When everything is a subject to infinite entropy and change. Can you trust your feelings? One moment your excitement is over the roof and a minute later, you’re down in the gutter. One second, you know exactly what you want and another second, you’re lost in the oblivion of your meaninglessness. What do you rest your faith upon when all you’ve ever heard are just opinions?
A kid is lost in the garden full of flowers he can possibly imagine, of colours he can’t even pronounce. Hopping from one flower to another, he dwells in the admiration of every single one. Plucking, what he likes best.
Ignorance is the safest bet, but how long can you fool the ever-growing consciousness that keeps on lashing onto all that demands questioning? Questions of all sorts. The past, the present and the future. Questions of existence and the questions of the universe. All questions lead to answers and some you don’t enjoy hearing. If it doesn’t lead to an answer, you must go where it leads you.
The kid’s tiny pockets are overflowing with varieties of flora and the bees keep floating near his face. Both of his fists are holding all the flowers he could possibly collect. Some he has stuffed in his mouth, and some between his buttcheeks. He doesn’t look very comfortable.
What do you love? That which can be your antidote to sorrow. No, not a person, not a person who is fighting the battles of their own. You can’t just go and ask if somebody can be the antidote to your sorrow. Do you have something inside those worn out pocket of yours, that you can amuse yourself with, while this train of reality slowly passes?
The kid can’t answer, neither can he use his hands to gesture a reply. His eyes bulge in apprehension. He lets go of the flowers that he has held so tightly in his fists. He breathes deeply. Tears roll down.
Get up. Dress up. Show up. Your legs are shaking but that doesn’t mean it won’t work. Or have you been deluding yourself of paralysis all this time? One step at a time. The construct of society is a game you have to play. You have to take responsibility. If you don’t have it. Assume responsibility.
The kid vomits out the flowers from his mouth and removes some of them from his buttcheeks. He cleans himself off and vows never to return again to the garden. He hates the garden with all the disgust he can muster up. He storms towards the garden gate, without even turning back for a second to look.
You gotta go somewhere? Are you looking for somebody to accompany you on this voyage? Come on now, the ship is about to leave any moment now. Tell us your favorite songs? Play whatever I want? Very well. The orchestra will soothe you with the classic hits or some modern jazz. Why are you looking over to the sea? Look at all these people draped in the silk skin. Ah, smell their perfume? It’s the new one that everyone is trying. You must try. You must wear a silk skin.
The calm before the storm, the order before the chaos. War and peace. Life and death. So many voices. Not everyone talks but their voices you can hear. It’s a silent cacophony. Everything blurs out. It’s all white.
The kid finds himself in a whiteout. Utterly silent. He can’t even hear his thoughts. Nothing really matters. He closes and eyes and finds himself at the garden. His hands about to touch the latch of the garden gate. There’s a wild dandelion stuck in his pants. Its long stem protruding from the sepals. What are the odds? He thinks. He picks it up and pulls it closer to his face. He smiles.
“it’s the only flower I’ll ever need.”