Squishly, out from underneath the cover of his mother’s flesh, he flopped into a state of who-am-I-ness, where no safety is the norm and all the creatures who have taken form continually preen themselves throughout the ages of their many turns until the light goes on and finally they see themselves for who and what they really are [and then the plastic smile is gone and me-me-me’s no more their song]. In his particular case, there was no me to sing about that he could see and so, unable to discriminate the bound-a-ries between his ownsome self and anybody else [for by now he had reached 5 years old] and wholly overwhelmed by what he felt, he made himself a special outer shell which meant that he could see the world from inside looking out but no one else could see when looking from the outside in.
So, from well within the safety of that shell, he saw outside through everybody’s lies (including that evasive hugest lie of who they were), their strangely ersatz practised smiles, their half-unconscious cunningness, abilities to fool the world with all their wiles, their unaware collaboration with the goat, the masks and other thin disguises which they hid their dark behind; not to mention all the flies and other monsters (here I speak in metaphors and also esoteric anecdotes). He wondered daily what the secret was which had enabled them to sleep at night. For Nathan Delver (that’s his name, which means to have the gift of penetration) never slept a wink through his entire life and never could on earthland feel at home. He wandered through this wilderness suspended on a knife’s edge blade which rusted out before he’d even left the womb. That knife is now the marker on his tomb, upon which the engraved inscription says: “They thought he was a pseudo-prophet preaching doom. He only said what could be clearly seen by anyone who’s brave enough to acknowledge the identity of all the glaring elephants within the room”. Yet Nathan was a deeply flawed and vexed young older man. His inability to tell where other people end and he began meant he had known no boundaries, ever, in his briefsome little life. This scared the shit out of the arses of the me-me folks, who never understood his intheirfaceness with his please-can-you-come-out-to-play and not to mention all his clumsy existential jokes! “Fuck your falsesome boundaries!” Nathan once declared. “Perhaps he is Asperger’s” said some hapless chick at hearing this blunt thought he’d shared. It’s easier to label those we do not understand or tolerate with fancy names. Society is always looking for somedifferentone to blame.
Even when our hero had a wife or two he never knew if he was real (and long suspected he was just a figment of his own imagination — the others too). Imagine how that feels! (Though he was right, of course. For life is just a dream, despite the plethora of vapid human schemes).
In the end, it all became too much for him. One day, his body having been continually racked in pain, he crumpled in a heap, exhaling longly (having earlier been weeping at the sight of Bluebells in a sunlit dell and marvelling that they never took a thought for how they would be watered, fed, or dwell in such a precious place as this, so far as he could tell). He then lived as a forager [another word for delver] and was stumbling lonesome deep inside a forest in a place that no one knew. (In there, he grew far more than he had ever grown before). For there he chose to end his days, in solitude, away from human hell and nestling in the bosom of the earth with which he felt a part (where never thrusting salesmen had a thing to sell). For earth did not make boundaries in-between itself and him. So then, as Nathan breathed his last, with his gaunt face pressed deeply down into the dirt — saliva dribbling from his final smile into its grains, which then absorbed his liquid happily, without restraint — he knew he’d found his rightful home. His spirit then was free to roam to other worlds where separation had no place and me-me-me had disappeared without a trace and nothing wore a duplicitous face and every atom straightaway came out to play with Nathan’s essence. Αγάπη.
© Alan Morrison, 2017