Pexels
What do I give you?
The little girl reached into her eyes seeking.
The light that lay hidden. Finding.
The first half in one. And the second
in the other. She gently eased it out.
From her now glowing eyes.
Stretching her arm. She managed.
To reach far into the sky.
And place first the one. Then.
The other. In a long unbroken line.
The light stretched. From
one end to the other.
As far as the eyes could see.
The birth of the first horizon known to humankind.
II
You wake up with the dawn. You remember the one I mean? The one at the end of the horizon? Stitched by the little girl? Using fabric cut out of the blue sky? And embroidered with fluffy white clouds? That’s the one.
You breathe in the brisk cold air and plunge into the pool of dew wearing only your bare feet.
Later you warm your tingling body with the first rays of the morning. Slip into a dress woven fresh by the mist. Laced with the gold of an unrestrained sun.
You do not comb your hair. For the wind will have made its home in it. Leave it open. And flowing.
Now you are ready for the magic.
Reach for the book. The one with the golden spine. Open it on any page. Now sing the words that swim before you. Sing of the dawn. You remember the one I mean? The one at the end of the horizon? Stitched by the little girl? Using fabric cut out of the blue sky? And embroidered with fluffy white clouds? That’s the one.
III
I want to gift you solitude. Your very own. Quiet. Like the early morning of a Grey October day in late autumn. Not for you the soundless vacuum that precedes the storm. Nor the polite tiptoeing of the “early morning riser” in a house full of sleeping friends. Fearing that your wakeful presence will arouse the hosts into a flurry of hospitality. A serenity that is full of promise. Empty of all foreboding. Free of all that “needs to be done”. A space that resides in you. One that is welcoming. And healing. A reflective space. Calm in its architecture. Confident in its design. One in which the rains are not threatening. Nor is the winter anything other than a period of renewal. In which the air is unfettered and free to roam and the light of the sun exploratory. Green. Fertile. Creative in all that it does. And most of all, generous. One that allows you a homecoming day after day after day. Like walking into an unfinished but satisfying conversation, secure in the knowledge that there is food in the kitchen and wine in the fridge, and yes, the music you crave is still by the player. Just as you left it. Yesterday. The day before. Last year.
I want to gift you memory. Not the kind that tempts you into a nostalgic yearning for a life gone by. One in which the past retains its wistfulness but not its yearnings. Where the unrequited loves are just that. Unfinished bittersweet tales without an ending. To be stitched into the fabric of our daily lives. And worn. With grace. And understanding. Often like hand-me-downs from loved ones. Gowns that bear the strong fragrance of shared experience and not without a hint of romance. Of distant lands visited. Of summers and winters and monsoons. Of births and deaths and time spent with school friends. Of wines drunk and foods tasted. Of songs heard and movies that made you cry. Of questions asked and those that remained suspended in that pregnant space of the unanswered where the senses reside. All multiplying into a life lived to the hilt. Often of tears shed at the passing away of youth or a much-adored grandparent. Where the dear departed reside in the comfort of remembrance. Returning once again to their childhood memories of arms and hands that cradled. And eyes that reflected the security of the recently abandoned womb.
I want to gift you understanding. The surprise that accompanies a grasp of something new. The dropping penny. The genuine acquisition of knowledge. The joy of discovery. To hold in the palm of your hand that which is complex and to see through to its core. Clearly. To cope with the daily subterfuges that crisscross our paths, with patience and without anger. To unclasp the other fist and reveal the flipside of all truth – its consort, partner, even twin – the lie. Respect it as someone else’s truth. Allow the existence of that which is not your way of being. Often the essence of all relationship is negotiation, barter, trade, even strategy. Let this not fill your heart with cynicism. Understand it as choice that people make in their special circumstances. It is important that there be a freedom to choose. Let your understanding extend the ways of looking at all things till they stretch into the distance and merge with the horizon.
I want to gift you laughter. That which rises to the surface like the lavender bubbles of your foam bath. Or arrives unexpectedly like a long lost friend from your childhood. Laughter that smiles away the tears with as much pleasure as it gives in to them during moments of joy. Laughter that giggles and gurgles as the situation demands and is not embarrassed at playing hopscotch during a board meeting. I want to gift you its’ first cousin, humour. And its’ dear maternal aunt, wit. The former to see you through the downslides that come with the turf called life. And the latter, to match eyeballs with all those who dare!
Most of all I want to gift you the vision to see yourself as a human being who lives and breathes and allows others to do the same, regardless.
IV
Sound of wings flapping. Dreams. Making their way home.
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