Wolfpack Press

Memoir: Peek to the Other Side

The+Other+Side+by+Julie+Oliveira+Cook
Back to Article
Back to Article

Memoir: Peek to the Other Side

The Other Side by Julie Oliveira Cook

The Other Side by Julie Oliveira Cook

The Other Side by Julie Oliveira Cook

The Other Side by Julie Oliveira Cook

Julie Oliveira Cook, Writer

Hang on for a minute...we're trying to find some more stories you might like.


Email This Story






A Peek to the Other Side

On a hazy midsummer evening, my mother and I were boarding a shabby, compact airplane, destined to the notorious state of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Since the dawn of my days, I’ve been conditioned to this nomadic life, constantly on the move, like in the good ol’ paleolithic days, and annually traveling to revisit relatives in distant hemispheres because my family can never settle in one place.

What a long, strange trip it’s been.

One foot into the aircraft and my reality began to diffract. I had plunged into the physically impermeable membrane of space and time, and through a breach my subconsciousness’ worst nightmare flooded through.

Crumbs and litter decorated the aisle floors which even rodents would abstain from infesting. Had the airline agency been working for the American Disposal Service in transporting their dump? Retrospectively analyzing, the filth of the plane resembled the hardships in my life that I had not yet overcome; an inevitable passageway one had to go through.

The Yin of life that must be wholeheartedly acknowledged and accepted before rejoicing with the Yang.

Warily wading through the cramped aisle, we got to our seats, which to my demise was adjacent to the bathroom door, incapable of holding in the foul odor. How pleasant–but that’s not all. My encased guitar struggled to fit in the pocket-sized overhead bin; they relocated it below in the luggage cargo under the plane, a scenario I was hoping to avoid.

This entire situation may sound overwhelmingly irksome, but I just let it all go past me, like the blowin’ of the wind.

Buckling down, I felt the walls of the vehicle trembling as the aircraft maneuvered out onto the runway, its parts rattling to a cacophonous symphony. That’s when I knew that this plane was not safe for a nine-hour overseas flight. I felt my stomach curl up, this uneasy feeling that I’m not in control of the situation, that anything can and will happen. Paranoid, I complained to my mom, imploring that we should get off. We should alert someone. She empathized with my rising wave of anxiety, as if we communicated through telepathy—Group Mind.

As the plane positioned itself on the runway, the engines roared. It was time for takeoff. My mother’s hand interlocked with mine, promising everything would be okay. Clairvoyants we were not, and the frightened tears still escaped the confines of my tightly shut eyelids. I could feel the strong energy vibrations flowing within and around us, like glistening glitter particles swimming through the air of my visual field. Though it didn’t occur, I could somehow feel as if the plane’s walls were being blown off by its speed, like a façade dismantling and unveiling the truth of its nature. I could feel death’s imminent approach.

The plane transformed into a rocket ship blasting through the metaphysical realm, entering the bardo. I realized I had purchased a ticket to the other side of this life.

Billions of thoughts raced through my mind at the speed of light, the speed of which my heart thumped, projecting faded memories of my life onto the inner part of my closed, jittery eyelids: an abstract, nebulous closed-eye movie. Upon opening them, I saw the morphing of surround-sound echoes with visuals of unfamiliar faces on everything my eyes laid on. Archaic glyphs and sacred geometries danced on every melting surface, while the grime and stains on the carpet bore semblance to crawling and leaping insect-like organisms.

Thoughts of losing my loved ones, my beloved material possessions—my guitar, for one—my unattained aspirations, all perpetuated around my cerebral billion-thought race and solidified into emotions, concepts and mirages in my immediate present. I was petrified at the notion of transcending to another realm while I still had unfinished business in this world, leaving no trace of contribution to humanity.

Aghast, it sunk in that I would perhaps never return–or even recall–to my life in the sense of me as Julie, in this body possessing these exact unique mental conceptions. I was still attached to dualistic notions, assuming I was separate from the environment. How could one be? If there is no space, there can be no matter to contrast it with. Thus, matter does not exist alone, but interconnectedly with space, as one.

No longer were my surroundings solid. Everything dissolved and flowed together, like the chaotic, dynamic vibrations that make up the world which our senses perceive. In this moment, I realized nothing is concrete. Down to the core, existence is a soluble reaction, and we are the products of it in a physical manifestation. It’s all connected, and it all boils down to the historical first neural connections from when our neocortex was rapidly evolving. We, the progeny of all beings who have lived before us, are all woven together by the strings of genetics.

Miraculously, the plane was securely held in flight—a time freeze! Now, lapsing back into the “real world.” I couldn’t be more grateful for this near-death experience introducing me to the arbitrary forces of the universe. It was a personal judgement day to correct my views and my position as a human entity in this world. A deep immersion into the sea of mind, of gestaltism.

Humans differ greatly in comparison to other Earthly life forms in that we possess the ability to rationalize and understand life, to a limit, of course. And we should use this microcosmic self-understanding for the betterment of all life, including the massive living organism we call home. After all, we’ve always depended on this near-symbiotic relationship with plants. Why should be become parasites now?

I got close to the edge, but I wasn’t yet prepared to disembark to the other side at that time, and it felt to me that in that moment Mother Nature was tapping on my shoulder, reassuring me that I still have time, and I will return to it all again in another time around the wheel.

Far out.

 

Print Friendly, PDF & Email
Navigate Left
  • Galleries

    The Art Created in Ms. Cabrera’s Classroom

  • Memoir: Peek to the Other Side

    Creative Writing

    Fiction: Wit of the Staircase

  • Galleries

    Favorite Memories of the 2017-2018 School Year

  • Memoir: Peek to the Other Side

    Creative Writing

    Memoir: Hungry Hungry Snake

  • Memoir: Peek to the Other Side

    Creative Writing

    Memoir: Box

  • Memoir: Peek to the Other Side

    Creative Writing

    Short Fiction: Art Connections (Winner, Lee County Aspiring Authors)

  • Memoir: Peek to the Other Side

    Creative Writing

    Memoir: A Thousand Mountains

  • Memoir: Peek to the Other Side

    Creative Writing

    The Stoned Ape (Fiction Winner, Lee County Aspiring Authors Contest)

  • Memoir: Peek to the Other Side

    News

    South’s Orama Heads to Naval Academy

  • Memoir: Peek to the Other Side

    Showcase

    Khari Runs like the Wind

Navigate Right
The student news site of South Fort Myers High School
Memoir: Peek to the Other Side