On the edge of insanity

With passionless finesse they want to know what goes on in my mind. I think my entire life is made and unmade there. Piece by piece I put myself together and I see a different person than what I perceived in exaggerated expectations. I rejoice in this liberated self.
I
I came here six months ago they say. As I do not live by time it matters less. The space is occupied by a bed, writing table and a chair, and minor essentials. I requested for something to write with, and they gave me blank paper as well. They assessed that mendacity did not define me and I was labeled mild mannered; so sharp objects were not viewed as a threat, meaning I was not considered a risk to myself. Rather I was asked if I needed anything else. Yes, I wanted wall to wall murals on three sides! I longed for a bucolic view instead. I wanted a rain-drenched deep green forest, with a path leading nowhere; that was to be my summer. For autumn I wanted gold-amber leaves covering the entire ground and a single tree casting off the beautiful leaves that were done with months of intense living. I wanted this captured at a perfect moment, the luminous twilight. The other wall was to depict raw cold winds heavy with snowflakes, the sky gray. They obliged. Oh, I forgot to mention, there is this white wall with a window to the outside world through which I am sometimes transported to fragments of flashbacks. Those memories come to me, I do not know why. When life grasps me as such, they tell me to write about it as I do not like speaking with other people. Every day I arbitrarily move my writing desk to face a wall.
II
My dear diary! I have to write to you today because my world is overshadowed. No power of prayers and reasoning seems to bring the calm. And I do not need it. I do not need your consolation or sympathy. I simply need for you to hear me. I am tired of chasing after myself. Today, I wish to understand my compulsion for aloneness, the struggles, distant flicker of hopes that resolutely place themselves to me. I need to understand my reason for being here.
III
Today, looking out the window, I see my yesterday.
My heart did not stop pounding. The previous night I copied all the prescriptions and organized them meticulously on the table. Then I took out five small transparent bags. In each I put in a prescription and the medicines. Frantically I was thinking what else was I missing? There was not much to do, but I needed to keep busy. I looked at my son's shoes. Yes, I would need to put a prescription for those custom made shoes too. He cannot wear regular sandals or shoes, neither can he walk barefoot. The bones of his right foot have changed shape. The bump is quite prominent at the top as well as at the bottom. He walks with a slight limp now. Several months ago he fractured the foot. He did not feel the pain because he had lost sensation in his extremities. He had to stop bearing weight or lose it. At that moment in time he needed to come home, to be with family. I had vehemently said no. Eventually as I faced his reason my heart broke into a million pieces. I shouted at my God silently: Why him, why not me? He has many years ahead of him! Fear, exhaustion, apprehension and finally to be home, all emotions showed on his face. The foot healed but lost strength. Life changed for him, he cannot run, walk fast or stand on his feet long. But the foot is safe for now. He has become a person of few words. Every day I feel his trying endeavour. Against all odds I hoped the staff members would allow him to carry the medicines. Fear gripped my mind. With that the emotional pain took over. Brushing aside the tears I went to wake him.
He carried the medicine packs with utmost care, as if they were brimming with love and lest he dropped them, scattering them into many fragments. That is all I could give him and nothing more. I stopped midway and stood there for a few moments waiting. Before entering the gate he looked back, with conscious strength he stopped the tears at the brim of his lids as he handed back the care packages. I knew the consequence of that. I walked back into the car, locked all doors and windows and let out the animal scream. Life stopped living.
The real now seems impersonal.
IV
Everything is in blissful harmony. That is what I feel today. The restless autumnal winds grace the leaves. I am walking barefoot. The colors of yellow, gold and bronze bind into each other. The presence of someone comes alive. He whispers, 'the sea in your eyes causes music in me to rise to a crescendo!' The unabashed statement makes the peaceful dusk creep into the warmth of my heart, embracing my mood for a while. I too love autumn, he says. Many moons ago the words led me to compose songs; today the memories are unassembled. I sit by the tree for a while and the soft autumn evening makes me long for a thousand dreams! I hear myself say…
On a winter cool evening / I let an image walk away into the night
I gazed from afar and bid farewell to an end
With it left fury of words to entwine
My spirit in rage

Somewhere
When you walk through the park / Pause to see falling
autumn leaves
As if I am in union with the luminous gold
When you hear force of rain/ Savour the maddening wild
wind
As if I am the whim on nature's canvas
When you listen to a song / Eyes closed
Feel the rhythm, the note / Each separate
As if I am the reckless desire of that lyric

When you pick up a book to read / See it come alive from
my vision
When you hold a pen to mould thoughts / Write with
passion as if I read
With time the essence will be no more
For now, and only now
I am that truth in silence
A shadow poised in those moments
V
I try to understand the unasked words that unfold in my mind while walking down the path through the luxuriant forest. No, I do not wish to reach any destination. Each day I go a bit further and discover what I failed to notice before. Today I see the sunlight trying to bathe the leaves. The winds seize the mild mist and as both playfully move through the trees the falling raindrops create a melodious symphony. Drops of rain caught in the cobwebs shine as the quivering rays pass through. I keep on staring at the crystal clear droplets till they no longer can hold their heavy round shapes and unwillingly drip to the ground to disappear. The golden sheen divides shade and light as it comes through the branches. The sweet fragrance of wet trees and earth dissolve slowly in the air. I want you to walk with me under the green canopy to see this dignified reserve. You refuse to twine into the conflagration of my imagination. You are now a soundless prayer in my spiritual search!
VI
I am outside in the severely cold intoxicating air. The snow becomes the garb of my nude body covering me entirely. I close my eyes and stand still. The winds howl and darkness comes gradually. My skin begins to crack. My eyes are frozen shut. The black darkness creates an amazing calm. In the silence within I feel blood rush through my heart. With noiseless clarity I hear the relentless beat of my heart as if in me are the steps of my god walking towards eternity. The warmth inside me is alive. In triumph my heart has become the morning, yearning yet to say, understand life's miracle. This is my sanctuary.
My mind disagrees with conventions. To them, however, it is an aberration. The odyssey of my introspections has led their doubts to become a purposive thought! I guess the confusion of the inexplicable narrows the vision to comprehend. No matter, it is after all their opinion over which I desire to have no claim.
Today Rilke's words keep me company as I look outside the window:
"… let each impression and each embryo of a feeling come to completion, entirely in itself, in the dark, in the unsayable, the unconscious, beyond the reach of one's own understanding, and with deep humility and patience wait for the hour when a new clarity is born: this alone is what it means to live as an artist, in understanding as in creating."

Ainon N. writes from Illinois, USA.