Birth, and Other Celestial Matters

The room is unfamiliar. I don't know how I got here.

It is bright, and weird shapes verve around what seems to be a thousand luminescent suns, a film strip of foggy memories both alien and familiar. I am cold and feel wet, like a dog has just lapped its slobbering tongue across my entire feeble, delicate body. Random sounds erupt in a symphony of clamor and exotic confusion. 

In and out of recognizing my surroundings, my eyes violently squint open and shut, fighting between the urge to uncover the blinding unknown or bask in the peaceful, dim shelter of my eyelids.

What is this startling environment? An endless stream of light and squawking alien creatures and wonky foreign objects?

Streams of metal glint as harshly as breaking streams of water, dispersing vividly in forceful waves of impact. I feel as if I am a traveler on a shooting star; burning for answers but wishing to first understand myself.

Suddenly, cold, blue hands caress my vulnerable, naked body, their wrinkles rifting my skin in striking annoyances. I begin to cry. What is going on? What is anything? Who am I? WHAT am I? New water slides down the pre-existing dampness of my cheeks, revitalizing the unfamiliarity in a strange, yet, soothing way. Perhaps this introduction of expression is right- the correct response to knowing nothing about everything. As I wail, my throat burns to be heard, and I rashly decide to start yelling. Maybe if I became an advocate for my seemingly hopeless case of isolation, I would be granted with a sign of togetherness. Wretched screams erupt from the well of my windpipes, helping bring more water supply for my tears.

I cannot recognize a single thing. This leaves me with one choice- to shut my eyes altogether. Maybe the darkness is better? At least it is consistent and predictable; the one constant variable in this foreign game I am trying to understand. Except, that's just it: I do not understand! What cruel punishment is this? What have I done to deserve such remorseless circumstances?

The warped hands continue to hold my limbs, forcing my eyes back open in a startled panic. I am terrified to look around, but I do it anyway. Shapes configuring and disintegrating. Needles of light. Figures looming. The suns continue to blaze. Pangs of touch. Overstimulating clamminess. Shadows of the end? My delicate eyes dart wickedly, their mechanical work most definitely giving way to my horrific state.

I want to break free from the deathly grasp of my captors, but how? I can do nothing but cry and continue to endure the piercing assailant that is fear.

If one cannot recognize themself first, how do they expect to understand anything at all?

I ball my chilled hands into fists and decide that I only have one choice; to flail wildly at anything I possibly can. I begin swinging my arms like turbulent windmills, made purely of fleshy distress. If this is the end, at least I’m choosing to fight for what I believe in: the potential opportunities that lie with discovery. As I fight for my cause, the suns begin to shine brighter.

So this is what the end feels like. I expected it to be warmer, more gentle, like a kind introduction to a new friend that seemed to be peculiarly familiar somehow. Unless, of course, this wasn't the end. Maybe, this was a rude start to an eternity of unfamiliarity and suffering. Oh, I simply cannot bear the thought of feeling like this forever! Infinite agony and remarkable distress. Oh, how I despair uncertainty!

Did anything of this circumstance matter? Does anything ever?

The polar suns slowly increase in size and their glacial rays electrify my body in what feels like a mystic crystallization of the soul.

Maybe this is meant to happen. My destiny. Or fate. But what do those even really mean? 

Inevitably, I surrender my desperate weapons of skin under the bitter light and prepare to be swallowed whole by the arctic suns of time. I shut my eyes, of course because it is too bright, but, also, because I would rather accept death's handshake without looking it in the eyes. I think perhaps, that may be overstepping my welcome.

The uneven, jarring hands maintain their seizure of my body, and lift me up into the unknown, until suddenly, I feel their handle shift. The air around me gracefully floats upwards, teasingly pinching my body as it wafts by. Wait. What is happening? Did I just cheat death? The blue hands lend me the gift of survival as they help descend my body from the brutal suns I thought were sure to end my entirety. Perhaps, they were truly my allies.

I struggle to grasp my unique, entirely new situation, discarding the previous one out of sheer intrigue and shock. My mind pulses with an enormous shot of adrenaline, my body naturally re-energized with a facade of temporary strength.

What is to come? Beginning? Rebirth? Deconstruction? Mercy?

I am suddenly wrapped in a warm sheet of softness. The ruthless chill of my body is greeted with a polite remedy, soaking its isolation with friendly help. My body is tightly secured in a prison, much more comfortable and inviting than the one before. Once they are done ensuring I am fixed in my new cage, they begin once more, to lift me downwards.

Am I being lifted into the universe? Into infinite prospects?

After all of my horror and questions and exhausting confusions, I decide the best thing to do is to once more, close my eyes and simply invite darkness to hold me. Comfort into the unknown is worth something, after all. I close my eyes and hold my breath. Here goes nothing.

My body is let go of but given to another pair of hands, this time, gentle and warm. Is this death- the familiar friend I had once yearned for?

Bravely, I open my eyes. Looking up, a beautiful woman cries softly as she holds me in her trembling arms.

Finally, I know where I am.