If you really want to know it, you have to live as if you believe in everything. Not trust, believe! Everything is significant and insignificant at the same time. Every moment has a peak and a trough. The most fundamental nature of material reality is a network of waves.
The smoke from the old woman’s lungs branched into the afternoon air, resembling the ramifying labyrinth of the delicate alveolar tree through where it came.
Somewhere in the vicinity, the waves hit the shore as she grew older by the second. The light from the sun moved slowly and the wind changed somethings too. If you really thought hard now, you could even feel time flow.
Reality vibrated in a rhythm. Colors spoke in sounds. In the background, she inhaled the life out of a red glow that harnessed energy through the burning tobacco. In a different dimension nicotine molecules were dancing with the nerve cells in her head. Somewhere in the vicinity was her entire life history.
Another second passed by. The woman grew grayer.
The moment seemed to divide into two equal lives. The left was bright and the right was dark. There was symmetry in black and white.
"Maybe as we grow older, we run out of the storytelling abilities that childhood sprouted in us. Maybe the entire purpose of those fantasies was to simply live. Is that what we began to miss, as we faded into yesterday? Makes sense", she thought to herself.
A blank canvas has a simple story to tell.
Eventually there is a blotch of a color, followed by a line. Then there is a streak of fibers and grains. There is gold, orange, and green along with the textures of wood and steel. A hand withdraws and takes a step behind. A pair of blind eyes watch from a distance. Oh what must they see? What must it be?
A moment in time.
The evening melted into her pale-white skin. The darkness collapsed on her dusty black clothes. The wind blew a few more seconds as tiny grains of sand changed places in the air.
Then sunlight disappeared into her old black eyes.
In the end, there were just pinholes, reflecting smoke against a yellow sky and speeding incredibly through her memories.....
....till they brought her mind back to this present moment.
Meanwhile, more smoke danced as the street lights turned green.
1 comment:
It's good... You know, it's true, some of us do lose our storytelling abilities as we grow older. It's obvious you've still retained yours.
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