I
journeyed to another world. A place no one else has ever been. It’s a locale
that is virtually impossible for another living soul to enter—at least not
without my permission, as if it has a KEEP OUT UNLESS YOU’RE SARAH JANE sign at
its entrance. (An old-fashioned name, I know. Blame the folks.) You see, it is
my soul, the depths of my being where all of my strengths and weaknesses
reside, my hopes and desires. I didn’t plan on conducting this journey. It was
subconscious, if you will.
One
morning I stood at the bus stop on my way to school. That year I was a freshman
in high school. Unlike most girls my age, I wasn’t concerned with boys or the
latest fashions or being in the “it-girl” crowd. I was just me, a girl who
loved to read, to lose herself in her imagination.
I
was a kite, books my wind, lifting me higher and higher to an atmosphere vast
and free. My love of books came from my father, though he was more of a
scholarly reader while I was enamored with fantasy, from quixotic fables to
retro sci-fi. Perhaps my interests had something to do with my experience,
influenced my mind somehow, but I’ll never know.
It
was hot that day at the bus stop. No, not hot, that would be an understatement.
It was smoldering as if someone had put their oven on high and put me in it to
bake for an hour. No, more like someone had opened the gates and sent me
spiraling into the fiery pits of hell. Well, anyway, it was beyond hot . . . I
was waiting as patiently as I could for the bus that, of course, was running
behind schedule that day.
At
the time, I was cursing the bus in my head, but I’m thankful now. If the bus
were on time, I may not have ever gone on my journey.
Sweat
formed pearls on my forehead that trailed from their point of origin to the
base of my neck. The more I tried to wipe them away, the more pearl beads I
managed to accumulate. That’s when it began. I wasn’t fully aware of what was
happening. The memory is still shrouded in mist for me now, but I know one
thing—for those few moments, whether they were mere seconds or the span of a
lifetime, I was gone. Gone from the world as we know it and enclosed in my own
mind.
It
started with a dizzy sensation. I could feel the blood rushing from my head to
my feet, as if my blood molecules were feeling the weight of gravity while the
rest of my body remained numb to it. The rest of the journey I wasn’t fully
aware of; I could say that I noted the black drape that fell across my eyes and
the uselessness of my legs as my muscles gave out, however that would be inaccurate.
I knew these things were happening, but at the same time I didn’t. A wire had
been cut in my brain circuit. Instead of registering my body’s responses, a
melody played repeatedly in my head; a melody that I couldn’t recite if I tried,
for it was both continuous and transitory.
Then
I entered my soul. I have no visuals for this place. I saw nothing, yet I was
greeted by the song whose lyrics escape me. And I felt peace. Peace that could
only be felt away from the world we inhabit. I don’t believe that there is no
peace on earth, mind you. There is peace and beauty in many things: the sights
and scents of fresh flower blossoms, the sunrise or sunset over the ocean
horizon, or even closer to home, the smiles and laughter of young children who
have yet to lose their sweet innocence. All of these things, pure and simple,
are the epitome of peace, but truly they can be hard to come by and when you do
experience these moments they can be fleeting since, often times, something
interrupts them.
As
I previously stated, I had no way of knowing how long I was trapped within
myself. It could have been an infinitesimal amount of time or an eternity.
Except for the song playing in my head, there were no sounds. I know now that
my sense of hearing had shut down, just as my vision had. I was then deaf and
blind to the world around my body left crumpled on the burning sidewalk.
Wondering
how I broke free from the prison of my soul? I can’t tell you that. I don’t
rightly know. I just woke up. The shade lifted from my eyes and my ears were
unplugged and my brain’s circuit was reconnected. I awoke and suddenly I was
the opening act of a circus. A crowd of kids were staring down at me. All of
the faces, some I recognized, others that were brand new, were etched with
concern. I, the outsider, was now in the midst of their circle.
None
of this concerned me, though. I had gone where they couldn’t . . . unless I
allowed them to. I have a firm belief that I can share my experience with
someone, not merely through words as I am now, but through a bond, a bond that
can showcase the forgotten melody of my soul, a bond so intimate that it can
transcend time and defy possibility. After my journey, I changed. I began to
strike up; conversations, share my interests. I hope to one day discover the
sort of bond I described. Until then, and even after, I shall continue living
as me, a hidden rhapsody.
