Six: Intent

I need a direction H thought, looking at the horizon. The light blue sky was meeting the turquoise sea with a hazy line. Forms got hazy, blurred in the vastness. What if I erase my borderlines too? he asked sadly. He was feeling quite dreamy recently; he could sense the earth and the sky with fear only. He saw himself like a pillar squeezed in between. H did not feel strong enough to carry the burden, he felt like a miserable one.

Was he ready to leave what he thinks he is behind? Who am I anyway? Who am I to exist? He wanted to remember the very first day he was born. It was such a special moment in life, when you had no idea about who you are, wrapped with the beauty of not knowing… Can I learn to unlearn what I learnt so far? Can I forget that all I remember? How can one handle the not knowing, the unknown, the immense, the formless? Is the death only time left to remember the purest version of myself?

He remembered her deathbed. It was too early. It took time for H to notice his resentment. He believed she quietly, drew her death each day, without telling him. He didn’t believe death happens to us, he thought she desired it, intended for it, for very long time. It came as a cancer, slowly preparing her to the idea. He resented that she didn’t survive it. She welcomed it in elegance and beauty, step by step, made an agreement with it, as if she exchanged everything she knew, all the memories, including him, what they planned together, what they have been through all those years. Day by day, she left who she was. She willingly left her body into the death’s arms. She transformed it into a ceremony. She died beautiful, at the age of 38.

How heartbreaking must have been to leave the rosemary bread freshly made in the bakery around the corner, the smell of it. The white teapot in the kitchen with red dots on… The hose pipe in the garden, fresh smell of the earth after watering the garden of magic seeds. How could she give up on all their earthly moments, earthliness. Did she crave for the unknown?

He wondered what she is now? Who am I anyway? Who am I to exist? Carrying a story about the smell of the rosemary bread, the hose pipe, the teapot and the seeds, in his memory felt like a hunchback. Can I ever leave them behind? he wondered. I am the person of habit, I am the average man, a squeezed pillar between the sky and the earth. H thought he could be able to die in a car accident meeting his death as a fist in the face.

H is now wondering if there is a direction, a smooth path to the unknown? If there is, he may walk slowly, resting on the way, with no hurry, no hurt, and knock the door.

“Knock knock knock!”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know”

H for hazy, H for hole, H for the deepest breath, he exhaled. H wanted to know himself, before surrendering to unknown. Maybe then he can enter into the death, slowly, smoothly, like she did, with elegance. He didnt want to turn up as a total stranger, at the door.

He needed a direction and he thought this could be the direction. “I want to know myself”.

H mumbled his new intent, along the coast. I want to know myself… I want to know myself… I want to know myself… 

First time from tip to toe, he had an intent for something: “Knowing”bluemoon

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