[ THE HEAD, THE GIRL, & THE LIGHTHOUSE;, Amber Renee

[ The head, the girl, & the lighthouse;
by Amber Renee

 [ The head, the girl, & the lighthouse; having left earth some time ago,
capsuled or freeform I don’t know, but in any case alive,
dreaming & vast; they are in the company of
The Archetype Anima in the dream at last. ]

Far, far away…

SCENE  ,,Loose slips of dark ships slink laboriously through my skin, sail across my eyes, seep into my bones & infiltrate the sponge of my marrow. I’m inside these ivy-clad walls called all aboard the SS Universe University; I’m late for class & I can’t find my way.

Masts stretch up in unending erect, I am small. That’s when I see her.

[ The dream of a her, //not an I or a you, but just her, is a visit from the unconscious guidance the anima—an intuitive, feminine sort of source,,

manifest.            The girl gathers her bearings. ]

There is a storm stirring up outside. She is there next to me, speaking. //// There is whistle from a crack in the ship where the water leaks in. ,,The water is black //& thick, it glitters. Those sideways eyes green visionary in her face screw up in beautiful confusion when I tell her I don’t know what’s going on. “I know.” She laughs. “Did you forget already?” She asks. I scratch at an itch I don’t feel, unsure. “I’ll show you.” She decides. ,,Listening to her melodic voice hiss  //scratching scratching, before finding   myself floating, swimming midair in the dark deep space & small smaller. Evaporated.

~Existence spread out as far as the eye can see. Ah,
a tidal wave here, the bending of matter being a ripple sent crashing into oblivion
there,
& stars. Infillions upon infillions of stars.  (*)

Spinning sick aboard the ship so suddenly I don’t notice the difference.

It takes me a moment to catch my sealegs.

The Above, (I look) &, (I see) like
falling out it in thunderous waterfall-like I suddenly scream. The storm! The stars! I had forgotten & now it’s here! A monsoon of space rock & dust & oh, stars. //The rocking Ship SS Universe University creaks in uncertainty. The floors, polished & wood & throw rug, raise up before bounding to sink with the swelling ocean. There is no roof, & so I see the stars as they pass worlds, universes & dimensions harrowing to meet us; starting small like hail & growing to catastrophe threatening the boat but never touching. Yet.

Why must this be my fate?

//The stars play a tune,
as they whirl past, an
imaginary
reality
where just
the
chemical reactions
follow
playfully
after one another,
chasing
their own chance at creation. Become
gods
for the response
their
touch has
on existence.

Living forever. (*)

The deep baritone begins to hum along this still vacuum, sending vibrations which whisper a Morse code treasure map. I’m told to disregard the current, to find the isolated lighthouse & I’ll be spared. Yes, the one I don’t see. I see her though. “Come!” She says. “Directionless is futile. Quick! Imagine the buoyancy.” By which I assume she, in her fabulous air, means to be stop swimming so hard already! & so I calm: kicking soft legs, swiping easy arms. I’m still me, this helps me discover. I’m still you.

I begin to worry about sharks.

//& don’t you know? Only through thought & arousal can
anything
ever really
harm you………….. I look for the light desperately, the storm brewing in me with the starscape coming back & invisible sharks beneath me (I know it) & little flashes of sparkling where Anima Manifest used to be; & well, //black ooze between the fingers like fresh tar cool gets heavy. Swimming through deep space has its tactile reality, don’t you know? It exhausts, beautiful as the scenery is. Well, (suddenly I think,) ………….wouldn’t it be something if Anima’s beautiful flickers of light were the swirling blinks of the so sought after lighthouse guiding me home & after all this time? She smiles & is becoming a haze faroff-like mirage.

WAKE UP.

I guess I’ll never know.

Amber Renee writes out of her home in Bucks County PA. Winner of the 2014 BCCC Short Fiction Contest and as published poet, Amber plans to continue growing her written work. Past publications include “To Make The Darkness Conscious” and “Thoughts On This Most Recent Episode.” A student of psychology and philosophy, Amber considers herself a disciple of Carl Jung, an ongoing show through her work. Currently Amber can be found typing her upcoming Short Fiction Anthology The Occasional Delusions of… on a cracked laptop.

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About barkingsycamores 154 Articles
Barking Sycamores is a literary journal entirely edited and operated by queer neurodivergent people of color. We publish poetry, artwork, short fiction (beginning with Issue 3), creative nonfiction (beginning with Issue 8), and hybrid genre work (beginning with Issue 9) by emerging and established neurodivergent writers as well as essays on neurodiversity and literature and book reviews (beginning with Issue 10).

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