Night Bus

It was like I was in two worlds at once, riding the night bus. I looked out the window, and images from the lit city reflected on the glass from the opposite side, superimposing itself overtop of that which actually stood where my eyes fell. Here, a business center in a football field; there, a gas station overlapping a church. Car headlights shone from inside the burger joint. A pedestrian walked on the water of a small park pond. The streetlights had ghosts of themselves dancing beneath them.
Brilliance!
The surreality is briefly broken as the bus stops to let off a passenger. Awareness of reality returns as the overhead lights brighten the interior of the bus. It becomes so obvious that everyone is sitting in a box of metal, glass, and creaking plastic. The second world is obviously some tricks of light. The the doors close and the lights dim; it’s easy to exist in that alternate universe, the between place, once again.
The lights are more bewildering at night, but the colors less so. Everything is moving, or I am. Light and movement. That is all there is.
Is the soul in the reflection? The ghost of a car rushes along the glass towards us as the body rushes up from behind and passes. Is everything existing in more than one place? What if the world isn’t a logical, sane place. Maybe our souls are as fragmented and chaotic as the kaleidoscope of lights in the city night. With light as my transport, I am a world traveler; I have traveled unimaginable distances. I fear for my self. I am everywhere, so am I nowhere? I am lost in the deluge of color and movement and sound and light. What is there in a world without logic? Freedom. Anarchy. Chaos.