Dearest Seeker, 

I took a wishful breath, one heavy and light all mixed in one, as I lay awake with my mind while my soul whispers its tantrums. It spoke of hefty wishes, of the sleeping miracles it desires, the shaping of reality into a fairytale filled with bliss and a restful place to retire. It asked for it all. All I couldn’t amass the strength to forget, all I couldn’t yet boldly possess.

Hearing my soul’s plea to make a chase and let old bravery be found, I wondered of the missing piece that I had lost when I dined with the hopeful crowd, the one that yet creates an imagery imperfect if not put down, whose absence lets me spindle upon myself round and round with voice quiet but thoughts loud.

Perhaps I could consider it a gift well given, but at times I find my mind fizzled and knotted without having anything considerable woven. Perhaps, it signifies that my life is to be the testament of longing, for I carry such fervor for the lost, of what was held in my dreaming mind… but never did it show in the reality of mine despite my yearning setting the fleet of taught dreams alight.

Yet, wonder I still, for letting the ambiguous paths straight strains me less, for I must remove the living garden full of weeds with its flourishing veins underneath that never me rest. Day another day, and night, old night again. I think of much, I think of it again. Hungry, I ask my mind favors to break the mundane.

I ask it for an essence to feel, to let loose its shackles and bring spectacles to me, to take for keepsake the memories of lack, to let me taste a sip of beings it wishes for me to skillfully cast, to let me bask in the snippets of myself I see through its eyes, to dance under the night by the fleeting fires, to urge my soul to awaken and be the magic behind my creations it considers dire.

When the hunger subsided some, I told it to wonder now not, wonder if must, wonder a prospect new, I told to myself times more than a few, but the betraying heart had its eyes set on an incomplete muse, it only vouched for the repeated gifts promised on the troubled path of missing clues.

I bargained with it for a longer time, proposed a path with bountiful flowering vines, confessed of plenty fears that trouble me when thoughts of walking uphill till significant heights crosses my mind. In the silence of the holy night when I laid awake without fighting my resplendent mind, for the first time the muse spoke in the absence of hushing noise.

Its words reverberated through the chambers of my sleeping soul. It spoke of the whispers that clung to the walls old, making them aware of an adventure new that calls for renewal of the paint covered in mold, inviting them to be the jury and decide what happens to the cracks through which one cannot grow.  

Gentle, its voice kind, it said, “If desire you must, collect in your hands the strength owed to you by searching the Earth, your hands may bleed from scraping through the unpredictable shards in the dust, but collect you must, for bleeding hands hold resilience the very best;

Flourish you must, for your soul bleeds through cuts from misery of the life for which you have no lust, cry you must, for your eyes must be clear when you stare at fate you call unjust, and demand it to show you how to make right of what couldn’t be undone.” My heartbeat grew stronger.

Hearing the words that carry the enchantment so very well, a lull of anxiousness floated amidst the residual sharpness but it remained unusually dull. No need to wonder now, of how to hoard the goodness to null my senses to distaste. I learned of the answers that came bold when one wasn’t in haste.

The taste must be erased for a new palate to make way, the bitterness of the past must be gulped down for it to not cling and stay, the sourness must take root and douse by itself after having its say. I know now what it must take to let life be shaped. I must use soft strokes of clay and let it harden with time to create the muse I forever get drunk on to portray.

I know now what I must not let slither for long, it was the chaos brought by the rotten masses with voices strong, but I had no hatred in my being for all the hasty steps and similar trodden pathways that were wrong. For a guide comes in deceptive forms, sometimes leaving one with grief to mourn.

Some reroutes are necessarily fated, for only ever one hears a clear call when all calls lay exploited, when one stands lost after all efforts exhausted, when the call long dismissed now seems to be the only one birthing hope, and only one that was ever wanted despite the abundant wounds that it may expose.

Lost and found was the journey of life I knew for long years now, yet its incomprehensible nature was a surprise that let me learn of its significance each time when it showed. Excuses, confusions, desires that lay dormant were all weapons welded in one, all serving me in the dangers perceived where existed none.

But mistake I did not for all the time spent longing to be lost, for it bore sweet fruits that gifted me the courage to walk in a new time with steps as clumsy as a newborn. But before it all, I made peace with the knowing that what’s come could be gone, its charm may be present still but to me it may become lost.

The missing could be filled, what’s filled could lead to deepening of another will, for the sun must set again for darkness to pave way, and for the light to be worshipped the darkness must make me its loyal slave. When this rhythm become familiar, one beholds the truth of what’s worth a life on these lands without the stubborn dispassionate hues, without the skies with unyielding blues.

Now enjoy I must, the dive in the edge of waves full of unsteady cuts, for what dreams I carry will be made mine if I wish to not dally a voice in me insistent, to hear cries from ways different and still choose my way with a state awakened. I shall not let time be the creator of my fate, I must shed the skins worn to fit in a world that ends in a grave.

Let my life fill me with bewilderment of its temperaments, for I must learn from the master how to whisk and sway with all the losses and the wins I crave; To become new again, to shed and play, to mask and bear a witness to the truth again. To let myself be guided by the whimsy of life, for it has a lot to take from the hopeful to give in ample to the brave.

Seek, dearest.