Wordless

There comes a time when letting go of words is easy to do. That time is when you let go of the lies told with those words. And just tune in.

Then you hear sounds. Raindrops. Soft jazz music. They carry you away to the magic place where nothing matters. There is no urge to fill the void with noise of any sort. Why, it has walls made of soft dawn, they absorb noise anyway.

Time gets lazy and heavy like honey. It is even the same color as honey. Warm and golden. It engulfs with solace. Its weight is so real that nothing can redirect it or slow it down. Moments travel on the carousel of its hands, weightlessly, like tiny elves, and each one gets to hop on and off only once.

The buzzing of the carousel can be heard between raindrops because words no longer get in the way.

Words. At that time, they have been disposed off, thrown overboard. The balloon takes off to the stars. When words cannot help, stars cannot be explained. They just sit around a big table, pass the tea, and chat in the star language, leaning back comfortably. Time does not bother them. Nor does eternity. Nonchalance is the ultimate substance of space.

Only the soft rhythm remains. All other sounds get tranquil. They no longer distract, no longer remind of things unimportant or important. Importance is no longer a concept. Concepts only exist where there are words. Life without concepts flows so beautifully, twisting effortlessly, falling through the cracks and taking to the air again, splashing, drizzling, pounding down the drain. It is freedom, the fourth and the best state of all physical matter.

How delightfully fulfilling it is to outlaw all words! How endless the pleasure! All of it was just a lie. Words used to conspire to make me believe the voices in my head. They are all gone now. I float, I glide, I fly, and the stars invite me for tea. All the rare old clocks welcome me for a ride. I rest my head on my pillow.

And then I gracefully drift away, and my smile is my wordless night prayer.