Ghetto of Unknown Dreams (Originally Written 9/9/07)

I’m not sure what this is; some kind of personal poetic story about the struggle within I suppose. I was thinking rather deeply tonight. I went to an Irish folk concert by myself, which I mind not at all, yet at the same time it bothers me. It bothers me because it is ingrained within us at an early age that you must always have someone there. If you are alone you are loner, and loners kill people. It is the same inner voice that tells us that we must fill in silence with words. Silence is uncomfortable. I thought all this as I sat down on the grass. I noticed the perfume of insect repellent. I began wondering what our ancestors would think about us spraying chemicals on our body. I’m sure they would think we were crazy. It just seems a bit odd doesn’t it?

In a soft act of defiance, that no one else probably noticed (but others emulated), I sat down on the ground no blanket or chair. I just sat on the grass and spent the next two hours in intimate contact with the grass and chiggers. As I waited for the concert to begin I looked at the Capitol. It was an image all to familiar to me, perhaps one I take for granted. I noticed Ceres standing atop the dome, her head touching heavens. I noticed the intricate designs, the instructive and judgmental ghost white Greek figures carved into the stone, the large unending columns, the huge condescending statue of Thomas Jefferson, and the eternal staircase that seems as much a part of the landscape as the gruff grass upon which I was sitting. I wondered how proud the ancient Greeks would be that we still worshiped them and their architecture and their politics. I wondered about how we still embrace democracy after the Greek’s popularized it over 2500 years ago. An ideology that is believed to be the greatest form of government in the history of mankind. Everything is put high upon a pedestal much like Ceres in her peplos with her basket of produce.

As the concert started I was enjoying the music, but about halfway through my mind started wondering which always happens if there are distractions. I was distracted by a bat that flew in front of me. I followed him as he flew to the top of the Capitol, watching the dim light accenting its wings with a yellowish glow. It fluttered across the sky in an eccentric zig-zag pattern capturing mosquitos, a savior to many people there (but how many even noticed his presence among us?). I wondered how wonderful it must be to fly. Feel the wind in your face catch some food, and fly just to fly only returning to your home to sleep and perhaps talk to a couple friends. How wonderful it must be to experience nature’s freedom with very small worry of predation. To be able to fly, to explore the world from above, diving down briefly to inspect the finer details. How spectacular it must be.

My attention flickered like a dying bulb between these thoughts and the wonderful music being played. The last song was played, the band left the stage, the announcer thanked the sponsors, and I stood there frozen on the grass. People were walking around me, walking in front of me, and I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on the outer limits of our world, the stars spoke to me in a silent language I did not understand, the pale illumination against the Capitol made it even more surreal. My eyes came back down to my horizon and my feet began walking towards my car. I noticed couple upon couple walking hand in hand, arm in arm. They went their separate ways and I was left alone walking toward my car. My footsteps echoed in my head, the solitude of the street lamps my only companion. Shadows engulfed me and I felt as if I were marching to my death. At the same time I felt a strange comfort that I cannot really explain, the comfort of being alone. The independence I suppose of my own shadow stalking my every step. I felt as if the echoes of my footsteps were my own shadows steps. The solitude I found assuring yet haunting. I approached my car, who was itself encroached in darkness and solitude. It sat alone under a burnt out street lamp. A sign of my own impending loneliness perhaps. I wondered if it was some kind of sign. A sign that my life was empty and unfulfilled.

How can it be that once I have figure out who I was that I don’t feel as if I belong anywhere? An odd irony that follows my shadow with footsteps of silence into the ghetto of unknown dreams.