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

Get your own valid XHTML YouTube embed code

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 ...

[R J Askew]

The writings journey then takes us into a new place where the past rises up. The recollections are almost tangible, with the sense of smell especially underlining that. Indeed, the whole creation is very sensual, with the music and the images reinforcing that feeling. There were some key dabs here such as 'molesting the inside of her ears' ... 'stupid girl'. These are painful dabs that stand out because of the serenity of the totality. But it is not all sad. We can see the charming fire ant freckles and can feel ourselves reaching out to touch those lips. Maybe they are our lips if we are immersed in the reading experience. (more)

[R J Askew]

I enjoyed the drama of the opening lines. Also liked the surreal idea of passing into the porcelain wall. What better way to travel than by the surreal?! Also felt that weight. Indeed weight and gravity mark out the real from the surreal. Maybe weight is the only way we know we are real, or physical at least. Also like the idea of seeing air. You are showing us the concept of air in fact. But is the concept any different from the reality? Maybe concepts are more real than walking around reality. The waterfall is beautiful, graceful, and active. Water is often said to symbolise emotion. The floating compass fascinates. Can see it. Perhaps that is our instincts. The Blue curtain feels tangible also, something we pass through, like life, perhaps the Blue is life itself. (more)

[R J Askew]

Brilliant job, very creative with the fusion of the surreal and the experience beautifully executed. There is drama and immediacy in the outcome with the music complementing the mood perfectly. I love the addition of the music. The visual treatment also adds to the whole. There is also a tangible sense of presence as your words take us into a subtle metaphysical world where the way forward is one and same with elements of past reality. We end up wondering what is real? what was real? And in truth what is life? How does memory differ from metpaphyscal projections? It no longer exists aftera all. (more)

[...]

to be conscious is the first step and I have no doubt you"ve taken it! Davine sail, down to the rise :)

[Cascara (aka Sprint Goe..]

The music was a great addition for this poem...it helped me feel the emotions.

And I actually FELT this little girl's pain in your excellent poetry piece.

The ending of your poem was a lovely addition- it made this little girl's story seem a little bit more hopeful.

[Enigma]

I am amazed and speechless. This is an excellent piece of writing. I'm glad I read it. :)

[Amila Jay]

Wow!!! This so great. A brilliant write it is Fantastic indeed :)))

[Light and ashes]

WOW! Thank you for taking us on this wonderful journey of rebirth. The music is a perfect compliment to this poem. It stopped just as I had finished reading. It helped the impact of the words. I can relate to some of this poem. I used to bite my finger nails too as a nervous/bored habit. I also was bullied for almost my whole life, and I was called the same names as you mentioned in this poem. You are so beautiful both inside and outside. You are so lovely, and a very unique human being and poet. Nothing about you is average, phenomenal poerty and outstanding job of writing this, 100

[Dayran]

In an experience that is full of fragmented sensations, each representing its own ideal, like a day at the carnival, one pauses to witness the innocence of youth. At a time like this we find a secret place that is entirely our own to view such experiences and avoid all that contradictory thoughts of reality.

In the silence we create a new trust about what we are, what we believe notwithstanding what anyone would say, we see it for what it, we speak to it and hold a special vigil by it, as something only we understand. It is an experience of Daniel among the lions or that of the noble savage in the forests. You understand what is true, even though none of the savages in your environment do.