Tara's eyes are like no other - they are brown and when you look close you can see many galaxies in them. But one never gets long to stare into her eyes. She looks away. The only way you can do that is if you are air and look while she stares into space, if you become space. Then you can see that there are many worlds in these galaxies. Worlds which have the climate that we have, people like we have, destruction like we have, imperfection like we have, beauty like we are. All these worlds are erased each time Tara looks away from your gaze while you are decoding her galaxies. Because every time she blinks, something is born and something dies.
Tara's soul is like everyone else's - bruised and broken, engulfed with this living, trying to come up like the swimmer in the middle of the ocean for a breath. In these half-hurried, panicky breaths, her soul gazes at the sun. The lure of something greater than it is, the lure of some day climbing out of all this water, all this wetness of pools of tears, all this clinging, rotting flesh; Of getting into the light, of being surrounded by peace, by nothingness, devoid of noise and sights, and above all devoid of any meaning.
There is freedom in meaninglessness. Freedom in not trying to cope up with understanding, from not having to work your intellect over something as abstract as nothingness. It may be the minimalism of the mind. The freeing up of the space in the brain. Tara imagines it to be like her house - a garden where ideas are sowed, a school where they are cooked, a job where they are served, and the garbage where they all end up. What free space would we have if there are no rooms in the brain, no categories? If we could just soak in the sunlight - yes, sunlight is important.
And then soak in the void of it. The sad part is that we are stuck in polarities, Tara thinks in one of her galaxies. Every idea carries with it the ghost of a non-idea, every non-being carries the ghost of being in it, every non-existence carries the weight of existence, and sunlight carries the shadow of darkness.
Sitting at her desk, Tara sighs deeply and sinks deeper in her chair, her head softly falling with the burden of no-body, no-desk, no-idea, no-language, no-meaninglessness, no-nothing. Bach & Strauss playing in the background pierce her mind, her thoughts, her ideas, her ending she was so sure of.
Tara sighs again and thinks what-to-do,
what-to-do,
what-to-do?
what-to-do,
what-to-do?
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