There’s a book lying on the shelf…waiting to be picked

 Ever thought which words shall whisper into your dreams or crawl under your pillow as you lay there, opening a case of pages, immersing yourself into a world far away from ‘reality’? Oh! too long a sentence, was it? Some sentences like it brief. Some like to stretch their muscles nice and long, some like it crisp. Some like it warm. Some like it cold. Some like it fluffy. Some like it flat. Some like to rise. Some like to wallow. As each word dips itself into the last drop of hot chocolate lying besides your lamp, it kisses your lips, quenches your tongue of the longing you’ve always had, slowly entering your bloodstream, permeating the cell boundaries, only to enter the nucleus and make you feel the feel of the words you just tasted.

Your intuition calls you. It slowly rises from ashes, the one you never thought belonged to you, becomes a molecule and fuses with your spirit. In moments of oblivion, when the chatter outside makes you deaf; in moments of catastrophe, when the pieces of self look at themselves, all broken and shattered; in moments of elation, amidst smiles filled with glee, a voice speaks, only to find us no one around. Who do you think it was? Cum’on! I answered it right in the big-inning of the sentence.

As I read the text on language, it’s development and theories, words called me. My body felt hot with all the heat that the city was giving away. They contrarily felt cold. I invited them over. We had a chat, a very small one, just when Yalom wrote “Patients will resist your disclosure”. Our chat was mere a thought which was blank. No word spoken at my end yet understood by them. They knew it reached me. However I knew it too, yet I didn’t understand what chord they struck in me. Some are magic, they are all smoky, light, enchanting, vague and alluring. A swoosh! And they are gone, leaving behind a feeling unnamed.

Did I know Yalom would invite me for having breakfasts, lunches and suppers? No! actually Yes! We all carry answers to our questions we never think we will ever be able to answer. We reach out to those we think shall know. Why? The heart needs comforting, my friend. Far away in the corners of the heart lies a part which hears nothing but words. Words written are what it listens to; those that play music which enters the soul, so gradually, making them feel a part of our veins. The next time somebody invites you to open the pages to their world, give it a thought “Why now? Why them? Why You?” and may be as you shall ask the why’s, more shall emerge as more shall die.

            

Currently reading: Gift of Therapy by Irving Yalom

On the list: Tuesdays with Morrie, Illusions and There’s no such place as Far Away by Richard Bach

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