There’s so much chaos out there. Just one step across the line and you here the noises drown you. They pull you, entrap you in a trench where there shall be two worlds, one that goes inside you, and the other where the body shall reside inside that trench. Two world at one space, what shall you do when you get trapped? Shout out for help, scream for only rescuing you was an option?
She cried day after day until her tear glands could be at peace. The agony felt like a million blades pierce through her conscience that which they called the ‘Super’ Ego. What about the pleasures? An image of licking that ice lolly as a kid came across her mind. That very ice lolly which was now looked down upon for it was not ‘branded’! But it caused her no harm and only offered a pinkish tongue and a hundred giggles every time she would buy and lick it. The taste of happiness, oh so transient, yet the images of these memories stay. Why , you ask? For in there lay a purity and truth so profound that no riches could buy it!
The noise in the trench was silenced. She wondered if the world would ever realize her absence, for she was just one freckle amidst the innumerable ones that came and went by from this planet called earth. Did her existence made any difference in the lives of others? Existence- ia-lism. Its surprising how distance doesn’t matters when you love the person who is miles away from you, that someone special whom you haven’t met , yet the soul feels as if you have, in that one era, which remains felt but not seen.
This trail of thought is often termed ‘derailed’ thinking style in the realm of the psychiatry world. Yet its funny how the thoughts have a zillion threads, they may seem distinct, but a chain is what weaves them together. Perhaps trenches are a good place to be in. In a world where people are running, pacing, cracking their heads to earn riches, not knowing the value of their “being” morphing their life into a futile, hollow story, perhaps it’s a trench which puts the perspectives back into life, just like how a drip gets injected when something sucks the life out of you, only to offer a live back to the life.
That trench stays empty now; remote in that part of the world that has been accepted. The soil there continues to be wet for the downpour of the heart left a few greens to blossom. The hole in there is where the sparkling rays play hide and seek with those buds waiting to grow and reach out. The buds miss her but only for good. The trench is not an enclosure. Not a trap. Away from the world, some spaces seek acknowledgment, in pain, in confusion because the quieter we are, the more patient and open we are in our sadnesses, the more deeply and serenely the new presence can enter us, and the more we can make it our own, the more it becomes fate.
P.S: The words in colour are by Rainer Maria Rilke.