Echo … EyeEcho … EyeEcho … EyeEcho … I

For Sam, it begins with her mind’s eye.

That was always the problem, that it begins there. But Sam knows better. It’s not that everything begins in her mind. (That’s the last place her mind would think of, actually.) It’s that everything starts and lives in her heart. In her spirit, in her soul.

By the time the edge of everything creeps into her mental awareness, only the seam of it appears in her mind’s eye.  Yet even the seam is enough to blow Sam away…even just the edge of it all. Imagine the whole. Yes. Try that one on for size, won’t you, her brain just about taunts.

The magic of full knowing, of complete clarity, the magic of boundaryless truth and endless trust which, Sam is convinced, must thread and weave and tie together all of life’s canopy…well, that particular magic — the magic of everything, the everything of everything — it seems it just quietly thrums along. Ole Man River in her psyche.

Because if you asked Sam, she’d say with absolute certainty that, yeah, that’s what everything does. That’s exactly what she would do. That’s certainly what she tries to do. Thrum along. (Let’s not talk about whether or not she succeeds. Let’s just say the deficient column is pretty stacked.)

Sam frowns to no one but herself. She frowns fairly deeply, with no small amount of annoyance. She hopes her brain notices. She’s trying to make sure that it does. Rationalization is a beautiful way to McGyver life. Sam notices that her brain has observed.  It seems quite aware.  Then, after careful evaluation, Sam’s brain offers only a shrug before launching itself into an internal argument that Sam decides to release into the world.

“Everything. Well then. It’s rather large isn’t it. I’d like to go as far as to say that everything is perhaps far too much and far too big to enter completely into any room.  Especially human rooms, with all those trap doors and secret passages and fun-house mirrors.”

(Well, that last part was true, Sam had to admit. And maybe even the first part too.)

By the way, it annoys the fuck out of Sam when her brain tries to be funny. Or high brow. Or polite in a most passive aggressive way.

So – her brain shrugs and continues (and by the way, whenever did ‘shrugs’ become a non-verbal and/or digital middle finger? Oh please don’t object…because – honestly – that is exactly what shrugs have become…a non-verbal middle finger. A silent ‘fuck off’) – Everything thrums. Most particularly, the italicized version of Everything…that form of it, that’s the form that thrums.  With great insistence. With great intention. With great deliberateness. With an unyielding will that echoes through the ages.

Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything 

An act of sheer defiance, Sam decides. This Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything Everything a cosmic disruptor offering up a defiant and willful invitation, personally to Sam.  It reduces its vastness to a screaming beg on bended, near broken knees, wailing for Sam to enter.

Because even Everything yearns to be understood. No matter how much it pretends to mind its own business, the truth is that the Great Cosmic Order secretly hopes someone will take notice.

“Is anybody out there?!,” Everything screams.

Sam sighs. Her lungs taken hostage by a reflexive gasp.

Maybe she could be that anybody. Maybe that someone could be, might be, could include, maybe, kinda, sorta may possibly be Sam.

But whatever the outcome, Sam will tell you this with complete certainty: Everything thrums quietly through all the cosmos and all the stars and all the black holes and all the galaxies and all the wormholes and all the time warps inside the teeniest bit of code in her DNA.  She knows this as sure as she gasps. She knows this with complete certainty precisely because that whole part of Everything is the part that Sam completely feels.

Magic can be such a tease, she decides. She ignores her brain. Her brain says, “You should have done that a very very long time ago, dear.”

She ignores her brain’s admonition too. In fact, Sam’s given up the fight so completely, that every muscle in her body and her mind unwinds, allowing time’s endless vibrations complete access. A time fuck of sorts. Tic tic Toc toc Tic tic toc Tic tic Toc toc Tic tic toc.

Maybe Morris code? Or simply, wildly complexly so, the Truth.

Time, with its distinct presence, changes perspectives and understanding at will. Yet, somehow for the first time in a long time, she recognizes it, no matter the shape, no matter its guise. Maybe she always did. Even if she couldn’t put words to it. Even if her mind stood in the way of her soul. She knew. She knows.

Sam closes her eyes. She sprawls onto the hood of her car. The night is ink black. She hears worlds in the breeze. She radiates out to the stars. She hears and feels Everything all over again as if it’s brand new. Yet she would swear she herself was more than a thousand years old. Not so, at least not in this lifetime. Yet she feels the rays of light tugging from the stars in the black canopy of the universe straight into her soul. She feels eternity and knows it’s really there, all inside of herself.

Yet here on the hood of her CRV, she’s 50 years old – having lived enough – and looking something along the lines of a 39 years old on some days and a 47 year old on most days – but no matter the day, having kept (or having fought for) some youthful optimism along the way – and having never given up the child within who wonders at the world in awe. The child, all of 8. Definitely 8. Infinity hitches its ride in that number, and Sam knows a bit about infinity. Having known far too much across the great expanse of eons. Having tasted forever and ever. Having fallen in love.

And having been all the glad for it, and all the undone because of it.

 

NanowriMo word count: 1,073 (not including this notation)