This is the fifth of seven articles in the collection
Letters to Yara
my personal take on the hero’s journey.
To you,
Forever,
from me to you,
My focus flees as I aim to stay engaged in conversation. Familiar words appear as mumbling in a foreign language. The connection with my brothers falls short, whom I’ve now troubled with the added task of looking over me. Increasing their burden, adding insult to their injury. I know their patience is wearing thin. How could it not? When their energy too, is all but spent. How could they grasp what ails me, when words sparsely part from my lips? Denying them of any answers I do hold, for the grief still being far too near.
Guilt and shame weigh heavy on my mind, as they are more deserving, my friends.
In the shadows I remain. Digesting sensory information no longer comes naturally; magnified, sounds and movement, light and colors overwhelm. There’s a continuous sting behind my eyes. A relentless throbbing in my temples. A fog lain over my periphery. Making the outside world seem all the more distant.
Yet,
through the hazy maze of grey,
there it was…
I felt it. Ever so lightly. Fleeting, but present nonetheless.
For a moment the suffocating blanket of mist within, lifted
and revealed an ember glowing dimly in the ocean of dark.
A shift, from inner eclipse, to crescent moon.
Casting only a shimmer, a glare.
So very faint and fragile.
The opening of my heart.
Hope.
I was taken aback, and in that moment I could imagine colorful marketplaces, fountains and lanterns. I remembered the feel of a morning breeze caressing my cheeks, and catching the sweet scent of flowers. I imagined the taste of summer fruits and heard the song of birds, the rustling of a hundred falling leaves on an autumn day. I felt the magical urgency of winter. I embraced the promise of spring.
For the first time in long,
I felt life.
Desperately I clung to the moment of clarity. Like catching smoke with my bare hands however, it quickly escaped my grasp. Slipping through my fingers with aggravating fluidity. As if collecting rain within my cupped palms.
Almost as soon as it arrived, I was back in the darkness.
Leaving me with no more than a memory.
But that memory was enough.
For I know what I felt.
The memory persists. Like a seed, biding its time, waiting to sprout.
Ready to grow.
Something has begun…
And I know again;
All you need is a spark.
Yours,
Me
White Lotus Vector courtesy of Thijs Franken
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for the preceding article in
Letters to Yara
