yell yell yell

I’ve made it a whole two days doing this. Yesterday? The first day. Today? The second. Tomorrow, we surmise, will be the 3rd day. I’m afraid that at some point I’ll simply run out of things to say. That “other side” I’m supposed to break out to? What if there’s nothing there. On the one hand, I’ll be breaking out into the inky blackness of space. It’ll be cold, and empty. There will be nothing there. Just me – screaming into the darkness. On the other hand… what if it is the inky blackness? Then there will be stars… and light. And perhaps the darkness won’t be so dark. And I can still scream at it. I kindof realize that the screaming is something I’m good at. I can yell at things. And, maybe the yelling doesn’t do a whole lot of good. You’ve got to yell at people who can change things. Make them change things. Or, at least let them know that you’re happy.

I’ve got some yelling todo. Some of it? People I don’t even know. Much of it? Me. If I don’t yell at myself, nothing gets done. Yelling, then, is the key. The lock is… me? My ears? I don’t often yell audibly – especially when it’s at myself. I yell… quietly… in the blackness of my mind. It echoes around, dislodging things… bringing them to the surface. I used to imagine that my mind was kind of like a jungle. I’d yell, and yell, and yell, and things would coming rushing out of the underbrush – some to chomp, some to listen, others to yell back.

“DON’T DO IT.”

“GO YELL SOMEWHERE ELSE.”

“GO HOME.”

“WE KNOW YOU CAN DO IT. SO, GO ALREADY.”

Isn’t that strange? All those things from a smelly, noisome bog. The bog, though, is really space. Not all of it – but there are places that have no right being in a busy, growing, living, dying bog. They’re places of quiet and peacefulness. But, besides that, they’re lonely and dark. There are no stars above. It’s just little pockets of silence. You can yell into the silence. I often do. Nothing responds – no encouragement, no biting remarks. No bites, or ferns. No chocolate, no fruits. Just little places to lie down – so you can draw the silence around you.

You’d think it was rich in there – always places to explore. Little patches of gooey silence. For the most part, I don’t wander far. Occasionally, I dream – and those dreams, which don’t often have much to do with each other, have recurring scenes. Not people, but places – not so much landmarks as familiarity. There aren’t any trees to stop and say hello to – just recognition.

“I’VE BEEN HERE BEFORE.”

That’s not always bad. It’s nice to go back. Other times? Not so much. You’re looking for something – and it’s not in this part of your swamp, your forest, your 30 story skyscraper. It’s on a floor below or above. You’re sure of it. Or… are you. You can look at old scenery through a new light, a new filter. Maybe you’ll look in a drawer you haven’t seen before. Maybe you’ll find a hollow in a tree that was once perfectly ordinary.

“WHAT AM I LOOKING FOR?”

Why the hollow? Why the pockets? Why search frantically through drawers. Rarely, if ever, do I know what I’m looking for – It’s searching, I guess, that’s really the point. I won’t know what I’m seeking, not ’til I find it. In fact, I’m not search for anything. Not ’til I find it. Some filters, they won’t work. You don’t want to exlude an area just because you’ve been through it. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been over every inch of that drawer. You might’ve felt every ounce of that hollow. Heck, you’ve probably done it multiple times. In succession. It might still be there. Maybe it’s behind a spiderweb – and you hate spiders. Maybe it’s in the locked drawer, and you left the keys in your other pants.

Maybe… just maybe… what you’re looking for is in the locked drawer, but the key is in the tree hollow, stuck behind the spiderweb. The spider isn’t malicious, or mean. It’s just catching dinner, day in and day out. Thing is, you don’t know what it will do. Will it bite? Will it shout?

“HEY! WHAT’S THE BIG OL’ DEAL?”

Maybe it’ll just run off in blue funk. Stranger things have happened. You don’t like hurting people, don’t like upsetting their equilibrium. Sometimes, it’s necessary. Others? Well, sometimes you do enjoy it. You don’t necessarily like yourself for that. You don’t necessarily care. Heck… You sometimes you realize it’s good for you and them. Maybe the spider needs to be scared. Maybe it’ll move into the next hollow, and guard a new key. Maybe the insects in hollow #2 (a useful address if I ever saw one) are tastier than the ones in Hollow #1. Maybe later… you’ll need the new key – and you’ll have to disturb the spider again. Maybe he’ll move back to hollow #1 – or on to 3 or 4 or 5. He might shout the entire time – possibly, you’ll never know. It’s a spider, and you don’t quite speak spider.

Not yet anyway.