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Arnolfini: parallel universe- universal paralysis
On a cataclysmic level, the sub conscious becomes a most well-known parallel universe. She comes into her own during an interlude of insomnia, between the backdrop of melanin sky, dilapidating with the rise of a golden orb upon the line of horizon. The terrain’s final point of rest offers the mind a focal point on which to balance the abyss of possibility. But, it is here that the first assumed infinite directions of step become, in that chasing moment of passing time, finite. Here, I face myself in mirror reverse, a western, self-interlocked pawn.
Prophetic happenings do not enter such domain. Paramount, are my limitations. I am but able to look in return, to days and events past. Fear is the strong force of paralysis that harnesses me in the now. I am within the white box of meditative thought, but to seek moments of change and awakening in the unknown future fails me. My parallel self-resides in my already happenings.
I am but one amongst the homogenous mass of lone thinkers, lost within their thoughts, each and every one in their parallel universe. Such a pocket is prelude to any stream of consciousness.
Visions take the form of diction now playing in mind as I sit, dazed in a sense of fatigue. Affront my staring eyes stands another world encased in a globe of linguistics. It plays out. Dreamlike images sway ahead yet, out of reach. My awakened soul stands stronger than any rationale.
With each word, each constructed line of colloquial semantic comes a further dissected desire. So strong and passionate they lie, here in the safe haven of dreamlike thought. Yet, so far from any given reality played in my day-to-day living. How so, if created within my parallel, can it not become so in my real. This is my universe, for which I have a level of ownership. Its authenticity feels ever stronger. Its readership reaches no other than my frontal lobe, my two almond green eyes alone.
The eyes, alive with questioning stare. The mind, clear and empty, ever chases an answering prayer. A sole concept resides: the self.
The self: a complex matrix of interlocked thoughts, sensations and emotive drives. Yet, it would seem that is it only within the parallel reality of elongated thought brought on from the vacancy experienced in this pocket of insomnia, that we, the individual give ourselves true reign and credit.
It is within the existential sphere of a parallel universe that we feel able to allow ourselves the freedom to simply be. We give ourselves the excuse to map out questions and possible paths of descent. A reflective route to self-awareness seems only able in this outer hemisphere. If only we applied such analysis to our very reality, the one that ironically affects others and us in close and surrounding proximity.
Absorption in the self, in the now, in this enveloped moment of proficiency. Impenetrable, I am unreachable in this portal. I shall travel back here, with every daily dream. Each and every pause, I am there, in my parallel world. My locked eyes allow for pure indulgence in the view of my now known outer limit. I separate myself from others, ones who do not share my level of paralysis. Isolation, this is how it is interpreted on occasion. But, I never feel fuller than when I am in this state of utter self-saturation.
The opportune moment of clarity is what the voice of me in this hemisphere resounds. This other is who I feel and see when my mind is numb. My mind, numb but comfortable and at rest, even when my body is anything but. For when I am in this state of consciousness that personifies itself in an awakened stance, most others are in a sleep infused dream world. My world of dream kicks into play when sleep is as far from my reach as is the reality of the parallel.
My parallel universe is my inner self, and her means of shutting down my entirety to a place where only a stare can be had by the eyes. She throws me a safety line, one which some would interpret as frustrating, exhausting and inconvenient. I have come to embrace it. I have realised my parallel universe is me, simply me. I escape into thought, into a world of absolute. It lies behind my eyes, yet in front too. It is the mind, the heart and soul. It is the solar plexus, with all her butterflies who take flight in moments of angst and woe. It is the deep inhalation of positivity, sometimes paired with a quiver, but always with an end of calm. It is me, an insomniac. When twilight hits, the activity of the parallel begins. Universal paralysis of the body, whilst the mind grows amongst her parallel universe.
My name is Amy, but I write under the pseudonym of Nancy Parr; Nancy being the second name choice my Mom had for both my sister and I, and Parr was the surname of my great Nanny. There is a story in the family of an Old Man Parr, who bore children up to, and into his 100th year of life!
Language is my first love, Sociology a close second. Both lend themselves with triumph to my encased moments of semantic celebration.