Trance

Refuge Sought in pulsing, thriving music,
exciting music the makes my heart dance,
each pulse in perfect, jolting sync.
But it's not enough, and the music, urging onward by my hand,
swells to the point where it almost hurts-
the fine line between me & the music, and
pain & pleasure, and my heartbeat & the rhythm
which blurs and threatens to encompass me
Completely.
Mind, heart, body: easily conquered territories.
I can feel the last seeking to complete my transformation
-or maybe attempting to flee?
To escape what's trying to swallow me,
or, more accurately, what I'm trying to meld with.
But it's not enough.
I urge the volume higher until I've reached the limit-
its limit, not mine.
To my frustration I can still feel me, know ME,
hear my thoughts, define my heartbeat from the
rhythm.
Are there words?
Because I'm singing. And I don't even know the lyrics.
But you don't need the words to
know the meaning.
And maybe that's what I crave-
in my world of words to exist in a higher place -
a place of light & dark, sound & silence, and flinging & falling in mock flight.
Gathering meaning from the quality of the sound-
light, bouncing beats from a synthesizer,
powerful reaching bass filling my ribcage,
sharp wrenching-cloying-ripping things echoing in my mind,
nonsensical babble of a computer-voice
- "hamsters on helium",
striking siren sounds that reach into a base well of fear deep in the gut,
and the use of silence as a sound
-breaks in words which increase their incomprehensibility,
music that uses pitch truly as a technique- purely for emotional and physical
reaction.
And longer smoother notes also from a synthesizer-
a gliding, zipping, buzzing, vibrating sound.
And they create "the ultimate trance experience."
"The way to happiness and joy" a siren-y voice announces at a pause in the music,
"Lose control," a siren-y pulsing-scratching,
"scream of excitement," a shaking-clawing-jumping,
"the dance event you'll always remember."
And the siren-y puling-scratching-shaking-clawing-jumping
is accompanied by a skittish drumbeat and another off-beat siren sound
-"The ultimate trance experience"-
and there is a whining-distorting guitar sound.
Not enough.
How long has it been? How much time has passed while I
float, suspended in this world of pulsing-thriving-beating color,
flashing-blinding-searching-finding rhythm,
this melting-blending-blurring-moving being,
where existing in the moment is top priority?
Of course, time doesn't exist here.
Time - a man made thing,
Made to measure moments in monotonous teaspoons,
tidbits of information in tiny and precise bites,
never a mouthful of anything.
This is a place where time doesn't matter, doesn't even exist.
There is no "past" here, no thought of "future".
There is only now, and reaction.
There is no "beginning" or "ending" either,
only changing, fading, one thing becoming another.
Only reality- even though this reality screams illusion.
But our other world is illusion.
Our most "real" concepts are ones that don't exist, have
NEVER existed- time, order, civilization, money, value,
ownership, darkness OR light, good, evil.
These are only illusions, so no wonder I hunger for this place,
this utterly real place of escape- escape to reality.
Because illusions aren't substantial.
(They're not enough!)
Illusions cannot quell the fire, feed the hunger,
you cannot breathe illusion, or feel it, taste it, smell it, hear it,-
only SEE it- and you really aren't even doing THAT.
(Jolting-turning-pulsing-mixing)
All there has ever really been is instinct, and now, and action, and things that ARE.
And we're extending our illusions to other species-
thinking our "pets" "love" us,
that they are "ours",
that they are "domesticated",
that predators are "evil".
(beating-jumping-thriving-reaching)
They aren't enough, these shallow illusions,
but they're largely thought to be solid,
and that's because we NEED them to be-
they are what separate us from the animals
-the finest line, one we forged of iron-willed illusions, of gossamer delusions.
For as long as we've existed we've tried to escape our origins,
(twisting-swinging-striking-shouting)
struggling to climb out of the hole where every other being exists,
scrambling up the muddy sides, sliding on the slope,
climbing higher, digging our hands and feet into the mud to get a grip,
and once we're finally at the top we will be unrecognizable,
covered in all that mud.
(thumping-gasping-running-spinning)
But covered in mud it's obvious we came from the hole,
and even while we stand at the top of a hole, we stand at the bottom of another,
and we realize we are no closer to reaching the stars
than we were at the very bottom of the very first hole.
(pulling-singing-swiping-pushing)
And here we still try to climb higher, though there is no visible way up,
because it's all we've known for a long, long time- reaching up.
I wonder- is it love of the moon or fear of our reflections in the water that pushes us up?
(flowing-flying-stretching-sinking)
And here we look at our reflections and are pleased we can no longer see
the similarities between 'human' and 'animal' through all the mud.
(whirring-lunging-gasping-holding)
Just one more of our lovely gossamer-thin illusions.
(releasing-existing-living-dancing)
It's not ENOUGH!
I want to BE the place of light & dark, sound & experience, and flying & movement & purity!
I want to be free of this muddy stupidity and EVOLVE
(a pretty lie we've created to solidify our illusions)
into a being of reality & beauty - of light & color & flight & sound & this
jolting-turning-pulsing-mixing-beating-jumping-thriving-reaching-twisting-swinging-striking-shouting-thumping-grasping-running-spinning-pulling-singing-swiping-pushing-flowing-flying-stretching-sinking-whirring-lunging-gasping-holding-releasing-existing-living-dancing helps me pretend I am so.
After all I am human, (IT'S NOT ENOUGH!)
and I can't help coveting the stars,
and loving the moon,
and hating the mud that attaches me
to my 'animal' "past", to this world,
and I can't help wanting money, and owning land, and craving love, and
respecting law and order, and living in civilization, and obeying laws of time,
and seeking refuge in pulsing-thriving music.