The year comes to an end and I sit by the window, warming up myself with the soft gleam of warm sun rays making their way through the window panes. The rays that creep through the window highlight the dust particles suspended in the air, rolling in every possible direction, heading towards nothing… maybe something or everything. Aimless yet so charged up… though random but energized. The sun rays make them shine and look gold sprinkled through the air. It’s beautiful to see them swarm up in the light. The definitions of the living and non living thing taught to us in school all seem to fade up, when I see the zealous dust particles progressing. They settle down on something or the other and I kept clearing them off… and they again effortlessly settled again and finally I realized my efforts to remove them were futile.
Soon the soft and warm rays get brighter and the speed grips the motion of the dust. The bright yellow color soars to glazy orange and by the end of the day the particles seem to settle down… the next day begins another journey, new directions new places and maybe new spectators (if someone is free enough to have time to observe these mighty particles). I sat in the window with a thought of introspecting myself and all the events of this year, to evaluate all the deeds and the misdeeds, to find solutions for the complications which came with time and some were born out of me and to bring new strategies to avoid the evitable.
But when I was making the plans the mighty particles grabbed my attention and I lost the thread of my thoughts and got entangled in the motion of these particles. Soon I found a rhythm in their random motion, I found spins and the beats and a smooth landing in their settling down. They danced… yes they dance… everyday… every moment… on the tunes of the cosmos. I really wonder who composes the music in the occult cosmos. In what pitch the particles hum? High, medium or low? Maybe in morning its medium as in pop and in the noon it becomes high when the tempo gets faster and the genres changes to metallic rock throughout the day and towards night the pitch gets low tempo like in blues or maybe get intimate and passionate as jazz.
The whole idea made a chill run through my spine. I could visualize an orchestra in the space with an elaborate orchestra with wood winds, brass, percussion and strings. The concertmaster directing... and the particles playing their parts… it could be an opera, it could be contemporary, and it could be jive or waltz or may be wild and zany like a rave party!
What was wrong with me? Why was I so excited about the whole idea of the particles and their motion? I guess may be because the particles were free. It doesn’t even take a fraction of second for me to say that I am a strong and independent person of independent thoughts. But am I truly a free spirit? Does my every action is random and yet in sync with some sort of unknown rhythm? I wish I could be as free as the particles are. I wish I could choose a new direction with every coming day. I wish I could start it all over again if something went wrong. I wish everyday could be new and free of the burden of the yesterday. I wish I could get rid of my past, I wish I could choose my present and nothing called future exist for me. No plans, no directions, no savings, no treasures, nothing to gain and thus nothing to lose. I wish I could…
I can’t be a particle for sure in this life… but I can try to give justice to the particles that gathered together to form me by living for the moment, by making my own mistakes and mending them the same day, by not leaving anything pending for the next day and by smiling every morning and sleeping with a smile every night. I don’t know how far I will keep up to this but I feel content with this realization...
