Perhaps the only beauty about
something pure and unadulterated was its immense potential to be dented and
tainted.
Everywhere she looked, little Margot
found dents and torn pieces. She found them exquisite, almost divine.
Poor little Margot. She was addicted
to aches, but she was not sad at all. It was as if sorrow sieved itself and
kept the thick rocks away, giving her a paltry sip.
She would walk down the streets and
smile at shopkeepers. They greatly amused her; sitting there with their
precious wares waiting for someone to come take them away in exchange for a few
notes.
What did ‘to possess’ something mean?
Who gauged how pure your possession was or how intense your propriety over it
was?
People around still danced, still painted,
and still dreamt beneath the torn blankets. That was the essence of life - to
see beyond the torn covers. You had to get out of your covers and stand naked
in the snow.
Little Margot dreamt away. There was
nowhere else to go, she knew she had arrived and she knew that she had started
on her soul path.
A very wise woman had once told her,
that when things start falling in place just like that, without you needing to
put in extraneous efforts, it meant that you had started on your soul path, the
path you are meant to be on. And from then on nothing else would matter.
Little Margot had trusted her, and
when things actually did start falling in place without the need for her
constant prayers or oblong wishes, she knew that she was on her way. She still
battled with the past but now, with her stars completely in her favor, she
found her long lost dancing shoes hidden right below her nose.
She found her
long lost voice, and now what she spoke made complete sense to her soul.
Nothing and no one could insult her essence, for she knew what it was and could finally defend it.
Life had lied to her before, though, saying that as long as she had 'light' within her, she would be perfectly alright.
So she had sat in her little room and kept spinning as much light and love as she could from her soul. It was almost a penance. And yet, people found her empty.
People faulted her seeming lack of love.
Life had lied to her; for it wasn't enough to have light within, you needed to stand on the rooftops and tear your heart out and blare out to the world that you did possess it.
She felt cheated, not because the world misunderstand her, but because no one bothered to try to understand.
She had almost lost her senses yet no one saw anything, except the bland outer smile.
And now she lay, alone yet at peace, on her little bed in her little dark room. She could see the stars above, and they were her stars. All hers.
She did not need to climb up to rooftops , and she did not need to sit at shops to sell her thoughts and feelings.
She had found her soul, and would not trade it for anything.
She preferred being dented and tainted than being a bland emptiness.
Maybe her soul did not have light, but who cared.
It was blue, just like her.
