ego death

When I opened my eyes, it was to colors and shapes surrounding me. I would love to give you a concise picture of what I saw, but there truly isn’t a way. Imagine the worst acid trip you’ve ever been on, now multiply that by infinite. I couldn’t tell what was up or down, if I was looking left or right. There was no space where the colors ended, and I began. The shapes of my eyes were the shapes of crabs were the color of storms. I tried to gauge something static, compact, but all I could see was the overwhelming connection.

I didn’t know how I got there, and it was so hard to think when your thoughts became tangible images in front of your eyes. Not long enough for you to decipher what you must have been thinking, but there to the point of feeling them. It was so much. I’m sure I’d have had a headache if I was alive- because there’s no way this was life, not really.

I stood and watched a clock tower turn into a cat. It was a beautiful orange and brown mix. It leapt from the top of what it used to be into a river that was grass, that was a field. I watched it scurry along the dirt because it was a mouse now. The trees that lined the sidewalk it ran on hung low, low enough to run their fingers along its slick back. I stopped watching the mouse-cat-now-bat because the trees were my family. What used to be my heart jumped from my chest and ran to the closest gravestone to meet them. By the time it got there, the stone had sunk so far into the earth a valley formed under me. I knew then that if I got any further away from the leaves that might be my body, I would come undone.

I tried to get my wings to cooperate, but they moved to the beat of the pulsing sun. I tried to claw at the ground, but I was blue now, and blue doesn’t have any hands. The panicked thoughts filling my- wait, I didn’t have a head- started separating from me like bark from a tree. I watched them flow down the river and plant behind the sphynx body.

Why was I so worried about the caterpillars again? I could feel my spirit separating and coming together. I was looking for something… maybe? But why would the wind need to find something? Somewhere something was screaming at me: you’re missing it! You must find it, or you’ll never go back!”

Back where? I’ve always been this grain of sand. This woodpecker. Orange. Square. Atom. Flowing. Energy. Energy. Energy.

A hand on my shoulder. I flinched.

“Almost lost you there. Sorry I’m late.”

I turned around and looked up, up, up. But my neck didn't go that far, and this thing was the same height as me. A squeeze on my shoulder.

“Ah shit, I might be a little late already. It’s okay. You’ll remember what it’s like to have a body soon.” The thing smiled. Its fangs could rip through my neck.

It was jarring, going from being everything to being one thing. Watching the figures back, I clenched my fists. I could feel my nails digging into my skin, the sting of near penetration. I knew if I pushed a little harder, a little longer, I could spill blood. My mouth twitched. I started to follow.

Now that I was alive again, I could take proper notice of my surroundings. I didn’t. Instead, I was paying attention to the blood running through my body. I could hear the rush of my head- what must be the noise of the human machine. I ran my hands along each other, feeling the electric point of contact between skin. I wondered how long I’d been gone. I wondered if it always felt this good. I brought my palm up to my chest, resting slightly to the left. I remember there being something important there, something monumental. I remember the rush of something. The steadiness. It must have put me to sleep, it must have reached out to people, places. It must have reminded me of something, but my hand was there, and I couldn’t feel anything. It was missing, something was missing, where was my-

I’m brought back to where I was. The figure, now that I can notice it properly, was looking at me with understanding. Its eyes looked so familiar.

“I see you’ve noticed, then.”

The place we stopped was cold. The stone pillars surrounding the circular platform we were on weren’t doing anything to curb the chill. It was open, the outside being a cascade of cold dark space. Compared to the overabundance of color and volume that we came from, this place was a wasteland. The figure stood in the middle; I stood near the edge.

“What happened to me?” The question was posed before I could think to ask it. I didn’t want to look at this thing, let alone talk to it. But I was cold, and tired, and so confused. And more important than any of those things, or where we were, or what had just happened, I was scared; I couldn’t feel my heartbeat.

The thing cocked its head, its eyes sharp and analyzing. I stood still. Distantly, I wondered if this was hell. Was hell the lack of heart?

I refocused at the sound of a sigh. All at once, the thing in front of me deflated. It plopped on the floor, crisscross applesauce, with its cape billowed behind it. Like this, it looked less intimidating. Like this, it looked small, like me. I hesitantly mirrored the action, and we stared at each other.

Its face was small, but round. It looked healthy, like it prioritized meals on top of everything else. You could see that in their complexion as well- it had a healthy glow lining its cheeks. It looked like it liked the sun. I wondered how it would have gotten here in the first place. Laugh lines shaped its mouth, inviting smiles like they couldn’t be anywhere else. And its eyes; its eyes. They held so much inside them. Green swirled with yellow, inviting you into the mossy field that they held. They showed lifetimes. Lifetimes of lessons and love and pain. And laugh lines.

I hated looking at it. It looked content in a way I’ve never been. It looked like it understood that about me yet helped me anyways.

The thing spoke, “You asked for me.”

That wasn’t my question. I wanted to know why I was in that place. I wanted to know why I was a tree. I wanted to know why I couldn’t feel my heartbeat through my chest. I looked at this thing. It looked at me. It sighed and continued, “but I know that’s not what you asked.”

It started to undress as it spoke; its cape crumpled behind it.

“You asked for me. Well, not me specifically, but someone- and you got me. I pulled you here a little prematurely, and that meant you ended up somewhere I wasn’t really planning; hence the crab body you had for a while,” Oh, I was the crab. I guess that makes sense, “but we got that figured out and now you’re here. So, it all worked out,” they said warmly. I stayed silent. They grimaced, “give or take.”

At some point during the explanation, my hand found its way back to my chest. I didn’t remember asking for anyone, but I also didn’t remember being a crab, so I don’t think my memory held much. This didn’t answer anything I wanted to know, but judging by the thing in front of me I wouldn’t get any answers whether I wanted them or not.

“But you’re missing your heart. Well, not missing. It’s just somewhere else. I know where it is, but I can’t tell you,” It murmured.

My heart. I forgot about my heart. What was it again? Something mechanical? Or a concept? The skin under my palm was still.

I waited for something, anything, to pique my understanding. This thing knew where my heart was. This thing wouldn’t give it to me. This thing was looking at me the same way I looked at the sick. I waited for the familiar heat to boil in my chest and through my arms. I waited for minutes, decades even, and nothing came. Its eyes were sad.

“I can’t tell you where it is, but I can show it to you.”

What were we looking for again? It would show me something. Something important. Something meaningful. Something that would make me… something, or something.

Hesitantly, I held out my palm. It took my hand.

We were in a room. My room. The room I remember falling asleep in- lifetimes ago. I was hugging a pillow. I was crying. I hadn’t left my mattress in three days, not even to pee.

It looked like the blinds hadn’t been opened in months. The mattress was on the floor. I watched, disconnected. Like a scientist watching a bird. Like a bird watching an ant.

Have you ever critiqued movie characters decisions? It’s like that. Don’t answer the phone, don’t go through that door. Don’t stay in bed all day, call your mom. How sad it is to watch someone rot away.

“Why did you bring me here?” I questioned.

“Why did you want to come here?” It answered.

I didn’t, I realized. I didn’t want to see me like this. I didn’t want to see anyone like this. I knew, obscurely, that this was somehow important. Something about my prone frame held the answers that I was, deep down, looking for. But I looked so sad. I didn’t want to see someone so sad.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I flinched.

“You asked for an answer, a purpose. You cried about it. I answered,” it said. I felt so cold, being here. The vacuum of space was nothing compared to looking at my shivering body. A phantom feeling was making itself known in my chest, like shadows were trying to fill the space that my heart used to occupy. If my heart ever occupied it. I wondered if I could still cry here. I imagine if I could have, I would have.

My voice was distant, clinical, when it asked, “where did my heart go?”

The hand on my shoulder squeezed, and then let go. I didn’t have to look at the thing to know it was looking at my body. There, minutely, was a faint movement of my chest. A beating of something.

“It came back. You don’t remember, but the reason you’re there in the first place is because of your heart. You felt so much, all the time. Your heart needed a way to hold that love somewhere, physically- that’s why you have a body.” I could feel eyes boring into the side of my face, “but with love comes pain.”

“Why am I here?” I asked. I didn’t want to know the answer.

“You forgot about the love,” it answered anyways.

I was confused. I remembered the pain the same way someone remembers a broken bone- A concept, a lack of. I remembered love the same way. How do move on from this? I’m always in that bed, shivering. My heart is always beating. I was so cold standing there.

“But my heart came back. Why?” My voice was measured; intentional.

I could see the thing wanting to reach out again, possibly grab my hand, but it aborted the movement at the last second. Instead, it turned its head towards the vacant body.

“It can’t stay here. It left in the first place. It’s too much.” It said quietly.

“Too much.” I echoed.

We stood there for a long time, watching my body. I wondered what the thing next to me was thinking. I wondered if it had ever been where I was. I wondered if it chose to stay. I wondered if I’d choose to, too.

“I don’t remember that well. I don’t want to hurt anymore,” I finally said. My voice was small and childish, like a toddler going up against a monster. I felt choked up.

“You’re scared, even without your heart?” It asked. It was looking at me again. I wanted to ask why it looked so sad, why it cared, but I felt I could barely speak. I felt like the color blue, maybe the concept.

“I’m scared because I don’t have my heart,” I whispered.

A hand in my hand. It’s warm.

I imagine we could stay like this forever, watching what was once me, what’s still me, side by side. I try to feel their pulse, but their wrist is still.

“I can’t stay here,” I whisper.

They look at me, eyes full of understanding and pain.

I wonder if I’ll ever see them again, maybe in the fields behind my house. Maybe in the moss that lines the brick. I’ll remember the warmth of the sun, and stillness of the skin. I think of the valleys I haven’t seen, and the crabs I have yet to meet. I think of direction. I think that in the end, I’ll meet them anyways.

“I look forward to seeing you,” they whisper, and then they’re gone.

My eyes open languidly to my beating heart.

I open the blinds.