still I wear the red dress, paint my toes and twirl, take it back to old time, when I was still a girl

The Pinpoint

"ADRIFT! A little boat adrift!
And night is coming down!
Will no one guide a little boat
Unto the nearest town?
So sailors say, on yesterday,
Just as the dusk was brown,
One little boat gave up its strife,
And gurgled down and down.
But angels say, on yesterday,
Just as the dawn was red,
One little boat o’erspent with gales
Retrimmed its masts, redecked its sails
Exultant, onward sped!" -Emily Dickinson {Currents} Too-sweet coffee, ignoring people in general, photoshop, grey's anatomy, not getting dressed. {Constants}  Feeling; Loneliness. Desire; Solace, books, and change.

then

I opened my pretty hazel eyes to light, every single morning.  Life was sunshine, daisies, buttermellow, seersucker dresses and adoring smiles, as life was a festival of itself.  I'd hold mum's hand, and we would edge gently through crowds.  Summer was a breeze; I wore a hot pink bathing suit with tou-tou attachment, snorkeled under water, and laid on the warm summer grass, a spec of pure white in an emerald abyss.  I'd sit in the attic during each terrible storm wearing each old and mothball-clad fur coat, and wonder what it was like to be a beam of lightning.  To be seen, quickly, and unseen in the same second.  My attic was the rooftops of London, the very highest dune in the desert, and Mt. Everest with the smell of old firewood.  I believed a peacock lived inside the carpet, which it did.  DreamCast was the wave of the future, whilst Simon {says} was the closest thing to God any of us fathomed.

       My mother grew tomatoes and violets in the garden, cucumbers and thyme, and the rhythmic sound of her knife pummeling the wooden cutting board is what I hear in every song's bass drumbeat.  I lived off mozzarella and tomato salad, and Danimals was in my bloodstream all day long.  My hairdresser (to this very day) sought to give me 'the rachel'.

I seek a great perhaps

One of the forever fought battles of humanity is the prospect of life after death, death after life, and whether the Three Baskets, Koran, Bible, Torah, or the Vedas have been bullshitting us for thousands of years.  False hope and blind faith are, in my cranium, exactly like that sinfully good dessert you plan your calories (life) around to eat, nibble, chew, and try to push away.  Yet we all know deep down it's futile; blind faith is the world's chewing gum, whose flavor never fades into a dull spectrum.

       Christianity preaches a heaven and a hell, each a place that is based on how you exactly deserve placement on the guest list there.  If you are a bad person, specifically not a good Christian, you go to hell.  Hell is punishment for not fulfilling a good and Christian life; therefore, heaven is exactly the opposite.  We love a reward.  Eternal happiness is our sanctuary; if we live a good and clean life, we shall be free of darkness forever.  God will free your chains, according to the core values of this religion.

       Hinduism is based on karma; karma is directly connected with the cycle of reincarnation, which is a cycle of the body of a person dying, the soul lingering and superseding the body of another organism.  This is a ferris wheel of right or wrong as well; you continue to live and die until your karma is good enough (how high you karma remains is based on your dharma, which is one's general responsibilities as a person) to reach moksha, which is when your soul is connected with brahma, which is the single cosmic force that controls the world.  This religion too promises eternal happiness and enlightenment, but is it based on you, truly?  

Each one of use, poor, rich, big or small closes their eyes every nigh and dreams.  Dreaming is the brains way of sinking into a lake of contemplation forevermore, and growing the utmost gills and breathing until the light of day reaches us.  Many, many people I have come in contact with dream or have dreamed of a personal oil painting of heaven.  Edmund Pevensie dreams of Turkish Delight, some imagine heaven being without a thing or event, perhaps a person too.  

Personal Image of Heaven:

I feel at a festival, a place of unity but peace.  Thoughts and words unwanted flow unharried the breeze.  A violin is played so lovingly; the player embeds promise and dedication into each prolonged note.  It makes me want to close my eyes.  Chairs of vines and tables of forest wood are cast blues, greens, a silly pink or rose, as fairy lights forever glow.  We are dressed in comfort.

Ballet dancers falls, leap like flower petals against the water's surface.  Fruits of beauty and taste are fora ll.  Grapes explode with taste, a white juice spilling like a dam into our mouths.

       I hear Ella singing, humming through her teeth, lips sealed; her voice is smooth, like a lullaby, she makes me dream so sweetly.  Her warmth gives me hope, for what?  Narcissism?  Myself, my Life, the universe?  And anyway, do I dare disturb it?

Everything is glittering, and it all makes me feel so warm and lovely and pretty inside and out.

There is sanity painting the lines of the grass, the curve of the chairs, it illustrates the scene as if I live in a snow globe, watched by somebody who dares to dream.

I fabricate a heaven that roses are carved of sapphires, pastels, and a date that I learned to fly.  Where the stars sing you to sleep, and when those who arrive are still listening to the lingering words of those who say goodbye for the present.  Would there be a present?  There would be a present.  But, a past or future. . .

there's a piano of every street corner.  Children sit around it, listening to deep and sultry tones until they're called for dinner, which is always good.  And everybody is always hungry when mother's ready to feed.  Glamour had lost it's unfriendly charm.  The world can dream and seek what is in reach, forevermore, and grandmothers knit all the time, random articles of clothing; they are always appreciated.  Kids love them in my heaven, and everybody loves everyone's outfit and hair, face and wit, because it is different.  

And there is always, always one to guide whomever's ship unto the nearest town.