Coming Alive
Believe in something or you will fall for anything, they say.
I believe in serendipity, coincidences and all those little cracks in our lives through which light filters in.
They make me come alive when I am at my worst. At such times - the dreariest ones - I sit in a room full of people and smile politely but what I really wish is to drown everyone out and escape into another land. There is no one I would rather spend an evening with than my solitary overthinking mind and if I need to barter a few laughs here and there to have my freedom and retreat into myself, I would.
But once in a blue moon when I am most dreary and least suspecting, there comes out of nowhere an innocent barrage of words, and I feel a sudden rush and wonder if this quality time with myself could be terribly overhyped? Now we’re talking. Actually, it is just one person talking while the other one, me, is slowly starting to sit up and take notice. Analogies such as — a good conversation is like feelings wrapped in meaningful words, or better still— a cloudless sky bathed in moonlight — begin creeping into my mind. Nothing like romanticism when I am dreary and desperately need to pull away and in that instant if someone offers a helping hand, I take it for it is a happy reminder that my goosebumps are still alive and thriving. I just hope they don’t get noticed because how embarrassing would that be? No one on the wrong side of 30 gets excited so early on. I try to curb my enthusiasm and look around for a comfortable spot to settle in. That beanbag in the corner next to the lamp which throws dull gold stars everywhere? Perfect. I am very particular about my space. I want to sit in a corner as the words said to me should be able to boomerang off the wall behind and hit me once again for good effect instead of getting dispersed in the room. I seat myself comfortably, tuck those longer-than-usual legs in as lady-like a manner as I can and grip my beloved crimson tightly. The crux here is that when you know the going is good, you should hold more and sip less. Because sipping is only for hydration when people and faces run dry but surely that’s not happening right now!
Words begin to flow and the stars from the lamp make pretty patterns all over. Somewhere along the way eye contact starts to become meaningful and then lingers on. In the beginning there is intrigue and some flattery, and as the evening progresses drama, admiration, charm and mischief get added to the concoction. If only our eyes could do all the talking a feature film would unfold where the protagonists are two pairs of dilated pupils ignoring the rest of the world and focused only on each other, figuratively massaging and coaxing the other side to set the tone of what is to come and if things are going well (which it seems like today) every once in a while, they try and crank it up a bit. There is no need for popcorn and definitely no time for an interval. And the climax would be as heady as either of our imaginations can go.
The din around me is drowning out fast now and I can sense an involuntary tornado starting to stir up within. Too much? Too soon? Ok let’s slow down. And keep it non-violent. A non-violent tornado- that sounds like an oxymoron. Let me try again, more passively this time. A rich conversation feels like beautiful poetry, written for me and being narrated just to me. It is the only time I willingly surrender to being in the spotlight, and quite enjoy the attention when at other times I would rather melt into oblivion. I say this because in those blissful moments when words and vibes are in perfect sync, I prefer to listen more and speak less. Feel more and think less, I suppose. Rest my active mind and let wanderlust take over. Let. That’s what I struggle with. Giving up control. And so, I yearn for a time when my active mind willingly takes a backseat, and the subconscious naturally comes to the fore. Unhindered and relaxed.
Neither of us is wearing a watch and phones are miraculously hidden from sight so we don’t realize that three hours have passed, and we are still at it. Going strong. The seat of my beanbag is touching the floor now as I haven’t budged an inch. The lamp looks even more intriguing as it has transformed from being a giver of light to a hallowed partner- in-crime. The stars are dancing to the tunes our words create and I wonder if they are trying to send a signal by mimicking the real ones outside. I think to myself — what would happen if this evening progressed outside? Our conversation and ourselves under the sky… would anything change, would it get better? I can no longer hold my glass; in fact, I am barely holding onto anything at all right now except this thought and the possibilities it brings. No longer do I feel dreary, rather my heart is so alive, it feels like an out-of-control top spinning madly on its own center and I think something about the way I am laughing from time to time has given that away. Thankfully my subconscious mind has no desire or expectation to be perfect on this slippery terrain and so I can revel in the freedom it brings. As I stretch out my legs and smile, I realize how the magic of words and the vibe of the evening has filled me to the brim and I can feel every fibre of my being stir with happiness.
This is it. This is where I belong. This is where I wish to stay. In perennial alpha state.
Believe in anything or you may fall for something, I say.
Or someone.
(Sounds juicy? Well, we did sacrifice some grapes and a few stalks of barley at the altar)
