Lacuna

As if my blues turned into a vast , muted sea of peach that I drown myself in ...and the marbling of light reflected upon my soul....it is habromania .

{It is recommended that you turn the mv at the end of the post on before continuing}

As I went through each and every image it was an experience similar to reading titles off the spines of a range of books , starting from "desolation", a glass pane overlooking a lone ocean of terraces against the greying sky , yet they shimmer from the jewel like drops of rain staining the pane , I wonder if it was a forlorn sky raining its' emotions unto the sea , or a forlorn sea bejeweled by the humble adornments of the clouds . Then came ," A pile of letters", things that remain unknown , letters left sealed intentionally , an ambiguous space rather left unexplored. "Purging", although it initially means cleansing in the name of a higher power , it can mean a cleansing of the gut , a cleansing of the air polluting our breathe , a cleansing of malicious thoughts invading our subconscious , a cleansing of the body we inhabit .Even if it weren't eternal freedom from such _________, it is better a temporary abditory , for sometimes as you physically suffocate are you consciously able to breathe. “Treacherous waters” , an overbridge covered by mist overlooking the grey water that reflects the dying leamony lights from its lamps as the sun dawns upon them , slowly , almost making the entire scenario a perfect crime scene. “ A grave of thoughts:the womb of dreams “, Quite an ordinary thing -beds. Beds are the materialization of comfort , they are places of more imagination less implementation , sometimes these wonderful thoughts and dreams are lost forever in this uncanny grave , carried away without a whisper , sometimes as a result of too much thought that lead to inaction , the inaction leads to frustration which can only be done with by practising ignorance. This ignorance is the poison that carries them away swiftly , as if they never existed. Sometimes we see a very clear path , a sturdy support for the steps , railings on both sides , the metal shining clearly , it is a self programmed path , we can leave ourselves on autopilot...and so we do until one day our vision blurrs , just for a second and then you see the same path , the same flight of stairs from “ A different perspective” , that might be a little uncomfortable at the beginning but slowly you grow accustomed to it , all this while you are quite conscious and then comes another stage where everything is autopilot again. Often I find myself and others haunted by this heavily demanding delusion of everlasting happiness , and by that I mean this vision to be in a constant state of happiness , complete consciousness and having a positive outlook. As hard as we may try we are humans , we are "dynamic" and sensitive , we are one with our environment . Thus I have decided NOT to run after happiness , but I think my definition of happiness also differs so I might still be missing the point , but I want to run after something that satisfies my want for purpose and interest , for from that stems my passion , followed by an ardent drive , almost as if I were working myself to death , which is truly all I want from life , this journey .

But slowly , I begin to breathe , within the vast ocean of monotone peach , and the light dancing on the surface of the water sheds a new light upon my grave , it transforms the trench like loneliness into a rabbit hole , down which I go through various shades of emotions again , but this time up the spectrum of " happiness" , discovering wondrous things , wondrous beings that could exist within these seemingly petrifying depths , who knew that it took the depths of this ocean of melancholic habromania , to find this state of being , we must cicatrize to attain a state of self fulfillment .