Deity

From simple existence comes a slow awakening. Awareness fits awkwardly, forced around an unnatural form. It itches. A sense of self is yet amorphous, as tenuous as the drive to leave the sunlight and enter unknown territory. Change is coming and it feels foreign to this body, as does thought, but the urge to travel is strong and movement is easy.

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Bright, mellow light fills this room of smooth open spaces. The sun is warm but shiny tiles, clean and clear, radiate coolness. Far above, an afternoon breeze gently strokes the leaves outside this calm place, making their shadows dance in great wavering flickers across the tile expanse of the floor and roll softly into the vast, pile forest. Beyond the forest (rug) looms a cliff, white and shiny, the outer restraint of a now-empty ocean. The monolith opposite holds a much smaller ocean, one with strange currents and, to these unique senses, fascinating odors. Other forms abound, gentle and sharp, large, textured, bright and dark, and names float up from murky, alien memory: hamper, towel, mirror. Such things are not important to this small body.

The journey to the high, bright place is long, punctuated by necessary pauses at the rumble of vibrations or the tickle of a breath of air. The floor tastes of mammal skin, earth, and sharp chemicals. Beckoning, tantalizing aromas waft from the high reaches (window) above that encourage movement, hastening, toward the promise of food. Though arduous, the climb up to the brightness upon perfect rough footholds invigorates and awakens appetite. The small tremors and winds have become familiar, danger-freeze is no longer necessary, and the trek is soon over. Long legs working together, I pull myself up over the edge onto the sunlit wood. I am here. Now I can see.

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I have explored this small section of the greater dwelling, the bathroom, but have found the window to be the most comfortable, with its convenient corners and warming afternoon sunlight. The glass is deceptive for the winged creatures, providing easy, nutritious meals; when the husks are pushed over the edge to fall onto the far-away tiles they are not noticeable to the two large creatures that occasionally intrude. A deep crevice in the wood bordering the upper glass is the true treasure, a refuge from caustic, deadly liquid and speeding, swiping cloths that would obliterate this body.

A crisp, early morning glow brightens the room, more silver than gold because the sun is on the other side of this enormous abode. Comfortable and sated after eating, I lounge, drinking-tasting-smelling the air, watching the light change as the sun climbs ponderously above and behind the house. I can hear one of the familiar mammals, the female (woman), her voice obscured as the sound bounces off and through walls, strongest from the doorway across from the window. These sounds were once roars and menacing growls but now have meaning and significance, purpose. Memories continue to ooze like bile from the depths, strange and powerful things that fit oddly in me as I am now. Something is growing, forming itself from the past, and threatening this pleasant existence. I know more than I should, somehow, and the world is sloughing it’s simplicity as, in bits and pieces, the assault of enlightenment continues.

The woman’s voice speaks and then pauses, speaks and then pauses, and in those pauses I can hear only the mundane noise of my home, so I know that she does not converse with the other one (man).