A lone figure emerged through the energetic waves. He sat cross-legged, gesticulating and babbling on like a mad man about life’s ills and things he obviously had no control over. “What a whiner,” I uttered, embarrassed by his behavior. The others sat quiet and motionless. Confused, I returned to the scene. “Sure, turn every chance you get into a whining monologue of self-pity,” I cut in, tired of his whining and inability to do anything about his problems. In spite of my harsh criticisms and not knowing who he was, he felt remarkably familiar. Looking down I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was my own body I was criticizing for failing me yet again.
Disappointment fell heavily from my mouth to the ground with such a thud that all eyes fell on me. I feigned another smile and ran back inside headlong into another figure. Confronted with the possibility of any number of unknown inner me’s and billions of perspectives on the world, how would I know which I could trust and those out to make money from me. Where was love in this picture? All the books mentioned it, those dealing with humanistic affairs anyway. There had to be something else, something behind the scenes utilizing perception like food for a greater cause.
Flipping between the two perspectives reminded me of the transition point at a mathematical discontinuity. Utilizing binary numbers they became channels Zero and One. From Zero sat ‘Big Me’. He seemed bigger and mature, not in a fat, greedy, gluttonous sense, but of being, experience and wisdom. Such peace, love and compassion emanated from him unlike anything I’d ever known possible. Oh such peace; such unbelievably wonderful peace! Across the way at Channel One sat ‘Little Me’, sad, lonely and babbling and gesticulating wildly like a madman. Yet, unbelievably, there was nothing but love being expressed for him. I didn’t quite understand the mechanics of it all, but it felt beautiful, if not divine.
I wanted that love, to be loved, to be looked on lovingly. Why didn’t Big Me let Little Me know he was loved? I listened intently for the language of Divine Love, unsure if English filtered through the dimensions was even capable of expressing it. Maybe that was the true reason why languages evolved?
Waves of divine loving energy radiated outward from Big Me in all directions as gently as the finest mist on a midsummer’s day. They fell unbeknownst onto Little Me, consumed in dramas of self-absorption. I changed to Channel One where heaviness, weight, density and pressure were the laws of the land. If forces were a reflection of their respective dimensions, could they be transposed to a Universal or Higher Set of Forces known as God? And where did I, a mere element, fit into such a wondrous set? Little Me babbled away as if trying to explain, prove or convince someone about something. Whatever it was about, it was all so painfully exhausting and so not peaceful. By comparison, he was but a child. Immense pity moved for him and his life struggles of wanting to be himself and not understanding what was required of him.
If I could make him see Big Me then he’d know he was being cared for and loved and always would be. Yet no matter how I tried I couldn’t make him see. Yet what would make him so afraid of something so loving? He snuck a look at me out of the corner of his eye without moving an inch. Apparently, I’d hit a nerve. Still that didn’t answer why he was playing such a painful game in the first place? What if he couldn’t help it? Having such love so close, yet so far away seemed paradoxically hellish. Was this the ultimate ‘game-show’ humanity was destined to play together? Was the purpose of existence to create a link or bridge between mind and matter? If so, could a discontinuity be linked together too? And if it could, did it involve me, us? I’d thought so years ago, but it’d never amounted to much. My stomach turned revealing a level of relation and responsibility I’d been avoiding my whole life.
Derek and his friends looked even more shocked than me. I did my best to report my findings, but would’ve got a better response had I kicked them in the teeth. Scared and snickering, I watched them make fun of me. My pride roared. I hated to be laughed at, to not be believed, but I was in no place to deal with rejection right there and then. Instead, I collapsed with a great sigh. No more justifications were necessary. Somehow the inevitable had happened. I’d finally crossed the line and separated myself from myself multiple times over!
© Michael J. Varma, The Gong Show, 2011 –
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