In the midst of the wavering shores of loud oceans of aversion, rests a heap of grains of sand that has thrived on the perplexing but supporting system of hopefulness that keeps them unwetted by the oceanic water.
Systems being created out of mere dust that call in to hold a place in the Multiverse as scintillating bright bodies of importance, affecting every single entity, existent, in the Whole system, maketh a person? From being a singular body of mass and energy to well fragmented, distributed sheets of fervor and zeal, our bodies divide organ systems to perform functions best suited to one. The organization holds significance so much so, one’s dysfunction, affects the others, adversely.
There is a mountain, misty and sharp. There, on the top rests a Palm Tree. A funny creature that isn’t suited for where it is placed but is somehow just present there, existing. With continuous adjustments and acclimatizing, it has found a place so haven-like that there is nothing in it that makes it feel disoriented, not in the surrounding, not in itself. It is borne to the surrounding it is in, it is rested. However, only when the sun shines its regular dosage at the mountain where the palm tree rests and where the others of its kind are found to be living, decides its fate as ‘belonged’ or ‘outcasted’. Isn’t that how we all go on thriving?
Waiting for signs to tell us all that we are, all, in fact, outcasts, living in a world full of it, however, adjusting in only to dissolve in the nebulous mass and feel apologetic about our distinctness?
Lovelorn, for one, is the same.
Attracted to the illusion of a thought, with lucidity so loud it makes reality hide in shame, one feels the need to conjecture and conjure up a tale, not to tell anyone but to themselves, to make the singular entity feel worthy of a feeling so profound. When energies work for you and all the forces in Nature conciliate to waver all the positivity to your single system, when your placement in this cosmos feels like a priority, the illusion envelopes a core with awe and yearning.
When mysterious hollows direct to an unknown direction, headless but full of mirth, there are blips that are being created in the unsuspecting space of dimensions that exist beyond created links, there is haze and bafflement, trying to find clarity in the vaguest of ways and inane actions. Sometimes, there are certain images that make our hearts tingle with feelings one cannot put a finger at, maybe it is the uneasiness one feels when there’s a need for conversations to begin but there is no volunteering, or it is the warmth one feels when someone waves an unexpected “Bye, bye” to you, it could be the pain one feels when there is not a soul to converse with or the merriment and frolic that comes with people who stand, by you. These images, in my mind, always find a way to join together, in shape and form, and create a sound that blows louder than any other thing with the senses to perform the same. To shake the abundance of heavy words and imagery, unknown melodies of laughter and cries, surpassing all frequencies of whiny cacophonies, emerge out of a core that is flushed with overwhelming memories of a few, countable moments.
Amongst the very many unsurmountable beauties in this world of juxtaposition and shrewd menace, there are sunsets of purple and pink that break hearts into pieces so fine, every inch of every piece perspires to live, distinctly but lovingly. In a world of apathy and adversity, there are smiles and gestures, idiosyncrasies, mannerisms that excite your core, that place a heart in the grotto many delusional beings hold. There are regions and spaces, seasons and days, moods and vibrations, energies, everything directing to a certain romance of the cosmos and paving a pathway to a heart of hidden ardor and wistfulness for it to bloom.
There are organisations and systems that repel each other when present in the same vicinity, there are energies that collide but eventually meet a rift, there are actions that cause anxiety, there are moments of pang and loss, there is distaste without knowledge, there is prejudice, there are stereotypes, there is loathe. However, amongst all of these resisting and antagonistic intensities and all of the dispiritedness that is caused, there is love.
For one to be loved in a chaos of lovelornness and unrequitedness, of pain and dejection, there is a cosmos where every creature is belonged, where despondency transforms into warmth, and systems thrive in a peaceful reconciliation, where hearts are benign and succinct, where there is love-unapologetic, distinct, enormous love. Here, pines and palms grow in harmony, the sand is wetted with love, the sun shines in favour of all, the misty mountain is home to all. There is always love.