Never have I witnessed something so white yet so haunting and prepossessing at the same moment. Is there any music genre that would depict the three-dimensional story of a feeling. Like a folk story being narrated by the moon and the stars listening to it while the sky plays the piano. A Chopin’s B-flat minor Sonata, and fireflies dancing to it, like a synopsis of a film is about to stretch onto climax and smooths out the edges on its way to unfolding. A comet passes by on its elliptical orbit like a fireball with its out-of-control emotions for sun’s gravity, the celtic sensations of the melody didn’t let the poor one to hold it back. In the meantime, an artist on comfy September night listening to cello is painting the scene in chiaroscuro.
Looking for his beloved, he wanders onto empty hallways with no sign of where she might be, a maze of snowy white ambiance and earth toned floor, glistening as it has just been laid for his steps to be taken on. Finding words to describe his feelings of anxiousness, even the vocabulary wheel fails to provide words so his heart begins to dance in instantaneous movements, exalted and yearning. A sensitive soul, driven to accomplish nothing but goodness for every human being. Here standing idle on the closed corridor observing the light frolic between the windows making patterns on the floor. Hypnotic may it seem the glance at the symmetry of horizontal shadows rolls him up into reverie to the streets with abundant sunlight. A boy all dressed up in white, eyes squint-his innocent smile diminishes cacophony of street hustle. All he could focus on the sparkle on boy’s warm flesh as he slowly runs and sways along with his yellow kite which has a black tail and two polka dots above the cross bar.
“Downstairs”, his fanciful musing was disrupted by the words of a stranger who carefully read the lines on his face and directed him to his destination. The penrose stairs leading to abandoned room with toys lying aimlessly on the floor, making his way carefully to a pitch-black room where a light flashes out from the door undercut of another room. Music is a writer’s heartbeat said A.D. Posey, the heartbeat of a lover is where he finds his beloved. Overwhelmed, a jolt sent down his spine, his stomach fluttered; he could feel the rumbling sensation of his body in his ears. Knocking at the door opens up to the place where his beloved welcomed him, a 10 by 15 room with whitewashed walls, white door, white architrave, silver details perhaps the floor was slightly of different color he noticed. Felt like a small drop of heaven descendant on earth. Pure, sublime and serene, the peace struck him as he collapses into her arms and he smells petrichor in his lungs sending him into the fervent days of his childhood.
A course of true love never did run smooth, the mellow tune was still buzzing on the radio. Suddenly he looks outside the window, the silver moonlight reminds him of the folk tale, the stars that speckled and glittered in the skies above were the sequences laced on his beloved’s dress. The silence as if all the havoc has been sucked out from earth’s crust leaving tranquility for souls to breathe. Alas! Dream. The unfinished painting with vivid strokes and half empty white canvas, the last glance he had before he was conjured by the flashbacks of the dream he returns to the room. Everything went from black to white, a certain glitch and there he was all engulfed in purity. Murmured the sound of heartbeats, the best kind of sound his ears could witness. As all the mayhem just seemed to dissolve, his mind in complete sync to his heart tells him there will come days that will follow the legacy of today. The oneness filled his veins and as he loses himself to heavens above, a relief art flared before his eyes; curiosity fills his mind as he notices a black acrylic plate with numbers in white stated as 1399.
1399 : An excerpt from Dream Journal