The Water Bearer

Then it dawned on me. I was drowning in the deep and no one had the empathy, or the compassion to save me. I was doomed. My destiny, one of those who are chosen to inherit good fortune and good will. Had turned into a mockery, because I could not stay present long enough to see the evil shadows and false prophet that occupied space in my mind. The uncanny result of a self-induced psychosis caused by my own lack of accountability was driving me insane. It was pure guilt. I was the weakest link, and because of it I was drowning in the deep. Night after night I haunted myself in my sleep.

That night the lightning storms struck so close that I could feel the heat on my bedroom window. The television show that I watched was sad, the music was sad, and I was sad. I was over myself and everyone else was over me as well. But I had to get to the bottom of it. I had no choice but to do it. To face my sleeping self, because I knew that what I was experiencing was real. I woke up every morning and could actually feel the water on my back, and see the mud on feet.

Overwhelmed by exhaustion, I dropped down to my knees and submitted to the will of God. I prayed, took a long hot bath, then laid on the coach, ate junk food, and attempted to read a few passages of Nostradamus poetic quatrains. The chatters in my head were too overwhelming. The voice’s relentless crave to master my attention was demanding and like a puppet I obeyed every ruminating thought that came to mind. After hours of unproductively searching Google and browsing conspiracies on YouTube I felt my ears starting to ring. My head started to ache, and my eyes got heavy. It was happening, I was blacking out. I tried so hard to keep my eyes open but the enchantment was too strong. Before I knew it, I was waking up in the middle of an ocean where the waters didn't mix, and the atmosphere was plain. It was a place that couldn't be reached by car, boat, or plane. The dream was as vivid as a deja'vu. It always began with the ritualistic sounds of shamanic drums. It felt like some sort of homecoming ceremony or something. Here I am standing at some kind of mystical passage deep under the turbulent waters beneath San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge. Once I became unconscious from literally drowning, the only lifeline that operated was my subconscious mind. All of my known senses were lost. I couldn't see, taste, feel or talk. I could only hear, and all of a sudden I felt an airy like sensation and through my pineal gland I saw her. She was an ancient serpent with so many heads that I couldn't keep count.

Through the gates I was met by the conductor of this journey. An extra tall humanoid that had the most awkward stance, and the most piercing eyes that I have ever seen. Once we were granted access, we entered a spinning tunnel. On the other side was a panel of elders. Then everything went black. All I could hear was voices. The voices of the unknown criticized my entire existence in and out of time. They opened my life up like a book, and laid me out to dry. I was vulnerably, naked and nothing was up for discussion. It was my Akashic record. Every detailed account from every lifetime that I have ever lived. My story was that of a virgin turned serpent, and my enlightenment of the expensive price that I was destined to pay for the privilege of free will. A pitiless dance with the devil, boldly in the wilderness. My transgressions were enough to shame, but I remained proud. All of a sudden, I heard a loud roar of thunder and there I was back in my bedroom, gasping for air. No one but me, sadness, and karmic justice. I was a prisoner in my own mind. A victim of my own demise, drowning in the deep, turbulent waters of uncontrolled emotions, and wasted time.

The End.