I just looked at my watch before composing this sentence. It’s midnight, quiet midnight. I am really trying to sleep, but I can’t: my thoughts are racing, my chest feeling heavy. I just feel betrayed by my soul; I feel betrayed by ‘me.’
It’s ‘chaos’ that is prevailing in my head, but I don’t know where it is coming from. I’m really trying to search my soul, trying hard to pour honey into its mouth, out of which peace or trouble comes from. I’m telling it all will be well and that the pain will go. Still, amidst all this comforting, a question comes: What exactly is my problem?
Again, I do not know. What I know is that I just wish I were alone in the middle of a deep forest, entertained by the sound of the birds while reading a magnificent book. I long to be alone with beautiful animals, looking at me naively with their bright eyes, giving me the attention that soothes my soul, reminding me that all will be well.
I wish to breathe the air rising from the trees like a mettlesome soul departing from a body, bringing life into my evolving flesh. I want to fly like an eagle knowing that I will be alone and caressed by the gentleness of the moving air— far above the ground, even in the middle of a strong storm.
But, unfortunately, I can’t: I don’t have the means. I don’t have the wings. I don’t have enough wisdom to comfort my soul. I don’t have enough money to escape into the deep, listening to the chirping birds.
Nevertheless, what I have is a smiling face and a courageous soul. I know the pain will go when, if God wishes, I open my eyes tomorrow.
Behind the smile, the pain will plummet. And, when the sun rises again, my soul will shine again.