Osmosis

This has some truth...mixed in with some fiction. I hope you enjoy my moment of osmosis.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"It's time for atonement," said the voice.

"What if I change my mind?" she asked.

"You don't have a choice," said the voice.

"What if they find me here?" she asked.

"They won't, you'll be in passage," said the voice.



*****************************


Carefully; she submerges herself chest high, in a porcelain wall of complacency.  The hand of hesitation, reaching out to support her spine during a brief moment of doubt.  Taking in a deep breath, she could feel the weight of the world; pushing her....forcing her down. Drowning beneath a raining cloud of purified osmosis.

Watching;  each pocket of air slowly escaping her lungs, exiting her lips.  It was easy for her to imagine each bubble to be a reflection of subconsciousness. A dreamy void blurred by a waterfall of naive perception.  Direct and steady, like a floating compass, moving her thoughts towards the blue curtain. 

Eyes blinking.  She observes the first bubble as it breaks open at the surface. The air around it, producing a faint whimper accompanied by many visions.  She could see her Father coming home.  He had strong calloused hands.  Beer on his breath.  A thick mustache.  Black grease with oil stains on his pants.  He looked like Bruce Willis.  And he laughed like Barney Rubble.  She loved him, as much as she despised him. 

Then there was the smell of cinnamon.  Her Mother always made the best Snicker-doodles.  She liked helping her mother sprinkle the sugar on top.  Mouth watering, she could almost taste the first bite of a warm cookie. 

Thirsty...the sweet stuff always makes you thirsty.  She draws in another quick breath; topping the cookies off with warm milk, filling her lungs with condemnation.  The flashbacks begin to contort and ripple, she hears her Father's voice, molesting the inside of her ears again. 

"Stupid girl." 

Oh yes, and she remembered her classmate Mark.  They were just 17, and he only wanted to be friends.  Maybe if only her ears were smaller.  The freckles on her face...looked like fire ants that wanted to race.  Maybe he preferred brown-eyed girls.  All she wanted to do was touch his smile.

Then there was a lovely vision of Tracey.  Her Mother and Father said she was just an imaginary friend.  But she was as real as any other friend.  And then one day, Tracey went away. That same year, the tooth fairy stopped paying.  The wishing star never looked so far.  The big dipper and little dipper looked like tiny droplets of rain that fell on an Easter Sunday. This precipitation paving the way to deliver her soul. 

She could see and feel the hardwood floor beneath her.  Pajamas on, sitting alone in her bedroom, biting her fingernails.  At times, all the chewing would even bloody up her cuticles. 

"Disgusting habit, " she could hear one of her Teacher's say. 

But it produced endorphins for her, it helped numb down her anxiety.  She often bit on the inside of her cheeks too.  Scratched at her scabs and sores until they bled.  But blood never bothered her, just certain sounds.  Like the door slamming shut.  Heavy footsteps on the floor.  The thunder in the night.  Her mother crying.

Her mother's tears pooling around her face as she watches; the second bubble.  It was quite small.  Filled with grief from being average.  Every time she spoke, she felt like an invisible whisper.   This bubble made no noise upon reaching the surface.   It instead just produced an echo of silence. 

Suddenly, a flash of light, she could see her purple shoes...her favorite pair of shoes.  It matched nicely with her purple hand bag.  The purple bag swells into a balloon, producing the last bubble. The biggest bubble.  It floated upwards slowly, as if it were reluctant to let go. The burst of air replacing the silence with many voices......

                                    "S**t."

                    "Worthless."  
          
                                   "Sweetie I love you."

                                "B***h."

                                            "Lazy."

                                 "Ugly."


                            " I love you."

                                                       " I love you."

                                          " I love you."


An echo upon echo of words.
She didn't get to say sorry to her Mother for spilling the juice on the floor.  And it was the day after; her Mother passed away so very suddenly.  The cause of death.  Brain aneurysm, she heard the doctors telling her Father.

"Awake now," said the voice.
 


    Opening her third

     (((EYE)))


she looks down,

and sees the place of baptism below.

Author's Note

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The process of gradual or unconscious assimilation of ideas, knowledge, etc.

Reviews

[...]

. oh ... there are a million thoughts racing in my mind right now ... there are so many thought-triggers in the narrative ... i thought the title would be very challenging to justify ... but you've done great justice to it ... this slow unraveling of the narrator's mind is compelling ... i am reminded of my own journey and of the time when i needed to atone ... and then ... once i started ... i realized ... that in some ways ... life is a journey into the perfecting the process of atonement ... almost like an art form ... the way we perceive ourselves has a lot to do with the way we perceive our mistakes ... and the plight of those we might have wronged ... albeit not in a major way ... this piece of writing is like an intense experience of putting oneself under the microscope ... piecing together one's key influences in life through the subtle analysis of key events and characters ... and then letting go ... yes, the final note of this symphony is undoubtedly liberation ... excellent work ...

[Frieda P]

I can hardly articulate after reading this, it's f*****g off the charts, I swear I was right there with you...slammin'! This is unique and unfreakingbelievable!!

[Muse]

This was the first writing ever...that I allowed myself to get truly vulnerable....it started off as fiction...but turned into my reality Frieda.

[Frieda P]

Seriously Muse, that got under my skin, my head is still reeling...

[Muse]

It's funny how pain can sometimes be our deliverance.

[VennelaMargame]

Hmm, I'm reminded a little bit of the third act of "Our Town" by Thorton Wilder, where Emily Webb is allowed to come back from death and witness one day on earth, and she realizes how everything looked from the outside in. I wonder if you had that in mind when writing this?

It's a very nice story, in any case. The emphasis of "blue" is something that strikes me, almost like the transition from black and white to color in the movie "Der Himmel Uber Berlin."

[quinfinn]

i didn't realize the depth of your soul until i read this work. i wouldn't have expected anything like this, for one thing, because you called it a poem but actually...this reads like a novella. deep, dark, disturbing and different yet full of light and self examination. i am hard pressed to deliver an analogy of this because i am still absorbing the scope of the content. i can't stress enough the quality of depth herein...stunning....surreal, abstract and genius....amazing write, truly.

[Muse]

I think it's a moment we can all relate to. Ever stood in the mirror...looked at yourself...watched the past...present...furture pass through you. It's Osmosis. We either drown in the moment...or baptize ourselves with a new sense of perception.

[quinfinn]

i have lived that very moment. it is like birth, purification, deprecation and death all in the same instant. i chose rebirth...and never looked back.

[Muse]

We all have that third eye "inner voice" and an awareness, it just takes longer for some of us to discover.

[quinfinn]

i was an early bloomer and i have been told that it means i have an ancient soul. i don't know how much truth there is in this, but i have remembered past lives and have also been dead in this life....twice...only to be brought back by medicine. we all have a purpose...and i believe it can take many lifetimes to achieve it. i am weary and wish to find mine....

[Muse]

I was aware of an "old soul" when I was a child...despite being taught a Christian belief system...I had dreams of past lives...visions. I still do.

[quinfinn]

i was never forced into christianity and i categorically reject the notion. i am pagan. i used to have terrifying dreams as a young child bout being tortured and later in life i underwent hypnoses and was told that i was tortured by the spanish inquisition....and some other unsettling things. life is perplexing and wonderful.

[Muse]

agreed :))

[quinfinn]

cool, thanks for the new friendship.....

[Muse]

Likewise!

[quinfinn]

:)

[Neville]

What an absolutely incredible work, Daliesque in many respects & that's a darn compliment. I wish I had penned this myself. N

[Dream Mistress]

:)

[Robin]

the thing is once you get a look, or two ,or three, at the other side , this side will never look the same , and you realize you spend most of your life stripping away what you have been taught - to learn what you already know ... many may read this and wonder what I am talking about , but somehow I think you do - very well ...

[Muse]

thank you...your words bring me peace..peace knowing that I am not alone in this journey.

[Hayley]

This, for me, brings up the lessons we learn from the past, our desires, regrets, accomplishments, moments of truth and happiness. Just beautiful. I love your title and the slow unraveling of the subconscious mind here.
A journey I am happy to accompany you on as I read!
Lovely work.

[luviva]

great... work b it fictional o nt..

[David Scott]

Well dear Muse, I feel like I very consciously assimilated some valuable knowledge of the human condition. I could feel the drowning pressure and the relief of each bubble as it is released and accepted. The baptism is so very symbolic. A death and a resurrection. Inspirational as always.
Be well!

[†Tracey†]

With the recent events over the past few weeks this touches a home in me that only you know.. I was in tears reading this...for so many reasons..and I'm sure for some I am yet to understand. You are the Mistress of wordsmiths my dear..xo