Madman’s Lullaby
To be infinite is merely to exist. To be. A moment; nothing more, nothing less. That is all there is. There is no future, no past. How can anything be that is not now?
Have you ever returned the stare of a cat? Ever focused all your attention on that intense, yellow gaze? Follow his lines, from the quivering tips of his whiskers, along the delicately angled head, down the sinuous back and tail. Return your eyes to his, and share a slow, feline blink.
Open your eyes, look up to the sky and see the lonely emptiness. Barren, nothing but space, into the incomprehensible infinite, occasionally marred by a ball of gas, of rock, or of fire. Impossible explosions rock the desolation from time to time, but there is little out here to hear the deafening bellow of a star in its death-throes. Follow the light cast off by the dying monolith back to the beginning. See it again; see the glow of a star, dead a thousand years, still to burn on for a thousand more – in our heavens, at least.
A shooting star streaks across the dark, perhaps some small fragment from the ruined solar system, hurtled through the empty nothingness. There is an instantaneous flare as the leftover morsel of planet is consumed by the heat of its own entry into the atmosphere of our own pathetic little pebble.
Skim one with me now; flick your wrist and send a smooth, flat stone bounding over the shaded crystal waters. The scent of daffodils whispers past your nose, accompanied by the cautious chatters of small beasts hidden in the thriving undergrowth. Isolate a sound; follow it to its source. Push aside the slippery-smooth waxy leaves, away from the crunching just died away. There is a dead thing there, a rotting mass of half-chewed bones and putrid flesh loosely covered with a scattering of fur. Prod it with your finger, feel the soft fuzz disintegrate at your touch to release a stinking cloud of gas and flies. Follow their flight up, out of the undergrowth to be snatched up by a darting willy-wag-tail. He perches on a little twig, some distance above and away from you. He wags his black tail, turns his bright black eye to yours and gives an odd little bow, then flits off after some more of your flies.
An eagle hangs stationary in the cloudless blue, scowling at you with her fierce golden glare. With a slight twist to her feathers, she veers away. Soar with her, feel the wind over your wings and listen to it whistle past your ears. Stoop and wheel and dive in the sheer joy of existence. Peek into the distant windows of a towering city as though you were sitting on the windowsill.
There is a girl in one of them, on the cusp of womanhood. She stands before of a full-length mirror, staring at the shrivelled sacks of her breasts, the xylophone ribcage. She has eaten three bites of pasta tonight. She only ate that much because her parents had been staring at her while she did it. Turning her back on the wraith in the glass, she drifts into her ensuite. She crouches over the toilet, the porcelain icy beneath her gaunt fingers. As she forces the three bites out of her guts, into her mouth, she feels something tear deep inside of her. She gags, choking on the meagre contents of her stomach. Feel her panic. Experience the enveloping calmness, the stabbing pain as her heart stops. Look into her eyes as she slips onto the tiled floor. See, they are quiet now. No more pain. No more hate. No more. It is a consummation devoutly to be wished.
Glass smashes, outside, on the street. A car alarm sounds, ripping through the tranquillity with its monotone wailing. A prostitute greets us, a crimson gash against the dead grey stone. A warm, empty leer is frozen to her face, even before she looks into our eyes. Give her a wink and twenty dollars to buy some McDonalds for her son. He is at home, getting babysat by his aunt. She doesn’t know what her sister does. Neither does the scarlet whore.
A dirty brown alley cat heaves herself out of a dumpster. She scuttles away as you approach, but pauses, mid-flight, to turn back to you, to meet your eyes with her own yellow orbs. With a flick of her scrawny tail, she indicates to you to follow. Shadows stir and murmur as you pass, but none approach. They lie, lingering gloom in the acrid stink of rubbish, waiting for different prey to go by.
You turn your head to follow the passage of a pretty little girl in a ruby frock, out of place amongst all this dismal grey stone. With a darting glance back at you and a familiar tepid leer, she dissolves into shadow and mist. Swing your eyes back to the cat. She has gone, disappeared into the night. Just like everything else. You are alone. Empty as the void around you. Not even darkness surrounds you. This must be what the blind see.
Turn around. I am here. I am all you need to see. Look into my eyes, gaze into my abyss, and allow me to gaze into yours. Sink into the depths of my insanity.
Be still.
Be quiet.
I am here.
I exist.
We exist.
Together.
Forever.
For eternity.
Our infinite moment.