I sit still because I can’t move. I am transfixed to the 17 inch square of blazing light that attracts me like a deliciously dangerous flame. And the evening slips out of my fingers.
My wings are folded up and pinned to the sides of my invisible spirit. So tightly pinned up that even a flutter tears them. I want to unpin them, shake them up to fall into graceful, satiny pleats. I want to raise them to shield my eyes against the golden evening and spread them and fly straight into the sun. Dip the wings into molten gold and soar into the sky, re-mocking the bewildered little bird and the dead square of light in the long room.
But I don’t. And the bird preens itself and the blaze buzzes on.
I am still sitting still when they walk in. And walk over me, across me, through me. I could be one of the shadows or may be less, may be just half a shadow.
They hoop the questions through my ears, loop the exclamations around my fingers. They rifle through my best laid plans, which just lay there, all dressed up in their best. They clamour all around me, tousle my hair, give me pecks and tug at my sleeves. They are incoherent, don’t know what they want from me, yet speak in a rush, in a garbled tone. Their faces swim into focus and then out. And, they finally walk out. Some in a huff, some on a glide as their remembered chores beckon them. And they walk away from my equally still, virtual life.
They – my well-wishers, my friends, my folks - shake me but can’t stir me. And I sit still as the dirt of footsteps fades away from my shadow. And the nerve ends, that rose startled into the air at the bustle, settle back into their nooks.
I am still sitting still when he arrives. And it is a resplendent arrival. The flashing splendour unseen by anyone else but me! The caprice is packed in six syllables and a million words. He is volatile, predictably unpredictable, he is velvety, rough. He is quiet, vociferous. He demands, he yields.
The 17 inch square is electrified and the current flows into my stillness. It is then a flurry of words, smiles, tears and some more smiles. When he turns away for an instant, it is darkness, when he turns back in a trice, it is like paused soft music playing again.
I fly high with my unpinned wings, I melt into the laughter of the bustling crowds around me. I pause, I dance. When the music stops, I settle down in a velvety heap. My visibility is ephemeral. My wings silver.
I am a moth. Transfixed to the 17 inch square of light, I live my virtual life. I am shrouded in an illusion, my wingtips touched with finely trembling anticipation. And he is the fire that flickers through my stillness.
My stillness is transient. My movement impermanent. And I live in the moments in between.
