Sometimes the red-heat-sunlight becomes too blinding-brilliant and a restless wind blows, ruffling my mind like pages of fine vellum. Then I slip into the solace of evening and let the darkness carry me w-a-a-a-y over all Consciousness, where I can watch the tumbling, frothing life stream rolling along its well-worn course. Where I can hear the cries of the newly birthed and the dying; where I see Life’s milk and blood mingle and curdle and rot.

Here are our dreams, our doubts, our archetypal fears. The wars we fight without knowing why. The sharp pricks in our collective hearts which collective hands instinctively cover. This world which hides behind conscious eyes can be dark and fetid as an Inquisitioner’s chamber, reeking of charred flesh and bloated organs, sulphuric as Hell itself.

And yet, above the stench, I often catch a glimpse of tiny hands, folded with a child’s faith into prayer, and I am captivated by the existence of Infinite Possibility. Infinite truths await discovery and infinite unwritten songs take form inside open minds.

And that is why I am happy to escape sunlight and let the darkness carry me.

Want to comment on this Prose? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Prose and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...