-4- On Peace, Grief and Chaos

 “Yellow paper and a red pen.” That’s what she said. “Write with a pencil,” he said, “it’s smoother on paper.” Write what comes to mind as it comes to mind, that’s what I imagine Virginia would’ve said. A stream of consciousness is what is there for you to see, to know, to understand perhaps. Hills or oceans it doesn’t matter. Life changes in the instant, the ordinary instant.

“Why be tormented?” I asked, and followed that question all way long, all our way long. Here I am in a city that used to be ours. Here or there, the nights were ours; we always found our way around the sleeping city. Wandered around the streets of chaos and coldness, searching for warmth and companionship. One is searching for what one feels they’re ought to find. But, also, as much as one loves this city, they know they would never stay.

I am here now to question my so-called peace amid chaos itself. Looking for scraps of what is left of hope, serenity and wisdom. Roaming the streets at day, searching for my unsolicited anger and love, and neglecting the remembered peaceful chaos of the night. The sun is clouded and the skies are grey, and I am surrounded by traces of you wherever I go.

But one needs to realize
that the "missing" won't go.
One needs to realize that it never fades,
and that there will remain a void.
With birthdays celebrated,
and deaths mourned,
this will always go on.
There is no way out of it,
it will be here;
let it prosper and take its shape,
rather than letting it eat you,
kill you softly
with its soothing rhythm.

The streets are filled with grace. It is deafeningly quiet that the only thing that is heard is leaves falling to the ground. The city is Eve’s garden, and its gate’s guard has been lost inside. Surrounded by tall trees that touch the grey sky, nothing seems to have an end. Greyness of the city is touched by greenery, and in both you shall find both tranquility and turbulence.

A month ago, you were the guard that is now lost. You, as well, got lost there once. Wherever you looked, you found trees haunting you. Seeking shelter, you sat under one’s massive branch, and on letting a sigh of relief, you felt the branch falling on your head. On running, you found trees falling on the ground. There was no way out for you, but your fear. Fear sheltered you and gave you a purpose, even though you couldn’t but see the greenery turning into greyness. And once you realized that the greyness was not of the trees dying but of the skies above, you fled.

Eve’s garden was never yours, you felt. But it is all there is for you if you can see-if you let yourself see.

Perhaps, when we’re both old and grey you’d see that you deserved your place. Perhaps you’d be able someday to find solace in trees. Trees have never been falling, they were never haunting you. The branch you felt falling on your head was going down for a pat. And sometimes, a mere pat on the head and a simple “let’s sleep and everything will be better in the morning” is all you need.

I’m not looking for another chapter for our story nor am I erasing the one(s) we had. You were there, the city was there, the desert was there, and our stargazing nights were there. They will always be there; the memories will never fade away. And there will always remain a void of you missing. Incompleteness will be there, as it has always been.

We all have the privilege of choice, but as much as one loves something, sometimes they know they cannot but leave.

And leaving it is. That’s why I’ve come; to acknowledge the end of what I have once begun. Courage, serenity, and wisdom- these are the only things I am hoping for today. Courage to change the things one can change, serenity to accept the things one cannot change, and wisdom to know the difference. And I have been courageous enough to both let it begin and end, and now it’s serenity’s time on the way to wisdom.

The moment I stepped in this place, our place, I felt grace when I have expected it the least. Chaos filled the void that is my mind. The void was filled with the greenery of every feeling of love I have ever got, either given or received. And one realized that perhaps grace is what’s guarding the gate to tranquility in a city that has always been far from it, except at the nights.

Chaos;
arriving at grace
on one’s way to peace.

This is how it ends, as a literary piece of writing of a story that was never fiction, and I see fiction everywhere I look. Fiction is my trees falling over my head. It is what has always been haunting me. And there was never a better way out but taking the courageous leap towards the one thing that I felt was true. But one needs to realize that it isn’t always courage that grants peace. And also, one needs to acknowledge that this was never fiction.

I once danced through the night in a beloved desert. I saw my fear coming out of the hills, and one night I abandoned my escapism and headed to it, took its hand and we danced to the music of my mind. At dusk, I felt this huge surge of calamity that the void that is my mind was quiet; it had neither music nor language. For a moment, I felt that I have regained everything that was once lost in the rhymes of words and paragraphs.

And here, today, when it’s almost dawn, I lift off the branch you felt falling over your head. I take it because that’s what I can give. This is my last act, and it is never out of despair. The old days of despair are long gone. And today, I acknowledge that I’m giving myself to you fully, undoubtful and unashamed, because it is the only way to set both you and me free.

This is how it ends: a literary piece of writing of a nonfiction tale.

It is past midnight. The night is getting darker, and the full moon is standing against it, yet in harmony.  A few months ago, I wouldn’t have thought of this happening, but here I am both declaring and grieving your absence. Grief is, perhaps, the gate leading to peace. And though our shared life was all chaotic, I found in you my safest companion and the mirror to the unseen-to-my-eyes soul.

In a year or so, this will all go to ruins. There will be no shared ice-creams or eyes staring at hands rolling cigarettes. This city will lose its taste and begin to find another. It will be a distant memory of short visits and numerous goodbyes. Everything would change, except for our beloved desert that has pieces of our reflected souls. And these, these shall be forever guarded by my only favorite stars that were always yours.

And you? You were my favorite on this land; my only true fictional character. 

song(s) mentioned one way or the other: 
Choices - To Kill a King