Breakthrough

floating down a hallway lighter than lucidity focusing on scenery, housecats and plants the marvels of geometry the fixtures for lamps walls, doors, distance and fast reactions in slow-motion my dream’s unwavering devotion to forward momentum toward swinging them open without handles, doors made from glass so clear that whatever’s on the other side is actually already here the worlds that these glass doors divide are near enough to share their name syllables split with white wooden frames swung wide open, eyes are gazing at something so amazing that my head shuts off before I really see it all before I believe, I fall through this layer of total awareness asleep but almost dreaming myself awake when I was a child, a long time ago I painted a volcano and hid it away somewhere deep in my soul behind doors of black sand sculpted by hand from treasures my grandfather gave me for show     and tell a little container for holding a roll     of film but FILLED with this distant beach that tethered living mountains to the sea like violence, ash, and memory crashing down lashing out, my tiny eruptions through adolescence, back through pre-pubescence and now through my skin like drug abuse, like hitchhiking from pressure building up within behind those doors of black sand where my first creation stands and waits the last bastion of my hope, my grace my weightless form now gravitates toward behind those doors of glass so clear        that years went by before I even realized they were there like shaving off my hair or pretending to be scared until I really was my forearms scarred with burns and cuts self-destructive attempts to cover up a simple need for love I’ve tasted blood I’ve wasted some of my potential but enough of me remains to be someone that makes mistakes and overcomes floating down a hallway reeling with lucidity propelled by some current of experience within me toward a doorway in the distance behind which lies a rite of passage, an icon so massive it defies explanation a childhood creation painted in my mind that with pressure and heat, isolation and time slowly transformed the blackest sand of those doors into glass so clear, so real, so pure I could see what wasn’t there but now the doorway is open and in awe, I just stare and stare