Paradise Mislaid

The curtain rose – acquiring a silent grace of its own – revealing sylph-like, motionless figures cast into passionately constructed movements at the striking of a chord. He watched their frenzied forms gliding in unnatural grace across the stage, like falling snowflakes gently nudged through the air by kisses from the wind.

It was then that he saw her; when forsaken by faith in life, having failed to ever to more than simply exist, to feel his unforgiving past crumble beneath his feet sending his empty world into turmoil; a failure afraid of being found out, who had nothing to show for his pain, and he was struck by the hopelessness of it all in the silent crescendo of one unmerciful moment – he saw her then.

She stood there, lifeless, yet exuding a powerfulness of existence that reached into him and mocked his own unlived life. In a crowd of figures she danced alone, though never took a step; balancing on her toes in silent beauty as an image of infinite motion. Assured of sufficient attention she threw every part of herself into the role she had to lead. There was no element of her body which was not infused with tragic emotion, no proud smile to contradict the far away look in her eyes. Life is made up of light and shade; and as her feet greedily absorbed the floor beneath her she drifted from a shadowy silhouette against histories of snow to the concept of untouched love, which and virginal in a wicked world.

In a silent orb of her own, a universe inhabited totally be her, she drifted; oblivious to the fragments of people and visions of life that lay scattered around her; lighting her lonely path with a waning candle.

The music leapt once more into his ears. The lights blazed and his heart stood still for what was only a second, but seemed like the whole of his life.

With a vigorous intensity of love man formed the first link of the bonding chain to her. The unrequited love between them only emphasised the lovelessness within his own life, the realisation that he had no one left to turn to.

The sleep walking dancer flowed from one movement to another, tormenting her lover. And he felt so alone. He looked along the row of faces beside him, impassively staring at the mode of entertainment before them, indifferent, emotionless, not allowing two dancers to pick out the faults in their lives; or perhaps they had none. Now he felt as tormented as her spurned lover.

We are whole. In loving we become half. You cannot expect to gain unless you give, but who will sacrifice their soul for the sake of a heart they’ll never own. He watched, transfixed, as the two solitudes came nearer, recognised and protected and comforted each other, the heroes of their own story.

Was there nothing else to life but to love and to be loved, love learnt by loving, love that he never received and never felt. His life was not more than an assumed concept upon his soul. It had no meaning, existing in a vacuum – society’s world.

The jealous husband leapt upon the stage and stabbed the young lover. He would die all over again tonight at the next performance. He would live and die for days. She merely stepped over his sleeping body. It is all a part of her dream.

He looked once more down the row of blank staring faces awaiting enlightenment, and saw tears. For what did they cry? For love? The thought stretched itself around his heart, engulfing him, choking his breath. And with one hand he clasped the other because he had no one else to hold. Alone he tried to rediscover the half buried memories of his past.

We go through life looking for someone to make us whole, change and choose partners while dancing  to a silent love song. But somewhere out there it another person who’s looking around for you. He wanted to stop drifting.

And it seemed to fulfil a need in him to go on and on, fighting against all odds in pursuit of a hopeless goal, living beyond death and still forcing himself forward, staggering inexorably onward to the ultimate peak, the finale of his journey, not to be replayed at noon. Weary with existence, existence pushed him forward. Tired of life, life forced him onward.

The curtain dropped.

He felt the void of hell within him as the heavenly fires of his soul were gradually extinguished.

 

The applause died down.

He felt the pain which they pretended and filled with meaning the emptiness in their eyes. In rivers of emotion he suffered alone.

As the lights came on he realised that he would never be able to live for the sake of himself. It was time to cleanse himself of the assumed concept upon his soul that he called life.