Peace comes in many forms, as well in the form of many people. But when the calamity of life becomes perhaps too complex or perhaps too stressful there comes a moment when the absence of it all becomes important. To be absent from one’s own life is even at times considered irresponsible as a neglection of duties is not the correct path towards success. But for a few passing moments it’s acceptable; tolerable without an accompanying chaos as a result. Where a person disappears when they need to changes depending on what they need. To be honest though I can’t imagine anyone going somewhere noisy, and chaotic like new york as that would seem to defeat the purpose of what you’re trying to achieve in terms of tranquility.

If I were to verbalize what this place looks like for me this would be it.


I’m asleep.

But then I’m not, it’s not jarring but a quiet awakening. I can feel air rushing around me. I can hear it very faintly in the background I’m in the middle of a field that is endlessly filled with tall grass or wheat or something that pleasantly rustles as it blows in the aforementioned wind.

Maybe I sit up for a moment or maybe I just lay there for few moments longer. I’ll stand up soon. I’m wearing very loose clothing but it still fits correctly. Appearances are everything after all. It’s worth mentioning that there’s no dirt on my clothes despite the fact I’m been lying on the grass. In my pockets I’ve got my glasses, a small notebook, a pencil, and a painted rock. The small notebook I’ve got in pocket is filled with a dozens of pages of writing. It’s the reason I’m here. The glasses in my pocket are functionally useless as I can see everything ahead of me with what I might even say great clarity perhaps. Having them in front of my eyes may actually worsen my vision but having them gives me peace of mind.


So I’ve stood up. The wind is blowing my hair back off my face. The temperature is very comfortable outside, and I don’t feel cold against the evening air but refreshed. I could stay here I while, but I probably shouldn’t. Everytime I come here it seems something is slightly different. Last time the grass was taller. The time before that there was no grass at all, and a thin layer of water stretched til the horizon. I could stop, and consider the significance of these changes but what would be the point. Sometimes there had been tall building too far in the distance to walk to. Or maybe they hadn’t been buildings are all. Other times it’s small cottage like structures; Ones you could live in but there in lies a danger. If one gets too comfortable one might not want to leave such a tempered place such as this. But this time there are no buildings, no water just tall wheat or grass beneath my feet. Eventually the horizon does stop though, and then there’s an endless expanse of sky before me.


There are no stars in the sky. No visible light source even. Almost if the ground itself is what’s radiating light but it’s not obstructive light like in a city. And it’s almost as if I could see the entire expanse of sky from my field. It’s a lovely deep purple color. And I can see thousands of planets faraway in the reaches of the cosmos but obscuring  a portion of the sky above is a planet that could be jupiter but it’s bright blue, and it has two separate orbiting levels of rings around it. As it spins I can see individual rocks orbiting in there ovular patterns. I asume from the gravity that’s likely why it’s so windy here or maybe that’s caused by something else entirely.


I didn’t bring a watch so I have idea about the time I’ve been her, and I  don’t know what I’m waiting but it seems like longer then last time whatever it is. But I feel like I can control how fast the time is going. So I do. The wind gets stronger, and time speeds up. The rings on the unnamed glowing planet speed up, and it even seems like as a result a few of the asteroids go flying off into the rest of space. The planets pulsate, and glow brighter then darker then brighter in repeated glimmering patterns. The wheat plants grow, and then die, and then grow, and then die several thousand times. Generations of grass wither, and die. Then something unexpected happens. After several minutes trees begin to grow out the ground. Some bare fruit others just leaves to show their efforts. Time keeps speeding forward as I turn and look at dozens of trees growing hundreds of feet tall around me. Eventually they too die, and fall, and then regrow, and then fall once more.


After several hours of time sped up some planets blink out. Others appear in their place. In the surrounding grass I can see shadows, very faint smudges of movement across the fields of grass for mere fractions of second. I can’t tell what they are everything as is moving too fast. So I slow time down again but I don’t seem anymore of them. So I try again. They move across the plains so incredibly fast. And then I manage to stop everything it just the right moment.


It’s an old woman. Dressed similar to how you would imagine a sherpa dressing. I watch her as she slowly waddles in my direction. Step by step. She’s got white hair in a braid that swishes back and forth as she walks. Her skin is tan, and wrinkled. The fabric from her poncho also swishes back, and forth in the wind. I walk towards her, and as I approach she waves at me. She has no teeth but she’s smiles largely as I jog over to her.  I don’t say anything but she motions with her hand for me to give her my notebook, and the pencil so I do.


She draws a single line through the first line of writing I have in the book on the first page. She hands it back to me, pats me on the shoulder, and looks into my eyes once more before she begins walking away.


Dozens of others follow her. Each crossing out a singular line from the pages in my notebook. When the page is complete they take that too. Until I have but a singular page in my notebook. Some people are old, some are young, people of all different shapes, and sizes. When at last the final person has appeared to have come and gone only one line is left in my notebook much thinner than it’s fuller former self.


No more people appear to becoming. The grass continues to rise and fall, and the trees continue to fall, rise, decompose, and rise again. And it would seem as if an insurmountable amount of time has transpired.


But the last line of of my notebook still remains. So I reach into my pocket, and pull out the stub of a pencil. And I cross out the last line myself. As I do so the wind picks up much stronger then it was before, but time is still moving normally. I can hear the rustling of paper, grass, and chimes as I’m blown slightly off balance. It grows louder, and louder as the sound of paper rustles from seemingly nowhere.


And then the nonexistent sun becomes blocked out as a cloud of paper cranes flies in a construction across the sky. All made of yellowish lined notebook paper. They ride the wind. Rising, and falling through the skies, and clouds.


The paper in my own hand begins to cringle, and fold itself into a similar crane. It’s slow but the wings take shape, and it’s long neck folds between them as the body takes shape, and bends accordingly. The small crane does a small test flap of its wings before it leaps off the cardboard backing of my notebook, and defying gravity it sails off into the wind to join the rest of the cranes. The flock begins a decent to recapture it’s lost member. Thousands of them fly past, and all around me. As their newest addition is encapsulated, and disappears. I slow down time so that what could be seconds lasts days. The paper cranes ranging in size, and color appear almost suspended from strings as they freeze position in their numbers. I reach up to grab one, and hold it as it unfurls itself revealing some writing on the inside of the paper.


It’s in gibberish. I can’t read it. But I don’t think I was meant to. It’s a problem, an issue, a name from another visit I assume, and it being incomprehensible tells me it’s of no use trying to understand the past for which it was written. I resume normal time, and I let it fall to the ground, but before it hits the grass it’s refolded itself and already taken flight once more.


At last the flock ends, and continues off into the sky. Until the sounds of chimes, rustling paper, and wind fade once more I watch the rise, and falling arcs of the cranes navigate the open skys.


I always know when the time of a visit has reached it’s time to cease, and I sense this is it. The paper cranes are new. They weren’t there before. Some manifestation of inner thought. As all my lists containing things wrong with life have disappeared, and no longer bother me I anticipate not returning for a while. Until the next notebook is brimming with lines of text. In what form, or who will take them away escapes me.


My pockets are lighter, and my glasses have found their way onto my face, and miracle be told they once again are doing their job of correcting my vision. I now realize how foolish it was to assume they would only inhibit my vision when their purpose is specifically to help me. I reflect on this ignorance, but move on.


The world seems much brighter than before, and the light even begins to then obstruct my ability to see the far planets in the sky, and then the unnamed jupiter, and then the trees, and even the grass several feet in front of me. The wind continues blowing through my hair, and against my skin as the light envelopes everything. I lay down, close my eyes, take off my glasses, and let the world dissolve around me.


-A Restored Record of Myself




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