In each life a time comes when we realize who we really are. One mans journey in 1 page
|Po woke up, he felt better today. Sleep had refreshed the dark abyss of yesterday.
A sliver of optimism had restored some of the vigor of his youth.
This was a side effect that occasionally occurred through slumber.
He could not remember dreaming at all.
Today was the day that he would harden his resolve and begin to cast away the bonds that held him in this saturnine place. He looked around and did not like what he saw. It seemed like forever that his environment was dark and dirty.
Did he really do all this? Was he the architect of this slovenly construct?
Perhaps, perhaps not. Did it really matter? All that mattered was that he was here and that he did not like “here”.
The others were all taken care of. He made sure that they were not left wanting. They had their needs and he met them, yet somehow they were never satisfied.
Po had no needs it seemed. The others confirmed this. When they summoned him it was to make him aware of some new need they had. Somewhere long ago a convention had been established that once a need was expressed Po-ood would begin to fulfill it. At any given point in time he would be in service to multiple needs of multiple people.
At some point in the day he would pronounce himself “done”. All of the needs would have to wait until tomorrow.
This was when he felt in control. This is when he would illustrate to everyone that he had the power. This is when he walked the walk.
This was his time, his own time to do as he pleased. He would bask in the glory of being the master of his own fate. He would beat his chest and roar from the mountaintop. The others did not approach him during this time for surely they would feel his power and realize that they had none.
Now he was too tired to do anything else, so he went to sleep.
He dreamed. Mostly he would dream of being the subject of classic rock songs.
He’d had the same recurring dream for over 30 years, since his silent breakdown.
He was at The Hotel California.
In his dream he remembered that cold day in January, the day that he killed himself, resurrected himself in the shadow of his former soul.
Scraps of songs exploded before him:
February made me shiver, with every paper I’d deliver…
Doesn’t have a point of view, knows not where he’s going to…
This’ll be the day that I …
We are all just prisoners here of our own device.
Even though Po-ood was not his birth name, he knew that was who he was now, there was no use pretending to be who he used to be.
Po woke up. Today was the day he would harden his resolve.