(the pondering of an 'Alien' Self)

It takes forever.

You wonder if you'll die first.

There is a notion that the problem is far bigger than just will, or even desire. 

It seems to be a situation of entrapment.  But entrapped by who, or what?


I see the plan clearly.  I know the way home.  

I sit and I ponder and I feel I could rise and fly.


This is surely my time for exploring the DARK SIDE. 

The is the anti-universe that surrounds that which is real and clear. 

Contrary to what I've always thought, I don't seem to be alone. 

I don't even feel lonely.  

I am just LOST.


The wonderful feeling of DIRECTION is not here. 

I seem to be wandering, pointlessly, through fields of possibility---unable to attach to anything.  My magic shoes will not take me home. 

And the feeling of SAMENESS is overwhelming.  The lack of variety, the lack of seasoning.  It feels heavy, all about me, like my own personal atmosphere.

If I can just hang on---hold out---stay in position.  Perhaps they will come for me. 

I do not know who "they" are, but I am certain that they exist. 

It is this that forms my lifeline, my hope. 


I know now that it is this hope, this anguish, that creates the magic of "E.T."  The adorable children, the excitement of the chase, the fear of discovery.  All of these embellishments do not touch the internal knowing that we were all LEFT HERE---that we will all GO HOME someday. 

Late at night, I feel the vibrations. 

I ask the questions, speak the words---ancient words.  

My heart is true---I have been faithful.  Will you now forget ME?

Will you steal away with no point of contact?  Will I die here without you all?

To be a stranger, surrounded by strangers, is to be alone.

The task is almost finished, the future is assured.

How can I express this awful sense of knowing that identifies with shadows, phantoms in the night, that has no roots in flesh?  Will there ever again be a language that flows from heart to heart?

If I knew the answers, I would be halfway home. 

Yet my memories taunt and harass me at every turn.

Halfway home,

waiting to be ready,

waiting to be alive again.


Daniel Jacob.