Asleep
Alex Stone
The funambulist has always been. Spectators do not make a performer; an audience only makes a performance known to themselves. Though walking along a tightrope in view of all, the funambulist does not know of performance, as it does not know of affectation. It knows nothing of surfaces, nor height, only of a rope treated as though delicate and trusted as though unbreakable. It traverses the skies, unaware of how costly a misstep would be. Indeed, to all who see it, it is a curious sight, evoking the intrigue that can only be found where fear and fascination do not merely coexist, but intermingle.
This particular curiosity manifests in a world of time. But of time it does not know, as time has been, and will be, the present being relative to both, and what is perceived relatively cannot be understood absolutely. This does not confound the funambulist. To an onlooker, yes, it has been, is, and will be, though this is an effort to understand what need not be understood. The funambulist does not distinguish what is from what is known, and its existence is neither bound nor exalted, but simply one with experience. All who see may know of many things, but are certain of few. The funambulist does not perceive anything beyond itself, a condition that is not well understood by the seeing, though there has been no desire to challenge this condition. A formidable adversary it would be, that which cannot be understood. Such profound unknowings have been a great trouble to all who see, for they are in the peculiar habit of accepting without understanding. But of this, too, the funambulist is unaware, and therefore need not understand. The funambulist would have never sought to understand.
It is natural that the funambulist should invite much attention. To those who do not understand the sight above them, but seek to, may come a febrile interest which dissipates as uncertainty. The precise object of their interest cannot be made certain; ones of able mind and spirit to divulge often find themselves without any memory of what they so fervently sought. If asked, they may say this of the funambulist, though on every occasion this is promptly forgotten by the speaker and listener alike:
Something awaits for all who seek
Sprung from something no longer known
Something unto uncertainty
And now awaiting in its place
Is nothing but a vacant space–
But should you wish for something more
With you a specter may follow pace
It is accepted that a specter, existing only to be neither known or felt, can manifest merely as everything. The pursuer may see something real only to themself, what is a phantom to all others. Though they do not acknowledge this, and in their continuation, all is real to all. The pursuer feels fear, briefly, as what is seen is not a rope, but a vine of ivy. There is a feeling of beauty, of ivy, experienced not as a sight but as a feeling. And a fear, that what the thing known only as being unknown will perish. There is no compassion for the being. There is no space for such feelings. And there is uncertainty, because the funambulist is above, and something familiar, something that must grow, cannot exist in a place without time. They do not know when they stopped having questions, and when entered a feeling of unfulfilled certainty, a sudden disinterest in uncertainty, and an acceptance of what they cannot know. Though should they now search for nothing in particular, and if keeping their mind open and without questions, may feel a brief longing for a descent they can scarcely remember. This is not the answer they sought, but the only one that they may understand.
Those who do not understand and do not seek to, not because they are uninterested, but because they are unaware of their own unknowing, see something of the funambulist though do not know what is they have seen (and thus see only what was). Of these individuals, there is little to say. If asked, they will say nothing of the funambulist, for of the funambulist they do not know.
There are those who may look above and see a spectacle they do not understand. They accept that they do not understand, and do not endeavor to understand. They seek nothing, for they know of nothing to seek. And they do not pursue what is known to be. In the vacuum left by fleeing expectation, wonder will eagerly take up space. Indeed, wonder, ephemeral in nature and taking no direction, and having nothing asked of it, may impart answers unconstrained by questions. These individuals, existing with wonder, and only in the moment, avail themselves to the funambulist. It would not be wholly correct to say that the funambulist becomes aware, nor would it be wholly correct to say that these seeing individuals become aware of the funambulist. The chasm of their conscious experiences, prevailing at every other time, is briefly transcended, and they become one. It is a curious thing, an experience that neither will be able to recall. That is not to say that the experiencing individual is unaffected by this experience, but the marvels of height, of balance, of fear, these are not known to the funambulist, as they are of fears, of dangers, of missteps, all of which transpire over time. And as such, the seeing individual will not seek to confront it. Inhabiting one consciousness, one state of being, one moment, together they see only the heavens that engulf them, and the eternity that cannot contain them.
To those who write of it, the funambulist’s existence is transitory, and it does not remember. It cannot remember, and it cannot be remembered as it truly is. It is remembered as it was to the seeing individual, each, once struck by wonder, finds words understood in spirit, though unable to be recalled in mind.
Now is just eternity
All that’s left is what to do
Don’t let the two worlds frustrate you
Perhaps these words are a remnant of the funambulist, what remains of the Joining with the one who could experience. For having any experience, and only knowing of a moment, the funambulist will exist with the experiencer for all eternity. The one leaving with any memory is constrained by time, but an essence of what they are may live on in the sight above him. The experiencing one does not know of the descent, and does not long for it because they do not know of height. Briefly, each time they look above, they will know of what they are, and know nothing of what they were nor of what they will be. And there will be no uncertainty. There will be wonder. Should you not seek, you may wonder too.
Alex Stone writes, “I’d like to graduate by 2023. I’ve lived in one of the Oranges for most of my existence. West Orange, specifically. There’s a South Orange, a West Orange, an Orange, but no North Orange. I like sun bears. I’ve never met one, but I believe I’ve had an experience that I cannot consciously recall that has led to a great fondness for these creatures.