Sanctuary of Tomorrows’ Journeys
In a constant present, verily there is no option but to act to unscripted story.
Only in the sanctuary…lullabies of the past are the lure of illusive time passing, for the memory of old captured photographs. Only in the sanctuary… there is a little room to stroke some fresh drawings on a sketchbook, structuring wishes of beautiful storyboard. In the sanctuary, we may take a bit of easy breathing air, visioning the plot of the odyssey, and packing some pristine materials to be collaborated with whatever may be encountered.
Coz the real world is out there, destined being the stage of our play, under the revolving spotlight of the stars, the moon and the sun, for the season of millions random pages.
Not too long, just for a little while we are in, the Sanctuary of Tomorrows’ Journeys.
We Are What We Were (A Letter from Someone Left Behind ?)
We are the youth, who stand tall and challenge the world. This is our moment, playing on the fast lane of the highway, enjoying every pump of the blood flowing in our vessel. We walk, run and fly high traveling around from one to another, competing with the speed of light after thousands dreams. We rule our own canvases; paint them with any picture we want it to be, with our own color palette.
Not weak fragile toddler who need someone to protect us from the cold of the night and the heat of the day any longer. Not pure innocent kids who need somebody to introduce us with every single wonder in the garden anymore. The need to hold on our little hand was the past. We’ve trained, we’ve learnt and now facing the world with our strength, up against any risk may come ahead, strong enough to stand on our own feet.
We are far away at the fore, and someone is left behind in the distance of space and time.
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This is the day we received a letter has been passed in old-fashioned way from one hand to other hands, and managed to reach us here, a letter from other far part of the world.
This a simple letter written in plain language, on humbly scrap of paper she only has. This is a letter of many sincere good wishes and prays for our future. This is a letter of memory full of many reminder of her continuous heartfelt offering since our early age. This is a letter of unnecessary sorry for any wrong doing she may have done, for the only paper she found to write this letter, for not being able to leave any physical present of memento. This is a letter of resignation to retreat and withdraw from the crowd.
Sadly, this is a letter of goodbye, that we may not see her anymore when we revisit our starting point and most likely the end of the journey: home. Shamely, this is a letter of forgotten angel who always happy enough to stand far back of the spotlight, not even at this time we can find her photograph.
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We are what we were. In this time travel mechanism, some may be left behind in the distance of space and time. But for sure, with grateful thanks for making it possible for us to be what we are now, no body will ever be left behind in our heart!
(*For Mbak Kadmi, not our mother, not our family, not our relative, but an easily forgotten guardian angel since our early age!)
Open Wound
One cycle of the moon it has been, and this wound still left open, being patched in negligent care, holding the intermittent drip of blood, unstitched.
There will be pains, but the needle needs to start piercing the skin into the flesh to start the healing. Let the string of ligature sew the parted sides together. There will be seam, and the scars may remain, but it will be the mark of the remedy, a diary entry written on the body. Yet, the seam will be much better memory than the dry spot of neglected wound.
Would you?
In The Party Room: Cloud Nine.
Here, we are free to jump in to any scene we’d like to be.
The screen emits a fraction of familiar emotive images, flickers rays of dream to be laid on. The stage is the set of comedy acts tickles the laughter echoing through out the space. The dimly lit room is painted by glitzy artificial source of light that cast on the roof like a star on the night sky.
In the corner, we seat ourselves on comfy sofa chatting up some nonessentials. On the floor, we dance with the beat. We drink to relish, we sing along the music filling up the air. We pose and photograph of the moment with great pleasure.
On cloud nine, there is nothing to worry. We are safe here, until the party is over and time to be back on the street again.
Sail Away
Standing far of the coast we were drawn to the scenery. Stepping on the sand we were in touch with the sensation. Dipping the feet to the water we were closer to the origin. Swimming in the sea we started playing. Surfing along the waves we challenged the harmonies. Throw our sampan to the ocean, we are now heading to horizon.
This may be a delirious game and not an easy ride. Lost in the vast sphere we could be, thrown out by heave we may sink to the deep. Heaven or hell for all ones know the end. This is a quest to the invisible land across, the respond to the call of wild heart for the adventure, exploring what the other side of the earth may offer, reaching the imaginary picture in the soul.
Setting up the sheet as wing to catch the wind, paddling the oar, we are sailing away.