Another Morning

It was not even close to being a day! The shortest and most complex moment which was carrying a little portion of the night and early hours of a gloomy time. Waking up with a startle; well, that was not a new experience, but the dream, the sequence, and images evaporated from the mind sooner than expected. It was like inquiring about the ephemeral experience after being thrown into the persistent reality of an impatient world. It was always a struggle coping with the impetuous day, the struggles moulding into a character and looking at the mirror for a validation. In all these adjustments, emotions were blemished by the heavy weather that threatened to curtail the natural light.

A faint knock on the door startled the early morning struggle with reality. It must be a newspaper! The chronicles of the world crammed in a few pages delivered to every house for an intense debate; a futile attempt to edit every line to suit the temperament of the day. The commas, periods, the spaces and lengthy editorials demolish the utopian thoughts. The secret journal, which is frantically filled at the end of the day, will try to counter the world in an argumentative tone. The house carries an intense atmosphere while trying to interpret the prematurely evolved day. A newspaper is like that storyteller who has many tricks to gather all the senses toward it and overwhelm with the uncertainties of an unfolding Universe. Although, this Universe is a microcosm, a feeble replica, not even that, but an existing bubble that holds a multitude of thoughts.

“Am I here to surrender to the reality or create a new one?”, a thought that almost clings to the periphery of my consciousness. I cannot think about it too much because the world pulls me out it forcefully and places me amidst a pattern, the one where my desires are lost in a complicated maze.

From one of the entries in the journal-

“We cannot lament when nature overpowers us

The world unravels mysteriously; in awe and fear, the onlookers hope

As if life is chastising the errant ones

Looking for the chances, the choices, and possible escapes

Detour has been unyielding; journeymen’s nightmare”

Some words are like a premonition, compositions flow like the mysterious river across the unexplored terrains of a newly discovered planet. All dreams cannot be fair, and I cannot be hateful to the adverse images trying to warn me of an impending situation. Like inscriptions on a stone, I have to read and memorise them. Strangely, vagaries of nature cannot erase them yet. The resilience of those words is like the most valiant warrior blessed by some unworldly power.

Returning to this reality, I feel my stomach yelling at me for breakfast. I sometimes forget that man cannot survive on thoughts alone. Pacifying hunger is man’s lifelong struggle, but trying to defeat it with all the reasons of the world isn’t enough. Venturing out in the crowded contradictions and fighting to save one’s identity requires immense mental strength and tact.

The morning affair with food is a rushed one and one can barely taste anything but chew on some food and subdue the hunger for some time. A stubborn pull from the world, after almost knocking down my reasoning, is a battle where I am defeated every time, and as a beleaguered soldier gather the courage to go out and surrender to the wave. My inconvenience will be convenient for the day, as I am out there getting into the character I am supposed to enact. The storm that hits me hard and takes me away from myself is an uncomfortable experience, but rarely I can resist or plan a defence to defeat it. I have to check my consciousness and dilute it in the immensity of the world.

When can one return home and reclaim all the personal dreams and the thoughts that will help shape them for the future? After an uncertain morning, the sunset is probably the only saving moment where the frantic soul can find some solace. We cannot negotiate convincingly. We might have surrendered too much of our conscience. A kind of distraction that has grown into a big bubble; transparent yet claustrophobic. An unstable world where hallucinations are not rare occurrences. Once trapped in it and rolling across uneven landscapes, an uncomfortable journey, when the bubble bursts and released suddenly. After being hurt from the impact, we are kidnapped by another opportunistic bubble.

The days are granted to us but taken for granted; mostly, there is no choice but to subvert all possible avenues and allow the antithesis of life to breach our tranquillity. Life feels like a catapult that pulls us far away from us to throw as far as possible like a projectile hurling towards a new target. Every day, there is an unknown target we have to aim at! To settle for anything outside the premise of this routine is unsettling and perceived to be a purposeless life.

*The bell rings*

Quite strange on a busy day when everyone shuts the door, leave the dreams behind, to rush through a sea of humanity.

*The neighbour, with whom I rarely interact with. *

“Morning, Sylas!”

Oblivious of my greeting he is staring at me and looking hesitant and nervous.

“What’s the matter?”, I enquire pressingly, as I feel something is amiss. He’s almost frozen and has a pallor expression.

“Salem”, he mumbles but doesn’t utter anything else.

“I am shocked and shaken.”, he speaks as if being woken up from a stupor.  

“My entire house is in a mess. No sign of intruders, but the furniture in the living-room is smashed and all glassware are dust.”, utterly dismayed and shaken, Sylas looks at me; the reflection in his eyes makes me uncomfortable.

Some kind of unearthly realisation, from the images of an unworldly truth, spills over like a flowing melancholy.

“As if the Earth has not spared me for the thoughts, I took for granted.”, Sylas repeated mumbles through the twisted lips.

I am frozen, laying here, suddenly gripped with fear! I cannot believe that I am still in bed and the morning has brought into my world such a real nightmare. I feel some uneasy energy invaded my privacy and agitated my small world. I cannot dream of alienating myself from the chaos! As if, this parallel reality has merged with the unreal chaos and turned into a formidable foe.

I try to shake off the deeply disturbing dream, but it has been a revelation that I interacted with my neighbour more honestly through a nightmare. What kind of a sign that could be? I believe in freedom, but I also have realised that as we distance ourselves, trying to unsuccessfully to find meaning in our individuality, the unseen interconnectedness does tie us with this worldly reality.

There are those imperceptible demons shaped by the crafty darkness that settles in our consciousness. The dilemma of consciousness split into ‘innate consciousness’ and a ‘worldly consciousness; trying to maintain that balance seems to impossible for the human constitution. There is that fear of being biased towards one of them! Although the natural consciousness, guided by the soul is more satisfying, there is also a chance of severing all the ties from an erroneously perceived reality. Who knew that a morning in the dream could be such a nightmare?  There are still some impossible realities we aren’t aware of but experienced in through a freakish dream. That dream may or may not shape into an unsettling reality!   


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