The Face
As the face fell down through countless dimensions into timelines which were tighter and spaces which were more self-contained, it had a chance to see itself. One of its sparks was experiencing a highly heightened state of consciousness. The face was being pulled towards that moment. It was being summoned by the splintered version of itself. It was about to be revealed.
The face felt its age, somewhere between 30 and 35 years old. It saw how male it was. Rugged, sun-dried skin but attractive features. A bald head, sometimes by choice, sometimes by design, and dark, thick eyebrows above chaotic brown and hazel eyes. There was always a single piercing in the left earlobe. Whether it was utilized or not depended on the personality in charge of that specific lifetime. The nose was large but not out of place, wider than it was long and always a little skewed to the right side of the face. The nose fell down to the mustache which hugged the upper lip tightly and snuggly. It made a smile appear devious and a smirk appear obvious. The teeth were bright and distinct despite a lack of care. There was a space between the front two which added character where none was needed. The jaw was covered with a strong, masculine beard made of jet black hair. The face knew this area was there to be constantly groomed when deep thoughts or heavy contemplation occurred.
The most striking thing though was not the way the face looked but the way it stayed consistent throughout lifetimes and dimensions. Whether the face was inhabiting its highest self or squirming through its most minuscule life, the features remained similarly distinguished.
The splintered self had not been aware of this reality. In fact, his amnesia had been so complete that he believed that his own face was his and his alone. That it was not borrowed or part of a larger creature’s reality. But now, looking in his mirror, on a heroic dose of LSD, he saw the reality morph and his face became new and different while remaining exactly the same. He saw that the face was not his alone. Or, he saw that he was more than his face and that the bigger his awareness became the more his previous concept of selfhood diminished.
With each breath his awareness grew.
He climbed up the pathway that the face had created for him during its fall. He breathed and he climbed and he grew until he couldn’t see the face anymore. Instead, he was the face and the face was him. He acclimated himself to this new space, finding great power in the simple rise and fall of his breath. It was life.
With each breath in, a new creation. With each breath out, a new creation. The small space between breaths was transitionary.
A birth, a death. It didn’t matter. Nothing was lost, nothing was gained.
It was as it is.
He breathed.
Slower, quieter, stronger. Silence. Peace. Suddenly, he felt himself falling back down. He looked up and saw the face looking down at him. It got smaller as he fell. He reached his hand out but couldn’t touch it. It had disappeared.
As his high wore off, he fell through countless dimensions, slowly returning to his body. Upon landing, he lamented, breathing shallowly. He was stranded here, in this body, in this small space, in this little envelope of reality. He was himself again, splintered off, isolated, alone.
But he remembered.
He was but a breath, a simple creation of some greater existence. Nothing implied, nothing necessary, nothing required. Just a breath. As was the face. And is the face. And always will be the face.
Just a breath.
In. Out.
Up. Down.
Slow. Savor.
In. Out.
