Something in the Air

There is something in the air today; something that says, "Don't go out." I'm not sure what this feeling is as the gray mask that is morning dew among storm clouds rolls in. It isn't the danger of a storm that my heart, mind, and body are warning against. No, this is a presence, an event. Something is going on today, but I'm uncertain as to what. Whatever it is is a foreboding of evil; a caution I cannot ignore.

Many times I've feared with uncertainty that which I cannot ignore. I heed whatever calling comes amongst my breast, as I am certain there is a reason I hear it. My obedience to its calling, this intuition, has not proved me wrong. Defining what it warns against, is however difficult to predict or determine until I discover the events after their occurring. My feeling eludes no premonition as to what discovery will unfold.

Many times I fancied myself a role in a romantic comedy, but alas, we do not get to choose which role we are cast in this realm. If, perhaps, that were the case I should never select the horror role. I've often wondered if we are as entertainment in such a film to a superior wonder. If so, do they watch us as we do the television? I push back those thoughts for consideration that I am no Stephen King nor do I wish to end up in one of his novels. I shudder despite my reading them.

The angst that fills my heart is no anxiety. The heart palpitations are dissimilar, and my blood pressure has not risen. This strange feeling surrounding me is sheer ominous. I stand aware, yet unaware, merely in its center of gloom. I feel a thing such as grief in my heart, a deep sadness that rests within my spirit. It is awakened for perplexing reasons, yet within it resides deep acceptance. Is it coincidence that I get these feelings as if some form of extra-sensory perception?

What would a person of normal constitution understand or think of me for considering these muses? I must stand obedient to my cause; a cause that has never once betrayed me. For years, I've considered the manipulative talents of psychics, understanding that for many it is exactly as stated: manipulation. Common truths unfolded in an abstract manner deemed to impress and play off the seeker's expressions, body language, movements, and mannerisms. Assuredly, it is direct enough to be convincing and the seer's guest is convinced undoubtedly. I, though, must withstand such temptation as betraying another for profit or gain is not within my morality.

Why must I be so stubborn and concerned for the well-being of others? Shouldn't it be easy and of little concern to me? To them I am but a ghost upon a ship, a sailor buried at the depths of an impenetrable sea. Such is the extent of my emotion and delusion that it is as inescapable as those that lay buried in Davie Jones's locker. My legs are bound to a wrecked and deceased ship that is but a shadow of its former glory, my body is frail, yet somehow I still manage to breathe. Am I breathing or is it my mere consciousness still not able to rest or to die? I ask myself. Perhaps, my soul has left my body, but alas I rise to the surface once more. It is now that I am awakened, alert, and in my own state of being. I am no longer at the depths of the sea. 'Twas but a dream from a nightly rest; a rest that provided no comfort or reprieve from my wariness.

I recall the times I felt like this. Once, I considered a neighbor at the hour she happened to pass. Grandmother looked at me in shock as I asked about visiting her shortly thereafter. I'll never forget that gaping expression. It appeared my knowledge of the event was beyond coincidence, though as a youth in school at the time, I could not have possibly known of her death's occurrence. Chills ran down my spine as did the spines of my family. I saw in their eyes that I was indeed considered different.

Fright glinted in Grandmother's eyes as she feared this insight had come from the devil. It was then that I was taken to church religiously, without ever skipping a Sunday. She supposed it was "The Lord's Day", but alas "The Sabbath" was technically a Saturday, the day we instead attended the market. Hah. What a funny old world this world of religion seemed to be. A nod to the individual wills of mankind, strewn about in a string that appeared righteous for the masses that attended and agreed in fellowship. Each denomination proclaimed its own truth, yet despised the other. Masses that though united in the morning were divided in hearts and spirit alike. No different were they from the average heathen, yet they proclaimed to be disciples. Why is it that religion and horror flock together like wings on the back of a dove? There must be a reason. Nay, instead they make haste in their concerns about strangeness.

Perhaps it is the unknown that is scariest of all. Perhaps we fear something beyond ourselves, anything outside of the natural. Anything that could strike at the depths of our souls and pierce our hearts without reasonable explanation seems cause for concern. What are the truths to reason? Must we have all the answers? Aside from this, many proclaim to. We proclaim simply because we cannot accept the unimaginable as truth. It is pure reassurance to the simplicities of our mind. It bewilders our nature, and strikes aim at our confidence likened to that of a flaming torch. None of us want to be set ablaze, even at the risk of reward and gain in the potential afterlife. It would be little comfort to our minds. What fragile creatures we are!

Therefore, we must stand against those who are of unnatural laws who escape the limited bounds of society? I laugh at those bounds. How many innocent stood on trial in Salem, and how many stood guilty in the audience? Not all who burned were witches, yet all who watched were the embodiment of sin and insurrection-even those who opposed and said nothing. Yet, they proclaimed righteousness in their violence.

Perception is not truth, despite its natural occurrence. Inexplicable insight is not necessarily deception provided it is proved correct. Why must we persecute those we do not understand, and why should we deny and bury their existence? Many a madman who spoke truth was imprisoned whilst liars, thieves, and deceivers were exalted. Perhaps, that is the horror and atrocity of mankind.

Alas, there is little I can do about it until it is discovered. Until then, I will strive for a sense of peace and take comfort in my despair knowing that truth will once again unfold. We will once again be awakened from a dream that provided little rest. Yes, today, there is something in the air.