SYNESTHESIA

              This poem came about as the result of a perception of synesthesia I experienced last year on the night before leaving Jamaica for the first time. Synesthesia is the combination of perceptions across normal boundaries. For instance, one might taste colors, or visualize sounds. In my case what I experienced was a fusion of animal, mechanical, and spiritual influences that resulted in an anthropomorphic expression of warning. Now I know that someone might wonder if there was any kind of outside digestible influence that may have precipitated this synesthesia and my answer must be yes, there was. I am convinced, however, that these influences merely enhanced and evoked what must be seen as inherent energies latent in this tropical environment.

            A visit to Negril is a delightful way to wrap up a trip to Jamaica and my fiancée and I were able to spend our last full day there. Anne is well acquainted with Jamaica, having lived and visited the island for several years. She introduced me to Miss Brown, an infamous local Negril personality, who runs a bar right on the beach. Miss Brown is well known for her medicinal tea and brownies and it was the latter that I ingested before returning to our house in Belmont. I had assumed that our housemates would be up for a final night of partying but was surprised to find myself the only one left awake after our return. I soon realized that sleep was out of the question and resigned myself to contemplating the Caribbean Sea.

            One thing that is immediately noticeable to anyone who stays in the interior of the island, or outside the perimeters of the tourist venues, is the preponderance of chicken on the island. Jerk chicken is one of the local dietary staples and roosters may be heard crowing at all hours of the night. Whoever perpetrated the myth of roosters crowing only at dawn has never visited Jamaica. Also, dogs of a very mongrel variety abound. The mixture of these two sounds was the beginning of my aural synesthesia. People who drive in Jamaica drive fast. The roads are often horrendous and I guess the theory is if you go over a pothole fast enough it will lessen the impact. Pedestrians walk the roads at their own risk and if you are driving be prepared to sound your horn as a common practice of navigation. Sounds travel far in the country and as the road ran right past our house I could hear vehicles coming from quite some distance.

            Something began to happen as I waited by the sea. Dogs and roosters began a cacophonic chorus and diesel trucks added an under towing drone. Soon I became aware of something else; voices were emerging from the dissonance, voices laced with venomous sarcasm. I began to run a check on my karmic reserves…was there any evidence of weakness? Could I ward off the radiating negativity? Something was wrong, the voices were making inroads to my equilibrium... I must have left something exposed along the way.

            Anxiety began to build as I considered my predicament, suddenly a sharp pain lanced through my chest. I returned to the bedroom and tried to keep calm. I tried to lie down and breathe evenly. Anne was asleep beside me, unaware of my condition. It was no use, the pains returned and I sat upright, trying to find a way out. I suddenly realized that the dreadful voices were returning and this time I could not rationalize them away. There was a letter undeleted on the computer back home, one that was never meant to be read. Somehow they were aware of its contents. This was my Achilles’ heel, the undeleted anonymity that allowed the pirate voices entry.

The anthropomorphic chorus amplified, now with an underpinning of erratic heartbeats. I tried lying on my other side, to no avail. I tried waking Anne to let her know I was having chest pains but could not. I determined to remain calm and wait it out. Everything seemed futile. Why should I die just when my life seemed to be beginning? The voice of Captain Morgan emerged from the atonal complaint and told me in no uncertain terms to Go Home. I redirected my attention to the sea, letting the echoing waves ease me out of the angst. I projected myself back to the reef we had dived on the day before, and found solace in the coral gardens.

Eventually the night faded and I was still alive. We left the next day.

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