I can see a blue hue outside my window. Night squints on far end of the horizon walking with a small lantern of an irregular, dull moon. The stars peep out from the skateboard of a cloud that dissolves in the crimson fading into a golden streak – marking its boundaries in purple air.
Suddenly a silence has swept over the loud,chirping birds. Their flapping wings have stopped; their groups are dismissed from the hanging transmission lines and colored traffic signals as they retire to their cozy nests. The angel of light sweeps past and a mystical presence wraps me. The day is climaxing and I open the shutters to see its remains. A rich, ambrosial smell of the burnt wood and a few bugs enter my room.
The slightly chilled air invigorates my senses. A few shrubs shake the silver in the air. My thoughts wander, replaying the placid day that is disappearing. With implemented decisions, it would have turned the same no matter the choices. Today, the strings of order were dominant over the ones of chaos.
Symmetry and bedlam hold the infinite reins to our existence. We hang as puppets in between – setting foot on roads of choices and fate though fate is predominant as choices are only a learned behavior from the past. Everything that touches our life on these roads is a living, organic stencil that molds us by experiences, carries our breath forward, swells our brains with imagination and options, finally making us exit altogether. The journey has a solitary agenda – to extract the raw matter from us, for the future travelers, to forward life.
I look up at the ceiling. The white plaster is covered with bugs trying to trace their tracks. Some will exit today, some will stick around for another exit. Watching them walk and steer, my ruminations rest at the thought of death.
The most unnatural thing about death is the notion of death. We are born to die yet after our perceived existence is written off – we linger around as shadows – in memories, in photo albums, in signed documents, in worn jewellery and in used clothes. It never happens that we are completely eliminated from this universe and that is the true signature of life. While our consciousness records our existence in number of breaths crossing the graph of time and space, it simply disperses itself from our physical presence to all those who touch our lifetime. Just how this uneventful day has become a part of me without much realization. In spite of its dullness, it is an encyclopedia of life ranging from folding laundry to making long-term decisions – each nestled with a flurry of choices mixed with invisible destiny. It carries the exquisite and original arrangement of colors on sky, the birth and meltdown of sun, the wildflowers on our side pavement and kaleidoscopic light blended with orderly events. It seems to have left today but it will arrive tomorrow with something else. I exhale and the thoughts of dying leave me alone.
I realize, I will never quit, but will remain a part of this movement. I look up and find a fewer bugs. The others are around somewhere; it’s just that I cannot see them anymore for they have regenerated. I lower the shutters. The window looks transformed too.