Komorebi

I start work by 7.15 a.m. It is a glorious time to start work. No one is in the office, not even the housekeeping staff. I get a good half an hour to myself, before everyone else comes in and ruins the atmosphere with their AC preferences.

The past few days have been tough: my PMS has been off the charts. I regularly have some level of mental and emotional discomfort during my PMS. Quick to lose my temper, a little tension and anxiousness, sometimes even a little weepiness. But this time around, I felt like a pressure cooker. If I didn’t call or get in touch with someone every few hours, the pressure would build in me till I couldn’t focus on anything else, till I felt like I was going just a little crazier.

This morning, I came into work, did a 10-minute meditation session (I use a guided meditation app that is working for a complete novice like me.), and when I opened my eyes, there was the most beautiful sight to see. I want to share this with you.

I sit with my back to the window, one which has a view that I wouldn’t write home about. It’s a ground-floor office and my window faces a road just ahead of a traffic light. It isn’t a pretty view, as I said. Except, there’s a tree. Just one tree about 10 feet away from my window. This tree, I do not know its name, catches the morning sun, now and then, much in the way my soul catches love, with no defence, almost like an illness.

Mind you, it’s only in that magical hour in the morning when I am alone in the office and ablaze with plans for the day. After that, the tree is just a tree. And the sun is wandering about where it should. But for a good part of that one hour in the morning, the light that sets a gentle fire to my desk is diffused by this tree, and its dancing leaves. All around me, as the blinds in the window slice the light, the tree is tangles itself gentle around the light. It is soft, the light, like stones from a rock tumbler, or perhaps the bed of an ageing, shallow stream. The light that would otherwise come in slats, in stiff ribbons from the window, comes in like drops of paint mixing in water: soundless, seemingly inconsequential but so definitely, obviously present, changing the very nature of what existed  before it.


I sit here in that light, and for a moment, just for one moment, I am here. I am aware that the shimmering, musical light that dazzles gently around me, bathing me in soft luminescence of a naive morning, is also dancing on my back, wondering idly as it loses itself in a feather-light choreography, if it can seep through my clothes, touch my skin, go past it and enter my blood, my very bones. How I wish I could turn around and let all that soft, lithe light in: open up my blood vessels in the gentlest way possible and meld it with the light, so there would always be gold in my veins. I know if I turn around, this dancing light, this… the Japanese call it komorebi, I am told … will take over my neck, my chin, my breasts, and then creep up to my eyes and enter the black of my irises. The deep, endless, velvety tunnel that I know exists in my eyes but don’t know where it leads. And what happens when light enters the darkness of your eyes? I do not know. For now, I sit peacefully with my back turned to the window, letting the symphony of light, wind and leaves play on my back, create an aura around the fluid borders of my body. For now, a phantasm is enough.

10 thoughts on “Komorebi

  1. Bharati Bhattacharyya

    Lovely dear..
    Thoughts with an open mind..
    So refreshing and soothing to the soul..
    Keep going and lots of love..

    Like

    Reply

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