Xibalba

Walking in the dark along starlight paths, the mist swirls and billows in the rusty light and I smell the wetness of the rains. Rays of lightness and darkness emanate from the prickly silhouette of a spruce, caught in the mists and vapors. The air is cool and the lightning is now far off. Above the sky is clear, yet not clear enough. I can see the stars but I know that there are many I can’t see, they are drowned by the streetlights. And a yellow one, Xibalba, is it? A dying star surrounded by a great yellow galaxy, where the Mayan gods go to be reborn.

But I’ll not be floating on a dying tree in a sphere towards this star, this is not my mental journey. My place of solitude exists underwater on a great coral throne, which I float above cross-legged in contemplation. The throne itself is curved, and consists of corals of dark green, purple and blue. The corals are intertwined into one living organism, on which I rest and cry and love. The throne is luminescent, and there are small fish which flit in and out of existence. Flash fire-orange, ice-white, star-blue.

Aside from the fish suspended around the throne, there is darkness. The lights surrounding me pulse and I dance to their rhythms, swimming and twisting in response. It is the music of the cosmos. Dark green and silvery seaweed lightly fans me.

I feel as a god must, as if the world exists only for me. But I know that it does not. I am just a part of something larger, something which I am not meant to understand fully. But I begin to understand, as I visualize the smallest organics and the largest galactic walls, and realize that they are one and the same. Such a resemblance. Existence repeats itself. And there are so many planes of existence, of which I only begin to touch in my dreams. But this underwater throne is my place of solace, solitude, solidity.

Rush back to the misty paths and the wetness under the stars. Down the lane in the glow and shifting of the gases, I hope to see a figure. In this elevated awareness it seems only right that he should appear. I’m not yet sure who. And I paused to consider the dying yellow star and the lure of black wilderness against the lighted paths and ease of routine. Should I return home, head down, plugged into electronic music? Or does the wild intrigue?

And I made my choice known by leaving the lit path and following the yellow star. Looking up again, I see the smear of our own galaxy arc across the sky. I am still afraid, I tell myself. I should like to envelope myself in this beauty and continue further into the wild, yet that’s just it. I’m still afraid. There are cougars and wild things out there, and I am alone with my thoughts. One day perhaps I won’t be afraid, and will continue on, and receive my reward. This spirit is clinging to this body still. One day it will learn the benefits of release. I know it.