I’m in a theatre. Or maybe a cinema.
Sitting in the middle of the seating area, alone. No one else.
It’s dark, but every few minutes a short film or drama starts, just for a minute or two.
Mostly they are disorientated bits from a narrative.
They have no beginning and no ending.
There is no explanation.
Some are flashes of colour with emerging images. Some graphic and realistic.
After each extract I sit or lie in darkness and silence and piece together what I remember.
I try to make sense from abstraction.
Some extracts are good, nice, warm, comforting, happy.
Many are horrid, frightening and dark.
Some are of real memories, events from decades ago. Some just fantastic fabrications.
Every night they come.
The clock moves on each time I look.
1.37… 2.15 … 2.59 … 4.07 … 4.31 …
And I fall back into the theatrical, cinematic world of … what?
Isolation is drawing back the stage curtains.
The paper over my cracks is tearing as cracks widen into fissures and crevices and crevasses.
And the stuff (of dreams) that I have been hidden and hiding from is emerging from darkness.
It’s squeezing out, like puss.
My daily fabric of contacts, diaries and activities has ceased.
My daily diversions from the stuff I fear can no longer divert me.
And my demons catch up. I can no more keep ahead of them.
It is a time of regression.
A time of demons.
And perhaps a time of being swallowed by the darkness that I have learned to keep away from.
And just when I need a hand to hold there are no hands to hold.
Just my own, clutching the fabric to hide what’s behind.
I cannot do this at night, when sleep has to happen.
That’s the frightening time.
Night. Dark. Helplessness.
I know, awake, I am not alone.
You too have demons and darkness you hide.
This time of absence and disorientation will be difficult.
We will be unbalanced.
So we must find ways of keeping grounded.
Seeing the sun and the clouds. The flowers and trees and birds.
They go on, and so will we.
Stay in the light.