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Fruitful Nothings


Have you ever been in a time when just by letting yourself be adrift, you felt a fulfillment? A time when you were amongst people, yet saw nothing, talked nothing? A book perhaps, a cutting paperback, reading but not really thinking?

Saturday was such a time. I did nothing the whole day. I just walked, not seeing, just where my feet would take me. I sat, not thinking, till the cold wind from the lake would shake me. I even rode trains, from this end to that end and back. I sat on the green grass by the museum facing the lake looking, not seeing.

And it was fantastic. I felt content in my own bubble. Having the world separated by that thin rainbow tinted film worked as an amazing stress buster. Those important things – whose omnipotent reality always astonished me, cornered me into facing it eye-to-eye, seemed so petty from inside my shiny bubble. I could turn my back from them, heck, I could even mock them now.

Today I belonged to a different world, a world I created. I could be anyone. But I chose to be no one. In my mind palace there was a meadow, green, sunny with overgrown flowers, yellow and purple butterflies and a bed. Huge and, white. I was lying on it, yet I was floating through. People and familiar sounds appeared at the horizon but so far away that it didn’t really matter. It was I alone, in the world, and I had nothing to do. My brain had nothing to do, so it started brewing a potion – a bright dazzling concoction by smashing all my senses together and getting itself drunk on it. Everything blurred, only the meadow stayed distinct and colorful. My arms spread on the soft bed, my neck relaxed and soon it was only the bliss that remained.

Somewhere the church bell went off, Ding-Dang-Dong, three distinctive sounds. Definitive as the church itself, loud as the rude metallic horns of the trucks that run on the highway. My state of inebriation vanished. But luckily the bubble remained. Let me live in it today, I’d tend to those emails and the rotting vegetables tomorrow.

Love,

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Riot of Random

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