I am certain if I brought my body here, it would be lighter to carry; weightless even.
It is almost instant; that split moment of holding onto something beyond. That is what this place is—somewhere higher. Something more. When the firebirds opened up their flaming wings around me, the sky spilled orange and I could feel the scorching in the air, enough to burn and exorcise me, yet it smelled like the first droplets of rain after years of stomping dry, cracked ground. I am one with the heat, alive with my new found dwelling. It is different here, you see. I have never known of a place like this, where I am neither on nor under. I am untethered; the foundation which holds me is neither made of sand nor soil or of the rarest and most precious stones. It is ethereal, this place; an unhinged world splayed so far into the horizon that my sight turns hazy when I try to look further. There is nothing before here and there is nothing after; this place is lush with luminescent colors which blend into the dark vastness of space. The people who come here are uncanny; they embody loudness that is hinged on a knowing quiet. Some of them are crowned Osu; renegades wearing their title with great pride; shoulders raised, outgrown hair and bright eyes. They blossom well in this place. They say I am one of them. We are listening to the drunken heartbeat of life, thumping our chests with fiery fists. There are some of us who dance and dance on life’s intoxicating strings, making strange music, diffusing into this world, sating appetites for beauty and madness. That is one of the upsides of leaving our bodies behind— we do not tire and we do not need rest. When we are here, we live as though we have minutes before we are called back. We know how to raise igneous castles in the air; castles that do not easily crumble but befit the rawness of our imagination. We are messy, the ones who come here. We are daunted, sometimes, for our unconventionality. So when the world spins too fast, when it makes no sense or when it makes too much sense, it is here we come. There is an essence in this world that breathes into our flames, enriching us with new audacity to live. Everything we touch either comes ablaze or turns to cinders. We are the ones who feel—anything and everything—beyond the necessary depth. To us, loss is a jolting splinter; a splinter is a wide-mouthed void; a void is the coming of fresh fire. Inside us, there is much stillness yet there is also unchoreographed and thunderous movement. There is a surrendering to things unseen nevertheless felt deeply inside us. There is the feeling of passion—not slipping in like a lullaby, but urging like a primal, compelling thrum. In all things it burns within us, beckoning to be answered. All of you are here. My kin. The misunderstood and the untamed. The Osu. We wander in the middle of life and his wry shadow. There are places that are and there are places that aren’t, but it is here we choose to come. We become wraiths that wander when we close our eyes, sometimes for seconds, other times for days. Sometimes we come here, sometimes we are brought here. So when you ask us where we went for that split second, we tell you nowhere; but we know it is this place. We know it exists and it doesn’t exist. We know it is a place where flesh is a myth and body is a vessel. We know it is a place where time is warped, stretched and elongated. We know it is a place we go to meet the people who know, even before they are told.
