In the fullness of everything, one suddenly lapses. Like
air out of a balloon. No pin prick. No burst. Just a slow release. An existential
crisis of the how and the why and the “is this necessary and should I be here,
or there or someplace else”.
And if so, where is it that I belong? Why is there a
pressing slit in my ribcage that questions where the soles of my feet are, and
where my soul should be? Who put that slit there?
It is a slow, slow walk to somewhere – that I know. But
where to, I know not.
As one unravels each knot, insides, one within another, sit
still like a piece of cloth that has just been wrung out but not yet put up to
dry. Do you know that damp, heavy stillness? But it’s sunny outside and
everything is fine. It really, really is. So it’s not the outside that is damp,
it’s the fibre of the cloth. That’s the cold one feels. That’s the cold, no
matter how sunny it is it. You wait in a lump. Either to stretch out, or be
stretched out, or stay put and dry.
There are moments of time warp in my head, where I am not
sure which way I should be going. Or is it just okay to make peace with the
fluidity of it all. That there is no destination and that you are just moving
forward in respect of where you are right now. Or maybe you’re not moving
forward, and that too is okay. Or is that deemed as being too comfortable? Not
stretching yourself, and all that potential inside you.
The word potential always takes me back to physics, and
energy. As moving masses of energy, we are the physics, chemistry and biology
of all that there is. Surely, the energy we put out in thoughts, feelings,
words and actions creates ripples and penetrates other energies? I walk around trying
to imagine orbs of energy around me, beings with masses that have potential and
kinetic energy.
Time and again, through the best and the worst, I have
times when I sit with these knots inside my chest. And mostly, there is never a
good solution to the process by which these can be untied. Maybe they aren’t
there to be unpicked, but for me to be unpicked by them. To get perspective of
the universe and the mitochondria, but at most times it is beautiful spillage
of – energy, which I am sure goes around and comes back around in line with
Newton’s observations.
Time, time, time. Best friend, worst enemy and above all,
an effective teacher. Another year on, released, I watch the remnants dissolve
slowly. Shed, shed, shed that skin once more. One of my favourite animals does,
and what breath taking beauty emerges when it does.
© Sneha Singh 2016
