The cells (that I am made of) are not me. I existed alone in a universe created solely for me. In my seclusion, solitude was everything; it was my freedom, it was my identity. I lived forever in an empty space, its outlines stretched with my being. Then I was given a form. I was given a body already growing with cells of its own.
I kept searching and searching, sometimes I found myself in a smile, I never could see myself smiling, but I can feel this smile as a part of me.
The other day, a friend shouted my name on the street. Perhaps names are the only real link to our identity. Maybe even before our creation, we began in Memory with a name, our names being one with our souls.
I came upon an elating place where wounds of this world cannot reach me. There are people dancing in the curtains shielding the darkness with their glowing smiles.
They say “The skin of your heart can be withered by air, that’s why we have curtains”
They say “There is a fountain from which all truth springs; the water cleanse away everything, but one only reach there by one’s will”
“Paths will reveal to you in shades of suffering, by the outstretched hand of sincerity, owing to the demand of curiosity or for the simple reason that one wishes to believe”.
They say “there are mysteries as large as the universe and as immense as the ocean; it may seems you carried yourself, it may seems destiny lends a hand”
They say “there is a scripture testifying no love or prayer has ever been in vain”
They said so much in a fleeting moment; in my grandiose joy. Can I ever convey the message that “gratitude can be a sincere form of worship” that “love can be a testament”, that “in matters of the heart, all one must do is believe” it seems sometimes all has to be done (just to believe).
How can I explain or undertand the place I’ve been where they draw up curtains?
They say the world I live in is a treacherous place, we live in mud and clay, we wrestle in the dirt, the fountain in us is hard to find.
They say they live among us, in the lies and confusion, in sunny days, in foggy days and when the wind stands still. Then they go to the place of curtains, drink from their fountains and cleanse themselves.
They wear their hearts in gowns; some are bruised, some are torn. They display myriad of expressions in colors, and they say “it’s not who we are, there is a deep space within, what’s on the surface can never last.”
“We belong to our wish of belonging, some for compassion, some for understanding and some for the fountain”
They say “Look deep within yourself, you’ll find nothing; come from within, come from nowhere if you wish to understand”
” If you wish to learn compassion, come to the place of curtains; wear the skin of your heart in gowns, remember: what’s on the surface can never last “
” If you ever wish for the fountain, listen to what you say to your brother, what you warn of another, everywhere you must not go will lead you there “
They say “words can change color and taint a heart, sometimes what is meant behind curtains lose their power in isolation”
They say that our world insists upon cumulation, and what is born in a chamber of a heart sometimes cannot be conveyed to another.
They say “it is only in love we see our true selves; only in love it is real, only in love what is meant forever is revealed”
They say “Illusions can be grand if you stand your ground. Reality is where you leap from”
I once knew a very important thing about life. I guess it’s about knowing which illusions to let go and which ones to hang on to. A girl stands outside of the glass sobbing. “Pull me in” she says, “it’s better to let my heart breaks than let it not bleed. I was alive in misery, and in misery I knew what happiness is.”
There are only two kinds of love in the world, the love that lives in the moment and the love that is eternal. These two seem to be always in a perpetual conflict. One loves me as I am, in the here and now, and one loves me for my potential, he says the whole of human life will turn into a drop, now we are only atoms of our souls, he believes in my tomorrows. One is eloquent in what he loves of me whereas one restrains from speaking his heart. Sometimes I am left to myself, having to convince either one of them I am eligible. One is John, the other is Sam. I don’t know who to ask, I don’t know who to tell me if I should choose John or Sam, or whether I should be alone and start loving myself.
There will be someone in the world, who has gone through life under the protection of simplicity as if a child unborn, and without pain came to close his eyes. It would be foolish to assume everyone goes through hardships. We all live in different worlds, and these worlds have always fascinated me. I wonder what would a blind man’s opinion of God be, what would his personal reality be, what would he be grateful for. I believe I would have a spectrum reality, that is woven with truths about me, I wonder which truths would come to matter most. In the different layers of my story, some truths are veiled by time. It burns with the fiery intensity of honesty but it lives in a different world altogether. In the same way, I have passed through different worlds and indeed have lived several lives. And I believe the secret that life keeps to itself is for me to remain utterly as I am, so that when I come to die, I breathed but one life and spoke but one truth.
There is a relation between time and space, they bind to each other with a rhythm, and a pattern emerges that binds you and me to a certain place in time, or to a certain time at a place. That is most of the physics I know. But I am stuck in one moment, my arms resting on the table sitting up in my chair. And I am not alone, you are also there, confused.
A five-year girl would not know of complex mathematical equations, but she knows of God and in a way, she knows what it is like to have faith. Yesterday, she was rewording to me what she’s been told and what she believes. The world and the sky and the stars at night are all part of God’s creation she said. The universe is so big that I will never find its end. She talked about creation with such passion that I started to envy her faith. I wondered how she would feel if she learnt the intrinsic mechanisms of things, from the power generating houses of mitochondrias to the helium gases of the sun. I thought to myself how it would fill me with a curious joy to begin to understand like she does. A unit of knowledge taken in completely along with the mystery it carries. She asked me if I knew about love. I did not know how she meant so I answered that I did not. She said her mom told her that it was like the horizon; the sky meeting the earth. “But the sky does not touch the earth,” I said. She rolled her eyes as if she knew that it does not. I asked her if she meant that love is like the space between the sky and the earth. But she didn’t answer. After a while she asked me if I had been there, to the horizon, the end of the earth touching the sky. I answered “No, I haven’t been.”. “Then how would you know?” she asked.