"Everything appeared here"
Y. Misdaq

"Can you imagine from one single idea,
Everything appeared here,
Understanding makes my truth, crystal clear" Rza, from 'Impossible'

The vast expanse of desert sand is seen from a panoramic view. You have the wide angled view of this large, warmed area, because you have let life pass you by through the years, rolling off you with ease. Those who clung to everything would never be allowed such a released, open view. You have the bigger picture in sight and as a result, see the sunlight happening. Rain happens on occasion also. This orange glow is yours to witness.

Twenty feet square, over there, in the middle of your view wanders a bison. It's through her that you see gravity being lost in the area. Her tonnes of meat and love are lifted up gently raised above the ground, and she begins to drift around, her shadow moving with her below, confirming everything. All around her is calm and silence. She is calm and silence, staring in your direction neither confused nor scared as she floats up high there.

It was years of a moment later that the exact amount of sand rose up in a perfectly flat square. It became level with her, existing in front of her eyes, and then it danced. The speed at which it moved and the style in which it moved rendered it impossible for you to ever describe to another human being again. So full stop.

The shape that this sand decided upon, some time when time had become irrelevant, was a small square area just under the bison's feet, which decided to grow. This involved tonnes of further sand being lifted from the same area directly beneath the bison, although there was never an appearance of a loss of sand on the earth from which it came. Everything was untouched. Soon it was a large flat square surface at least fifteen feet in each direction, and paper-thin. This was a floor in the air, which built itself around the bison, supporting her beautiful legs, her powerful body. Around the edges of this tray, sprouting upwards towards the sky, as well as downwards toward the ground, swirls and patterns began to grow in the same indescribable style and with the same speed at which the sand first began dancing. These were extensions of the sand from the tray, somehow appearing with unstoppable regularity. The swirls kept happening, and they were always odd in number; you believed they were odd in number. Some of the beautiful patterns that grew into existence made no sense whatsoever, they curled inside themselves impossibly, somehow warping and growing in ways that suggested laughter, giving you a feeling of insanely powerful euphoria. One danced like a rocket twirling around and around as it shot up into the sky like no bird could, thinning its consistency as it straightened itself out and faded away amidst the high blue. Others were of a more intense nature, silent sand thick and heavy, unfurling in the time-span of a dream until, at some point in the past or present, you realised it was inches from your nose. The ends of it curled up creating an index finger, which stood out of the solid mass of intense brown sand. That arm, that mass was coloured like brown-sugar but the pieces were smaller, finer than any substance you had seen. The index finger shape just centimetres away from you buzzed in and out of existence with the wind, pointing perfectly.

All it took was a step sideways away from this dominant, all-powerful structure and you could continue to witness the almost-complete fortress of magnificence which floated some twenty feet above the ground, housing this bison of belief, which still blinked calmly as the final realities of sand were invading themselves into existence. Impossible though it was, each piece made perfect sense during and after construction. Continuous construction was beautiful, every one of them moved smoothly until they ended their patterns with such personality, such unique attributes. You thought all was completed when your weak eyes eventually detected the final strand working its way into life amidst the jungle of confirmed realities. This final strand was the smallest and quietest moving, curling again but on a smaller scale, intricate as calligraphy or an impossible ballet, it's small movements were contrasted by the one thing that had characterised all of these varying strands; constancy. The strands never stopped until they were complete, they were revealed constantly and flowed perfectly like language and chemistry between people.

It's final curl, a surprisingly small one, left the image complete. One word were you able to utter in staring at the final mercy, "The Most Subtle"

It was one word. It took you time of time to name them all, which you did quietly in your mind. You saw it that day and knew you could never explain it once it left. It was your experience to keep, always reminding you.

Years later you are, as you always were, uncurling, much slower and much more hesitantly than the tray of delight uncurled at that very real moment in time. Your way is flawed but attempting. Broken but aspiring.

Remember.

By Y. Misdaq
© 2004 Y. Misdaq & Nefisa.co.uk All rights reserved.