Today morning, I woke up like one of those Disney princesses. There was a gentle breeze in my room and I was buried under soft comfortable blankets with my head cushioned over several pillows. The birds outside were chirping, and they might as well have been singing ballads of my greatness. I played some nice music and swayed to it now and then. I smiled at myself in the mirror and wished everyone in the house an extra enthusiastic good morning. I did truly feel like it. I was more excited about everything, I was eating well, I was exercising again, I was surrounded by good company at all times, most of whom loved me dearly. I felt good. I was happy…. Almost like I had a point to prove. Almost. As if I was screaming “I am happy- look.”, “I am busy- look.” The ‘look’ that followed my supposed happiness and engagement indicated that something was not quite right. I was doing my best to overlook the ‘look’. Let’s take a look at what’s happening now. Just right now, between you and me- I started the paragraph about me being a Disney princess in the present tense, shifting to the past with the conviction that every story of mine has to be that of a victory, of overcoming some obstacle, of doing something remotely heroic. Plot twist- This is not that story. This is a story of acceptance. I write with the resolve of someone whose life depends upon it. There is something that’s been pricking me for a while. This resistance to let the ink flow, a consequence of that thorn. I haven’t located the thorn yet, I’ve learnt to move in ways that it doesn’t bruise. Limited movement is still better than none. Every time I see something within the realm of beauty that can be held with the eyes- there’s two voices that start talking at once One that goes- Wow this is beyond beautiful. And another that goes- Look, look, look The first voice is delicate to the point of being feeble. It is trying to contain as much, but the depth not sufficing, the voice drowns out. The second voice often overpowers the first with me taking off on a spree to share the beauty with everyone around me. Imagine running helter skelter, trying to show something only you can see to someone else. Like an overflowing vessel. Ouch. Hey, I think I found the thorn ~ The voices are talking to each other. Every ‘look’ that I have uttered is beckoning to me. ~ I’ve been abstracting my emotions in a desperate attempt to hide from them. Stripped bare, they cower like bruised soldiers. The wounds from the thorn are healing. ~ Look. But only within
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