Towards a Greater Understanding

By Mark Wolters

PROMPT — The way I see it ...

The way I see it, where the planes take off was the most fascinating part of the field in my opinion. There the stars blinked, twinkling tales from another universe, one so vast that even the human imagination could not fathom. There I sat under the moon waiting to hear mighty jet engines screaming past me to the sky where they belonged. My thoughts yearned to be there with all that power.

Somehow, the only way I could begin to believe in anything was by simply sitting in the cool damp grass in the amazing early summer morning, listening for these planes roaring by like ocean waves crashing against the rocky shores. Sometimes the belief in something greater than what I could see, hear or smell held my dream open to reality. This was the existence I wished for. This was what I longed to feel.

Some hundred yards in the distance, perhaps twenty long-legged, drooling men and women, ran at full speed toward me. There I saw them race like mad dogs on acid, but no coherent sounds emitted from their screaming mouths, only a sort of gurgle that reminded me of when the kitchen sink became plugged with too much lettuce.

How could I tell these people what was on my mind without them thinking I was mad? Why should it matter if they believed I was mad anyway? The first act of free will is making that choice and acting upon it without reservation. Yet, there I sat on the cool, damp earth like a confused troglodyte with no sense of direction. Was I insane in thinking there was another universe beyond the small minds of these silent screechers? These twenty, would they care to discuss the hopelessness of wanton desires that mean very little in the so-called big picture.

The voices then spoke to me in clean, angelic tones, "Wonder to wander, do you? Pick me! Pick me!"

So I did.

Transcended I was beyond the physical to the realm of another galaxy some hundreds of thousands of light years away. It wasn't space as I recalled from the old television programs of my youth. It was a gigantic fountain of flowing light that caressed my inner being. From this vast distance I saw the insane people look skyward in a vain attempt at viewing my body. I was nowhere to be seen.

The voices said to me in ethereal tones mixed with a majestic spherical harmony that I was chosen to mingle for a while with that which I could not understand.

If only my mind could translate the thoughts these voices shoved into my brain like some hard drive among the ten trillion bits of memory completely unavailable to the mortal being.

A tear dripped down my cheek to know there was nothing I could do for the madding crowd of twenty. With the sweep of my hand, they disappeared before the eyes of the passengers in the jet that rocketed close to the earth. It was necessary to be rid of these cumbersome, silent folk who had one intent-- death. Death of that which they did not understand nor wish to understand. If only there could be some other way-- perhaps a bizarre state of suspended animation more complex than any Disney movie. But that was not possible, for at the time I was in the minute speck of the eye of a galactic hurricane.

When the voices suggested I introduce myself to the one and only, I forgot myself for a moment and believed they were talking about me. That wasn't expected and they put a chalk mark on a board somewhere for my ingenuity. Somehow, I had them convinced that I was beyond what they considered human, and I alone laughed to myself with great pleasure at the duping of the strange beings that held me in safety from the harsh environment of space.

"Who holds these thoughts?" came a voice from a sun that looked remarkably like a huge piece of granite.

"I do," I finally spoke after a millennium of silence.

"Your patience has been noted," the sun said and proceeded to wait another five million years before answering my next question.

"To where shall I go?"

In the deep silence of this galaxy hundreds of thousands of light years from home, I counted my blessings, one by one. As the centuries passed, I became aware of a stunning fact-- I could not stop finding things to be thankful for, even though everyone I ever knew had vanished from memory. I was astounded that it made me wonder just how much good there could really be, and I was amazed that negativity never so much as entered my mind until the sun decided to give me an answer.

"Home."

One word. I couldn't understand. The desire in the deepest part of my soul searched diligently until I became thoughtless. When I finally awoke from a period of dreamless sleep, I looked to the sun and sent this thought, "You have greater understanding than I could ever hope to have, and if it please you, let me in on your little secret.”

"Little?"

"Just a figure of speech," I said dreading for a moment.

"Speech is not needed. Home is the only answer I can give."

"That's a little vague," I weakly protested, knowing I would get nothing more than I already had.

In that moment I discovered the answer so near to my eyes. Home was always there if I made the effort to make the conscious decision to choose it. The field near the airport had so much to give, yet because I ignored the little plot of ground and because I held such high aspirations, I forgot to learn to keep this simple and lost much of the significance of who I was and where I was going.

It was home all the time.

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Mark Wolters' work has appeared recently in Brief Wilderness, Rundelania!, Straylight and The Main Street Rag. He earned his first payment for a story in 2008 thanks to The Tabard Inn. He was paid $1.00. He lives in Sartell, Minnesota with his wife, two sons, and two beagles. He teaches 5th and 6th grade elementary and enjoys writing music and playing guitar.