“April is your month.”
She just saw a crow flying backwards. The wind is strong. The sky is clear, she dropped the mails and the pieces rolled ten yards away instantly. She had to run to retrieve them.
Opening her right palm to catch the spring rays while she is driving. Her left hand on the wheel, her right fingers greedily wide to hold more sunshine in her grasp. She knows. No avail. She can’t catch them. But this feels good. A ball of brightness rolling inside of her hand.
Wind is anxious today. Because nobody notices it unless it frantically moves around to shake things. “I’m here! I’m here!” shouting only through the things it shakes. The miserable being, the sad destiny. If it doesn’t move, it loses its existence in our sight. Somewhat like us in our modern time.
A small stream around her dog walking path gurgles again. It swallowed all melted snow and must be very happy. She feels its exhileration. Flowing and singing. It just needs some audience for its song and dance.
April had been the worst month for her, since her older brother unknown to her died in that month. She expected the dread even before the month started. Pain and sorrow under the shadow of the full life rejuvenation. However, this year is different. Her mind shifted over the years and she decided to claim this April under her own terms. She won’t accept the skeletons that her society, her culture, and her past have built for her. She won’t howl like the wind demanding the recognition of its pain and sorrow, the validation of existence. She will be gentle, or sometimes fierce, in creating the art, the art of living, now and here. She will be the creator and the creation of her only life, the harvester of sunshine of the moments. Her gathered hands over her heart… cherishing… cherishing the presence, the present, the light, and the warmth.
Convalescence… it’s sweet time when life comes back. The things around me exude a vibrancy that I’ve never recognized before. Senses become alive. As an infant finds the smell of the world, my nose seeks the new wonder of scents, eyes for sights, and the fingers stretch out to touch.
The citrus fruit water my mouth with their tangy freshness, the texture of bread hugs my tongue with its soft warmth, the air surges into my skull when I step out of the door. Wonder whispers at every moment. Anything with a beating heart comes with new meaning to me just by their existence.
Another chance of discovering life. I say my gratitude to the unknown, the unknown force beyond my ability and understanding, the force behind the sprouting vigor after a violent sickness or a long illness.
The cyclamen flower on my desk blooms throughout the year. The pink petals take turns in the blooming process. None of the petals is the same. The presence of the one now includes the withered, the one which once existed. One after another, they made the blooming of my room for the whole winter… for the year… opening the delicate wings purposefully, contributing the wholeness of blooming, even after they are long gone, their lives exist in blossom, now and ever.
This thought consoles me when my brain reaches the time when convalescence would not be possible for me. “Would you look for my presence in the place I’ve been when I’m gone?”
I don’t know the names… but I love them. Every one of them.
When I look up, I become the center of all. Everything expands from me to the world.
Darkness, which makes light be seen.
Darkness, which makes light be worthy.
Stars are there always. But it is night that makes them lit.
And when they lit, I’m lost in the universe, lost in crystalline beauty…. for a moment, in eternity.
“…those blue eyes…”
how can anything beat external beauty? … it feels almost despairing sometimes… the superficial thing overpowers the inner quality… even it is temporary… there is the moment of awe in meeting an external beauty with my own eyes… my hopeless senses… being struck.
context, that’s what I love about… in everything.
So just doing something for the seemingly obvious pleasure doesn’t give me joy. I need more. It should happen in some context… maybe that is why I can’t stay in the system… I need waves, sudden summer showers, thunders, lightnings, rainbow, many rainbows, sounds, colors, sky, holding breath, wonder, ponder, surrender, dive in… the story that I can tell to myself again and again, finding a little tremor in some part in me.
dreams, fantasy… an upside down turtle… step back a little…
let time sit and ponder… until the turtle turns over its body and move forward… groping the ground with its sturdy four legs… slow but trustworthy when it moves, as if it is so sure that his step lands on the ground… trusting the earth… the next step… from this one…
“call me by your name,
I’ll call you by mine.”
secrecy… forbidden… what colors the things… brighter… seductive… makes the one to desire… to… touch… hold… indulge… more… and more… and more… then… pay the price… with bitterness… broken… inside… when the world goes on… around… round and round… what can you say… the sweetness lies in the unspeakable… unsharable…. with others… you already knew from the beginning… it was the choice… after all… swallow the sorrow… in silence.