(Adaptation) Searching in the Fall

((Original) Searching in the Fall by Rocky Blue Wednesdays.)

I’m falling.

But then I land softly into the arms of consciousness, and feel immense solace upon realisation; it’s one of those dreams again.

It’s the kind of dream, where one’s eyes jolt wide open to a heightened sense of fight-or-flight, where one awakes with one’s chest rising and falling unusually rapidly and rather irregularly, where one finds one’s clothes and body drenched in perspiration even though it’s the dry winter, where one unconsciously gulps deep breaths through one’s already parched mouthーall would coalesce harmonically to coerce the mind into fear, all would eventually and gradually wane and allay the mind back to calm, to allow a silent morning to greet one.

But the dream was notably very much indistinguishable from reality, such that one is only certain that one has roused when one sees the familiar colours of the walls and ceiling, when one hears the quotidian rumblings and beepings of busy cars outside, when one smells one’s own scent that has attached itself onto the bed, and when one feels the coziness of being wrapped and hugged by one’s own blanket. When all senses make sense, one then knows that one is at home, a refuge from the malice that was in one’s nightmare.

I know that I am safe, that it was all just a dream, but I don’t want to get out of my bed and blanket, which is an extra alleged almighty superfluous bastion that safeguards me from my fears. I convince myself that nothing good (nor bad) will come from just lying in my bed. So I get out of bed.

Or so I would, but I cannot move. The moment I tried to move, I suddenly felt exhaustion, physical and mental, paralyzing my body. My legs have become leaden, as though they were protesting against the running of endless miles into the abysses of the night in my mind, as though I’ve been running and running and running in search of someone.

No. Not ‘as though’. I have been searching for someone.

This someone knows no fear. This someone is hardly a reflection of myself. This someone is difficult to find. But I found them.

Just yesterday, I suffered torment from my archenemy. I had heard his wrath coming, yet I was utterly powerless in it’s face, unable to prepare and brace myself.

From the comfort of the soft cushioned seat where I was reclining, my ears picked up the muted patter of pelting raindrops. I tried to find a pattern in the euphony; it was the perfect tune to slumber to. It would have been the perfect tune to slumber to, if it didn’t start to contort and embiggen into a rancorous beating on the fuselage.

I remember the events that happened next clearly, but why do I remember them so clearly, that is a fuzzy enigma. I guess my spirit knew what was coming, and by instinct it detached itself from my body. My spirit probably hovered above me and observed everything in objectivity. The plane shivered in the blistering cold. There was a fleeting but sharp tremor that vibrated through the small oval windows. The stewardesses vanished from the isles with deft footsteps. There were little choppy waves forming and breaking and forming in the transparent glass of water in front of me. The glass of water sat in a holster attached to the back of a seat in front of me. There was a child crying in the seat in front of me. The man beside me was reading his newspaper. I couldn’t see anyone else because the newspaper blocked my line of sight, but surely, everyone aboard the plane, except me, was minding their own business unperturbed and unfazed.

And then my anathema came without warning. It assaulted my hypnopompic body, severing my astral projection, causing my spirit to snap back into my body. I was fully aware now, fully feeling the quaking of the airplane. But it is ruthless. It went on to haul my heart down towards my stomach and send it into a pounding frenzy. It pushed my vision off a cliff, and I could see naught but black. It was like the moment a loose picture frame slips and slides down a wall; everything moved, and for a split second came a thought that the descent would never end. But it ended.

Thank goodness and bless the pilots.

You may shrug ‘the fall’ off as ‘mere flight turbulence’, but to me, ‘the fall’ is an unrivaled nemesis.

However, ‘the fall’ was probably an insignificant existence to someone within that fall. Someone who was a silent, brave child, and who was immune to it.

There was a child who was young and free, and loved adventure whenever and wherever. Adventure camp had high ropes, and the high ropes they would conquer. When they were reaching the end, they knew they would make it. No breeze wasn’t going to push them off their feet. Their hands held firm. The next rope was in just right in front of them. But as they lifted one foot from one plank to the next, the other slipped and off the high ropes course they went, downwards through the air, simply falling. Their life was only in the hands of a safety harness which they didn’t seem to care about, yet the child just swayed and gazed apathetically towards the brilliant sun, which was half eclipsed by the oscillating plank they had lost their footing on, and beamed.

This someone knows no fear. This someone is hardly a reflection of myself. This someone is difficult to find. But I found them.

Maybe I’ll be them one day.

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Author: Secrar vei Dyarnust (よしふみ)

Usually my proses are written in English first, then translated to Japanese. This is because my native language is English, which means I write more lively in English than in Japanese. On the other hand, my poetries are written in Japanese first, then translated to English. This is because Japanese is a language with multitudinous expressions about pulchritudinous and transcendent nature, relative to dastardly ostentatiously convoluted English.

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