Capacity

I'm in a room.

The sign near the door says "capacity 150."

I am surrounded by at least 300 people walking in a mob of a circle.

They are all shouting at me.

Telling me how to live.

How to achieve happiness.

Their voices alone exceed the capacity limit.

I recognize some of them.

I see important historical figures and famous faces from several religions.

I see school teachers and classmates.

I see police and businessmen.

And I see regular people.

The walls of the room are plastered with different media devices, all contributing to the noise either vocally or visually.

The ground beneath me lifts me up and the crowd continues to circle and shout beneath me.

I elevate into another room that has a single incandescent light shining down from above me.

The capacity sign I made is hanging by the door.

1.

But the silence is no reprieve.

This room is as maddening as the first.

I wander about the room, building the world for myself.

Nothing is required, no sense must be made.

But progress is seldom and small.

I lay down under the tree I made.

Nothing was required, but I made a tree.

Then the room-world falls to pieces around me.

As the pieces fall, some gather on the sign and now it reads 2.

I close my eyes in fear and when I open them again I am lying in a new room.

There is no source to the light that fills the room.

There is no sign by the door.

There is no door.

There is but one voice and I am drawn to it.

It never sounds distant, but it has direction.

I walk through the pure white with silent footsteps.

I sit on the solid white ground and look out over the solid white pond.

A solid white bird flies silently and swiftly just inches over the solid white water.

It zooms towards me and then zooms back over the water.

As I watch the solid white poetry in flight, the solid white voice asks

"Who made the tree?"