For one odd moment in the afternoon, I saw my nose and suddenly I felt confined within my head, living somewhere behind my eyes, all of me. Eyes not windows to the soul alone, but now portals from which I peek about.
Like standing in the crown of Lady Liberty, or in the uppermost tiptop of the Empire State Building, although all that surrounds me is at least as high or higher, but the feeling that I exist way up here above the footings of real feet and walls of skin surrounding I-beams made of bone. Separate from the rest, my nose is but the intrusion of a half-settled shutter on full panoramic view unless I close one eye and then the other and dash between the two.
Hello! I’m here, look up! I hear within the voice that speaks is just from the next furrowed cerebral row. I’m all inside this area, an eight inch circled room where windows face in only one direction, yet I swivel shift this penthouse like the old Oakdale stage to play to any audience I choose. It’s dark both day and night except outside where the light is bright but strangely cannot penetrate the panes. And even then at high mid-day–if I want, I mean–I can pull the shades down low.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Clap Clap!
Oh good, I’m so glad someone understands what I am talking about.