Zenith
He
escaped onto a blank piece of landscape- unwritten terrains of brown
and green, overseen by blue skies. The quietness inched in on him.
Feeling the madness of silence, he kicked up a slow sprint that turned
into a jog, and then a full-fledged run. His path was as easy as
thought: like the flow of images, ideas and words that pour into the
brain. His breath was even- he hadn’t yet fully exerted himself and this
frustrated him. He pushed himself further and further.
He was running now- not as a
professional runner would, but a pell-mell forward motion, feeling the
air rush across his face. He was the centre of movement and the breeze. A
soft smile was beginning to creep across his face- but stopped.
The landscape had crumpled
across the flatness so inexplicably- almost like paper. Everything that
had been plain and endless had formed a vastness of ups and downs with
little mountain ridges, hilltops, crags and crannies that dotted the
brownscape in front of him. There were trees growing almost since the
end of time, seeking the beginning. He hated the trees their guts for
having been there forever!
All he could do was climb. One
tedious step after the other he pulled himself onto the multitudinous
folds of brownness, aiming for the pinnacle of perfection. The climb
offered him much more of a challenge than the plains ever had. The pain
in his muscles felt good, the sweat across his brow, trickling down his
back reminded him that this was his own effort. The movement was
exhausting, but slow- like the hesitant drip of ink when the thought
flow turns to sludge and you have to wade through the muck to find the
right words, the right ideas. He was happy in the slowness, waiting for
the freedom that comes with reaching the zenith.
He grabbed at whatever supported
him. Like a vortex, he bent everything towards him, as though he, and
not the massive mountains, was the central force. Conscious that he was
being so finite and so obvious and flagrant he grunted out his
exhaustion, becoming slower and short-breathed. The air that had once
been beating against him was now leaving him in soft bursts of agonizing
physical pain. And yet, he took one step after the other, eagerly
awaiting the top.
As suddenly as the crags had
formed, he stopped. He hadn’t even reached the beginnings of the peak.
He was on a broad mountain base, but could not find it in himself to
move. He stood- doubtful, unsure, drained and defeated. All attempts at
pushing onwards and upwards met with a sneer from the unevenness of the
landscapes. He looked forward and backward and only felt the mountains.
He was stuck. Surrounded by a never-ending series of ridges, crags and
peaks, his feet could not step onto those precious terrains. Amidst all
of this, he couldn’t escape. All he could do was let out a roar of
frustration.
No comments:
Post a Comment