The sweet interlife space

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2013

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In the interlife space I hang suspended as I drive home on this night.

My thoughts meander to the previous life I completed not long ago: I was a president of an organization and I ran a marathon of relations. I had a significant other, a name, and a job, but a little part of me was always aware it was only a game. Whew, what a rush, I shake my head, glad to drop that role at last. Because there’s no place I like more than the sweet interlife

before the next set of circumstances and parameters sweeps over me and I – too late – and committed and given new words and become somebody again for a while….

I don’t glance in the mirror as I drive to my little isolated bubble home with no hooks embedded, no messages on my phone, no texts, no family – now, I’m even alone from them, and I think back to my little sibling as I cruise past our old neighborhood. That was so last week – but these sheets seem to fall so easily away and leave me once again in the interlife space.

No face looks back in the mirror, and the eye I glimpse with my eye surprises me. Remind me again of who I am when I’m not inside of a life?

After living so many roles, I’ve come to realize that existence is broken up into little sections that live like isolated pieces which I define by the places I spent my time in and the patterns that happened repeatedly ’til they created a face, like shaping clay.

Well, I’ve come to know that my process is an automaton. One life was in college and that was a rich one. But there’re also those separately catalogued memories of the strenuous life at home, both portrayed by the one same person but if they stood side by side you would never know.

The radio’s on and I’m wise to the fact that the song reflects my self and my state, and some melodies or lyrics that resonate fall inside and become part of the set forever.

In the interlife space, music belongs to no one and for just the briefest flash, a half moment, this song disappears and I could swear it’s not really there because there’s no one to hear it and I try to locate the ear but realize I do not exist.

Without a role, I’m coming home to a phantom life

that sits apart from the swirling drama of any life. How easy those stories fall off; I’ve played so many parts I don’t care to hold on; none of them touch my heart, I’m just doing a job, I’m just living, and sometimes I’m given a break and hang out in the sweet thin in-between space.

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