This poem came about when I took my first trip on the Chicago train and saw the “Suicide Prevention Lifeline” I was surprised to see that ad and it made sense to me to put it together with the “Orange Line”, both are lines towards life, and that's how I began to build the story.
During the scenes of this poem “The poetic character” prepares to board the train at the Pulaski station and faces its challenges, overcomes obstacles and experiences a personal transformation. This journey is a cycle that includes a departure, an initiation and a return.
I am a writer who uses the structure of the “Monomyth” studied by Joseph Campbell in his book “The Hero with a Thousand Faces”, this book shows how despite the diversity of myths and stories around the world, they all share the same way of telling stories. It also portrays aspects and needs of human behavior such as religion, the meaning of life and desire to change.
Orange Line to Holy Land
Pulaski station is empty. Stranger in a distant land. Alone. Waiting for the vibration of the tracks to bring me a longed-for certainty. Electricity like a suction cup. Do you want to commit suicide? call this number. I read before getting on the machine. Tourists with suitcases come from the midway.
I close my eyes. I cross the city, Like an ancient pilgrimage to the master; I will meet him at the Washington Wabash. He will tell me the meaning of life. Ashland Station the doors of the machine open and close the entrance to the world. Students carry on their backs the heavy backpacks of dead knowledge. No one speaks, I know that silence prepares my eyes to see the saint of saints.
A single reason:
To arrive at the temple to pay honor to oneself.
The city activates the ancestral warmth of my cells.
Ancient men
amidst ecstasies of the blues
visions
burning metals
and shots of alcohol
warn
that the city was built
so that everyone who walks through it
to feel small.
Thus,
it will remain in the conscience
that all value comes with peace
and all transformation
must be through fire.
Nothing more indifferent than a building
a great building
a skyscraper.
I walk in the city,
I caress the shadow of the walls.
I look for some temple by my name and heritage,
at every corner I ask the prophets,
there is no answer
they only announce the nearness of the final judgment
waiting to be taken away in a chariot of fire,
like Elijah or Ginsberg;
to see the city burn again at their feet.
wrapped in mysticism.
I walk in the city, I caress the shadow of the walls. I reach the master, I cry out to the knowledge of illusion, I cry like a newborn, I ask about paradise about peace capitalism pleasure Love And dignity I receive a kiss on my forehead; I have visions of the new world. At the end of the rite, I spill a little blood on the Washinton Wells, seal the pact and climb into the machine.
Now I can look into the eyes the other enlightened crosses the city with me in the relativity of time. I take a breath, get off the machine. Pulaski Station. I open my eyes. I dial the care number before suicide.
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