The Percussive Ramblings of Our Back and Forth

It is the time of year when the our part of the world leans back away from the sun. The reasons for this shift are too emotional and scientific to expound upon and I apologize but even as my fingers relay these messages from my brain, fatigue is setting in. Please, I ask you to understand everything as it is and suspend your disbelief, all things from here need to be absorbed through a filter of salt.

I. The Brink (A Predestined Ignorance)

While our grander location has slid out from under these gifts of light and heat, our current earthly position is constant, here stationed in this outpost. It can only be described as cold. We have been here absorbing the world around us, as it is ever changing and beautiful, but the days have grown shorter as have our temperaments. We sit here insulated by chemical compounds that form layers of webs and rocks and dirt, but our fortress is not impenetrable and due to the negative temperature or some other metaphysical force, fissures have begun to interrupt its form.

Communication has been reduced to one syllable barks and grunts, so our circles shrink. Daily interactions could only be described as effective and deliberate and there is a percussive nature to our back and forth that sends dissonant waves or beacons creeping out through the winter air.

II. The Egg Ship (Our Ignorant Salvation or Strategic Plan)

This will be our projectile.

The ship was built from ideas pulled from the ethereal now. A simple connection with the outside world. Taken, held close and smuggled back through treacherous landscapes. This should have never happened, this miracle, but it did and its existence is true.

Its outer husk is comprised of multiple layers, all sculpted by the regions finest metallurgists. Their skills are less remembered as each additional layer is added, hiding the magnificence that came before it. Even the plan of escape and its grandiose melodrama is lost as travelers pass by and ogle the sheer and stupid beauty of its surface. They have no interest in its history or possible trajectory, they only want to run their fingers across the smooth nothing of its outermost shell and look deep into their own reflections.

While standing guard, I have been staring into this reflection for far to long, and somehow the Egg Ship has absorbed my reflection. I am trapped, this version of me simply shifts back and forth, vibrating through the layers of the outer husk. I can look deep into the eyes of the random passerby and I can see them as they see themselves mirrored. I could tell them that the hope they see in its beauty is real, but I will not. Because the hope is not real, not in its surface and not in themselves reflected. It is inside of them and the things they are capable of accomplishing, that is where the hope resides. I can see that clearly from here, and I wish could tell everyone - including myself.


III. The Formidable Shape of Our Starry Universe

We have put distance between ourselves and the rough curve below us.
The ethereal now surrounds us swallowing the egg shape once again.
The saga continues.