We rarely confess our existence trapped in eternal limbo
between heaven and earth. We are not demon nor angel or bodily being.
Unobservable, we creep on tiptoes on top of the redbrick wall barrier between
the supernatural and your common world, in an all-encompassing yet nearly
non-existent reality. On occasion one of our own trips and cascades into
Earth’s progressive spiral through time or are swept away by the wind of
un-comprehendible divinities in to total enlightenment and freedom, a concept
of heaven or a higher form of existence, the
spiritual world. Our earthly visits are the ancient origins of the tales
elders tell the children, whose pupils dilate in innocent, youthful eyes. One,
a macabre appearance, another a miraculously beautiful vision. We follow no
sense of uniformity, merely for the reason that we are each individual
anomalies, snapped threads in the fabric of the universe. Neither intended nor
damned, we lack creation and substance, and form from nothing, as we are
nothing. Yet we are something. Our grim and optimistic presence looms over all
worlds, clear as day yet hazy as fog. We are the contradictory culture with no
beginning or end, just ever so slightly above bodily form but below spiritual
being, or the properties of gods. Enigmatic in nature, we fling off our
redbrick wall of a home dreams and night terrors into the minds of children.
These are the lost ideas, memories, and creations of souls that transition from
your world through ours to the next. And we are infinite, vision flingers and
lonely walkers in the limbo we inhabit, wishing with all we are, just to exist
for a moment in a distinct ambience.
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