My Teleportation to Space

by Joseph Ikhenoba


This is my teleportation to space in my dream. I wished it never ended.

Night on a mirage, won't be long. The little moon sank quietly behind the sky. Only the cold illumination of the stars can be seen in the skies, as Mars receives the first night watch. The Wain descends and ascends on the Northern slope. The lowest roll's tell-tale signs of other spots where aliens were buried with the pole at twilight. This planet was covered in wind and blue this morning. From where I am standing, it shines with a perfect amount of dustless light, peering through a million sharp leaves. As thirsty dreams evaporate for good, beneath those dusty surface pressures spurt, leaving behind deposits in the mud, so does it burn with its sulphate-silica blood. I strolled across this red-colored planet that emits slightly yellowish rays with compacted dirt and prickle-filled grass without falling off. I’ve the choice of coming down softly or strongly. I never wander off. I periodically wished I could fly above this universe, so that when I dive through a wave or wade through a brown river, I would momentarily lose feeling in my feet. Occasionally, I wished to duck under the water and listen to the low hums, to hear what it was like before there was oxygen. I felt the way the wind whirled stars down over the roofs. I felt the town asleep. I felt people there in the great crisp dark. Last night, I observed the yellowish-orange Jupiter with a massive telescope, including its storm bands and four of its seventy-nine moons. One was Europa, a transparent clear belt of ether left in the East. It ascends nigh at hand, with its gigantic sphere, only a very little above, its delicate sisters the Pleiades. I could hardly hear my own cries for help this morning because the earth was so loud with its own winds, vermin, fox squirrels, and somber crows. All its ridged bark, quartz, bone, and obsidian quartz grit, as well as all its growing thistle that laced the yards with spiny purple, were present. I always wear my gold cross on my breast to bring to memory the brilliant grace of the gray moon. As I take in the blue-tinted twilight, the elegant motions of the dust devils, spirited away as a cosmic progeny, navigating the hidden skies of unending space. I doubt I will ever see clear heavens again. Slipping between the gaps, I have no reason to be here. A collision with a new world in the face. “Will I modify?” I queried. I don't understand this place. It's not hell, nor purgatory. But something else entirely. Shadowy figures follow me, taking note of my every move. Then recounting them back to me, as if I'd comprehend, as if I am a monster. They move slowly through this abyss, a surge riding the walls. Some creatures have it in for me despite being mute and two dimensional and immensely more capable. To torture me with unpredictable ness. Even if they tried, there was no means to inform me. Doomed to eternal confoundment, to understand is laughable. Just a gaping hole for mouth, tongue and teeth just for show. I can't make sense of its geometry. I’m sober but my world spins. Nothing here is possible. Suddenly, a rare view. An alien. An alien who art in the heavens, a Martian, a little green creature, with a long neck, large head, bulbous metallic eyes with no lids and insect-like hands appears. I grew anxious to make contact, to ask diverse questions about the universe. To discuss the whole Big Bang, the pre–big bang untimed before I forget the why and lie of my first place. As I continued to die in my anxiousness, light and dark mosaic shadows, orbs, pearls, nautilus shells shimmered under her crater ground. Mermaids and fairies travelled to their stars. Orion, Scutum, Centauri and Cygnus are all frozen archipelago planets from air to water to earth, on aurora to dance on the moon tonight. “When cyanobacteria first appeared, I believed that life had begun on earth. Wonderful cellular organisms helping the Earth's atmosphere to shift and supplying it with oxygen. I considered how stable Earth had eventually become after three billion years, during the Cambrian Era, 541 million years ago, roughly. Was air created by microbes? According to scientists, Earth originated 4.5 billion years ago. It was just a desiccated rock. Ice asteroids were visible to it from orbit.” I conjured. The alien peered into my eyes, "Earth's early history was one of extreme violence, hot and lacking the air we now have, making it impossible for the molecules necessary for life to exist. Meteorites gave birth to life. The planet bathed in intense ultraviolet light, quickly destroyed organic molecules during the "heavy bombardment period.” He spoke. Showed me the moon, which was misty. It hung in the sombre sky like a wistful wondering eye and a sad wraith that slips from sight. When, as the garish day is done, Heaven burns with the descended sun, passing sweet to mark. Amid that flush of crimson light, the new moon's modest bow grows bright, as earth and sky grow dark. The sight of that young crescent reminds me of all that is good and innocent, childhood's innocence and grace as well as pleasures akin to a rainbow chase, sobs that are shed in spurts. To the Sun courted water, earth's loveliest daughter, it strove to abduct her in vain: To profess its wrinkled bluster on its vane. For, when he had caught her, and the clouds brought her home she came running in rain. But if I were a sunbeam, I know what I'd do; I would seek white lilies, roaming through woodlands. I would steal among them, softest light I'd shed; to cheer the drooping heart, until every lily raised its drooping head. Then I sojourn to the pale-yellow planet, Saturn. Several objects rotate around it. And these make up its rings. Turning in orbit, around and about. Under the rings, satellites scout. Not of this world, beyond the storm of its gaze, I saw masses sweeping praise of hexagonal magic craze. The eye of all in every day, yet I keep it at bay, and remembered the fray of the spirit engaged in this broken vessel. Reporting back, on this journey of new colours of rings, to bring back home. Some creatures call you evil, malevolent and uneven. Said, you can’t be appreciative and your warmth, is too freezing. They can’t give you all you demand. “Where is your empathy, Saturn?” But they can’t see how you treat me. To me, your rings symbolize how life, and the universe are in a constant state of revolution and almost clock work, like precision, depending upon which vantage point certain things are being observed from which can have a fundamental effect. They are immortal, all those stars both silvery and golden shall shine out again. The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again. The vast immortal suns and the long-enduring pensive moons shall again shine. Hug? Hugs. I will be no more now, for you are in me and I in you. Bye for now, until we meet again.

Rate this submission


You must be logged in to rate submissions

Loading Comments