“Holding fast to nothing in the knowledge that nothing lasts forever.”
As I closed the door, I looked through the window and saw the fading light of day fall on the chair. For a brief moment it blazed brightly and I smiled, content in its form. Then, it was gone – the light turned to dusk, and I felt the silence.
Each evening I returned to look at the chair sitting silently, I saw it burn brightly and beautifully, before it was slowly consumed by the darkness as the evening light dimmed.
Each evening there was the same silence – nothing. No words. So, I sat in the silence and I didn’t look for words I knew I would not, could not find. And, I waited. Then I waited some more.
Today I moved the chair into the light:
There is still silence – but it is the warm immersion in gentle beauty, not the roar of the void.
“All you can do is look into a darkness that seeps into your soul, and heart – and the deeper you go the darker all becomes, and, the deeper you go, and darker, darker, darker – until you cling to any pinhole of light, even from the depths of the past, to save you, and in clinging, scrambling for the light, it becomes the beam of a searchlight, drawing you, drawing you, drawing you; and all the dark outside the beam becomes impenetrable, and the beam becomes all enveloping, searing the eyes, the heart, the soul, burning itself into your being and without it you cannot exist – you wonder how, and it burns brighter until it consumes you and burns you into extinction, until all that is left is darkness, again.”