The morning heartbreak is sheer devastation. As the sun rises also do the woes of the day. Above all, one must adhere to the almighty Routine (prison got nothin' on this boy's life). Shower, shave, eat, dress, dodge rush hour traffic to get to the "slavin' job to get my pay". It's like having a nail driven through your forehead, life like this can have no possible meaning - and you faced that a long time ago.
Still, part of me is irresistibly excited about the eternal purity of the morning light. I can only glimpse it in the corner of my eye. I want to glory in the sunshine, connecting with the universal Dream and realize we are one after all. The vision of a Crystallized Flower sparkling hope reaches me in that moment. But that's a star too far as I face the horror of my dark blue work pants and the mind numbing drudgery they imply.
But of my woes I can tell no one. The monsters and wolves wait for any complaint, seizing the opportunity to ensure the order, to proclaim I am in paradise. "How dare you complain when you have a TV! And running water too! Why you know etc. etc." It's their fear talking, I know. They know the seeds they have sown. But that doesn't lessen their viciousness. Too many fools really do believe it profits a man to gain the world but lose his soul. What is world peace compared to a Maserati? (Damn, that was tougher to write than I thought!)
So the trick is not to feel, to be socialized into the good army of the dead. But some mornings I let it slip, especially after a night of torrential dreams. It's like being warmly touched, and in the waking minutes you don't want to shake it off and part of you believes you'll be stepping into blessed light after all and not the dreaded work pants of doom. I'm trying to be good. I'm trying not to live - but I can only do so much. The dream remains.
Giving the Routine the bare minimum attention possible, the rest of me stayed in the Forbidden Dream we all must deny to get by. Then I start to hear vacuuming sounds. Damn, neighbors in apartment next door must be doing some early morning cleaning. Wish I had time for that! Lord knows my carpet was awful, not finding the time or energy to clean it in weeks. It had become a real eyesore to me but one can be spread only so thin.
But as I got dressed in my bedroom I noticed the sound was too loud to be the neighbors cleaning. Peeking around the doorway I see it's my own vacuum giving a much needed cleaning to the hallway. Thank God! Guess the angels had decided they'd had enough of my ungodly carpet and I could see the handle moving up and down just as if a real person were handling it. The pull of the almighty Routine continued as I finished dressing.
Must be my grandmother. She was always a safe refuge during my childhood trauma. She's getting that carpet cleaned. She'd never stand for such uncleanliness! But as I snapped the final button into place on my shirt, the spell broke. Jesus, that vacuum is running on its own! Look around the corner again and see if that was real or a dream. It was real. Real as the morning sun cutting through the blinds. Oh, my God! Oh, my God! How can I explain this? Now trembling with fear and doubt, I peered once more around the corner at the Magic Vacuum and it suddenly stopped. Shit, I think it stopped because I wished it to.
I was greatly disturbed by the morning's event on my drive into the slave labor pool. I was afraid I'd slip up and mention it without thinking, just as I had initially accepted it without thought. Damn, it sucks to feel out of control! The fury and lashings I'd receive for relating such an incident would be unrelenting. And from past experience, I knew since it would have the ring of truth the hatred and anger would be especially strong and vicious. I was in fear for my life the entire day.
By the morning break in the break room, I'd managed a good sense of denial. I was hallucinating, I assured myself. But no, the carpet in that area really was clean. I'd left it plugged in and some auto feature I don't know about kicked in. But the handle moved only as a person - or invisible angel - could do. I'm just too dumb to understand what happened so ignoring it is the best thing to do. People always accept an explanation where you tell them you're dumb.
Later in the morning I tried distracting myself as all the suited people walked by on their hurried ways to the elevators always absorbed in conversation or some mobile device, the fate of the world upon their shoulders. As a game I always try to pick out who is wearing their suit because they love it, because they have to or who absolutely hate it. The ones who hated it I trusted the most. I just don't want to feel alone in my prison. One thing I knew as I ran my floor buffer, I could never do the lying those jobs required.
By the afternoon, I'd fallen into a surreal state of being. Who knows what is real and what is not. The spirit world is the real one, this one an illusion created for our growth - a matrix if you wish. I was reminded of Einstein's theory of relativity, that others had gone down that road before him but stopped short. They had seen the Magic Vacuum and ran away. It was such a breakthrough in scientific thought, they did not have the courage to expose it and be risk being ostracized. Einstein’s breakthrough was as much a moral one as a scientific one. The truth is always like that.
As the work shift ended, I knew the only thing I wanted was to get back home before my secret slipped out. I thought of the Fatima girls and their ordeal and how the vision faded later in life. That could be me too! Denial here I come! But secretly, I wanted the Magic Vacuum to return. I wanted to see the whole house had been cleaned. Most of all, I wanted it to mean I was special after all.
But everything was as I left it. I'd lost faith, let the magic slip through my fingers. I was special for that brief time I accepted it without question, before the fear and insecurity told me "better". Dear God, what a mind fuck life is. I can't say anything, I can't not say anything. Even if I could show them the Magic Vacuum I'd be shot on sight the minute they believed it was no trick. All I know is it haunts me still and that moment of clarity bleeds through into my dreams the minute I let my guard down.
CODA: This was over two years ago. I knew if I typed it up in the heat of the moment the ring of truth would have been too loud. Writing it now in a state disconnected from the event, I can still relate the facts but without the worry of seeming a threat to the all powerful witch burners. So I guess you could say this is my chickenshit way of relating the story without really relating it. The guilt has been fucking killing me for keeping it inside. This meager telling hasn't done me much good either, though.