Lost amongst a delirium of the here and the now, between what has been lost and what has been forgotten; she finds herself enclosed in her own soul. Her feet crunch slightly upon the ice coated ground, she lifts them one by one and carries herself further down the path. The trees hang heavy under the weight of their seasonal company, their branches reach out to her in a desperate plea, but then recede as she passes, giving in to the labyrinth of winter. She walks for what feels like eternity; time seems to fade as she continues, as if she were walking into a black hole, ready to consume space and time completely. Her hands begin to tremble and her golden hair begins to grow transparent against the shadowed background. She has been in her head for hours. Suddenly a gust of wind rams against her chest, her collar bone sinks into her organs, her heart and her lungs are tormented under the pressure. But no blood seeps from her broken skin, she places her hands upon her chest expecting to feel the pain, but it never comes, it never fades and it never resurfaces. So she continues down the path in search for an unfathomable goal. Like a goose chase but you knew there was never a goose in the first place.

A memory surfaces, and then fades, a thin line, a cup of tea shared with an unknown figure on a glorious sunday morning someday in the past. It comes and leaves, just as everything had in her life, her memories were almost as unrecognizable as  the faces of those who surrounded her. Alone, alone in a crowded room, but yet, always watched by an unknown force, always a conversation going on in her head. And there she was again getting lost in her thoughts.

The path recovers and she slows to a casual walk through a chaotic world. Her heart beat echoes over the silence of the forest, bouncing from the ice back to her ears once again. As she begins to unwrap the image laid before her, a familiar hand rest upon her shoulder. It’s careful grip soothes her tumultuous state of being, but soon that grip becomes ever too familiar and its touch becomes unbearable. It’s nails split the skin on her neck and forces every hair upon her delicate body erect. As the cracks in her shoulder spread, the cracks in her heart break into canyons. Yet, again no blood spills from the splinters in her fragile skin, like a porcelain doll she is repairable and so just as she had done so many times before, she places those broken pieces back into their proper spot. She does this with a sort of lust, too orchestrated to be pure and too habitual to be reaction. But the caverns in her heart remain deep and swollen with secrets that have rolled from a homely tongue.  As the hand slips away she can’t help but to reach out with a gasp “da…” but the call goes unfinished because the hand recedes too quickly into the darkness. Leaving her with a riven heart and gelid bones.

As the trees part in a tunnel of envisioned beauty, a memory materializes in her amygdala. She slips in. Again, as envisioned she finds herself, resting on an early morning in the distant past, with her delicate curls bouncing in the wind like flakes of gold off of Hermes sandals. She smooths the creases in her pant legs and then stands to recover her grazing pony.

The sun has risen to the peak of the day and the clouds have rolled from the distance into fantastical objects in a light blue sea. She rides across a field that revealed itself somewhere in a dream, or was it a surfacing subconscious exposure. She cannot recall.

Suddenly the light blue sky begins to shatter as if a god had dropped some great force upon it. As the pieces begin to rain down upon her, her galloping pony transforms into herself running against the sky above her. But she stops suddenly, realizing that you cannot run against something that is coming at you from such an angle. You could hide, but it would be forever that you would find yourself sulking in the pits of an inhabitable world. So she stops and waits for the fragments to pierce her skin, break her bones and crush her sweet existence. But, yet again no blood spills as a fragment lands in her waiting palm. And in analysis the fragment is that of a falling icicle, not the sky.

Her knees buckle but she does not fall, instead she lands once again on the ice coated ground; over and over she buckles under the pressure, but over and over she lands in the same position. There is no escape from her untamed mind, there is no running from the spoils of a broken society and there is no way to analyze what has and what shall be. Because we have convinced ourselves that our dreams are conjurings of our unwilling creative minds, and that our memories were lived and not forgotten. But as she continues to fall into a dimension that should not exist she ponders the actual proper context of a dream upon a memory that at sometime existed in reality.

That thought subsides and slides into the shadows of a forlorn winter. So she picks up and continues down a path with no end.

As she glides evermore so along, the leaching roots of the trees spill out around her ankles. Their vines creep up her fading legs and engulf her in a wreath of passionate greed. Under their pressure she falls to the frostbitten ground, but erupts no sound, because in the light of the situation there is no one but herself to hear it. Her body lie motionless as the roots anchor her to the pits of hell. And just as it began, their movement ends. In fact, the world around her resides in a motionless state, the trees grow stale in the absence of wind, the ground sets as the weight of gravity drifts past and the perfunctory marching motion of her legs subsides in her mind until the only real thing she knows is placidity. Her eyes stare blankly into the frozen branches above her resting soul, and with each blink her mind convulses. Such a small perpetual gesture, feels so foreign to her. Like clockwork her eyelids unfold as if they were curtains drawing back the sun, and her lashes collide like two souls on a summer night stuck in an embrace too timely to break. This cause of action should release a wave of calamity in a swollen sea, her lashes beating at the cautious waters as if she were using them to paint the ocean green. And then they break, her lashes heave as their hearts are torn from their bare chest and her eyelids fold back to let the scene drift in like a homewreckers curves.

As time weaves its web in front of her, the numbing sensation of her body begins to feel like home. She no longer resides in her body for she has lost recollection of what her material bonds feel like. As this realization swims through her mind, her subtle body begins to seep through the cracks of the lifeless roots that contained her. She turns freely and sees that her body is still on the ground, folded amongst the roots and shielded with a coating of ice.

“Surely I am dead,” she says to herself as she weaves through the distant trees.
“Surely, you are not my dear,” a voice echoes through the void.
Without apprehension she responds “And who might you be to tell me this?” but the voice fades into the thick air. Instead of a spoken response with formulated words, context of a mistrune identity, she is engulfed in a sense. Her answers come to her, not in word, but in vibrations. She uses none of her receptors to obtain this message, rather it flows in and through her unburied soul and weaves a bridge over the limitations of interpersonal communication.  Within a moment in a timeless state, she finds herself straying from the path, following a certain vibration through the magnetic energy of a voiceless ghost.

The trees hang low and the ground begins to churn, as it bellows the ice begins to break and the frostbitten landscape fades. Blades of grass break through the surface of the forbidden terrain  and she can feel the Earth revive in a jovance of breath. In front of her unfolds an icy lake, swept against the forest like a star system in an empty galaxy. As she walks to the shore, the coating begins to break and the water envelopes the shards of ice that had once trapped it. The waves lap over the spring shore and the trees that hung omniscient over the lake lift their trunks in a dance for the gods. Their limbs untwist and their leaves unfold, revealing a sky as light as the soft foot of a ballerina.

She carries herself to the water, but finds that an inception has mistrune her perspective of the lake. It was not a folded pallet against the lush landscape, instead as she took her last step towards the receding tide, she finds herself sturdy on a large cliff. Here she hangs in utter perplexion. Dazed, she sits with her feet dangling from the slope.
“You should jump,” a echoing voice consumes her.
“And you think this wise?” she turns to the figure.
Standing adjacent to her she finds a dark entity, light upon its feet but dense upon its heart. It’s energy is drawing, she notices that her subtle body is beginning to dismantle, parcels of her soul are being drawn into it’s dark hands. But it stands without force, even as it drags her soul from the midst of her subtle body, she feels no contention. Her apprehension draws back her fleeting soul. The entity sits down besides her and they stare off into the water, both transfixed by the neutrality of the scene.

It runs through her head like gears churning within a stopwatch, time, stop, click, time, stop, click. She looks down from the outcrops of the cliff, her feet dangle above the waves; she watches as they break upon the rocks. Here, she is within the present moment and here she wishes to stay. The water begins to look so clear in her mind, she plays back a sweet memory of a pool she once swam in. The water was always so thick and smooth, the ripples reminded her of the ocean, and the light blue waves reflected a happy face or floating clouds. Awakened, she sees that same light blue water below her, drawn to the context of the dream she impulsively stands to jump.
“Wait,” again a light voice echoes through her mind.

“You don’t understand, I have to do this,” she turns yet finds no other entity besides the sulking figure to her right.
An energy begins to guide her towards the forest again, just as a light energy had guided her to where she stood now.

“I cannot keep following you in hopes that this will get better. I cannot keep doing this to myself. It is time for me to jump, I want to go home,” she begins to scream, lost in the adrenaline her subtle heart cannot produce.
But the energy grows stronger and she finds her feet moving towards the path it creates for her. In her mind, she is entering the void again, the ice begins to creep around her like a lost hero in a world with no villains. She screams but the trees trap the sound that should erupt from her sun burnt soul. Her feet crunch against the frostbitten soil once again and her heart hangs heavy as her inner light begins to fade with the landscape. Just as she begins to lose hope in her free will, a fleshy tone appears against the grey horizon. Underneath an exhaustible pile of roots and leaves, lies a fleshy subject, twisted limbs and broken skin.
She removes the brittle roots and digs up the forgotten doll, it’s porcelain complexion reflects the light from her glowing skin.
“Who would leave a doll in such a place,” she questions as she subconsciously turns and begins to follow back the energy.
She cradles the doll and becomes lost in the familiarities of her face, a memory surfaces but flickers out like an outdated light bulb in her mind. The energy in front of her retreats from the path and draws itself in front of her, an image surfaces in the materialization of the energy; a girl with golden blond curls stands in front of her, her porcelain skin is rivened with cracks and again a memory breaks through but fails to reach her mind. The girl fades and the energy pours into her hands, holding a forgotten doll in one hand and a means to do in the other, she picks up her feet and begins to run towards the cliff.

As she breaks through the icy line of the forest, she sees the dark entity waiting with open arms where the cliff subsides. She runs to it, but just as it begins to draw her soul from her bare chest she heaves the broken doll from the cliff. As it hits the water, the cracks in the porcelain break into canyons that swallow the lake whole. Until there is nothing left of that broken doll besides a few pieces of porcelain drawing on a wading shore.
As the doll subsides in her mind, she turns to find the dark entity lurking over her shoulder. It glides back, its long fingers dig into its silken chest and they claw away its skin like hands folding origami. It folds back its silk screen skin and slowly the entity folds itself inside out and opens into a black hole. The light energy in her hand pulls her towards the fold, transfixed she throws the light into the entity. The fold begins to shake, consuming the light and churning back awesome sound. The black eternal structure of the entity transform into a spiraling complex of psychedelic colors, hypnotized by the absence of time she slides in. Head first she moves through the wormhole, she can feel her body being stretched. The only way that she can materialize the feeling is that she is being stretched over time, no wait, she is time. She repeats a mantra “I am me, and in this moment  I will be forever so free, I shall stand tall  like a tree.”

The entire history of the here, the past and what will be unfolds upon her skin. Like ink spreads over paper the history of us spills over her soul and like a sponge she soaks it in. Absorbs the light, the dark, the whole, the empty and spreads the contents through her mind like a paint brush over canvas. She understands. There are no more questions in her mind, because she is everything she has ever contemplated, she is even her deepest fears.

The tunnel fades and the spinning unravels into a slight gust of wind. Her golden curls float in the air and her subtle eyes flutter open to see an array of yellow around her. Her hands brush across the field of sun kissed daffodils and above her weaves the universe. In the corner of her eye she glimpses the light that she once cradled in her palm. She reaches for it and pulls the glowing ball to her face, as it comes into focus she sees that it is not a light at all but a familiar face. Overwhelmed with a lust for what lies in her palm she feels her heart pound from her subtle chest. The light begins to expand and the familiar face stares back at her; the light that once quivered in her hands shines brightly from the skin of this other soul. Glowing like a beacon home, she stares longingly back at her, her eyes melt over the landscape. She opens her mouth to speak but no words spill out, instead as she looks upon her face she recognizes that a solemn galaxy spirals where her words would have been spun. Her beauty is overwhelming and their touch is electrifying, like water to a current, they dance in an uncontrollable gust.

Surrounded by a sea of yellow daffodils and covered in a blanket of stars she embraces the subtle energy of her other soul. Without words they relate their lost time and lie whole under the texture of the eternal spirit. They are the present, they are we and they are everything our material minds can possibly fathom.