Needle in a Haystack

I am a needle in the haystack of the Universe. You don’t know me. Do I even know myself? My age is irrelevant – why do you ask? There are many things to be unsure of here. Who are the beings with whom I so often communicate? I lack knowledge of where they come from, whether I’ve met them before or if I will ever see them again. The haystack constantly expands and I become increasingly insignificant. Is it not possible that we ourselves are controlled by a distant, infinitesimal being? The Source – a being greater and more powerful than myself; than the human race.

Are we programmed? After all, I am unsure of my purpose in life. All I know is that its cycle is linear as I grow from infant to adult. Then comes the grand finale. Death. I imagine the haystack engulfing me as I become trapped in its stifling depths. A whirlwind of images storms within my mind - faces of people I have never before seen. Individuality and original thought is the key. I envisage a world where children grow on trees and where the people don’t communicate through language. Where the art of murder is practised and where age is a curse to be spat upon.

An infinity of possibilities opens up to me. The sky is blue, clear and vast; but when I look down I see the valley of shadows where disaster reigns. Laughter verberates rhythmically in my head. Boom.

It amazes me how much – and how little I understand of the world. The paradox of eternity mystifies me. Is this all my life, all my identity, amounts to? An absurd, nonsensical and pointless existence?

Being and nothing. Becoming – a process in the middle of the two. Is it possible to reflect on existence without knowing that one day you yourself will cease to exist? A river of questions flows through my head and in certain places it is broad – where lack of knowledge is abundant. It spills over the sides and erodes my mind. Here anything is possible and I allow my emotions to run rampant. The boundaries of past, present and future intertwine and become one. Questions cannot exist without answers, just as life cannot exist without death. All these things would be meaningless were it not for their contrasting counterparts. What would a hero be without a villain?

I examine the haystack. At first it appears parched, arid, devoid of colour. Then I see something else. A mirage - or the truth. The haystack has many layers and boundless amounts of space. Even I do not live on the surface; instead I let it envelop me. This is my life, my existence and my confusion. The ambiguity and fluidity of my life cannot be denied.

I see a cornucopia of colour. The different shades combine to form an image which cannot be recognised because it fails to exist. It is the essence of Nothing presented as a physical being. I do not notice as it creeps into my mouth; but I gasp as it claws its way down my throat. Its shape is ever-shifting, mutable and inconsistent. I choke. A blanket of shadows wraps itself around me – I collapse.

I wake up shivering and pained. Which do I choose? Darkness or cold?

The days blend together. The tide of pain comes and goes with the waning hours. I miss the redness of sunrise and sunset. I miss life as I once knew it. I don’t know how long I have been here. As I lie here, I try to embrace death; to welcome it with open arms. But then I catch a glimpse of light, white colour in the spectrum of darkness. What if I am dead? What even is death? I scour my mind for the answer, but it doesn’t appear. I don’t understand.

I stay and contemplate my existence, finally deciding that my future exists here – as do my past and present. I smell the Earth, tasting its scent as it fills my nostrils. I cough.

I can see it now. The world I knew before I sank into this unknown place. A world with people; and yet. [Admit it] I am a mere spectator. I do not control these people, just as I am unable to control the events I experience. A rushing sound...

I’m disoriented and confused. All I feel is a dull, throbbing pain and I hear the dripping of my blood as it pools on the ground. Drip, drip. A knife protrudes from my stomach – there’s no saving me now. I place my hand over the wound, feeling the sickening warmth of my blood as it oozes beneath my fingers – seeping onto the floor below me. Everything blurs and I return to reality.

I sense that the boundaries between life and death are thin. You give me an inch…I’ll take a mile. Another vision manages to seep its way into my consciousness and I see myself lying in a hospital bed; various tubes and needles jut out of me. The seams of my skin have been broken. I enter my body and tall people in white coats loom over me. I hear a sound. Feel the pain – so excruciating – unbearable. They’re slicing me open like a piece of meat. I see organs being passed from hand to mouth. No, I apologise. Hand to hand. Or do I see them eating my heart? Kidneys, liver, brain.

Don’t worry. I’m back. I don’t know what these visions are, or what they represent. Are they prophetical? [Please no] Will they provide the answers to all these questions contained in my head; searching for a way to escape? I remember when I was a child free from fear and worry; no, that’s a time that cannot be recaptured - we are condemned to grow older as time runs away from us 

The Universe fascinates me. Neverending, endless, infinite. It doesn’t matter what you call it – several words define the same meaning.

Another vision appears; this time of a planet, a place, a home. The inhabitants do not have eyes. They simply wander blindly in their world of shadows and darkness. It is impossible to feel anything but disgust. Who created this place and condemned them to this terrible fate? Some of the people don’t have skin. The ground is red with the blood of generations. They scream in a language unknown to the world of men. I try to find a way back to myself – I don’t want to remain here any longer.

I look down into the deep void of existence and see all the pain and suffering that finds a way to exist. Starving people, parents who have to bury their children, new-born babies with missing limbs. To say that they have mislaid a part of themselves would be a drastic understatement.

I must learn to accept these things – and yet it is so difficult. Is it by mere chance that certain people are more fortunate than others? As random as a draw made in the lottery, as names drawn out of a hat? Or are those of us who are here the lucky ones? The chosen ones? I did not ask for this life, did not beg for my existence. Yet still – I am here. I run through the labyrinth of life, unable to find a way out. Walls tower over me on all sides. They move closer, closer. Enclosing me, suffocating me, trapping me. Tears roll down my face and I taste them sharply on the tip of my tongue; a feeling of hopelessness and, more importantly, of worthlessness overcomes me. My legs fail me and my foundations crumble.

Weightlessness. I can feel water as it rushes past and hear my heart pounding like a drum in my ear. I look up and see a tiny square of light, seeming to travel further and further away.  The beat of life grows faster as I struggle to get to the surface. Beethoven’s Symphony plays. Curious. Even as I feel my life-supply – my oxygen running out, even as I frantically make an attempt to reach that tiny postage stamp of life above my head, even as I resign myself to my fate and my ears pop and my blood burns red hot; I can hear music - dramatic, exciting and lively. My heart slows. The music fades.

I return to a place that I no longer recognise, and yet I can feel blood coursing through my veins and hear the slow steady rhythm of my heart, and I know, I feel that I am alive. That is one thing I am sure of in this world – one fact that is solid and consistent and unswerving in its judgement. Two harmonies ring together in my head. Breaking glass. My soul shatters into miniscule shards of brilliance.

Why do I question my existence? Ironic, the more answers I try to find, the more entangled I become in this web which I, myself, have spun. The more my confusion grows and, coupled with this – frustration with enough intensity to destroy. Or to create. Curiosity opens doors, broadens horizons, and makes new things from old. I carry my thoughts through the journey of life, I am a mere vessel destined to carry my cargo of knowledge through the Universe. What happens at the end of this journey, I do not know. Perhaps it is worthless to question my existence, perhaps it would be better simply to allow myself to float, to hover on the threshold of acceptance. As my adventure – yes, an adventure comes steadily to a close; again I taste the Earth – its very essence. I breathe it in. Wonderful.

Are you asking me who I am? I’ll turn it around and ask the person who is myself - 

Who am I? Is that a question I can answer? You may say that I am disturbed, psychotic, unbalanced – a freak? That is for you to decide; all I am certain of is that I am myself – me – the only person I could ever be. It is entirely possible that I will forever be confused, that my steady stream of questions will continue until I am staring into the oblivion – until I live among the stars. Again, I reiterate my point - you don’t know me at all – you cannot read my thoughts and my mind is not an open book to be deciphered. I am warning you now; do not attempt to understand me.
Now, as I find myself reaching the summit of this mountain I have strived to climb - I no longer know who I am addressing. Who do I mean by “you”? Well, “you”, whoever you are; I have a task for you. I appear to have misplaced my mind. Go, please look for it. I’ll sit here and reflect my thoughts out of this open window until you return. Don’t laugh, I meant what I said. Go. Now.