“Oppression can only survive through silence.”
Carmen de Monteflores
A fleeting moment of ecstasy quickly dissipates from the senses as the deafening roar of silence approaches as swiftly as night obscuring the vibrant colors of light replacing them with a lifeless pall of grey. The exuberance of warmth with its clarified purpose and exquisite detail slowly yields to a cold uncertainty which dulls the mind with obsessive destruction that systematically dismantles any security in the belief that the beauty of life remains within reach. The silence grows as emotions flood every thought until the ringing in my ears can’t be tolerated. Reality recedes like the picture of an old television tube after it has been turned off, quickly denatured of primary hues that disappear into a white dot of light, flickering before disappearing into a black abyss. What remains is a mental struggle for sanity with the strengthening grip of silence. As each second grows to an untamable eternity time becomes the most powerful weapon of silence wielded with ruthless brutality seeking to crush any sanctuary or refuge of reason.
When the mind is idle without direction or focus, demons emerge from dark shadows of silence to dance in the conscientious, harnessing boundless creative energy to construct disturbing visions of loss and pain. The images born of a firestorm of doubt are more vivid than reality, manifesting into visions of betrayal devised to unleash a flood of anger, hopelessness and loss. The creative power of imagination is hijacked by the subconscious to explore all scenarios of possibilities with the intent of inflecting mental discomfort of the cardinal order. I am a prisoner of the silence forced to watch increasingly more perverse interpretations of my worst nightmares. Like a soldier bound and seated before a white sheet with him eyes taped open so that under no circumstances he can avert him gaze from the flittering images that torments his soul, I am bound to watch as imagination claws at my flesh attempting to find a soft weakness so that a mortal wound can be inflicted. Each personal acknowledgement of weakness is quickly attacked with mental abortions and repeated imagines of increasing brutality. Where is the joy of spring, the perfumed whisper of convergence? How long will I have to wait until tenderness and compassion lifts me back into the light removing the cloak of blackness that blinds me from all that I desire?
My stomach sours as searing cramps acknowledges the relentless attack of silence. A putrid acid rises to erode my resolve as I wait for the brutality to crease, but it won’t for I am trapped in a dimension devoid of time. The slim vestiges of hope that ecstasy and light will return to hold me and secure my loss slowly dissipate like morning dew under the intense desert sun. Fear of the pain recedes as a greater fear emerges from the recesses of my mind. It is a blue cloud of sadness that weighs heavy on me like lead. I struggle violently in order to escape its deadly grip, hoping to hide in a sacred sanctuary of bliss. My breath becomes labored as I feel misfortune sits beside me placing its cold fist on my chest. My mind is numb and listless as I wait for the images that pound on me with a relentless rhythm to end. My limbs are lethargic without purpose as I am paralyzed by the cruelest of imagined outcomes, but still the silence beats in my heart and rings in my ears. An impenetrable veil of gloom surrounds my sadness, a veil that all hope is obscured under, a veil that is stitched from the thread of despair. Deeper and darker my thoughts spiral downward, never closer to rescue, always increasing in negative aspect, always preventing me a handhold to resist my descent. The uncertainty is boundless, as I wait for a sign, a small gesture like a frightened child alone in the dark.
From beneath the droning madness of the silence is a faint undetectable tone that begins to emerge. A counter melody to a disturbing symphony of darkness grows like a flowering vine among the thorny briars. A whisper at first subtle enough to make me question its existence, but I dismiss it as only the madness feeding my isolation. My numb tortured mind wants to believe that a song so angelic and so perfect that it melts the sorrow and uncertainty. Hope flows back into my limbs as the voice lingers with a beauty which can not be held drifting on the scented summer breeze. For the briefest of moments the soft voice nourishes me with tenderness as tears of relief fill the sky glistening like diamonds. There is no desire to understand why I was abandon for so long, only the need to be as one again. I revel in its beauty as hope washes over me cleansing the despair from my soiled soul. The world fills with light as I breathe deeply inhaling an inspired sense of aspirations which empower my dreams to soar. I am comforted by the caring sweet caresses as I float on cottony white clouds of tenderness.
As quickly as it appeared the voice disappears leaving me in the bliss of a lingering sunset of ecstasy. I race for the horizon to capture the fleeting rays of color but am left gasping for air with my limbs burning as the sunset is extinguished against the cold black earth. Dusk leads the triumphant return of night and uncertainty as my surroundings implode and collapse upon me with a suffocating weight of sorrow. Slowly fear creeps from the shadows to reside in its familiar place next to me while reaching for my hand; I resist the temptation to stare into the cold black lifeless eyes which gaze at me with endless anticipation knowing I will eventually fall into a morose sleep. My angelic voice of life has dissipated as the maddening drone of darkness fills every crack and seam leaving no escape. I once again I resign myself sit to alone waiting for the brutality of silence to cease.
“Now the sirens have a still more fatal weapon than their song, namely their silence... someone might have escaped from their singing; but from their silence, certainly never.”
Franz Kafka (1883 - 1924)
