I don’t know where I am

I looked up to the window, lights in the immediate distance. A sense of Christmas. Light streaks. More of rain. As if outside was a flat lava lamp that had frozen. Windows in the night, I knew. I knew the surroundings. I knew how to get home, to the place where I sleep. I know this place, I’ve seen it many days. It hasn’t changed. Maybe I have. Moments ago I knew where I was, so obviously knowing that I didn’t have to think about it.

But now, looking up from my tasks, this is unknown.

This is a new place.

I know direction, I am not disoriented. I can navigate in my memory to many places, close and far. I am not lost.

I consider: ‘disembodied?’

No. My life force is still contained in flesh. I still manipulate its motions. This place is close to a past experience.

It’s Christmas Eve, years ago. A true winter night. There’s a statue in the distance—it had always been there. Tonight it is lit for me. I know I have to see it. I have seen it before; this time I feel compelled to see it. The sky is starlit. Dark. Moonless. The statue is full of shadows, an accent light casting them upwards. It is all upside down. The details, curves, age of the metal. These are not important. The statue had presence.

I took it.

I sat on a snow-sprinkled hill. The town ahead is foggy, familiar. Lit for the holiday. It twinkles like a dream. I had few thoughts outside of compulsions deep in my gut, maybe deeper. I am euphorically convinced to listen to that direction.

I laugh.

There is one thought: ‘joy?’

I rarely meet her alone in the night.

Suddenly, a heightened awareness is with me. Sound travels farther than I remember. Distant cheer, a creaky door, imperceptible wind. A breeze has sound. I had forgotten. The chill transforms from callous to refreshing. The street behind has a film of reflection. The door closes. Had I walked here?

Inside, I meet despair. I’m convinced I am familiar with her. Maybe she has changed, too.

The room is littered with emptiness. The details are unimportant, but they are evidence of solitude. It is a basement apartment. There is little sound from above. The mourning begins. Emotions require a flood. I am under the command of The Direction. Thoughts are plentiful now: twisted memories, unlived futures. The death of fantasies. I must live the fantasy, ignoring my surroundings. It’s easy, I am in the cave. This imagination is nimble and wily: it finds an early end to every maze.

There is pain, not the type that hurts. It curls me into a ball, somewhere soft, under something soft. I trap the heat of the flood. The flood must multiply to enter reality.

It's Christmas now. The clock tells me so. Somewhere close-by, many celebrate. The flood is complete.

I find a mirror. The face inside calls to me. I don't recognize it. Why is it not sad? I feel many emotions, or too few; possibly none. I am still Affected. I consider falling into the mirror, or that it may grow in dimension. The man confronting me is better than I. I hadn't met him yet, but I knew. The face tells me without moving. It only blinks. I move closer to examine the pupils. They have their own life. Maybe they are not his, maybe they control him. They are dancing.

I have thoughts. The man in the mirror chuckles at them. I move to the bed.

Another mirror finds me. It is bigger, inside, nearly an entire body. I stand, angle my vision, finding the edges of the body. I consider: 'this is me.' I smile. But I am behind myself, invisible in the mirror. There is no reflection of the observation. The time is considerable. I choose not to notice. The thoughts are funny again. I wonder: 'will I be this... tomorrow?'

A smile. Eyes tire. It's time.

Sleep.

I couldn’t know that I’d believe, or remember, the experience the next day. I must have attempted to write it somewhere. I had just begun to discover myself in words, incapably. It’s unlikely that anything above nonsense was catalogued.

Time is not linear: start to end. It is all happening. We choose when to acknowledge it, how to delineate. We assign it meaning, or memory does it for us, waiting until we are ready to confront reality.

Maybe it’s not that I don’t know where I am, it’s that I don’t know when I am, right now.