Monday, October 29, 2012

Mourning Reminiscence

“One might, indeed, consider that the appropriate form of address between man and man ought to be, not monsieur, sir, but fellow sufferer, compagnon de misères.”
 “On The Suffering Of The World”, Arthur Schopenhauer 

           It was a three hours road trip that permitted my arrival to a small hamlet situated in the north western side of the country. I was welcomed by a dreary weather: The frosty wind preyed on my physical condition whereas the heavy toll of rain made me sink deeper in my wrenching grief. From where I came, the beams of light were the only occupiers of the sky. Few steps separated me from my destiny. The only thing I knew was that my state of mind was shaken, and that I wished I could disappear. I secretly wished to be vaporized and be transformed into little water drops. An atrocious pang of futility devoured me as words disobeyed their natural formulation and I found myself utterly incapable of utterance. Words refused to be articulated when they were most required, desperately needed. I was not to linger longer in my unworthiness. I had to find her; but then I recalled that I have always wanted to pay her a visit. I reflected that my wishes were preordained to become reality; yet the Divine Design was set for me so as my first encounter with this place be morose and under the occurrence of a glum and unfortunate event. I beheld the set as bearing that sore memory. I despised it. Why had it not embraced me in prior circumstances? 
Right leg forward, I stepped into the house, dull and bleak. I could not possibly get lost as I was taken through a corridor the end of which I knew perfectly. The palpitations of my saddened heart were aggravated as I quickened my pace. A smell exacerbated all my senses; then voices stretched my pains to endlessness.  Sullen faces worsened my mental state. I had to sit like everybody else – Static with red and swollen eyes yet alarmed. My soul was agitated and deadened at the same time. The sound of ventilators disturbed the thread of thoughts I was endeavoring to arrange and rearrange – failures, successive disappointing failures. I mused that my presence could speak louder than my lips; but I could not count on it. Anxiety fed on me. I had to suppress it. I had to because she, herself, was consumed by an unbearably heavy misfortune.
            My anxious stillness was suddenly disturbed when a stranger came into the room calling my name and demanding my presence. My skin was iced; yet I tried to shutter my heart for, in spite of my overflowing sadness I could not render my company profligate or even worse, agonizing. The uncertainties of the future carelessly played with my feelings. They were almost mocking my misery. My fearful mind and fragile heart were at the grasp of a cynical future – a future for which I longed impatiently and yet dreaded terribly. Will this pain ever end?
I hurried to find my wretched friend in the most shocking state. Useless have been my attempts to imagine the horror of the situation. What I beheld was beyond the suffering of the world. I, instantly, questioned whether it is in the power of Man to endure being as such stricken and tormented. How immense must be her strength—her belief! Indeed, had not The Lost One implanted seeds of belief in the little girl’s soul, the latter would have collapsed, finding no sense in the blows of life. 
I shielded my words with the mighty aroma of patience. I whispered them in the tiny ears of my friend letting her know that her life is not in vain, that The Lost One would be torn if she ever hears the sobs of her little girl.
Patience will not be a crime to her eyes, tears, however, will. 

           There are times when lips move but produce no sound, and the sole sound—that of pain is larger than the disappointment of loss and louder than the trumpets of victory. That time when the universe becomes entirely mute and your eyes become blind to the colors of life. When the soreness compels you to succumb to void and hence fall into the abyss of denial: you open your eyes upon hearing her voice and picturing her smile. You end up preserving her memory and carrying out her will. 

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