I wish I could inhabit a place where I can be eternally delimited by the color green—warmth enveloping body and soul. I wouldn’t mind if humidity soaks the dust of this land I dream of; or if perhaps, it is the heat of the dessert what nurtures it… if only I could stretch out my arms and feel this freedom running through my veins all year around.
I live in the land of winds. I am a prisoner of ice; a fire moth trapped within frozen blaze-like fingers made of ice. Iciness and the rawness of a land that’s more accepting than I am. That’s where I shall dwell. If you look outside my window, bleakness would wound your pupils and frostbite would bring your soul to a standstill; paralyze your thoughts.
The barren landscape of the North and the West. Hidden in the open for everyone to see, the barren garden— naked and silent… the only lullaby the howling winds of the dark long nights.
And I need to be surrounded by the subtle mysterious power of plants; surrounded by the never ceasing delight of warmth and Nature and the color green innate to the sunny June days.
June—the very music of the month of June has gone into my being… it lives in me.
I believe each month possesses its own music; its own rhythm, just as each soul possesses the corresponding tempo and measure. And the illusion of a mystical place of spiritual repose, the stillness, peace, refreshment, delight… and where would I go and what would I see and do when freedom be no more?
Summers are but an abrupt epiphany here—so like life itself; brief and snappy, and what is the gain of bringing up to mind the fruitless days of winter when dancing in summer’s midst?
Fear… it is that ancient fear of losing Paradise.