And I can foresee future. I am telling you, I can foresee. I see myself and you, Blishé, holding hands and walking in the forest, deep and wild, full of sins and blessings. We walk together in that Garden of Eden. We create an Ultimate Love. There is no one looking down at us or looking up to us. There is no one present in time, but only you and me. The world is us, and the time is us because everything is meaningful only till the time we exist, the world ends when you and I end. The apocalypse is but the end of us. There are worlds as many as there are people and so a world ends each day. Blishé let not the world end before us. Stop it. Pause it. Time it. This, my love, is no dream, it is the future. I see us walking in the forest, wild, with our souls on fire, wild. This is prophesying.
We together are a candle, you burn and I melt, I die and you glow and this gives us the identity. We can light up the dark, but for that we have to walk through the forest, wild and tempting, together, looking around but never losing sight of each other, holding hands and never letting go. If we leave each other sweetheart, the world will never end.
And before I ask how you’re, Blishé, tell me do you remember me? Do you know what your name means?
You do remember, I know. Even when you were trying to make sense of rivers and mountains standing there perplexed and baffled, alone and excited, you were sure what your name meant. Of all the things in this world, my love, you know what no one else can ever think existed.
Tell me now Darling, how are you? I hate the silence, I hate it when Silence becomes loud and intolerable, and I hate it when it is the only way to work things out. Silence is golden, they say, but Blishé, why do we talk so much about Silence? Love, why are you silent, why don’t you talk to me? Why don’t you reply to me? Why won’t you write to me?
Do write to me, at least once before I die. I want to read your sentences, I want to see your words and I want to see how my name looks in your hand. I understand you, and I know what you think, I know what goes there inside that forest of yours, inside that brain of yours. I know last night, when you came across that diary of mine which I had left at your place, you read, yes Blishé I know, you read that page about the Prisoner and questioned yourself(because you know all that you do or think comes to me, always) that why do I talk about Death so much. Well, sweetheart, I’ll tell you why, I will silence your inquisitiveness; Death, you won’t believe was born with me. Death is just like you my love, just like you, true and pure.
Oh Blishé! I was sure not to die until I was born.
But I am not writing to talk about Death or Life. I am writing because I have to, I don’t have a reason. I was reading The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolaño before I started writing to you. I was not getting well with the book; I was drifting in to that vacuum where my thoughts abandon me, where my concentration goes on a wild goose chase. It is not the fault of the novel; in fact, the book is unlike anything I have read, ever read. There are things and thoughts in there that makes you kiss the sentences. But I had to come back to reality when I drifted to thoughtlessness and who else but you can pull me out of my apathy. Thank you, my life, for bringing me here to the real world, the world of abuses and blessings. The world that shows us what we are. This world tells us, how the nothingness is the only fortune we must pursue. Don’t mock me Blishé; don’t ridicule me for what I say. I know you get what I mean. I know Darling, it’s not easy but it is how it is. For what you do you pay, and what you pay for you get. Karma. Karma leads to nothingness, leads us to being zero, to being what we actually are. The center of all the negative and positive integers, right there in the center, is zero. And, the center is life. The center is the world. That is what I meant Blishé, when I said, “there are worlds as many as there are people”. Each of us carries our own world. And, our worlds differ, our concept of the world differ. This world that we see and live in, sweetheart, is ours and we shape it and make it by what we do. No one sees us in our world for what we do and don’t do; only we are conscious of our doing. In the end Blishé, it all comes to zero. You understand this, don’t you? When there was nothing, there was the consciousness. Our consciousness is the reason for our birth and re birth. Once when we were walking through that field in the bright autumn morning, you asked me Blishé, why were the sunflowers looking at the sun in the eye? I had no answer. And you told me they were not looking at the sun but were rising, gradually, towards heaven, in bliss; they were not being pulled back by their shadows. They were rising, you said to never born again; they were fearless because they were becoming nothing. I hadn’t understood much of what you said, I confess today my love. Now, I understand it all and I understand what your name means.
Blishé, my desires get the better of me and I wish I could hold you right now in my arms, see you smile and put that black lock of hair behind your ears. Those tiny little ears, ears that is open to every noise and sound of the universe. Kiss them subtly and breathe in the noise, the chant of souls. Darling, you’re beautiful and this world with you incredible. Every moment I think of you, I am in heavenly bliss. Time stops. And it is when the time stops that the world ends. Time has actually no calculations, we cannot calculate time. Time travels the way we want it to, it stops when we want it to, and it flies when we give it wings. Time is a slave, our slave. The silly illusion of watches, you laughed once when I said I wanted to gift you a watch to etch that time of our meeting for eternity. Darling, you asked me if I was out of my mind and gave me a kiss for my silliness. How I laugh about it now every time I think about it. If time cannot travel back then how can I think of all that that has happened and how can I foresee future before time has travelled? We are Time. Our consciousness is the master.
Love, don’t hate me for this. Please don’t. I haven’t talked about this to anyone, not even myself. I wrote to you. I know you believe that there are slaves as many as there are masters. So, it is with world and time. I promise I will not talk about this.
Write to me, Blishé, my beloved. Meet me and please kiss me when we have the Time.
P.S. I love you my Bliss of Heaven.
The letter lay open and alone on Kashiv’s desk. The envelope addressed. The water from the rain outside was filling the room up.
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