“Say something!” she screams. You can feel the desperateness. It’s in her voice and in her eyes, and it’s overwhelming when she cries out like that. I think there’s something wrong with me. I’m not sure of who I am or who I want to be, or if I should be. I’m never sure of where I stand. I can’t think. I just glance at the clock, constantly, as if I was short of time. What are we fighting for? I honestly don’t know. All I’ve ever known has been only an illusion. The lies, the things I’ve learned, the things I’ve fought for and lost, the time and place, and every embrace- they’re all illusory. And so am I. So what’s the purpose of my being?
In The Bhagavad-Gita there is the scripture of The Trinity: Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, and Shiva the destroyer. As Brahma dreams, Vishnu maintains order so he can sleep peacefully. Shiva must destroy as well so that Brahma can keep dreaming and creating. Brahma is the creator of our world and of the human race; his dreams are our reality.
Everything experienced is a dream. Maybe our only purpose is to live it and enjoy it, as it changes, day by day, as it’s the dreamer’s wish. Maybe our purpose is to dream as well, and so create many other worlds within this one. So why ask vain questions? These questions bring answers with no meaning. The true answer lies within, a silent unspoken whisper, like memories you cannot suppress, secrets you will not reveal, dreams that haunt you so and you won’t dare say but only write. And as I write, I find that all those things I won’t dare say are what make me who I am.
I remember dancing barefoot in The Temple with my father. The scent of incense overpowering the musty room where we gathered together in worship, and I would get on my father’s back so I wouldn’t be smothered by the crowds. And it felt as it had been only me and my father and the Gods. And I remember nothing then. Just the scent of incense that to this day I crave, and the freedom I felt. And I wonder where that feeling went. As if it had left.
“Clear your mind.” He’d say to me. When I set them free my thoughts wrap endlessly, and many times I get stuck in my own web of dreams.
“Close your eyes and concentrate on your breath,” he’d explain, “like the waves of the sea, and let it take you away.” I would imagine the waves and sea so real I felt as if I was truly there, drifting away on a warm sea foam wave. And then after I’d fallen asleep, I’d dream of a place far away. I was in search for myself. A huge maze, and at the end I’d find myself flawless, wearing a white dress, flowing in the breeze, and I rode a white horse as well. And I found peace within.
“Say something!” she screams.
My mind is clear. I won’t let her desperation overpower me this time. It is only a dream.
And as I write, I empty my head and let go of the memories and the secrets that once tormented me so. I am empty now, and free. The Truth is like the silence that fills this place, and filtrates in the breath, and hangs on the hands of the clock. Now, you have my words, and my silence.