Shadows of Three A.M.

28.08.17

20170829_110202.jpg

 

2am-4am.

Fragments of dreams intertwined with reality. Sensation distorts perception.

There was a man, shadow or flesh, I was unsure, charcoal dark, he might as well was made from dark matter.

Standing on the left side of the window pane, he was staring blankly to the direction of nowhere. The window was open, cool Ubud air strips the warmth hug of the thick blanket over me. There was a fishing pole attached to some kind of hook. Outside my room is a half circle shaped fishpond. Dozens of tilapias, several sly catfishes, and one hungry lizard reside in the one metre deep pond. In the middle of the pond is a statue of Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge, with all her attributes. But there is no moon tonight. Everything is pitch dark. Like the man made from dark matter now standing by the window in my room. I was watching him. He too, was aware of my presence.

 

I knew he wasn’t fishing fishes, his goal instead is to fish me out of my deep sleep. He did caught me. I was wide awake by that time. Thick air in between. Dimensional distance. Eager to watch, hesistant to move or even ask questions.

Humidity creeps particles of vapor into my pores. Coldness that suck your bones out.

 

The man walked slowly to the door across the room, opened it, then walked out…

Silence. Mere silence that multiply seconds into minutes. Several faraway dogs barking and the birds on the coconut tree outside were actually squeaking loudly. As if signaling something suspicious is happening.

He didn’t come back.

The sudden emptiness I felt was strikingly haunting. My sensations was revolving around the man until he walked away, after fishing me from reality to dream.

(or is it the other way around?)

 

I drowned it again by sleeping.

It was just only 3am.

Tree ay am.

The cross-section in between everything beyond reality.

Fears, hopes, desires, dreams…

Tree ay am.

The time where human frequency is lowest and closest to ‘softer’ beings in this planet.

Where souls collide with spirits, dancing in the rythm of life’s paradoxes.

 

I woke up.

This time, inside that dream.

I woke up, looked out the window, found my body floating.

 

Somehow, I manage to pick myself up from the pond, dragging my body on my desk. It was full of bruises from slaps and cuts, still fresh…Faced down, all I can see is a brute hole on my back.  It even cuts off the titanium steel I had from scoliosis surgery. The hole was so wide. Three quarters of my back. It was deep, inside was like potions boiling. The ingredients: blood, flesh and organs.

Whirpool bubbling, swirling…imagine looking inside a running washing machine.

My essence evaporates from the cauldron.

 

It was weird not scary. Two steps back.

Still, I don’t want to get sucked in that thing. Another step back.

Then I was suddenly falling, rocket fast, the sensation you get like riding a roller-coaster, where your body pushes forward but your heart, still pounding, feels left behind.

I tried to close my eyes, and continued sleeping.

 

 

wake up in the right state of mind

where your footprints used to be

stroll along

through the path or not through the path

(it is yours to decide)

just don’t follow

where your shadow lands

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A dream inside a dream

giant stone
••I lived inside the trunk of the old-wise Seqouia, I hugged giant stones for comfort.

The animals are friends and changing of seasons taught me that continuous cycle is a law of life.

Every move in time, every growth, there is this chain, continously latching me to everything else.

I was never free anyway••

Journal Archive: Oct 8th 2016 (Putu Sridiniari, 25 years on earth)

____

afraid of showing up to disappoint

cultivating and never harvesting

until the seasons come to an end

when the last drop of water kisses the ground

the sun sets and

never comes back

i died inside the ground i grew me in

i died because there was nothing more

to live for

wake me up

wake me

up

_______hold my hands

my fingers

_____________my last breath where my hope flew to the sky

the sky, it was gone now, i should’ve done better.

what could i do?

the roots was pulling me way stronger

beneath the ground

i buried myself

peacefully

 

___Saturday, October 8th 2016.

bleed to heal and compensate the lost: a pms story

feet.jpgAs bleeding is happening,

A sacred space opens up,

I commune with my heart,

I ask, “What can I do for you?”

___________________________

A lot.

In different ways, in many aspects,

I hug myself,

I whisper love, prayers of gratitude and understanding.

I know why you suffer, my darling

Finally we can talk about it.

___________________I feel the breeze, the thunder, the rotation of this planet.

The small creatures under my pillow, the dance of tiny hairs on my skin, the volume of water in my eyes, the growth of my fingernails, creeping the hell out of me.

I feel the heat of your body. The thump of your foot touching the wooden floor. Your sorrow. Your madness and pain.

The anxiety I have in the weight of your presence.

Lightness and heaviness,

Real and Surreal,

Love and Hate,

Sweet and Sour.

I take it all in…to compensate the Lost of a creation.

So I bleed.

Let me bleed_

bleed

it

all

out.

-Putu Sridiniari,

Words & Artwork: February 2017.