For some strange reason, the whirls and whorls below his bare feet were driving him completely crazy. Not as if he were forced to look at them and agree, because if he really wanted to, he could easily look the other way. No problem really or at least one might assume and hope. However, when he attempted to raise his head, turn his eyes and focus on some other inanimate object over in the far corner, some invisible attractive force pulled his view back down and "made" him look at the many whirls and whorls. Again and again, and they were moving he was sure. Mesmerized he saw movement whereas he knew that there was no movement at all. No way that that was possible but it was. And yet the intertwining shapes and patterns and convoluted curves were exactly the reason for his catatonic fascination. Let us just say that he would rather look at them than not at all, it had become an addiction of the mind. There was no inbetween, just extremes to be dealt with, a prison cell to get used to and make more comfortable than it was meant to be. The perseverance and dedication required would take nearly a whole lifetime, but in the end it would be more than worth it. He had been at it for some time, and it seemed like he was getting closer to the end, closer and closer as the time passed him by so swiftly. The hidden messages were meant to be unraveled, the mystery exposed, the answer acquired, and by gosh he would find a way to accomplish this undeserved miracle one way or the other. He was the chosen one. He knew it and I knew it but no one else did nor even cared. Look at all the other people in the room doing nothing, and to think that they too had the very same floor beneath their feet. Though not bare like his. I tapped him again on the right shoulder, this time a little harder than before. In order to wake him from his dream world. He did not budge or seem to notice or seem to care. So I did what I had to do. I purposely stood in front of him in order to obscure his view and hopefully jar him awake from this magnetic quality which had entrapped him. The prison cell which had to get used to. For a few seconds it seemed not to help, but at the exact moment when I was ready to give up all hope completely and leave him until the following day, he sighed ever so slightly while raising his head. "Alright, what is it this time?" he asked me with a robot-like aggravation and slow movements to match. I tried to explain it to him all over again, by now about the hundredth time, but he just did not ever seem to get it. "What do you mean exactly?" he asked. By now I had all but given up every tidbit of hope, but the fact that he had even ventured to pose this simple-mannered question was enough to make me think twice. Make a double-take. The people in the room noticed this and started to stare which gave me an uncomfortable feeling like they were a bunch of soulless fools waiting to pounce on us. And they were. I asked him if this time around he indeed really was interested to know and if he wanted me to show him the way, the one and only way. Not salvation, but a grand escape nonetheless. He spoke ever so softly, as if he were afraid that some passerby might happen to overhear our secret conversation, those other people in the room "You know how I feel about it." To be honest I didn't, but I nodded in affirmation just in case. "You do?!" Of course I did. This made him quiet again, and the silence lasted for some time longer. Perhaps five or ten or maybe even fifteen minutes. At the point when his vision became blurred and the mumbling sounds began, I stepped out of the way. It was time once more to allow the whirls and whorls to take over his life again. I would see him again in a couple of days and give it another try.
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Graduated from Stanford 6-5-1979 ago.
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First met Thea in Balestrand, Norway 6-14-1980 ago.