Journeys and Star Gazing

In the heart of the city, nestled between towering skyscrapers and bustling streets, there was a tumbledown building that looked like it had been swept off the floor above. The stairway leading to the basement creaked with every step, and the dim light barely illuminated the old bench and the many different shaped and sized bottles that sat on top of it. As I walked further down the stairs, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing in the house, as if the space had been abandoned and forgotten.

What was stranger still was the different hues that were projected on the walls. Clouds don’t hang around here, yet the colours that danced on the walls looked like a sunset over the ocean. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt drawn to the strange and haunting beauty of the space.

As I explored the basement, I stumbled upon an old newspaper with a date that was a couple of days ahead of the actual date. The eerie feeling in the air grew stronger as I read the headlines. It was as if I had entered a zone of causes, a space where past and present collided.

Suddenly, a snowflake of coincidence fell upon me. I heard the floor creak again, and my heart skipped a beat. But there were no people, just the occasional pigeon cooing in the distance. As I turned to leave, I noticed a pair of owl’s eyes staring back at me between the limbs of a tree outside the window.

On my way out, I passed a group of kids gathered under the great concrete anchor statue just across the street from Circular Quay. They were blowing bubbles, their rhythm setting up the pulse of activity. I couldn’t help but wonder about the mysteries of this midnight age and the secrets that candle makers hold about souls.

Perhaps it was just my imagination, but as I left the tumbledown building and walked down the street, I felt like I was being watched. I remembered the warning to beware the exhibitionist and the guru, for they speak with tongues of fire. But as I looked around, there were no gurus or exhibitionists to be found, just the bustling city and the occasional rumbling bus.

The haunting that I had experienced in the basement had been domesticated, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps these problems of vision had to do with something greater than myself. Something precariously balanced, like ash from an overladen cigarette.