“Institution” by David Mayoh

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Slammed into a cold hard surface, dribble and amniotic fluid spews across it.

Primordial ooze.

An entrance, from the void, in this dense, cold realm. Aliens attend to me. Cold, sterile, fluorescent beams warping my innocent flesh. I have arrived and the situation is grave. I squirmed, whaled, beat my delicate, unformed fists, on the confining structure.

Later on they will say I signed up for this. We needed to wipe your memory, your knowing, so you can grow and experience. You are here to arrive where you are meant to. Follow the promptings. Good luck.

Father, I have strayed so far

Help me get back.

You are voiceless and tired, but you established the template long ago. You have called me forth to carry it on, but can I? You needed to show me the old way so I could help build something new? Is that it?

Some of us struggle existing within this interstitial grid, a finely maintained balance between Heaven and Hell, girdled by wounds, dominated and dislocated, attended to by agents of doom – subdued, medicated, beaten and throttled, they stop at nothing to eliminate our purpose and potential. Others seem to integrate seamlessly: machines.

Align and Obey.

Our cuts and scars, scabbed over, caste into bone and debris, no opportunity to heal. We have suffered, the men, women, ancestors, the collective pain is surging forth now. It is beyond me but now my own, mine to attend to, to clean up and rectify.

I have always wanted to die, to kill myself, or to bring death about through wreckless living. Return to the ooze. Some unknown force inhibits my efforts, forcing me to go on.  

Your lessons, father were so mired in confusion and our depressed souls flailed and waned, begging for expression.

My head slams into the enamelled wooden surface. I have survived the first stage and am cognizant now. Injected in to this system, the numerical hierarchy of learning. I suffer and wane as the unwitting agents perforate my essence with instruction, as they condition on behalf of the master. Those who serve are compensated well, they lead a tidy and comfortable life. Their souls are doomed.

Fluorescent lighting beamed at me once again, my flesh has strengthened since the last bout. I am more clear, more lost. The boredom and subservience. It is wrong. Is that not obvious? I struggle and resist, powerless, unable to speak up or initiate anything at this point. The master cackles and gives me a C- .

Something did not take effect early on. I wish it had. If it had, this would be easier. Raise your hand to take a piss, eat now, k, listen to the buzzer, follow the commands of your approaching technotronic overlords, submit boy.

Stifled and subdued, we cried. Silently at first, but with ever-increasing volume and magnitude. I know you struggled father, I can see it now. I feel it and I am here with you now, no longer your combatant, but your ally. You were tasked to continue building and participating in the structure. It tore at you, but no other way was available. I am now tasked with augmenting it, rearranging it in to a new order of life, of nature and balance. I’ll take what I have learned, and will apply it. I’ll die doing so. You guide me. Many have condemned and faulted you. I will catch your tears and transform them into harmony and cohesion. I get now what I am here to do.

My first memory, metallic and dead, rises back now. I see it was the first step among a process designed to create a certain type of human.

Inoculated with fear.  

Because I was not right, something was not right. This birth process institutionalized and marauded over by specialists and clinicians, test, meters, tubes and anesthetics. Devoid humans.

We had been fooled I now see.

Those attempting to dominate nature were doing the same to us, they had to.

The struggle has been present all along. They say be happy, it is a choice, focus on what you want, they give you tasks, exercises, manuals and protocols. Marketing, it is all marketing. It dominates, disguised, detrimental. Truth, why do I seek you, why do you complicate my life and weave this cyclone of growth and decay, awareness and ignorance?

We’ve had a lot to process and heal father. Our ancestral line, our genetic conglomeration rooted in abuse, death, depravity and self-destruction, they cry and wallow. We needed to answer the call, so we do this work now, and it will be apparent to you father, one day, in a higher place, as you transcend the doom.

but wait,

Finally, my head smacks into a slightly-less enamelled surface, a richer, darker wood. I have value now, I have gone through the stages and can contribute and participate. Rewards lay beyond the door of service and subservience to an external agent and organization. After it all, how did I end up here? Fear and death, failure and poverty, despite my narrative the program wove in and here I am now.

I am angry, it grows with the day. Why in the fuck am I here?

That light is back, the false one, the fluorescent one, it vibrates into my depths, enlivens the scars and wounds, the knowing,  finally inspiring the purge, rage and release I have been seeking, slamming into me, an anvil of terror and bewilderment. The cloak removed, despite the tailored fit and comfort.

I thought everything was okay, I knew it wasn’t.  

A complete break

I was sent away. I left to search. I did not know this at the time father but I came here to piece it back together. 

I must now go. I finally see as you never have.  

It has been slow and arduous, layer by layer. Their prodding and machinations have lost all power, pain is no longer feared.  I have felt true torture on those dark nights, mournings and afternoons. The prolonged submersion in to a world of toil, hastily trying to escape at first, eventually realizing that I could not. 

Left to me was only the weak fragile capacity to sit still and feel. A slow alienation from all things worldly. I sought answers and found none. The mass, the complex bore no understanding for me, or I for it. All lead back to the last place any of us want to go or look. That region, or place, they tried to dissect and digest on that hard cold table. You were watching though father, you protected me, you preserved that dim light, that motivating impulse which would lead to our salvation.

Now, our hearts merge, we are one. This was the point. 

Rest soundly father.

 

David Mayoh is a person for whom all has burned down. All illusions and confusions rose and passed. He is now interested in creating and collaborating with those aware that something is up. His dysfunction, perspective, and ramblings have been laid out at www.retrievethysoul.com.

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