TWELFTH EPOCH: THE SECRET BLOSSOM
Months ago, while a young night seeped slowly into the Earth, under the dimmed light of a chandelier burning gold, this restlessness arose. In the twilight of profound sombreness, a flame of truth flickered, drinking in the light and yet dispelling the darkness at once. From it’s burning heart of inquiry, a question was wrought – a meager question about ‘why I write’. Yet the answers that were required to douse the flames were not destined to be shallow. Only the heat in the core depths of a being – be it the answer, or the human heart in which the answer lies nestled – could cool these flames.
Thence started the quest with this question. But little did I know then that this was the beginning – the first silent stroke of stillness that signals the brewing of a mighty storm.
Questing with this question, I traversed across skies of days that seemed never to end, and seas of nights spent in contemplation that ran to fathomless bottoms. I sought endlessly, groping in darkness for a mere sliver that may lead me forth – for at least a shattered shred of light mirrored by the answer. Yet, all around me scuffled silently, mere shifting shadows – too many intangible answers that lay beyond reach, yet unformed to be seen by the eye. But in the brooding silence, the shadows had begun to stir into shapes, materializing into solid figures. But the darkness draped the answers in concealment from me still.
It happened when at that point, completely torn by the hopelessness, I dispelled the thoughts out of the narrow confines of their womb – my mind – and into the open unknown. There, in the wide world, my semi-formed mind children – unshaped answers and gathering ideas drunk in the light of the world, clothed themselves in vivid words and ideas that other beings uttered, and at length, returned fully formed in vivid colors.
So it was that when I freed myself from the question at last, the answer emerged. And lo, it turned out that the answer – or answers rather – to my question were more questions; and the quest to seek the answer ended in the beginning of myriad different quests for myriad answers that lay scattered in different directions, like pieces of a lost puzzle.
And to that lost puzzle, all these questions were connected – ‘why do I write’, ‘what do I write’ – they couldn’t be answered by themselves. The secret had to be revealed by the blossoming of one ultimate flower. And that flower, unfolded petal-by-petal – answer by answer…
To be continued…
(Image courtesy: Pinterest)