The rolling scenery. Zean sees nature at its most beautiful and infinite. Down to the exact blades of grass blowing in the wind, everything is orchestrated and comes together in the moment. He knows he is a part of the moment, a drop in the ocean, a ripple on the water. Such a small part, but an important one. He is, he belongs, he exists. And this is something he will never forget.
The sounds of nature come to him in a flood. The sounds of water on the pebbles, of sunlight on the tips of leaves; he doesn’t know how he feels it, but he does. Part of him wants to step out, to run, to become at one with the world. But at the same time he knows his place for now is here, inside the room. He looks around the room. Modest possessions are placed in small, well-ordered arrangements. Everything is ordered and neat. He knows he is not what he has, but what he feels, what he experiences, what he sees. He only needs his senses to live, and he lives by his senses. If he had more than this, it would cloud his perception and make him falter. He has exactly the minimum of what he needs.
Some tea is in the pot next to a table. It is cold but cold is how he likes it; the heat dampens the taste. He stands and walks over to the pot, basic and simple though it is. A small clay cup is by the table, he pours himself a drink. The tea is green and rich, strong and mild although sharp to the first taste.
Zean lives on his tea. It helps him concentrate, calms his nerves and make him feel part of the wider world again, away from the material excess and unnatural flavours. Contemplating the leaves at the bottom of his cup, he thinks he sees something there, no, perhaps he does. The leaves look like a bird about to rise in flight, to spread its tall wings and soar above the trees. He wonders whether the bird is him, perhaps in a future life.
The thoughts cloud his mind and he casts himself adrift in pools of memory. People, places, faces he’s known before he came out here in the world outside the window.
There is a woman, she smiles and laughs before his eyes, but her laughter is soft and gentle, not mocking. It falls about him like bright summer light, making him feel warm and chosen. He sees himself holding hands with her, and walking together, through the streets of a town.. a familiar place, his birthtown. He sees her face frown, creasing slightly and turning away from him standing there. Zean sighs and the woman vanishes. There are always sacrifices, he thinks. Always sacrifices.
Faces come to him now in a stream, fast and thick, freed from the depths of his memories. They are alive suddenly in his mind. Seeking solace he rises and walks to the door, left ajar. He steps towards the world outside and it fills his mind. The chirping of birdsong replaces his past, his history. The sound of water eases his doubt, his melancholy. The motion of crickets makes him feel alive again, younger than he remembers himself to be. There is a spring in his stride as he walks amongst the tallest oaks, and weaves through the bracken of the forest. He is alive in the oldest way, cut loose amongst his ancestors, the beauty of time forgotten and put inside a frame that he can walk into, and touch and feel and be. The forest closes around him and he lets it.
Zean thinks and feels like the world around him. His senses are becoming a thousand times stronger and greater, and it is getting more intense by the second, Zean IS the world around him, he IS this forest, these trees, this air; nothing can move him out of this; he is as strong as the branches around him, as old as the path before him, as alive and as free as the thousands of creatures before and beside him.
He wishes and the world wishes around him, the sense, his? our? senses are blurring and he loses himself and wishes, he wishes, no, we? wish that he can go back, to step away from the eternity of ‘we’ to the single of ‘I’, and everything is blinding and grasping and he is running, running back to the room, his place, his refuge, back to the green tea at the table.. he cries out in pain at the separation and reaches the door; throws himself through it.. and finally, finally shuts the door, slams it, and collapses on his bed.
