Mending Memories


A night in the land where the aftertaste of possibility lingers every living moment, where the breeze of change is flowing every second, all around you, through your hair; a night where the many Buddhas of wisdom gather around you, there in the candlelit halls of mystic euphoria, where the cold bottle of Peroni felt against your fingers only seems like a deal-breaking contrast for the circumstances at hand, but where your heart has reign and is taking all control, so all the paradox in world wouldn’t interrupt this harmony. On a night like that, you are mingling among all the strangers, and yet it all feels very familiar: this moment, this feeling; this oneness which is ever present.

On this very moment, you lie on the many cushions of comfort, there under the violet reflections of the shimmers of the chandeliers and journey into your present legacy. YOU are sitting here, among all this peace; but where have you come from, you ask yourself.

The stranger beside you hears the question you have asked yourself and is waiting for your answer which isn’t exclusively yours. So you open your heart, and your lips follow.

You go back; to the very beginning. You remember the child. That vulnerable, fearful little boy; that very uncertain little being; not knowing the first thing about anything, really…the thought of him breaks your heart instantly and tears gather where they often have; but it’s not time for them to flow.

A couple of gulps away, just as a considerable amount of wax has been burnt into light and non-existence, as much tears have collected and brimmed the eyes, only then you come back where you were; no longer the child, not yet the man. Right there, next to a stranger who has heard the story of the child, feeling influenced by the last drop of Peroni, your heart feels listless and then calm.

You leave the stranger and walk among the many Buddhas of wisdom; only now, you don’t feel like THEY are necessarily all that wise to begin with; they seem like what they are: some meticulously carved pieces of stone, polished and nice. You seek their soul, you look for the reason of this healing sensation; you walk into the many halls; the place is like a labyrinth indeed. You find yourself in the very last hall there is; also adorned with many Buddhas. You walk in; you feel some light somewhere in the corner. It’s a mirror. You look into it. You see the duality of your SELF; you have two faces. You feel much love for both and you capture this moment inside your heart.

The night offers much promise; because you have earned the power of letting go. You have loved the pain and the tears of the little boy; you have cherished the heartbreak and the scars of his little soul. You have given so much love to the little thing, that only light is to be reaped from all you’ve sown. You indulge in the mystery of your own love; the only love which you’ve ever been after, the only love you shall ever receive in return for your giving; the same love you have learnt to share with every single soul in this universe…then you are filled with it; with much hope, with much light; this joy which you cannot ever be deprived of.

And you are insatiable.

December 2012

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