Where there is honest, passionate & unconditional love, all else becomes nude. Perceptions fall, stripping reality off & leaving us with it uncovered — for it is only in bareness that the full reality of that which is loved can be grasped. Love tears barriers & conditions down because it awakens selflessness so much that we do not perceive the thing that is loved through ourselves anymore — through our own opinions, versions of the truth & beliefs. Rather, we perceive it simply for what it is… itself, raw. There, it was only where there weren’t conditions building up that I was able to hear the things I could not have normally heard. It was only where all other conditions fell, that I could use all my senses at once — to touch, to hear, to see, to smell, to taste one unique thing, all at once. As follows, I was able to hear light instead of only seeing & feeling it, somewhere I love.
Back in my homeland, on cloudless mornings, the wind winds, the bright sun shimmers, my hands pierce the soil & I give a new home for my father’s seeds. That is where I first hear the lullaby of light. The lullaby sounds like harmony & is symmetrical to everything the light touches. I think a sound can be symmetrical. It blends with my homeland & makes everything around me feel like one, & I become one with all the brightness as well. The lullaby of light in my homeland sounds like a water which nourishes the soil. Its music is refreshing, penetrating as well. As it plays, the elements of life around move simultaneously. It sounds — not only feels — warm. The lullaby of light, penetrating, sounds like a call to snuggle. Its music embraces not only my body, but what is underneath as well. The lullaby of light embraces the tree leaves, the curtains that are longing to dance with the wind instead of the balcony walls, the pages of the book I am holding, & the grapevines that are curling around the walls. I can very clearly hear them curl. It echoes in my ears, as I close my eyes, like something that is crisping very, very slowly & softly.
The lullaby of my South sounds like the unique one heartbeat of all its elements, including myself, at once.
As I write my thoughts down, the world as I know it feels less safe by the minute. Through every one of those minutes, though, the lullaby of my South plays thoroughly in my mind. When I close my eyes, I can even watch the grapevines curl around the walls of my house. & for some reason, it only takes closing my eyes to feel wholly safe again.
When I close my eyes I can hear my South. & once there, once I can hear it, it does not matter what else is going on in the rest of the world. The rest of the universe as a whole suddenly does not matter. My eyes shut, my soul flies South. There, it is sunny. It is windy. I am enlaced by the mountains that raised me. My baba is not far. The whole world ending, over & over again, repeatedly, does not matter so much anymore. It does not matter whether we are on the verge of moral extinction or not. The physical extinction probably never mattered anyway. It does not matter who gets to say the last word. It does not matter whose narrative is convincing the most anymore. My eyes closed, it does not matter how heavy all the lies feel anymore — a lie is heavy even if you are not the one telling it. It does not matter how heavy it feels to watch us sink.
I close my eyes on a cold night in March & I find myself taking in all the warmth of the sun that shines over my homeland. It makes me think, how do places become safe? & how does the world suddenly become so void of safety when we find ourselves far away from them? & how is it that despite ideas of the world as we know it changing, crumbling — for better or for worse, really — none of it matters as long as we are in our safe place? How long does it take for a place to embody all the safety we are unconsciously looking for, & that we unknowingly long for? At what point in our lives do places become safety nets?
When did my high Mountain in the South become my safe haven? When did it become my refuge? I choose these words effortlessly but it is humorous that where I come from, the mountain has always been perceived as ensuring the safety of the peoples who live within in. However for many reason, it does feel like my Mountain is safer than all the other mountains.
I think my Mountain has ensured my protection & survival long before I was born. She became my refuge long before we met, long before I learned to pronounce her name. & long before she knew mine. That is why, it only takes closing my eyes to know she awaits. As the world fails, my Mountain, my homeland, awaits me. I close my eyes & she calls me, lulling her sweet sounds. She says, whatever happens, you are safe with me. So I close my eyes & immerse in a Mountain that, like a heart, beats her martyrs’ love. & I am safe here.
