The Small Round Table.

A vast land of smooth, slippery fawn coloured hillocks. So many, the horizon remains hidden. Above this terrain there exists no sky. None, except a plain black backdrop. An eerie harsh light glimmers, lighting the foreground. Anything immediately beyond sinks into darkness. As I step forward the light seems to follow as though trailing overhead.

Well, this is how the inside of my mind looks. I wander through it everyday helpless as an inexorable force leaves me little choice. Sometimes I pause to look around. I perch over a hillock and ponder what others might perceive as the land of their mind. Maybe something predictable filled with trees and surreal rainbows or something way out, like a well laid kitchen table.Red checkered table cloth to walk on and giant cutlery to climb. I rapidly lose interest, because what I can’t explore or experience seldom excites me.

These hillocks are diverse. Some stand independent while others over lap. A few form a complex web and as I get closer its impossible to remember how I traveled from one to another. I’m surprised as I turn around and watch them melt into a grimy viscous fluid that flow into each other. Yet the hillocks don’t lose height. Nor change shape. However the fresh outpour has added new dimensions to it. Maybe it’s because I stepped on them. For a moment I’m tempted to turn back and walk over them again, I want to see what happens next. I cant. Invisible strings steer me forward. I don’t retort as I have to admit I’m not too enthusiastic about disturbing the peace. There is an urge to defend myself.

I can never take a nonchalant stroll through this land. I am forced to drink in every detail. Today very few soothe me. Few make me want to barf. Few make me dizzy. Today most of them choke me. They are larger gulps than I can handle. Most often before I’m finished another large drink is forced down me. I crouch in pain and notice there are tiny doorways under every layer of these hillocks. Suddenly I’m transported to another land. I’m falling. I see a lot of familiar faces and places as I fall. I am gathering speed.It’s all a whirl.

The hillocks loom over me. They are a mountain range now. Again the horizon is lost. I walk past many doors. Rooms filled with dense, soft mist. I can’t see beyond the threshold but I can hear and sense the nature of what lies beyond. There are brightly lit rooms. I hear laughter and childish jokes. It does not feel inviting today. The light seems garish and the laughter heartless. I cross another door. There is something calming, soothing and quiet about this room. I hear a lullaby. I hear the proud laughter of a mother. I hear the giggle of a sibling. I hear a low voice. It hurts me. I stand rooted outside this door. I hate to be here yet I hate to walk past it. I hate myself for wanting to stay. I break into a run and decide I’ve had enough. I want to get away.

I realize as I run there are no longer rows of doors. It’s just an empty pathway. The mountain’s smooth steep surface has a numerous shadows performing an eerie dance. I slow down and start trotting. I’m weary and tired. I know why I am here. I know where I am headed. I know I’m whiling away time. I’m employing a numerous antics to abide time. After all I visit that destination everyday. Every minute. In fact it’s a circle. It leaves me drained. Yet I come back because as tiring it maybe that’s all I have left of whom I love the most. My sole reason for survival.

I ‘m here where I want to be. The door is wide open. It seems to beckon me mockingly, because although there is nothing comforting about what lies within, I seem to find my way to this threshold a million times a minute. In fact that’s all I do. As I step in, the mist circles me arrogantly. I’ve fallen prey again. I walk faster. I know my way around this place now. There are no surprises. I see a small round wooden table. I see a tall lanky figure sitting cross legged. He is looking out for me.

Now I remember why I come back every day. All the pain I feel is worth this next couple of seconds. He is yearning for me. I have to get there faster. I run. I don’t stop. I sit on his lap and hug him. There is an urgency. There is no time to lose. I don’t want to hug him for too long. I want to gaze into his eyes. I want to convey a million feelings. As I pull back to stare at him it’s the best feeling ever.

It’s a rush that has no words. It’s a rush that envelopes every single bit of me with love. It’s a rush that covers me with the most secure protection. It’s a rush of knowing I could give anything because I am in love. It’s a rush that knows no selflessness. It’s a rush that knows no conditions. It’s a rush of belonging.

Beyond all it’s a rush of understanding. Understanding that the person staring back at me is feeling the exact same things that I feel. Understanding the depths of each other.

The mist grows dense and stronger. They are tugging at me. They are lifting me away from his arms. My hero is strong. I know if he decides to he won’t let go. For a second I’m stunned as I watch him reluctantly give me away. I scream as loud as I can, Why does he do this every time. Why does he let go when I know he can resist any storm. But there is certain calmness about his face that assures me that he does not have to do this forever. I understand he is waiting to grow strong enough. I understand that every time I wrap my arms around his neck and refuse to let go his strength dwindles. That’s not what I want. Bad enough I have to give in to so many inescapable forces. Not my hero. He should be allowed to do what he desires.

Slowly, as I realize the only thing he could ever crave for is me I accept there should be a meaning to this course. I am too tired anyway. I don’t want tears clouding my vision. I want to see him as long as I can.

I’m floating away. I have nothing against the force that is carrying me. It is doing what is best. In fact I’m sure it has been instructed by my hero is cradle me the way it does every time I sink back. There might be an ultimate deciding force. There might be a force that has command over even my hero. But I don’t recognize any of it.

All power over me stops with him. We have an unseen unspoken command over each other. I let mine slip. I lost him to the heartless, evil, brutal hands of fate once. It came as a hooded demon called death. I laughed at it because I was arrogant. I laughed at it because it was my hero it was threatening to take away. Of course I thought it was silly. Pride brought this over us. I will blame myself through eternity although he assures me against it.

My hero never expected anything of me. Of course he is not angry. He accepted what I brought upon him and started working on the next scheme. The only scheme we always work on. To be together. Every demon we fight we have left exhausted. It has never come back. Yet it seems to unleash a darker one. I fear before every fight and reach euphoric highs after every success. My brave warrior remains calm and focused as he starts to battle and never relaxes after a victory. I have often watched him with awe as he works out numerous aftermaths and strategies to triumph over each of them. Needless to say they have never failed to impress me.

As I lie back I realize that’s what he is doing seated at that small round table. He is mapping out the next plan that will bring us back together. I have to see him again. The ache is still fresh. The wound has had no time to heal. I am making it worse. But who cares. He will work a way out of that too. I open my eyes to see the hillocks again. I start towards that same door. This time I crawl as I am too feeble to walk.

The small round table - 4 months later – The royal Workshop

I snapped back into consciousness. I had just seen them again. The smooth hillocks. An unfriendly cold crept up my spine. My most visited destination had not seemed familiar moments ago. Not surprising.My unconscious mind had encountered the land for the first time. I had been asleep. Had I just lost all power over myself?

Smooth fawn colored hillocks again, but this time against a pale greyish blue backdrop. He is dying. I have run too far looking for help. He is a dot in a distance. On the highest level. I am not going to hesitate to run further. I’m screaming for help. Its cold, sinister and strange. I see a lot of faces. None familiar, none friendly, none approachable. They are in clusters as if involved in matters most trivial to me. None look up long enough to even listen. I’m not furious. I’m not looking to socialize. I just want help.

A door? I’m running through it. It’s a mall. Quizzical glances follow. I realize I’m nearing the finish line. Surprisingly its not victory that awaits. I’m running into the open. For the first time I realize there is no wind. There is no life in the air.

A voice. A woman. My physician. My step falters. Guilt is weighing me down. I missed her in my flurry? She was there all this while? I’m pleading. She is calm as she points.

Years of dreams. Millions of giggled whispers. Innumerable hugs. Countless moments of companionship. Immeasurable amount of warmth, security, peace, excitement……It took just a second. Probably not even that to bring it all to a halt. He’s gone…..

Life has slowed down. Yet there is no time to pause. No time for disbelief. Too many thoughts. Too many voices. It is forming a meaningless clutter. There is a long line leading up the hillock. People paying respect. I walk alongside this peculiarly perfect line.

A corridor lit with sunshine. The line continues. I have a companion walking behind me. Yet I’m alone. Its moments before I lose everyone and have to continue unaided. A beast approaches me. The line disrupts as uncertain glances are exchanged. I’m not too sure. It’s a blur. All except the beast. The gleaming black beast. So royal. So handsome. Its here to take him. Its here to take me? As it narrows its eyes hope surges through me. But it walks away.

I leave behind the noise. I’m descending a spiral wooden staircase. For the first time a clear thought. He would have loved it here. Its perfect. Craftsmanship in all its grandeur. Rich dark wood surrounds me. Glinting tools and mechanisms. I know his face would break into that boyish smile I adore. That I cherish. When he casts aside his responsible air and assumes the curiosity of a ten year old.

Three tables. The one to my left is taken. Someone is bent over working on something with precision. It’s not a job. It’s passion. The one in front of me is imposing and grand. Yet simple and classy. I walk behind it. This is where my prince sits. A rocking chair beckons. I sink into it. I’m so exhausted yet it’s not over. How long? Tears stream down. I realize its just about to start getting more and more painful. The man is lifting up his head. He is looking watchful. I know him. He is a friend; my prince lost him a few years ago in the same meaningless way. My emotions don’t bother him. Has he been told to expect me, asked to keep me here?

Its here again. I can’t believe it. Its right here next to me. The same round table. Right besides my rocking chair. Its empty. The plan has been made.

I snapped back into consciousness. I had just seen them again . The smooth hillocks. The small round table. Giddy with pain, physically aching. my cheeks pale and wet. That’s when I broke into a smile

The table was empty. The plan has been made. My prince is out there right now. This very moment. Accomplishing the feat. While I wait unharmed in his paradise. No mystical clouds, no surreal angels. His place in heaven. His royal workshop.

He asked me to wait. He made me rest. He assured I’ve come the right way. In his usual instructing manner with no explanations. I was always expected to follow blindly. I did, because what awaited was seldom disappointing.

But for the first time he told me that it was okay to cry. For the first time my tears did not disturb or infuriate him. For the first time he realized that he does not have to feel guilty for every tear I shed.

Perhaps a million steps left. But I’m one step closer…..and all I needed was faith.