Kusuma

Surrounded by bright green blades of grass that were freshly kissed by the sun, that were grown, I sit on them. Between me and them my finally cast-off winter coat. The blades dance in the rhythm of the wind, which carries away the warmth from my skin. Everything seems to be in motion. Everything seems to be fleeting.
It was a difficult road to get to this awareness. A much too difficult one, which found its beginning in a psychosis. Only to write down these words and now voice loudly thrusts me to the beyond, carries me far away from reality. This feeling, not to be awake, to run but not feel the ground, to be stroked, but not feel the touch, as if this dashed skin wasn’t mine, as if I was watching someone who should be feeling those feelings, but is not. The permanently too fast beating heartbeat is the only sensible feeling that can be referred to my living dead body. Moments of heavy thoughts, as trigger. Far too many of these moments.
An elderly man in India met me in one of those moments. I am sitting on the holy steps and watch the healing, holy water, which is anything but clean. It is the faith that counts. My reality is mirroring on the surface of the water: buildings, prayer flags, passing women, men, children, dogs and cows. So close to me but still so far away. I breathe and breathe, try to silent my thoughts but my heartbeat remains racing. Everything seems unreal, only my panicking thoughts seem to be the last anchor to reality. He is standing in front of me, looking at me, with a look full of kindness, but still with slight anger. A piercing look, a scary look. He seems to recognize me. But where does the scary anger come from? I am sitting completely helpless on the steps and he is standing askingly in front of me. There is nothing scary in his look, but I see everything through these glasses. There is definitely anger. Maybe the anger is the reason I stay in this state and don’t want to finally open my eyes to reality. I see us. Me, sitting, slowly sitting up to show him respect. Everything is automatically, so automatically that my movements seem robotic to me. Alignment: Do I act normal? Can they tell that I don’t believe that I am here? That I move differently? Everything from the outside. I am not inside of me. And the thought that he could notice, notice me, doesn’t calm me at all. He looks at me and I seem to realize that only now he has understood completely, and he starts to speak:
He tells me a story – a story about the world. About the understanding of the world, which carries its entire knowledge in one insight. Inside of the intangible and the tangible, the dead and the living. The longest story of my life, consisting of only one sentence. The flower grows, withers and is gone. Evanescence. The whole universe is based on this formula. My redeeming formula.
He looks at me again and says softly: I hope you understand. Everything decays – the flower, me, you, your pain.
He smiles at me like only a person can who has understood this wisdom and he goes away. Did this really happen? My thoughts settle for a loud and loving yes! I look at the reflexion on the surface of the water. People walk, talk, laugh, pray, eat, move, just like they did before. But now, everything is my reality.
His words mirror in my head and a small silence slowly spreads inside of me. My heartbeat slows down. I close my eyes and breathe, breathe as I haven’t done anymore since the beginning of my pain. But then fear spreads, makes me loose this state of calm again. And that is how the next step of my fight started.
A circle that seems impossible to break through. Until the words could finally spread the complete truth inside of me.
Because my current truth reads: No matter what is, no matter how it is, the only sure thing is that the flower in this moment still exists!

Scarlett Rybarczyk

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