Dreamers (pt. I)

She could scarcely think that there was a time when the world had no need for such a word as normalcy, but she saw the world so quickly becoming void of it. She began to think back to the time when there was no concept of “outside the box”, for no one could conceive they were ever in one.
But these thoughts were fleeting; no space for such things when she could do little else but catch motes of phantom melody echoing throughout segmented portions of her memory.
Songs once vital, and songs all but forgotten, where what captured her imagination at this moment.
She was in love, but she did not know with what; only a familiar sensation that wonderful things were about to take place.
No, this is not how it was, but rather, a silent dream, wisp of a wish she kept close to her heart.
Someday, if she continued to believe..

Though called by many a dreamer, she did not mind this title.
For while the world continues to rotate by those to whom it’s beauty remains unseen, she understood all too well that dreamers will continue to dream, and revitalize the planet with their hopes and promises of tomorrow.
Even if these things should stay but dreams, they fill the abyss that is left behind by those who no longer wonder; those who know everything there is to know, those who have become “educated” and have learned “the ways of the world”.
They have their place; she had hers.
There were many like her, but none were her.
They are those who call themselves (or are called by others) dreamers, who are often too lost in their own profound wastelands to find the ones they share a kinship with, a perfect gesellschaft.

The life she knew, as it was taught to her, lost a greater morsel of meaning every day, for what she experienced was not what she had been taught to expect.
What her teachers had told her of the world offered a brighter, more welcoming place.
This surrogate plane of existence was far harsher, far more cruel than what she ever could’ve foreseen.
But you see, she was a dreamer, and not bound by the rules or petty pessimism that seemed to infect all those around her.
She still believed in that place they had told her about for so many years, a place where people could be happy just to be people; where no one deceived each other, and everyone was satisfied just to have their loved ones near.
And also music. Lots and lots of music.
For you see, even dreams need a soundtrack.

But the irony complicit in being a dreamer requires one to wake up, and take a look around to see the difference between what they envision and what is presented to them.
She was not bothered so much by the horrible things she found, because she herself had seen (and unfortunately done) a number of these things, though she was not always so proud. She knew, however, that everything she saw, and everything she felt, was but a point of experience offered to her by one of the many denizens of the waking-plane she sought so adamantly to avoid. Because these were offered to her, she could reject them at any time, and choose instead to feel and believe what she felt to be appropriate. She could only accept that in which she truly placed faith and conviction in.
This is the bane and blessing of the dreamer.
Existentialism doesn’t begin to describe what or how it is they live, though it’s not a bad start.
To live as though one is not a part of the world, but a voluntary transient observing and studying it, is a complicated way to be. It is easier to cast off unwanted emotions or events, but so too do they lose the burden of circumstances irrefutable by those who lack the perception to comprehend such a path.

The privilege of refusing pain is the curse of transparent beauty. To know only of it, but to never be able to touch it, is the trademark of a dreamer who can no longer tolerate the ache and suffrage of their being. Are they dreamers because they want so much more, or because they can’t tolerate their lives any longer as they know them? She found such questions to often be a waste, unless she wanted to know a person intimately.

Thoughts of her being, and the being of others often crossed her mind. She wondered so diligently about the lives and workings of others, that all she did was watch them, listen to them, feel their pain, and witness their joy. She rarely took part herself, because it never occurred to her that having a life of her own could teach her more than studying those of so many others. Still, she was insatiably curious and could not stop herself for even one moment from trying to learn everything she could about everyone she knew.

And then there was music.
Through music she learned of poetry.
Poetry taught of her of literature.
Literature spoke of art.
Art held for her the essence of history.
And history, as it does all men (and women), showed her of what came before her.
Here, she came to learn of the dreamers, mystics, diviners, seers, and of course fools, that had all pondered such questions as she had questions.
Both before and now she was finding she was not alone in her search for answers to people.

She wanted to understand them, because she did not understand them.
She wanted them to understand her, because they did not understand her.
But how could she explain to them what she could not herself define?
She needed to become resolute in her conquest for dominating the mystery of the human condition, for no other conclusion could suffice for her.
She needed to know with utter certainty who and what people were; she needed to be able to define them simply by meeting them, for this would display her mastery and competency in her skill, which she had worked so tirelessly to acquire.

Time passed, as is tradition in the world of men, and she grew older.
Experience changed her, but her lusting desire to repeal her (unawares to her, self-imposed) exclusion had not waned.
The passing of time and her continued failure at what appeared to be her mission had only strengthened her occasionally diminishing resolve, but she was clever and unyielding.

Thought it took her some time to develop a way to accomplish her objective (for this had not initially occurred to her, and was surely a considerable set-back) she finally found a successful method to derive the information she so desperately needed to “understand people”.

She sought out the people misunderstood by her society. Those who were rejected or deposed in a common setting of her peers, those whose behavior seemed irrational when taken out of context, and those who no one would choose to speak to, are the ones she found.
She interrogated them relentlessly, asking questions of their days and lives, how they reached the point they were at and why they did what they did.
She was systemic in her approach, but also genuinely empathic and concerned for the welfare and state-of-being of her “subjects”.
This is likely why she succeeded where so many others would’ve surely failed.

After enough time had passed, she began to subconsciously become aware of the plights of those around her.
She was fascinated with this at first; she explored just how much she could divine from a person with as little information provided as possible, but she found the more she did this, the easier it came.
This became concerning for her after a while, as she began to read into information she had no desire to know. More importantly, she had forgotten her original mission in the distraction of obtaining her new skill.
She no longer remembered her desire to be understood by others, and removed such thoughts from her head. She removed herself from her own head.

She now only longed to seek out the pain in those around her, and help them as best she could.
An admirable undertaking, admittedly, but she could not perceive herself.
The more pain she took onto herself, the more she herself was cut down.
She felt it, but she couldn’t feel it. She knew that her tribulations were wearing down on her, but she had no idea whether this was even remotely true.
The burden of deep insight; what she knew deep down and could thus draw out of others, she was unable to draw out of herself (though she could in fact see it was there).

She became a shell.
Empty as the sea, and echoed as such.
Respond to any stimulus, comply with any request.
Eat, sleep, breathe.
The rest would surely follow.
Or it wouldn’t.
She found it no longer mattered.
The sky would still be blue, the stars would still shimmer.
Her hopes, thoughts, wishes, and dreams, could never stop those stars from shining.

Tomorrow.
She awoke to a new day that felt just like the old that had finally passed.
She kept hearing of such things, tomorrow, the future, but she wondered if it would ever really come, if it even existed.
In her obsession to become greater than what she was, she lost herself and ended up as nothing.
But this is not the end of her tale.
There is surely more to come.
Some find life to be a mystery, some, a box of chocolates.
But for her…
It became too much just to breathe.
(End pt. I)