Dreams of Beauty

(click) "Journal Entry #21

What is a dream? As a child, I heard stories of fantastical creatures, nightmares, odd structures built from the vast portions of our imaginations. They all bring about some kind of... clarity. As if dreams have a purpose for the conscious soul for self-discovery. Even emotions such as excitement, fear, happiness, fun..... even sadness.

Sadness.... now this emotion I am all too familiar with. How can I dream and imagine like everyone else being born blind? What is my purpose here, but to pose as a human being when I am incapable of visually understand anything outside of darkness? What I would give to imagine color, to dream in such detail as what every other human being that is not as broken as I?

Perhaps.... for me, dreams really are just darkness. For they are a false reality. Perhaps I am blessed not to indulge in such fantasies.... perhaps.

Journal Entry End" (click)


"Keep journal entries he said.... if that's all I need to do, why bother paying the damn psychiatrist.... such a waste." I woke up in the middle of the night. Lurking around, trying to make my way to the balcony. Not to kill myself of course, but to listen to all the sounds in the city below. I could tell it was the evening, because despite the setting, everything is quieter than usual. Despite my lack of sight, I know my way around the apartment at least from memory and sound. I turned right to open the screen door that led to the balcony, felt for a chair, and sat down to listen to everything. All the people below, wandering through the warm embrace of the night, chatting about what they bought, and how much fun they are having. Cars remained busy as well, honking, and catering to the public's every transportation need.

I begin to question why I have come here. In all this darkness, perhaps, I like to try to imagine what a city can look like. Try to interpret everything as much as I can. Gather up the sounds, picture those who are walking and talking about what sort of color shoes and shirts they are wearing. I don't even know what color looks like, but I can pretend at least that it is different. I can pretend that the night is as dark with little dots in them. How can I tell what stars look like? I don't know what they look like, but I am trying... trying very hard... to pretend that they are there. I hear the lights in the sky are similar to lights in my apartment, or on a cars rear and front. I try to imagine that those dots are all similar. I try.

Huh... I try to imagine eh? Funny... I went from pretend to imagine.... in a couple of sentences. But I can't imagine anything. I try to pretend what it feels like with everyone else, but no matter how hard I try to pretend, or imagine, I succeed in only giving myself a headache with a side of utter frustration.

"Fuck this." I get up, wander back to my room, felt for the bed, and fell right on top of it. Not doing anything else. Just closed my eyes and hoped that, perhaps, I can dream of something other than darkness.

*    *    *

(click) "Journal Entry #25


I hate you journal.

I just wanted to let you know that. You keep track of my hopes and desires for the past 24 recordings, and my psychiatrist unintentionally mocks me as a result. It's not his fault though, it's yours. I should try and accept my predicament, but yet here you are, trying to help console me. That perhaps I am a creature of imagination, of having dreams like everyone else. This booze right here does a better job than you, and I can already feel it's mind-numbing greatness being absorbed into my brain and you know what? I love it. This is exactly what I needed.

Dreams.... who needs them...."

(click)

*  *  *

This heat..... why is it so hot?

"Aaaahhhhh!!!!!!"

Screams.... who is screaming? Amy? Is that you?

"Aaaaahhhh! Help me please! I'm trapped!"

"Where are you? Amy!? Amy I'm coming!"

I ran to the voice. I knew I was getting closer. The heat from the fire hardly bothers me, yet I can feel my skin boiling. He cries become louder, and though I was able to find the house, the fire stopped. No more heat. It was completely normal. I try to feel my way around, and in front I felt a body on the floor. "Amy!" I said aloud, and I reached down to touch her face, but the face was burnt, and I cannot recognize the features. "Amy?" No response. I lift the head up, and I try, I try so hard to picture her face in my head, but it's fading, and the only way I know how to 'see' her face is to actually see it.

"Help me! Adam please help!"

I hear her screams, but I cannot tell if it's from the body or somewhere else. If only I could see to find Amy. To save her. But I can't. I'm trapped. 

Silence.

I released the body, and in darkness, I accepted that I was alone.

*    *    *

"So, how did the tapes work?"

A week later, I went back to the psychiatrist office for an appointment. The couch that I lay on is obnoxiously cushiony, and the office smelled like a rubber glove.

"I think they made me worse doc. I'm at the point where I may even consider suicide."

"Why?" he asked.

"I can't stand it. There is world right before my eyes that will forever stay locked away from my sight. It's beauty, that I try so hard to picture in my head, but I struggle."

"Maybe you should stop struggling then."

I sat up. Folded my hands. "Did you just advocate suicide there doc?"

"No. I mean just forget about trying to visualize everything. Listen... if you happen to go to a waterfall, a really big waterfall, with a friend. Your friend tell you 'Wow! That thing is huge! So beautiful!' What would you experience?"

"I will hear how loud the waterfall is."

"And what else?"

"What do you mean what else?"

"Your environment. Tell me what you hear about your environment. What you smell, taste. Here.... the waterfall is right in front of you, and all around you is a bunch of trees and animals. Tell me, what do your other senses pick up?"

I tried to picture it... no.... I now try to imagine the forest around me. The waterfall in front. "I hear a big waterfall in front of me. The steady rumble as water collides with water."

"Good. What else?"

"I hear birds chirping. Some even flying. Critters scampering. I smell.... water mixed with the aroma of the forest. Kind of smells bad but.... alive. I can even taste the water.... and a slight breeze on the warm, sunny day."

The psychiatrist chuckled. "I never said it was sunny."

"Yeah well it's not your imagination is it? Haha."

"Ah yes. This imagination you complain about."

Imagination.... yes.

"Let me tell you something you may have already heard." Said the psychiatrist. I began to listen. "We humans who have visual perception, obviously can see things that you cannot. However, you interpret the world through your own mind, in a way that anyone who pretty much has visual perception cannot. These things that you hear, smell, taste, and even touch or feel, are much greater than others. This beauty that us visual creatures see that you complain about, is just our own perception. You sir, have your own perception. You interpret beauty differently from anyone else. It may not be the same, but you interpret it in our own way regardless."

I remained silent to think about it.

"You spoke about Amy before. Who is she?"

"She was....a friend."

"Was?"

"She's gone now."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that... forgive me for asking you this question, but did you think she was beautiful?"

"..Yes."

"Then you can still interpret beauty, despite your sight."

*  *  *

I left the office, feeling somewhat liberated. At the house, I brought up a beer, and sat on the balcony. Taking in the warm, night air. The subtle noise below.

The evening is somewhat... beautiful.