- Ghost Dance - Part 1. To this day I find myself quite skeptical regarding my own sincerity, and in fact as time moves forward I notice the insubstantial void of my networked memory falling apart. I feel fairly certain that I maintain an ability to distinguish between subconscious dream states, fantastic mental imagery and awakened, stimulated experience. The problem with what Aidan and I refer to as ghost dance is that though we both, in a sense, share an explicit memory extracted from the particular occurrence, neither of us are entirely sure that it actually happened. As absurd as this may sound I feel compelled to relate the incident, to expound the sense of awe I continue to harbor, because it has a grounding effect on my consciousness. A sobering clarification from the bottom up releases as the somber state of not knowing which is which and who is who gently untangles itself from my knotted mentality. Before I lay down the happening itself Id like to share the only solid realization Aidan and I have accepted; the fact that the concept of free will, of being in any position where control is exerted by an isolated sense of self awareness is a total fabrication of a mind which as of yet remains ignorant to the fundamental code of existence. There are any myriad means by which one comes to this understanding but the profound nature of the rewired thought channels destination will always be the same. Our teaching began during the summer of 1985 in the month of June. It was a warm Sunday spent at home in our old south Philadelphia neighborhood. I had just turned 22 not even 2 weeks prior and Aidan was hanging onto 23. We used to share a row home in a poverty stricken ghetto, him being from Taiwan and myself Irish. Needless to say, we stood out in that crowd. I remember waking up unusually early that morning, sometime around 9am to find my roommate on the floor eating a bowl of fruity pebbles in front of the television, I believe he was watching Adventures of the Little Koala. He nodded to my presence as I passed into the kitchen to prepare my daily pot of tea, a vital medication to ease both our lingering stupors brought on by a powdered heroin binge. While waiting for the water to boil I prepared my glass with a base of honey and wiped the sleep clean out from my eyelashes. Aidan meanwhile dropped out to the front steps for a smoke and called back through the open door for me to join him. Gathering my matches and a Newport I followed him with my honey green tea in my right hand. The two of us blew a bunch of smoke and an equal amount of pointless words, sitting on the steps under the Sun, watching the little black children run wild up and down the avenue pretending to shoot at each other, one of our favorite pastimes. And really wouldn’t you expect it, but a jumble of unnerving loud sounds exploded to our left, just wrapped around the block corner. The initial mix of a car horn blaring with a human screaming, the screeching of automobile brakes and the following bang that reverberates down the four closest intersections, rattling windows and jump starting hearts. Dropping my tea and chasing after my lifelong friend around the corner bar, my mind quickly catching up to it’s expectations, I lost my breathe momentarily as we joined the small crowd gathering around the 8 year old black boy lying face down on the concrete. His blue t-shirt was already a mess of blood to match the hood of the minivan and his bike had been thrown several feet from his body. An elderly man playing his part in the drama by touching the child for a sensation of the life force confirmed what we already could feel, that he was on his way to a different place. The old man held him in his arms amidst the shouting of the driver and the wailing of a few women while the rest of us stood silently, observing the unfolding motions of time. Sounds of police sirens began in a short moment and steadily grew in intensity and I will never forget what the trance felt like as the boy rolled his eyes weakly and settled his gaze in harmony with my own. I knew in that very moment that he was about to leave, there is a certain vibration a person radiates in the moment of separation. But the boy appeared almost to be smiling, at least his eyes reflected it, and I somehow knew in that moment that much wisdom was manifesting itself openly but for whatever reason, I was the only one touching it. It was like only he and I existed right then, the elderly man, the driver, the crowd, my roommate, none of them were even there to us. A connection was being made and the awareness of the other people faded into the background and became as insignificant as the homes and shops, the drug store and the bar. His eyes glazed over twice and went back into resting and slowly the life of the setting danced playfully back into animation. At first I felt utterly alone, isolated and very much dazed and in a way that I’ve never felt before. But I had just received a blessing and as I watched the energy coming from the surrounding beings wrap my consciousness up along with it, a strange air blew into our minds. Almost as if a set of hands fell upon our collective shoulders, and I realized that this all had to happen, that it was perfect, that it was controlled. Right about then my breathing resumed its normal rhythm and a perpetual comprehension of déjà vu kept playing itself out on repeat.
A kid getting run down in the street is perfect and controlled, and had to happen? Sorry, you lost me there.
This is one of the few pieces on here that held my interest enough to actually finish reading it. Nice. I like the first person viewpoint which makes this read somewhat like a diary/journal. Enjoyable.
Relayer, nice to see you on the writer's forum as well. I enjoyed this piece, but I think you would benefit from some paragraph breaks in strategic places as my eyes got lost a couple times while reading, and because putting a couple pauses after particularly poignant moments would bump their effect up that much more. overall though, very thought provoking and vivid -V
Just read this for a second time. It's strange because although you tell a very different story, I've had the exact same experience. The opening and closing were both very strong, especially: "To this day I find myself quite skeptical regarding my own sincerity, and in fact as time moves forward I notice the insubstantial void of my networked memory falling apart. I feel fairly certain that I maintain an ability to distinguish between subconscious dream states, fantastic mental imagery and awakened, stimulated experience. The problem with what Aidan and I refer to as ghost dance is that though we both, in a sense, share an explicit memory extracted from the particular occurrence, neither of us are entirely sure that it actually happened." "It was like only he and I existed right then, the elderly man, the driver, the crowd, my roommate, none of them were even there to us. A connection was being made and the awareness of the other people faded into the background and became as insignificant as the homes and shops, the drug store and the bar. His eyes glazed over twice and went back into resting and slowly the life of the setting danced playfully back into animation. At first I felt utterly alone, isolated and very much dazed and in a way that I’ve never felt before. But I had just received a blessing and as I watched the energy coming from the surrounding beings wrap my consciousness up along with it, a strange air blew into our minds. Almost as if a set of hands fell upon our collective shoulders, and I realized that this all had to happen, that it was perfect, that it was controlled." I'm not a good critic, so there's nothing I can say in terms of what can or can't be better. Writing is writing, I feel -- neither good nor bad. But I did enjoy reading this because of our shared experience.
