My heart belongs to the unknown
Like you never turned around,
To look me for the last time
And I kept my eyes on you for a long time
You made me go on and on
As I go on
My heart belongs to the unknown…
“Today, she would have been a year old” he whispered to himself. It was past midnight and the there was no light around him as he lay still on the bed. Distant sounds of the city were softly breaking the silence around him. He reached for his phone and held it close to his face letting its bright light pierce his eyes. He stared at the screen, blinking as little as his watery eyes would allow. A lone tear slowly made its way down the side of his face leaving a trial of sorrow. He kept staring at the phone without moving. There was a cool breeze outside, which was making a soft whistling sound as it passed the slightly open window and ran across his room. He had a profound smile on his face and sleep was long gone from him.
He had spent the last year, counting days and trying to come to terms with his fate. He gathered as much information and as many images as he could. He wrote countless words on every surface he owned. He spent his time preparing for the day he would see the tree again. It was growing, and soon it would be beautiful and perfect. There was anger inside him. Anger against those who deceived him and took away the tree from him. There was good in him though, for he had forgiven them. He did not seek vengeance. Instead, he chose to forgo all the torment that had been set on him. He was strong, but not strong enough to be kept away from the tree; and that was an everlasting torment, designed by those who failed to trap him in their webs.
He blinked but his eyes were no longer moist. They were empty, just like the smile he had. He ran a finger across the screen trying to feel her. She looked a lot like him and that always gave a certain comfort to him. He began noticing the breeze and the city noise seemed louder now. “I hope you have the same heart your father has. Wherever you are, and whatever you do, it will guide you and someday you will find your way back home” He whispered again, “I celebrate your first year alone, but I know someday we will celebrate one of your many years together”. He looked at her beautiful picture on the phone one more time and then put the phone against his chest and closed his eyes.
I had a dream last night while I was sleeping inside the house I made in the middle of the field. I was flying by a million stars. I was awestruck and glanced at all the passing stars, each more beautiful than the other. I flew across the Orion’s belt and came upon Betelgeuse. There I hovered in front of its magnificence. I tried to shield my eyes with my hand in hopes of getting a glimpse of the star’s beauty. Its light was so bright, it pierced my iris and penetrated my soul. There, I froze for what seemed to be forever, trying to steal a glimpse but never succeeding. The strangest thing happened though, as an eternity was spent in the effort. The star slowly faded. Its light diminished as if it was ready for me to gaze upon it. I looked straight at it and what I saw was severely disturbing.
Countless spirits were leeching off its light. Syphoning it away into their bottomless bellies. These were not the good spirits, but the wretched ones. They all had collars around their necks and they were being held there against their will by leashes which were held by deceitful men and women. Who were they? Why were they devouring the starlight? I ran towards them, hoping to be able to save the star but no amount of force could eliminate the imposters. Soon I had no more strength in me, and while floating away quietly, I closed my eyes and wished kindness and healing upon the spirits and their masters. There was a long silence. A blast of radiant light covered my floating body again. The spirits had broken free from their leashes and the men and women were no longer there. A tiny drop of tear escaped my eyes and floated away into the emptiness.
I woke up to a bright day outside. I rubbed my eyes, and went to the door and pushed it open. A few steps outside revealed the fields around me. They were full and the vast landscape was thriving with life. Towards the east, I had planted love of all things. The west field held the crop of honesty. The north had trees of empathy and in the south, there was an endless field of flowers of hope. In the middle stood my house. I was proud of the realm I had created. I held my tools in one hand and started another day of work in the fields. I labored away that day, thinking about how in the dream, only a mere charitable wish had the power to save the star.
Have you ever held fresh soil in your hands? On which no foot has ever walked and it has never been disturbed before? A field, full of soil that has only been touched by the soft hands of nature? Have you felt its purity? Have you ever held It close to yourself to experience the earthly aroma and experience a state of natural bliss. A field much like that I once was. A fresh canvas, ready to embrace the entirety of life. You see, when we enter the world it seems like there are endless horizons to traverse. Much like the farmer who plans for his fields, the world plans for you. The painting on that canvas could be anything.
In the folds of time I slowly developed myself to embrace the worldly life. I prepared myself to be measured against the conformity standards of society and slowly evolved into an acceptable human being, ready to work the field of life. In the very same field, I stood upon the soil and held it in my hands. The rich earth beneath me promised endless opportunities. I walked impatiently and felt my feet sink in the soil with every step I took till I reached the middle. Standing there, I could see the entirety of the field all around me. A vast landscape of fresh soil I saw, ready to be tilled and seeded.
I settled down in the middle of the field and built a shelter for myself. I decorated it with my personality and furnished it with my character. The floor, I made out of empathy and the walls from honesty. The roof overhead was made out of kindness and the doors were carved out of generosity. The windows were large and had love in them. The furniture was made out of simplicity and the curtains were sewn from hope. The fence around the house was made from loyalty and stones of modesty were in its foundations. The entire structure was painted with colors of honor and integrity. From there I started my work: to work the field, to paint the canvas and to create serenity.
He stood in the middle of a never ending landscape. Vast flat fields over barren land. All around him, he could see nothing but the drying earth and the scorching sun high up in cloudless skies. The rest of his journey will be through these unforgiving lands. Every day, he will wonder about where he is headed. Every day he will wonder why does he always feel like there is something missing. An endless walk which was more taxing on the mind than on his legs. A weary traveler he has become, yet he cannot turn back. For as he moves forward, the ground behind him is no more. The sands of time devour his footsteps. The path he walks is only known and remembered by himself.
There are many
things one cannot hold on to for a life time. Regret is one of these things.
But what sort of regret is warranted? I ask this questions from myself often.
Should you really hold yourself responsible for the actions of others? Should
you continue to regret and continue to blame yourself for the unfortunate
outcomes made possible by others through actions you could not control? At what
point do you accept the reality and try to overcome everything that put you in
a state of constant regret? A continuing desolation consumes oneself slowly.
Perhaps the most unfortunate lesson I have learnt is, that only those who have
a clear conscious are the ones who are affected by this desolation. The latter
have a plethora of justifications for their actions, most of which are
illusions behind which they hide while deflecting all responsibility and blame.
What is regret anyway? Especially when we are told to believe in destiny. I feel constant pain, constant hurt and constant desolation because of being unable to hold you while those who forced this, hide behind their illusions. This will always be my burden to carry. The other day, I came across a passage in a book. To quote it; “Destiny, I feel is also a relationship – a play between divine grace and willful self-effort. Half of it you have no control over, half of it is absolutely in your hands and your actions will show measurable consequences . . . ” I have done everything I can for you and will always be willing to do more yet I have no control over a lot of things. This is why, I leave you and your future in the hands of our Maker.
Time seems to have frozen. There is always a permanent state of wonder. Like the continuous falling of leaves from a tree which never runs out of leaves to shed, during an endless autumn. The days become colder and darker and the slowly decaying leaves surround the doomed tree. There is no wind to carry them away. The still air laments between the empty branches . The tree however, has to withstand the autumn. It cannot withdraw from the fate that awaits it. The winter that will follow seems like a distant tale told by wanderers who take shelter under the tree.
He sat under the tree in the endless time counting the falling leaves but if you asked him how many have fallen so far, he would not know. Repressing everything related to the tree, the falling leaves and the never ending autumn, had become a way of life for him. Because regardless of the fate of the tree and the frozen time, he could not sit there any longer. The world does not wait. The day came when he had to get up from under the tree and continue the walk of life. Pretending to never have known the tree and its fate. Silently stepping on the decaying leaves on the ground around him. One step at a time he walked towards his path. A path he had never meant to have taken and did not know where it led.
Is it ok for him to
come back and count the falling leaves every once in a while? To see if the
autumn has finally transformed into the long dreaded winter? He does not know.
But he will always think about it. He will always think about the silence in and
around him. A normal walk on a normal path is not what he was destined for.
Maybe he will never travel on the road he wanted to, for that road was built
for two. But there is one thing he is sure of. When he got up from under that
tree and started on the path he did not ever plan to go on, he left a part of
himself under the tree. While this was not easy, but he wonders if the falling
leaves will ever stop and the part he left behind will follow the path he took
to find him at the end of his journey.