Windgates, County Wicklow
Views from a Sunday walk…
Is it too unpalatable a word?
A violation then
Born, then, of a violation
The act, which finally reft the last fraying fibres of that catastrophic union of two troubled souls
Black knots and spears; silhouetted against a flame and orchid dusk; exquisite colour-palette sparking a longing to pour fourth but the words don’t come. Hemmed in by invisible tethers, inspired yet fettered, by a sense of my own words’ lack of worth… wanting to speak but afraid to say… to presume to contribute to the flow… to the discourse.
I am saturated with that which I have failed to express, that which I have suppressed; holding in the sentiments as I withhold my breath… suffocating but not dead yet. On my mark and preparing to step… into my voice… to sound it aloud, to call into the crowd, to echo in the void… slowly building inside the wherewithal to make my own noise and to convey my authentic self with my own poise.
Finally finding my own way, without need to pretend to have the answers, or to ‘fit’ … I am in myself ‘whole’; uniquely created by Him- to be just like this… to fail, to fall and rise, and to ‘make a hames of it’… to assert my imperfection… here I am… this is it.
I am sufficient; work in progress, in transition… evolving as I sit observing and absorbing… internalising all of it… hardly recalling who I was at the outset.
Cycles of content and restlessness… anchored by something imperceptible… something of fear and bliss.
Dreaming big… frustrated by wings become clipped… fluttering, stretching, straining… against the weight of it… against the limits of this barbed-wire cage… aching to soar and flit… to be free of this Dunya and to reconnect with the Source of it; with my Creator… to be where He is.
Longing to melt back into what I was created with, free of this restrictive life-form, which keeps me repeatedly ensnared… in this barbed-wire world… swept by the sway of each directional breeze; never truly at ease… struggling hard to find the courage just to be.
‘Stuff might come up’ she advised us with characteristic candour. I wondered fleetingly what could remain in me to rise to the surface; what coded secrets lay yet in the depths of my untapped unconscious. The thought checked me only momentarily… gave way to only momentary pause… before my burdened mind, struggling to keep pace with her insight-laden flow, broke free of that which it had snagged upon and resumed its headlong dash in pursuit of the underlying significance of her words, as they poured forth in ever-measured tone… fighting the previously-set limits of my comprehension in an attempt to process in real-time the complexity which she spoke… grasping at clues, implications and the edges of meaning that disappeared from the peripheral view of my consciousness… just as I thought I might catch hold… information overload.
I took her note of caution as a truth… curious only as to what it foretold… what I might stand to glean that hadn’t already been exposed, that might be unlocked and revealed to me, the magnitude of what it could potentially mean, to make the choice to lean, in, to the unknown, to the unforeseen… to inhale it and let it wash over me and go deeper than I’d ever previously been… anticipation and, somewhere lurking, anxiety… not unobserved by any means… tentatively ready, undeniably edgy, still somewhat on my guard… mentally preparing myself in that instant for the plunge… for going no-holds-barred… to go hard. Continue reading
A blog by Aarij Anwer
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