Living in the 21st century, while being its tiny point like a still moment stuck in time, I often wondered about a world free from what my fellow men (and their women) created all this while, living in the entire existence for as long as we, humans, have existed on this planet.
This search has always been the focal point for many, true, again like etched in their own respective points, the spawn-focal centre of all what they call life. For them and for me, life only is whatever I experience of it. I am the creator of my own life, just like all these people are (I really do not know if they’re ‘alive’).
Countless hours have been spent in search for an alien world, perhaps the occupants of which will make us realise the grand reality after all! Scientists and top dollar machines are out there, searching for their own little worlds. In our ‘home’, this Earth of ours, artists dwell too. They’re searching for something; Some random moment of clarity, an unknown experience, waiting to be unfolded by them. They’re the observers.
While I sat and wondered about these little specks of dusts, strands of cobwebs floating about in air because someone’s lost their home, something happened. I was searching for a place perhaps, that space where I can finally spread my arms wide open and quite literally, fly; there I was – before I could realise what happened, there opened a wormhole with just a tiny bit of light managing to escape through it. Just bright enough to make me realise of its presence, perhaps questioning me, challenging me and asking me “Do you dare?”, yet with lips sealed but fostering a glistering smile.
Little did the light realise for those without nothing, even the tiniest of hopes is a great prospect; One that saves lives.
I was there, in a new world. Almost alien, yet so much like home. Home- Is this finally the reality with all its filters dropped away, or a world which I perhaps originally belonged to, much like Kal-El’s?
Darkest of the bluest of skies, I wanted to fly. In an instant, they embraced me and opened up their chests.
“Fly, this is your home, you’ve been away for a long time, but you’re home.”
Free willing and curious, I banked and turned, climbed and looped, descended into a spiral and finally came back to the assurance of a soft ground to lay upon; So much to grasp, I zoned out and surrendered. The fresh air fed me, kept me full. Fresh fruits and so much food! “You’ll never again be hungry.”
An alien world can scare a lot of us. But is it the world which scared me or was it my own assumptions, imaginations, perceptions of ifs and whats and of wants and of want nots? The uncertainties of how things fold are dangerous parasites. “What if it kills me?”
I can never know. No one can, for that matter. Unless the present gets all its undue credit, things will never pan out the way we ‘expect’ they would; And where’s the fun in that? As I relished this freedom, this space I called home, the magic of which defeats the most glorious of books ever written and movies ever made; evolves. This place grows. And I must too. Acclimatizing to the new world through skills learnt from before, I will evolve.
There’s an order to chaos; the entropy always increases. It grows. I sit here in a hope that light shines on these focal points, and they finally see what they secretly have always wished for – An alien world, much like their home, maybe better at times. The place where they actually find themselves, etched upon everything images of them in all their glory.
“Everyone deserves their beliefs to get materialised, be made real. Even if it involves aliens and their standing up to their own nightmares.”
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