Ego trip

Sometimes I could barely even lift myself out of bed. Because as the dull reflection of my esteem reflected off a broken mirror every morning, I constantly reflected on an unwanted reality. I threw excuses into my days as I refused to confront the path that I walked. Wondering if my path would ever make a turn. And while I battled the loss of my father, I carried him on my shoulders as I walked. When my legs began to ache from walking, I often took breaks, recollecting the journey I had ensued so far.

When I would get bored I would go through his stuff. The things he hid in the corner of his closet. Pictures from his childhood, sentiments of laughter for remembrance, and a few poems he had written during his toughest times. I read his poems quite often, perhaps they became a daily affirmation. I found meaning in them all, little details and hidden secrets. A poem that had been stashed away, collecting dust for years was the poem that changed my life.

In a small journal wrote:

Gazing upon the bloody horizon,

An owl stood

So polite and keen

As he should

Viewing his perspective as time ticks by

No remorse

What a lie

To leave behind what once was a home

To say that it's ok

To be alone

A wingspan of four sets upon the air

He was never to look back

His ego would not dare

Rather travel through darkness with a past to fulfill

Dreams and desires

To spread and instill

This poem outlined my father's entire existence.

He was a benevolent man, the type to give money to beggars on the side of the road. A sentimentalized figure of his past actions constantly pulled him back. He seemed to be ashamed of his emotions, embodied in a shameful void. Like how he felt as though his actions would always be unheard. I realized the reason for his lack of passion for the world. His void was constantly being filled with regret, forever expanding and dwelling on things he could not change. It wasn’t until he let go of the past he wished wasn’t his, that he finally let his wings soar.

Reading this poem gave me a deeper love for him. It helped me realize my own state of boundless uncertainty, and the effect it was having on my life. Because as each day passed, each hour without my father, I missed the opportunities I could have taken. How I started to remove my voice from common laughter, hiding every bit of my anxious tone. Biting down on a voice that was meant to be heard, and living a life that did not feel like mine.

This remembrance of my father led me to his barn. He spent most of his time here, perhaps writing poems in the attic. He had a love for animals, as their affection seemed to flow through his loveless draught. A routine of unending empathy, his prints choreographed through the dust. And when new layers of dust covered those of the past, my memories eluded from the gloom of my mind.

So I peered through the loosely hatched double door, lacking the courage to enter. And when I finally did, a euphoric rush flowed through my body. A stream of nostalgia entrapped me as hay crunched beneath me. I pictured myself in leather boots, the ones my father had worn. I saw the puddles of sweat that had collected throughout the years and could feel the dust collecting on my hair as it permeated through the stagnant air. The sounds of cracked oak echoed above, as my father's footprints flattened the grass beneath.

And as a mellow breeze shut the door behind me, I stood perplexed at the verdant, overgrown room. Grass replaced cracks that wove through the ground, and trees weaved themselves through the barn's broken windows. The eroding walls cracked with a river of smoky amber gleam, as the scent of fresh pine fell from the branches above.

The beauty that had grown out of such chaos left me speechless. My loss of words left me to observe. I sat down on the grass, soaking in the beams of sunlight that transcended through split planks. And while silence filled the barn corner to corner, I heard nothing but the hum of locusts, and the vague whispers of wind brushing through leaves. But as the indistinct flap of a bird's wings approached In front of me, this tranquil silence broke. Upon opening my eyes, I was met with the mahogany eyes of a white barn owl.

I simply stared as my father's poem replayed in my mind. Its eyes stared deep into my heart, as I felt estranged from my emotions. I extended my arm toward the owl, still gazing through its eyes. And with no hesitation, the owl climbed onto my hand. A dream-like daze entrapped my body as I lost control of reality.

The more I grew closer to the matrix surrounding me, the more I felt myself drifting away from my reality. And suddenly, my eyes opened as I viewed myself from above. I was frozen, and all I could do was observe. I watched myself struggle as I helplessly tried moving my limbs. And as I focused my attention on the owl that had landed on my hand, I noticed it was gone. It had been replaced by a faint object, and I struggled as I squinted my eyes, focusing on the object. And as I looked closer, the blurry outline of a hand reached out to mine.

There my father was, reaching out to me as I simply watched in the background. As I accepted his message, I opened my heart. I opened up to all the issues I refused to confront. How a constant shadow of hate embodied me, while a blanket hid a face of scars. I reminisced on past regrets as I contracted false conclusions in my mind. Helplessly avoiding the void that was mine.

The countless hours that I let tick by while I sulked and wondered. And the questions I refused to answer because I was too afraid of knowing the truth. How I constantly questioned if I’d have success, and how I allowed these uncertainties to control my false reality. Like how I assumed everyone's eye pointed towards me, and how I would always listen to the lies they spoke.

Asking myself if I was doing enough. Did I even deserve to change? Perhaps I'm not capable of being successful, and maybe my dreams were never meant to come true. Maybe if I had spent more time with him. Or went on more walks. Could have let my mind wander in this trove of questions. But constantly hid in the shadows, away from fear. Or maybe if I had asked about his day, or offered to help with dinner. Maybe, maybe then I would be able to let go.

And while I scribbled on portraits of the past, I hung them back up in the abyss I had felt. Each one with its own signature, and every frame is unique. And when the last portrait came, I hung it up with pleasure, floating in an empty void, never to be seen again. And while the bridge I walked began to burn, I lost the self I had remembered before. Perhaps a piece of me had been sketched into my past. Because I often felt as though I was drifting away. Piece by piece falling into an empty void, where nothing but a mockery had been made of my art.

A rush of adrenaline woke me as I forcefully opened my eyes. Darkness came to light as emotions fled. As if the portraits I had hung were violently shaken off their hooks. And as if my dark void had been exposed to a shimmer of light, setting the remaining portraits aflame. And while the light expanded throughout my darkness, lighting a path for my lost soul, I found myself wandering. I walked wherever the light led me, sometimes it led me to dead ends, and other times I found myself on cold, one-way roads. Eventually, I lazily pondered in the shallows of a pond. And when the light caught up with my wondering soul, a dull reflection of myself rippled through the water.

And as the dull reflection of my soul gazed at itself through the dimly lit water, the light that had guided me began to grow. It eventually grew so large, casting Elysian Fields as far as the eyes reached. And as I looked away from my wandering self, I left behind what I had lost, and wandered into a paradise of truth where my reflection no longer lay dull.

And so I wrote, hidden deep in my journal:

All is lost while memories fade

Simply lost in a time where my loss is day

Lights flickered occasionally, but there I still lay

And so I tell you never trust as they say

Because when a strange figure guides you away

You trust with your heart and let remorse decay

You feel it in your heart as you say ok

Because if I have to leave one day

Please promise me you’ll stay.

Love,

Dad