The Winds and the God

20 brave years. How brave? What brave? How brave is brave enough? Enough of a score to have had lead her mind to a stand still. A stasis. Tired of thinking. Tired of making it up. Tired of the way the mind works.

The winds. Weathering the winds of variegated dispositions, all due to her sheer desire to give each of them, a chance. A chance which could save her from obscurity. The sheer instinct of finding that one gush of wind, which would make her world turn topsy-turvy. Yes. The winds, the mighty winds.

We should call it her innocence or strength? Obstinacy or hard will? Ambition or desire? Wanting to risk it or  just plain dumbness? Or a heady mixture of all these? She knows not. All she knows is, Yes, the winds came. And Yes, she embraced them. Embraced them with such purity of love and passion, that God alone could have understood what it all meant to her.

The winds tore her apart. The mighty winds. Gusty winds. Every time she was torn apart, she gathered her pieces. Tried to fill in the jigsaw. She trusted the winds. Yes, hoping against all sane hopes, trusting against the odd trustworthiness of the winds, she trusted.

But the winds, the heartless winds. Her skin drew parched and dry, even as her heart thumped so hard, that she could not comprehend whether it had collapsed irrevocably, or had seared clear of all its juicy outflows. The earth in her knew no more thirst. No more desire. No more hope. Not even hopelessness.

There was this weird world where she found herself, where nothing existed. And nothing mattered. No joy, no grief. No happy, no sad. No desire, no lack of it. Limbo, or no limbo, perhaps. She stood there, staring at her God, his cold, merciless eyes? What was He trying to tell her? What is He trying to tell her? He loves her. She hopes He does.

God did not bat an eyelid. He sat there as an effortless stolid figure. She looked hard into Him. He exchanged with her the same courtesy.

What was He trying to tell her?

What is He trying to tell her?


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