An old, beige movie projector reminiscent of the sturdy craftsmanship of old formed in my mind’s eye. With no instruction manual from the Universe, panic quickly turned to pride for creating such an artistic delight. It turned, hovering before me, staring me down, scrutinizing and revealing dirt so conveniently swept under the carpet even I’d forgotten about it.
I lunged forward fumbling like a blind man in the dark. On a geographical map, I traced out waterways that served to not only nourish me, but villages, towns, cities and associated marvels of social and civic engineering as well. Multiple rivers formed a delta that fed into an even greater expanse. And this was only the river of pride! Enthralled by a force that could forge being and locality into an inter-connected wholeness, the consciousness of Mother Earth herself made herself known. Rationalizing its existence within the framework of my own mind brought me to the inescapable conclusion – I was its creator, its god! If this was pride in all its glory, then maybe it wasn’t all bad!
Next I traveled beyond local to global, universal and infinitely larger cosmological dimensions. Feelings gave birth to newer feelings and feelings of those feelings ad infinitum. Afraid of being lost permanently down the rabbit hole, I lowered my throbbing head in humility at the sheer vastness of my inner being. I turned back to the projector for guidance. Two reels spun in synchronous orbits on mechanical arms uplifted in prayer to the heavens; mirroring my own inner feelings. Its mechanistic drone lulled me into a deep hypnotic state. Faint clickety-click sounds hammered away at the membrane of reverie. It sheared open. Vowing vengeance on the perpetrators, what I saw shook me to the bone. The film reel had snapped and spun round and around aimlessly.
Terrified of the existential implications, I panicked and pulled on the power cord, but each tug pulled me closer and closer to dark sinister feelings. I searched frantically for the projectionist – for anyone – to save me. A piercing white light lit up the inner chambers of my third eye revealing the emptiness within. How would I know if the movie called My Life was over when there was such little knowledge of death at all?
Scrambling to hold onto my remaining sanity, questions fed doubts into an exponentiating co-dependent nightmare. If everything in the Universe was recorded and factoring in the cancelling effect of good and bad, surely even my pitiful life would amount to more than just a broken reel of film. Who could I turn to when society was too preoccupied guarding first-come-first-served inheritances than anything of any real value? In a moment of absolute stop, multidimensional pathways converged into an immensely complex delta feeding into something I could only presume was the vastness of God His/Her/Itself. Shaking, I begged for anything but that.
© Michael J. Varma, The Gong Show, 2011 –
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