Light on the Trane

There are moments when you feel saturated, laden with some invisible hue of refracting light that channels up from your gut to the space between your eyes, and even in the midst of the compressed rush hour crowd in a subway car, standing swaying in the jagged braking of the subterranean train with your hand wrapped warmly around the bar, even then, you feel some eyes catching into you, catching onto you, understanding briefly that there is something there they can’t touch, yet knowing, intimately, like the back of their dreams. Your aura transcends the scene and there could be some background chorus echo cradling the silence and contextualizing it into something grander, musical, emotional. And then some man in the back of the train yelling into someone’s face, seething with an anger that is almost biblical. Heads turn to ascertain the gravity of the situation. Just another crazy, spinning off in some schizophrenic void. That once was you, minus the verbal vitriol. You, energy spitting shotgun into the aether-sphere of the damned, uncontainable, ungrounded, lost. You once knew what it was to be forsaken. It is the flipside of the controlled ecstasy that can flood into your veins unforeseen now daily. Much better than a needle, you know how to look forever into the future, in order to escape the unbearable suffering of being stuck eternally in each moment. To steel yourself in ambition, put your faith in evolution, knowing always that there will be upwards growth, eventually, with patience. The payoff is the ecstatic sense of concrete in your blood that comes suddenly, swiftly, grounding you into a sense of infinity embedded in your skin. This light that breaks open momentarily in the depths of mundanity, unseen by anyone, your breath solid as a rock, unbreakable as water, you can make it through everything.


Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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