The Longest Journey

Stream of Consciousness

Water hit my face and it was if I was standing in the stream of consciousness.

Threatening to be pulled away as thoughts rushed by me like so many shattered glistening drops of moisture.

To fast for me to understand, to many for me to do nothing but hold on for dear life and watch.

For that one brief instance I glimpsed the threads that bind us, drive us, pull us forward.

I marveled at long forgotten discoveries, for a moment returned to the light, only to slip away again.

The ageless voice of a chant on the wind, the shriek of a preacher perched on a pulpit.

The harmony of universal order hand in hand with the chaos of creativity.

The brush of a long ago lover's lips on my cheek, a hand in my hair, a shuddered breath and a sigh in the darkness.

I laughed on the brink of madness and genius, yet I could grasp at neither, as each slipped through my fingers like so much liquid gold.

Through it all I held my footing and would not be swept away.

I don't recall the wonders I glimpsed, I did see them. I can taste their memory. The very essence of what was, and what will be.

The droplets fall from my body, shed like so many discarded thoughts, each more precious then the last.

I am exhausted, exhilarated and torn.

My mind still floats on the edge of that stream, a single droplet that formed a dream.

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