposed to sleep with my eyes closed if every part in me seems to have something to say about enveloping blotched darkness my eyelids provide?”
“You speak my language yet I feel as if your tongue twists foreignly to produce the words you speak. The meaning of what you say I seem not to be able to piece together fully.” As the man spoke, he noted that the girl had changed her state since their conversation began. The man slowly began to grow weary of her passiveness, and with a sigh he said, “Tell me las, what do you see out there; what do your solemn eyes search for? Let me help you find clarity”
The man said this as if he possessed the knowledge of the world. He thereupon, hobbled closer, seating himself on a nearby rock.
“I do not seek the clarity you speak of, and I search for nothing sir, although perhaps one of these days I shall stumble on something that is mine within these blue depths, for everything I possess belongs to others’ presence, forcing mine to unknown lands of silence.”
“How’s that las? Do you not think from your own mind?”
“I believe not sir, I seem to feel and think only from the minds of others. They are me but I am not them.”
“Say you then that you can read my mind?” The man said, slightly taken aback.
“Not your mind sir, you’re feelings” the girl responded, her voice following her everlastingly steady gaze.
“Well now, what am I feeling then?” The man responded after a thoughtful pause. His surprise faded into a meaningless tingle of disbelief as he leaned in closer to hear what he thought would be a ridiculous response.
The girl spoke, “at this moment I believe you feel your age has brought you wisdom and therefore see it your duty to help me find the clarity you speak of. However, you cease to be able to understand me, therefore you feel mild frustration and confusion. Tell me sir, do you realize the illusions your age has brought you?”
The girl inquired steadily. The man first sat silently, the breeze swirling in the shared silence between the man and girl. However, his eyes soon began to widen with the sudden realization her words brought him. They seemed to rid his mind momentarily of his unconscious ego, which over the years had engraved into his thinking through the rumors it spoke about possessed wisdom and knowledge. He sat silently, gazing outward processing the girl’s words deep within him. After a few minutes, he glanced at the girls’ eyes for the first time and observed feelings within them, despite the fact they were subject to a foundation of indifference. He returned his gaze outward once again before responding.
“So you have spoken las. And you are quite right, with age comes illusions and delusions. However, despite this truth I feel I can still help you. Tell me now, what do you feel in me presently?”
“I must repeat myself sir; I desire no help, nor do I desire at all.” She spoke, her words definite. “But within you,” she continued “I feel discontentment, sir, it would be discontentment” she said with a sigh.
Paying no mind to her definitive words, the man said, “Discontentment, yes. Discontentment with ourselves, with others and our world, only then will change begin to kindle. So tell me las, do you feel this discontentment too?”
“Perhaps. If I do, however, the emotion does not belong to me,” the girl responded.
“However” she continued, beginning to ponder, “I feel as if my state is content with what I feel. I feel only the emotions of others’ and therefore my thoughts are influenced and handle solely these emotions. I have no objections to this, therefore I assume I am content.
“Indeed I believe you assume correctly,” he paused and then asked “now what are you going to do about it?”
Thereafter laying both hands on his stick and lifting his legs onto the rock, securing his perch, his gaze still outwards yet perceiving the girl in full detail. And there, right then, it was that for the first time ever, the girl broke her fixed gaze on the ocean. She looked the man in the eye and blinked her dry eyes gratefully enveloping themselves in the moisture brought to them. “What do you mean sir?”
She said her voice no longer followed the steady pace it had maintained for so long. And as she did the man saw something in her eyes, and he thought that just maybe it was a piece of her. He smiled and said, noting the fading indifference in her eyes, “In order to find something of yourself, you must be discontent.”
“So your consciousness says” she replied, her voice was steady again, however her tone was no longer indifferent, simply calm. She slowly turned her head back to the sea and closed her eyes. Immediately she heard voices, complaining, exclaiming, talking, chattering, whispering. She felt them all, but this time it was different. Yes, she still felt what they felt just as she heard, smelled and saw as they did, but all of this was outwardly. And she felt for the first time the illusion she had created and trapped herself in for so long: just as she knew the presences within her were not her, she was not them. They stood from afar judging her as they did everyone else, the effect of their persistent judgment an illusion she had grappled with so long in her unconscious that she unwillingly fooled herself of their permanent presence within her. She kept her eyes closed as she began to see that it was only judgment, not presence, she felt within her; judgment that had taken over her presence with an illusion.
Finally she spoke at the voices and spoke to her misleading self that she had always believed to be nonexistent though truly it was she that had hid her presence. “Stop judging me” she said, letting the words echo within her.
Despite how loud she had spoken inwardly, she realized she had vociferated nothing into the morning breeze that gently was beginning to mix with the dawning tones of noon. The air was quiet and not broken by words. And with the silence, the voices had gone silent too and she was able to see the blotched, many-toned shades of her eyelid without any noise. She opened her eyes which immediately curiously darted around her surroundings sending a tingling sensation of sensitivity through her as she realized something: she had no words to speak. A smile provoked by her own emotions stretched across her face as she sat there, solely with her swirling thoughts and presence.
She looked up at the old man just in time to see him slowly fade away with a chuckle. She squinted her eyes, and moved her stiff joints from her sitting position, leaving her rock that was worn out with familiarity alone. And as she walked on her stiff legs for the first time, she discontentedly shifted her gaze back on the heron who had finally caught a fish, and what she thought I could not know, but I dare say that from that day on she was convinced she only saw illusions.
