Splitting Headaches

Karma. I am in search of peace. A never ending peace. Peace that denotes joy. At every step I should meet with an astringent that is not as electrified as mine. Not so impatient. Not so bubbling with surface froth. But forgive me before that. I am genuinely washing my cheeks with tears. Eyes see more clearly than ever. The whole night, with the burning oil, I have burnt my own soul. Trust me, for once more. Or, actually don’t. But don’t forget me. It will take time to let loose the insecurities, dreads and fears that surround me with the night when I am alone with my own self. The thought of you makes me look back at blemishes. You are that which I was and I have come a long way. A full circle almost. From disbelief, effacing limits of the conscience, hedonism, pure physical pleasure to partially forced tears to realizing the need for peace in my heart, I have come a long way. It is like a lamb. I hurled it around. Threatened it and locked it up. I stepped in a world of sheer need and want. I grew feeding on your happiness. I myself cannot imagine how I deserted you. I confess it was base of me. That is where began the journey of what I am today. But there is a path that I see. What is gone is irreplaceable. Should I regain faith in Karma, I should only try and be forgiving, understanding and calmer. That is how the maze of sentiments, that drives what one sees upfront, will be visible. Self dignity is lost somewhere. I need to regain it because that is how I will love and respect myself when you are gone. Flames light up, little lamps full of fire, at an ungodly hour as soon as I sit up and agree that nothing divine exists. Embracing agnosticism, uncertainty and the absence of things is scary. Affreux, in French describes it perfectly. How is this heart to be at ease when all around there are gazes and stares looking through the body stripping it off? Also, what seemed quite inscrutable, enigmatic and seductive, now just appears animal. A swamp, a terrifying swamp of buzzing cars and slithering slimy men look to be deliberately grazing your physical space. The space of “I” is so negotiated, so cramped that I shudder at the thought of standing nude in a public square and declaring that I want to erase limits between me and the objects that I use. I read somewhere; darkness is not an entity by itself. It’s a mere counter-entity. It denotes the absence of a characteristic and not the presence of another. It is precisely why we cannot control the amount of darkness, cannot increase or decrease darkness. Cats seem to draw attention and distract me. The mysterious element must be the key. But can’t you look beyond words since I agree that I cannot translate the emotion into sentences aptly? An opportunity is lost. I dare say after an eon, maybe (God) served me right to feel so miserable and cry like a dodo because wisps of ideas are caught in my throat but they fail to transform correctly. Maybe this is the punishment of a writer.