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Creating Flow

The Freedom To Be

The silence was audible. It could be felt. It felt vast. Like a universal ball of space with no boundaries. Containing within it everything. The people, the noises, the movement – outside and within. It contained me. Or was it the idea of me?

Large grey streaks of cotton gradually moved across the sky. It was neither light nor dark. A dull grey cloudiness pervaded signaling the monsoon. The palm leaves swayed in the breeze. It seemed it would rain, yet it had seemed that way for most of the afternoon. And it was evening now. A small black winged figure floated in the distance. It seemed like a crow, yet one could not make out from that distance. Not that it mattered. By now the clouds had changed shape. Not that they had any particular shape a while back. Floating moving masses drifting with no particular intent or destination.

The silence was audible. The only noise present was the occasional twitter of the invisible sparrow. Gentle almost not there. It highlighted the large looming silence, just as a small black dot creates greater awareness of the blank white canvas on which it is placed.

“How does one write about silence?” He thought. Or did the thought appear out of the silence. “Am I the thought or am I the silence?” came another thought. Was he inquiring into himself or was the silence playing games with him. He felt the cold air on his bare feet,   a reminder that he existed. Atleast his feet did. “What if I didn’t have feet would I still exist?” He thought, almost from his cold exposed feet. There was no answer. Just the silence. Still and active.

The clouds had drifted away, atleast most of them. Just a few remained movingly slowly trying to catch up with their faster cousins. The backdrop of the sky was far more visible now.


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