The Departure

Last night, for the first time in a long time, I dreamed. I dreamed a drveam that only Bob Clampett or Tex Avery could have foreseen, one filled with strong themes of fantastic and masterful pieces of composure. Canvases painted with the likes of Liszt, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, and Brahms broke from an ever-changing surreality of vivid light and lamenting darkness. So powerful was this placement of my being into this state, this environment, this frame of mind that it persisted beyond the dreamscape and imposed its will upon what had formally been recognized in full to be reality.

When the sun broke its bondage of the muzzle that is night, escaping as Eurydice from Hades, the music followed me into the other realm of consciousness. The day's begannning was filtered through The Beautiful Blue Danube by Mahler  like some strange and happy little cup of espresso that filled itself until I was sated and required no more. The chores ladened with sad mediocirty were transformed with an exciting, thought-provoking shower of intrigue for what the day held. By the time I entered the highway at 80 miles an hour, Tchaikovsky broke the scene and Mahler was overtaken by a both Hungarian and Russian dances. The dances melded into one another until the metamorphosis was complete revealing an entirely new composition that resembled Mozart's Requiem. I had arrived at work and the day of mental solitary confinement began (Confutatus! Maledictus!)

The music was amazing. It completely transformed my morning, took me out the sadness of returning to a job that left me empty at the end of the day of moons, made me reminisce of days gone by, and did little more than create reminder of the cruelties and injustices of the modern world. But as Mozart's great mass drove spike spike through the morning like a Haliburton disregard through a nation, everything else became invisble for a moment in time. Only the occasional coughs and muffles of machines beating upon the gates of the classical castle may be acknowledged other than the all-encompassing gods of escape and solace.

As ten o'clock rolled around, the world melted once again with the moods pressed into the fabric of the surreality succumbing to the heat of the iron. A momentary lapse of escape led to some Khachaturian. Quickly, I snapped back as I got to close to the reality outside my bubble with a Ballade from Chopin, rising and falling like Icarus towards the sun and doomed to plunge into the cold, heartless sea. Effortlessly, I drfited further and further away from my epicenter of that which sent me here in the first place, like the labored breathing of one's death knell at the moment and acceptance of realization. I gave myself unto the oblivion freely and trustingly. I floated in a great void, an aether of illuminated pinholes within an ocean of sweet nothingness. I had departed, if only for a moment in time, and a great weight left me as I dissolved and became as cream is to butter.

And then Faure's Pavane began playing, and soon yielded to Puccini's O Mio Babbino Caro. This deluge of nothing and something at brought upon epiphany. This must have been similar to what Kubrick was feeling when he designed the scenes for 2001: A Space Odyssey . I had become Eli Wallach in Circle of Iron; "my mind soared, I was one with the universe, I was the universe!" Departure complete. I was gone. Sayonara, world. This can of soup is empty. This bird has flown. Stick a fork in me, I'm done.

And I couldn't be happier at the moment.

[Exeunt; Adagio in G Minor by Tomaso Giovanni Albinoni]

Invino Veritas
EOF