Years of struggling within has come to a standstill, questions stirring the turmoil have for the moment faded away, the shrilling noise has dissolved away into a distant silence, that envelopes the vast emptiness beneath the dark brooding clouds, the tornado has finally stopped.
Poised between a moment of violent flurry and and a moment of sublime peace, the tornado pauses and watches as streaks of light travel and break through the clouds in a slow dance of ruptures and explosions.
The tornado waits, looks on to the slowly appearing sun. The heart has now begin to stir, in a calm swirl-pool of colors and dreams, the furry rises again. The tornado is still waiting. It writhes and wrenches, muffling the screams of its agony, fighting against the heart, holding on to it.
The swirling gets faster and faster, pulling the wind along, the tornado screams, louder and louder. Mad streaks of lightning scorch the tornado and agitate it from within... the flurry rises and rises, going out of control, breaking through.
With a shriek that echoed through ages, the tornado explodes into a deluge of bright colors. Speckles of dreams drift through pillars of light breaking through the clouds. The tornado is still there, still waiting, calm, and patient, as time comes to a halt, and dreams move on.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
I just wait.
In my fantasy, I have a butterfly. As it flutters, grains of light shed from its wings and add to the brightness of my horizons, but do nothing to the darkness of my sky.
The sky remains perennially dark. Occasionally lightened up when the silver clouds above throw sparks of greetings to the grains of light at the horizon, the sky remains, dark.
The butterfly flutters and flies, settling here for a moment, hovering there the next. The winds tremble to the beatings of the wings and shake the walls of my world. But the butterfly goes on, oblivious to the tremors its causing, the butterfly continues to hop and fly.
I stand in a dark corner, and wait. I feel the powdery light falling and slipping over my closed eye-lids. And as I open them, the soft brightness of the horizons entice me and capture my attention. But then, the butterfly... the butterfly.
It captures my senses and my imagination, enveloping me in a mist of soft brightness. I follow it around, even with my eyes closed, and my ears full of music, and my mind in a whirlwind of emotions, I can sense it, I can feel it, I keep running behind the fluttering wings of light... never getting nearer, but never falling behind, I go on running.
I am out of breath now. I stop, I wait, I breathe, I look up. The butterfly hovers above me for an instant. I turn my face up and close my eyes. I feel the particles of light falling and slipping over my closed eyelids, and I sense the butterfly flutter away, not caring whether I follow or not. I stop.
I turn around, look at the horizon, look at the sky, and the streaks of lightning. And over the distance, I still see the butterfly, fluttering, flying, settling for an instant and flying again. I don't try to follow the butterfly anymore.
The sky remains perennially dark. Occasionally lightened up when the silver clouds above throw sparks of greetings to the grains of light at the horizon, the sky remains, dark.
The butterfly flutters and flies, settling here for a moment, hovering there the next. The winds tremble to the beatings of the wings and shake the walls of my world. But the butterfly goes on, oblivious to the tremors its causing, the butterfly continues to hop and fly.
I stand in a dark corner, and wait. I feel the powdery light falling and slipping over my closed eye-lids. And as I open them, the soft brightness of the horizons entice me and capture my attention. But then, the butterfly... the butterfly.
It captures my senses and my imagination, enveloping me in a mist of soft brightness. I follow it around, even with my eyes closed, and my ears full of music, and my mind in a whirlwind of emotions, I can sense it, I can feel it, I keep running behind the fluttering wings of light... never getting nearer, but never falling behind, I go on running.
I am out of breath now. I stop, I wait, I breathe, I look up. The butterfly hovers above me for an instant. I turn my face up and close my eyes. I feel the particles of light falling and slipping over my closed eyelids, and I sense the butterfly flutter away, not caring whether I follow or not. I stop.
I turn around, look at the horizon, look at the sky, and the streaks of lightning. And over the distance, I still see the butterfly, fluttering, flying, settling for an instant and flying again. I don't try to follow the butterfly anymore.
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