Hope and Dread

Memory Shards from a Fevered Dream

I have two traveling companions. They’ve been with me from the start. They’re guides really, and they inform where I go, what I see.

Though two, they act as one, taking turns on point. At some unseen signal, one will circle ahead and the other fall back. I never know who will lake the lead or where we’ll go. They mind my baggage and keep it close, bringing only what the trip requires.

The terrain alters to suit their chosen path. I follow meekly, surrounded by their wisdom, their knowing and existential grasp. I have no compass or map, no skill set to call my own. But I watch and learn and wait.

The lean, rugged one takes me to great cities. We walk the streets at night. Tall buildings are locked in iron bars. Unfinished, in disrepair. Walls are brightly lit but all the glass is empty. Crowds fill the street, silent, huddled with no place to go. The roar of traffic, though dulled is thunderous. Small sounds reach great heights. I am shaken by the clank of metal covers and the din the streetlights make. The Machines are in charge. I feel precarious, invisible, awash with dark emotions.

We go underground to seek the travelers below. At the wolfish hour the trains are packed with ghosts, pressed close, piled high, hurried along to the city’s great waste stations well placed along the way.

Daylight will come soon and my guide sends me out to gather supplies. I am unused to traveling on my own. I keep my head down and spy things lying in the street, but I do not stop. When I return he laughs at me, at my reluctance to grasp what’s there and sends me back. There is much for me to learn.

The stout, jolly one has different plans. When he leads I see wildflowers at the edge of gas stations that take my breath away. Broken glass and wispy clouds share the same shape. I find a fallen leaf, too perfect to leave behind. My hands are full and so is my heart.

I keep wandering from the path, but with him there is no path. No destination as such. “It’s all a road to somewhere,” he says, “anywhere will do.” We stay long enough to gather the hidden mysteries he seeks. Then off to new lands in search of more. White towers and great cathedrals and libraries too full to entertain. I am drunk with excess. Tipsy with knowing.

With each new vista, I am ecstatic. I can hardly breath through the gasps of prayer that press out from my heart. When skies are dark and gray I can still see the blue within and I am ever confident in the sun’s return.

Knowing there is more, he leads me on. We lay indolent in the high grass next to a refugee camp. I see their suffering and feel despair. “Can you find the meaning?” he whispers softly in my ear. Afraid he’ll leave me I weakly nod. Laughing, he props me up to get a better view. “It’s all there for you to see.” I’m pressed between his gladsome hands. Feeling my bones, weak with fear, he shakes me hard. “Devastation,” my guide will say, “is only beauty in disguise.”

The travels continue. My two guides divide the endless days between them and I must follow where they go. I wish to be alone, but I have much to learn.

Photo by Wei Wang