Acceptance of the Self

‘My fellow,

You come to me with fear,

Yet what you need

Is acceptance.’

I thanked the doctor 

And left confused.

‘So, it's acceptance you need?’

‘That’s what the doctor said.

But he might has well have talked to me

With his mouth stuffed with cakes.’

‘I know someone

That lives in a dodgy area of town

Who can give you a potion

To help yourself understand.’

We used the dim staled-air maze of the metro

And we got out at Medicine Man Station

And entered a rundown store of somesort

With neon lights in light green and blue.

The reception had flaky red walls

That made me uncomfortable.

At the reception was a man 

In shiny pale gray and permed silver hair.

‘Hey, amigo,’ 

He said to my friend.

‘Hey, how’s business?

‘Not great. But I do it for the clients, not the money.’

‘I have brought a good friend of mine along.

I hope you can help.’

‘I will try to get him to the final frontier.’

 It was plain jargon to me

I said I just wished to leave unharmed.

‘Oh, of that I am sure,’

He said, brandishing his greyed teeth.

My friend went out for some chicken wings

And the owner took my coat

And led me to a backroom

That was wired liked a robot’s head

And full of potions

In all shapes and sizes.

He asked me to sit on a chair 

Ordinary like back in my home

Which was a surprise

As my guess was I had to lie down.

Sitting

I heard him say:

‘The simulation is starting.’

And before I could ask:

He was gone

I was here

But the room looks bare

Nothing is happening.

I get up 

And to the reception I walk

But the owner has gone out

It seems.

I picked up my coat 

And all I can see

 Is that horrible red

So I exit the building.

Uhm…

Let me just take this in.

What…

Where are the tarmac streets?

And the cars and their drivers?

There is just me 

And a dusty orange road.

It’s like I am in Arizona or Namibia

Or Mars at that!

And the sky is no more comforting

Just dark as if the sun has burnt up.

I prefer the place where I come from.

This is just something else!

I feel scared 

And my palms sweat profusely.

How do I get out of this place

So haunting?

And how can a place like this 

Be good for me?

I saw no exits 

On the horizon 

As dull as Great Yarmouth 

In November.

What I can see

Is a bunch of trees 

That would make the grim reaper

Look like a kind friend

With branches pointy

And as barren as if 

A volcano had erupted here

Not so long ago.

To these natural monstrosities

I walked.

I began to hear

A voice like mine, only deeper.

My own voice beckoned me

To a mound 

With jutting slabs of stone

I couldn’t guess how old.

As I got nearer

My voice was replaced

By a shrieking

Like when scraping a plate.

The only chance

Of leaving this place

Was probably through

These colossal steel doors.

How do I get in?

Before me is a panel

With buttons

With icons on them.

I pushed the one with a floral design.

Nothing.

Then the one with a spring day’s sunshine.

Again, nothing.

The last option was an icon

Of a tarantula

As hairy as a porcupine.

Movement!

Why does everything here

Make me feel so unpleasant?

I entered and saw an alley

 Covered in syrup the colour of blood.

Feeling close to vomiting

I walked at a quick pace.

Until I saw an open cavity

Which I walked into clenchfisted.

In almost pitch black

I saw it was a hall of mirrors

That sparkled

Like ripples reflecting off a river.

With the form of my father

Wrinkled faces looked at me.

And as I gazed further

Recognised they were my own face.

Pondering the vestiges 

Of my very self

In the time called

Future.

At first

These fractals

I hated

So substantially.

But as my glare

Met these future selves

For the seventh time

Hatred subsided

To become uncomplaining

And stoic.

This new peace

Dwelling inside. 

After accepting

I exited the cavity

And a trapdoor was open above me

Which I climbed out of.

Feeling renewed

I left the mound that reminded me of 

The Allegory of the Cave 

by Pluto.

I decided 

It was time to return to reality

With the grey man

And my friend.

Opposite to my wishes

I was not recalled.

But left alone in

This strange and wonderful place.

A few hundred yards

 From me

Was the start

Of a lagoon.

A low prowed

 Wooden vessel bobbed

In the water

And into it I hopped. 

I paddled

The Venetian gondola

To a small island

In the centre of the lagoon.

The going was smooth

Had I been

A regular gondolier

Plying his craft!

I leapt off the boat

Along the side of a building

Surrounded by cypresses

Like a dash of a painter’s brush.

The building was yellow

And had a terracotta roof

And a bell tower

In the rear.

I entered the main foyer

That smelt of bleach

And a woman sat

Behind the reception.

‘Take the corridor

And take third left

There you be find diners

At the cantine.’

Instead of food

I found dormitories of people

 Wearing white hanging tunics

As if they were patients.

‘Please excuse my actions.

The receptionist sent me here,’

I said to these bunch of misfits

Some idle, others nervous and active.

I heard a cackle from one of the men

‘You have been tricked.

She is one of us.

A patient.’

At once I fled the building

And found a courtyard.

And I begged the man in the sky

To bring me back to normal. 

When nothing happened

I became irate

But saw a tunic in front of me 

With my initials.

‘You have got to be kidding,’

I said to the sky again.

But I put on the tunic:

‘I accept this plagued fate!’

In response

I felt a trippy feeling

And felt my body

Being swept to a place 

Out of the hallucination.

My friend

And the owner

Stood over me

Mopping my brow.

  

‘How did I do?’

‘Very well.

You entered troubled-minded

In need of saving.’

‘I did. I did.

And yet now I feel renewed

And my mind is at peace

Ready to live on!’