Saturday night fever

December 15, 2018
Saturday night fever

I’ve got chills. 

I don’t know if it’s because I’m high on Kundalini or because I’ve been sick for the last three days. Nevertheless, I’m definitely not my normal self. 

In this ecstatic state, after dozens of minutes of chanting and meditation, I see this thing. As beautiful as the water lily growing in Chloé’s lung in Vian’s novel, except mine is a magnificent orange peony expanding on the right side of my head. 

Call me crazy, I swear it’s there.

Enlightened by the soft rays of the sun shining upon us, we widen. I’m becoming more of a flower myself. The center of my chest opens up to leave all the space for stunning blossoms. 

They haven’t taken shape yet, it’s their essence I feel close to my heart.

In this moment, I surrender. Instead of grasping on to the flowers, my right palm opens up. I let go of him, and any attachment I have towards the possibility of a future together. Because there is no future. The future is always a projection of our subconscious, as Guru Jagat says poetically.  

I look to my left, and I see the strings of my past, all those beliefs and fears, tight, holding me down. They’re not heavy chains, merely delicate fabric ropes with multiple knots. One by one, I untangle them, tenderly, the way I would disentangle my sister’s curvy and messy hair. With kindness, love, gentleness.  

It’s over now. There I sit, almost floating in the yellowish light surrounding my inner garden, in between my complicated past and my wishful future. In that state of peace you can only taste in bite-sized instants.   

I don’t want a future anymore. I don’t need my past to get me anywhere either. 

All I want is to soak in the sun and smell the peonies. Sweet, sweet peonies. 

Then I finally open my eyes.

What was this all about? Did I just dream it all? 

Or maybe it was simply a Saturday night fever. 

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