I can just see him.. alone in his bedroom, late into the night. His red shuttered windows opened wide as a soft, warm breeze of night time gently wafts in.
There is the sound of crickets and other wild life off in the distance. His outside view is majestic, primal and untamed. A beautiful sight for those who can still see and appreciate not for those who have already seen many times and have long since taken for granted. The jagged outline of pine trees and ancient pink canyons are now a looming onyx. They jut upward to the horizon in a competing, stark, contrast to the pitch blackness of the midnight sky. Every star is a distinct pinpoint, magically pulsating and twinkling.in silent reverie.
The flick of his Zippo cuts the silence, and the flame flicks forth in contrast to the darkness of his room, casting a small warm glow. His long, dexterous fingers light the wick of one, lone, white candle before him.
He takes a swing of his flask and settles down onto the floor. The liquid burns the back of his throat. It blooms and glows a soothing warm throughout his body, numbing the pervasive sadness.
Only a soft repetitive beat and melody plays in the background from his stereo speakers like a constant, hypnotic mantra. The volume turned down several notches in the wee hours of the night as his parents’ slumber unaware.
He leans back against his window seat and focuses on the flame as it dances, casting shadows on the wall. The Ponderer’s restless, heavy mind, with its constant flurry of thoughts, begins to finally still, to drift into a quiet state of a reprieve as his tired, blue eyes stare at the rhythmic dance of the candle’s flame, and thoughts begin to singularly focus on his wishes, his dreams..his true love, his heart’s desire. He basks in the visions of pure happiness that come. Normally fleeting glimpses, they are crystal clear now.
His voice speaks soft and low, interrupting the silence with intent. An invocation to the universe..if per chance it was in fact, listening.
“The candle burns....,”
He waves his finger tips over the billowing vapor hovering just about the flame…
…he glances up and focuses his gaze off into the distances at the vast, dark heavens with its infinite bespeckled stars.
he continues in a murmur.
“The stars set the mood……”
A gentle, warm September breeze gently gusts in through the window shutters causing the candle to flicker as if in response to his words.. causing it to nearly blow out.
He purses his lips and slowly blows on the flame teasingly, until..at last.. the flame is over powered and sputters out.
A billowing, white, wisp of smoke curls.up into the air before him.. The acrid scent filling his nostrils.
“the smoke fills the room”
…it spirals upward…ascending higher… out the window..on to the wind…
“the hope is sent thru infinite places…..
..carrying his prayers like a message in a bottle…
all of purity….”
…. up, into the endless starlit sky.
Another year has passed, and another candle lit in memory of all the hope and possibility that you once were, that which you became, and all that you now are.
The hope is sent thru infinite places, all of purity…to you.
Happy 36th Birthday, Dylan. With much ❤
The Everlasting Contrast 