The Stardust In Her
I am staring at an empty sheet right now. I do not know what to write about. What is my heart telling me? What are the thoughts that haunt me? Am I ready to transcribe my thoughts into writing? Weave my emotions into images for the world to see? Am I ready to be vulnerable? As I am typing these words, I'm thinking about what to write next. Is this truly how life must be? That in each second of the day we are alive, we must always worry ourselves with the things that have not yet arrived? Could we not savour the moment of each letter, each word of this sentence as they are? Why must we look so far ahead into the future when we are uncertain about what's to come? Why are we letting the present become only a fragment of the past?
I have deeply longed for a time when I can be at peace with being myself, no rush, no pressure, no agenda. I have always been curious about what it's like to befriend serenity. For some reason, there is always a sense of rush going on inside of me. There seems to be someone else who is giving me orders to do a myriad of different things, and because of this, the present slips by from me, like water dripping on my bare hands. Each second that is born into the world, suddenly turns into minutes, and then hours, and then a day without us realizing their precious existence. I count based on days and weeks and months, but very seldom do I appreciate the seconds. To me, they are mere crumbs of bread on my lips, not worthy of tasteful appreciation as that of a freshly baked full loaf.
This new sense of quietness has greatly touched my soul and is now luring me into facing my own thoughts that are sometimes too deep to fathom from within me. Was I too scared to face the depth of my being? Am I too frightened to discover what is it really that I am made up of? That indeed, the core of my existence is moulded from stardust and shattered moons and mantled with an ebony of darkness? That there is as well an equal amount of unlimited shine that is too bright, too much to take in? Will it really burn me if I attempt to unleash it? Will it burn the world? Why are we strangers to ourselves? What is it about mysteries that scare us?
Some might say that it is up to me to supply the answers to these questions as it is my own life that I am living. But I dare to challenge this. Perhaps, there are no real answers to these queries. What I believe in is that not every mystery needs an answer and that perhaps, it is not answers that I seek, but rather a sense of purpose and meaning. The greater revelation has presented itself to me as I am writing this. It is the belief that the purpose and meaning that I'm soulfully searching for at this very moment is actually filling this once empty sheet into a carnival of words that can fully sustain me with feelings and a sense of acceptance of my own depth, as well as an appreciation for each and every word that I form.
Are you still here with me? Are you still reading and taking a glimpse at my soul? Or have I lost you in the beginning, perhaps somewhere in the middle? Was it a little too deep to have something to read and absorb such as this? Are you fascinated with the words that you are reading? I wonder how you feel as you read each word, each sentence, each paragraph. Do you mind if I continue? I do not think I am satisfied yet.
I truly find it fascinating that you now hold a belief about me in your head. What that is, I do not know. But what I find definitely remarkable is that, whatever it is that you think I am, is already obsolete as each second pass by. Because we are all constantly changing without us noticing it. This piece will end with no resolution. My heart is filled with bountiful emotions and my mind is overflowing with thoughts. But I am happy I wrote this. Because what was once an empty canvass has now turned into a beautiful, messy art that abstractly presents what I've thought of in each moment. None of these things were pre-determined. Rather, writing this felt like being part of a marvellous orchestra - my mind, my heart, my hands, all are in synch, and deep inside, there is a symphony playing that puts me at ease.
I have found my purpose and meaning in this moment.
And just as how the passing of time is swift and each second unique from the other - so too, are my purpose and meaning here right now; they have already been fulfilled as this piece has come to an end. I have delivered them and I am contented.
Love,
Mary Jedde
"What I believe in is that not every mystery needs an answer and that perhaps, it is not answers that I seek, but rather a sense of purpose and meaning." What if, by searching and going after this answer we miss out on exactly that: the joy of the mystery or the question, the presence of it and perhaps, if we stop and listen: more understanding of this mystery. Or maybe not even an understanding of it but indeed seeing how what part it plays in this internal symphony or piece of art. How it is part of you, but only if you let it be.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful insight! Writing this piece felt like finally understanding, as though a moment of eureka, that purpose and meaning does not have to be grand. And as you say, sometimes we do not have to look for it or chase it somewhere else. It is in fact found in the many things that we do - the mundane daily activities, the fun chat with friends, our pondering - and it is up to us to notice them. When we do notice and recognize them, then the search is over and it is now time to experience the symphony with no reservations. I love the last line that you shared: "How it is part of you, but only if you let it be."
DeleteThank you for reading and dropping by! ^_^
This blog seems like a philosopher's piece. So many questions... Reminds me of Philo class when I was in college where I always doze off in class to think about my existence. This piece put into words what it's like to procastinate 😆
ReplyDeleteI felt like on a trance while writing this! It turned out to be a philosophical piece. One cannot really determine what the outcome would be like once they let their fingers type on their own. Hahahaha. I often skip my Philo classes in college too, so I could not remember anything much from that class. The teachers were awesome tho. It was just I didn't particularly enjoyed philosophical questions then.
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