Dissipation of concrete reality into intangible imagery is a writer’s forte. As the borderline between the real and unreal gets thinner, I question the validity of whatever I come across. My beliefs are in a permanent state of transformation.
I meditate and find myself dissolving into ethereal forms. It scares me a little. Will I survive this? Another question arises – ‘Do I need to survive this?’
Life goes on, and I return to the humdrum of daily chores. The voices within start receding, and I call out to them again.
of living are not complex
acceptance helps me