Glistening reflection of consciousness

How beautiful mystery can be. I stepped out of my house into the night-drenched street and was surprised to find a drunk pissing on the wheel of a car on the opposite side of the road like a stray unkempt dog. He stared at me with empty eyes and a groggy indifference, fairly incomprehensible this state of affairs was for the both of us. Then all of a sudden I felt a strange affinity with the drunk as we both stood in the moonlight – he had dulled his sense of self in a downward transcendence of sorts, but his craving initially stemmed from the same elusive thing we both searched for - that escape from the incessant pain of this illusion of separateness we are habitually imprisoned by, terminally alienated from our true Selves. I silently wished him better luck in his quest, and went on my way.
As I made my travel up Grove road strange unfounded waves of paranoia rushed through me, and as each vehicle passed I felt I was about to become the victim of some random drive-by shooting, this sensation was so peculiar. I managed to curb this reaction (snigger) as the sight of the new public house up ahead soon calmed me. The grand Tudor building and the surrounding trees were incandescent with the eerie atomic-green of an anonymous floodlight and the moon directly above was phased at such an angle as to give the impression it was looking down at the scene in a leaning, animal inquisitive gaze. It was a picture of strange splendour, and I looked hard at the face of the moon and its eyes and mouth and sensed its amber complexion as if the sodium glare of these innumerable streets had tainted even its remote and cratered countenance. This image stuck with me all the way to Chris’s doorstep.
After a quick game of playstation FIFA and a short appreciation of the bass guitarist in The Who on a taped concert, we (as in Gaz, Chris and I) left for the auspicious natural theatre that awaited us on the promenade. We skipped like small frantic children up to the edge of the sea wall and peered into the black riled waves. Immense power was severely perceptible, and respect awe and beauty were emotions that congealed together in our minds. Life undulated in the rhythmic water, and with it death. The cold maelstrom allowed no eye to pierce its surface, and if the fear of the unknown could physically become manifest it was here, before us, welling up the dark unfamiliar images of aquatic terror within us: the Kraken, shark, terrible stinging jellyfish and the silent gulping horror of the solitary drowned.
We stood back from the concrete bulwark and regarded the stars. It was a clear night and we saw glimpses of the zodiac, but the harsh inner city blaze cut out what we knew was overhead, the vast scatter of the godhead since beginningless time. Still, we appreciated what we could see and considered the tremendous cosmic dome in view, the exposed state of our own nervous systems twinkling, the glistening reflection of consciousness. It was a wondrous night.
The air was soft and light around our heads and we felt the compulsion to take to height, the small sandy alcove of our hilltop retreat called wordlessly. Soon we were in the park, staring at the rich coastline flats and over above them and out into the silent seascape. There were allusions to previous hilltop reflections, higher states of awareness and existences that we had tasted. ‘Awake! O sleeper of the land of shadows!’ said I, quoting Blake, ‘I am in you and you in me, mutual in love divine!’ The self slowly receded into a blurred back-corridor of the mind, and we spoke of higher deaths and ego-less ramblings. Chris laughed at the ebony sky and proclaimed to its gargantuan compass, ‘We get ruined on deepness!’ How many had even glimpsed our world?
We, amusement, we, blood-life and the circulation of entrance into being of our own non-doing all up to God, us of course. This entrance into consciousness had been timeless and so, in eternity we had played it all before and we would play it again in ripped-up calculus with every number a wide-mouthed 0 encompassing all. Ah! Life! We had food, shelter, we needed nothing more. And nobody else would ever realise our peerless wealth. We were.
The night had shown us its pleasures through us, it had hospitably recognised its reality through our own minds and we gratefully withdrew to save ourselves for another nocturnal being we knew would come. We returned to the streets, Chris looked in big grin to us, ‘I’m going in to eat some yoghurt.’ It was a perfect manifesto in the mild heart we shared. Our time tonight was over but that was true and right and not a problem here.
The central reservation ploughed out into the dark and found our individual homecoming. We would happen again no doubt about it.