White lotus
Helena1411
107 Reviews
Translated · Show original
Helena1411
22
Yin and Yang
Blackness. At first impenetrable. Everything is calm. She lies awake with her eyes open, staring into the darkness. The sounds of the night seem to scream into the silence that sneaks through the darkness, as if they want to break the spell and show that there is still life in the black-blue of the night.
Her own breath seems disturbingly loud, out of place, not in harmony with the night. She hears her own heart thundering with relentless volume, her blood rushing in her ears.
Her breath against the sighing of the night, her heartbeat against the pulse of the night. It feels to her as if the night is winning.
And the carousel of thoughts spins, round and round, hour after hour.
Relentlessly. Exhaustlessly. Unyieldingly.
And she circles along, again and again, in the oversized shadows of the night.
‘Stop’ comes to her mind. It must be stopped. Must.
Get up, into the bathroom, water on her face, into the kitchen. Nocturnal automatons, as recurring as the thoughts.
Before re-entering the night, into the bed, into the carousel, into the pull of the pillow, scenting it, the wrists too, also automated, but in the back of her mind the thought of duty of care. Against herself, for herself, however it may be.
And the carousel gains momentum, all seats are taken, it can begin:
On the horses sit the riders Diligence, Sense of Duty, Motivation, Discipline, Relentlessness. In the carriages, the sisters Self-Doubt and Insecurity ride along. Worry sits together with Fear in the gondola, both keeping an eye on all passengers.
And the carousel picks up speed. More and more. Faster and faster.
She feels dizzy. She must breathe, breathe calmly, otherwise she will lose control of the carousel. And with each calm breath, a gentle scent flows towards her, delicate, soft, soothing. Above all, warm.
How can something smell warm? She remembers, the lotus. Just as it smells pure. But not clear, rather milky. And it almost seems to her as if the milky white penetrates through the oppressive darkness, as if light is fighting against shadow, and she is merely a spectator on the sidelines.
Her breaths become more even.
She smells the milky, warm purity, almost cotton-soft, into which a hint of grain mixes. She considers. Job's tears, also known as Yi-Yi-Ren, are responsible for that. A smile creeps onto her lips. How a grain can receive such a meaningful name... Instead of doing justice to its name, they create a feeling of powdery comfort and warmth, hand in hand with the white lotus, in the darkness of her night.
It comes back to her mind that Job's tears are also used in traditional Chinese medicine. They are said to have a toning effect. And she also knows about the calming effect attributed to the lotus flower. All of this she has read about during the day, after one of those many nights, carousel-spinning and sleepless. One of those nights when she had scented the pillow for the first time. And she was amazed to find what a pleasant effect this gentle, warm scent had on her. Which also lasts until the next morning, then only a hint of the night remains, slowly dissipating in the daylight like the darkness.
A scent that does not demand anything from her, that does not perform acrobatics, that is simply there and may be.
And while she thinks about all this, the sounds of the night become gentler, tuning into a nocturnal symphony, the shadows dance a delicate ballet on the walls, a milky veil runs through the gloom, slowly bringing the carousel to a stop in its seemingly unconquerable circle.
And she slowly sinks into a sleep, restorative and deep, while on both sides of the carousel stand Trust and Certainty, nodding to each other.
Tomorrow a new day begins again.
Her own breath seems disturbingly loud, out of place, not in harmony with the night. She hears her own heart thundering with relentless volume, her blood rushing in her ears.
Her breath against the sighing of the night, her heartbeat against the pulse of the night. It feels to her as if the night is winning.
And the carousel of thoughts spins, round and round, hour after hour.
Relentlessly. Exhaustlessly. Unyieldingly.
And she circles along, again and again, in the oversized shadows of the night.
‘Stop’ comes to her mind. It must be stopped. Must.
Get up, into the bathroom, water on her face, into the kitchen. Nocturnal automatons, as recurring as the thoughts.
Before re-entering the night, into the bed, into the carousel, into the pull of the pillow, scenting it, the wrists too, also automated, but in the back of her mind the thought of duty of care. Against herself, for herself, however it may be.
And the carousel gains momentum, all seats are taken, it can begin:
On the horses sit the riders Diligence, Sense of Duty, Motivation, Discipline, Relentlessness. In the carriages, the sisters Self-Doubt and Insecurity ride along. Worry sits together with Fear in the gondola, both keeping an eye on all passengers.
And the carousel picks up speed. More and more. Faster and faster.
She feels dizzy. She must breathe, breathe calmly, otherwise she will lose control of the carousel. And with each calm breath, a gentle scent flows towards her, delicate, soft, soothing. Above all, warm.
How can something smell warm? She remembers, the lotus. Just as it smells pure. But not clear, rather milky. And it almost seems to her as if the milky white penetrates through the oppressive darkness, as if light is fighting against shadow, and she is merely a spectator on the sidelines.
Her breaths become more even.
She smells the milky, warm purity, almost cotton-soft, into which a hint of grain mixes. She considers. Job's tears, also known as Yi-Yi-Ren, are responsible for that. A smile creeps onto her lips. How a grain can receive such a meaningful name... Instead of doing justice to its name, they create a feeling of powdery comfort and warmth, hand in hand with the white lotus, in the darkness of her night.
It comes back to her mind that Job's tears are also used in traditional Chinese medicine. They are said to have a toning effect. And she also knows about the calming effect attributed to the lotus flower. All of this she has read about during the day, after one of those many nights, carousel-spinning and sleepless. One of those nights when she had scented the pillow for the first time. And she was amazed to find what a pleasant effect this gentle, warm scent had on her. Which also lasts until the next morning, then only a hint of the night remains, slowly dissipating in the daylight like the darkness.
A scent that does not demand anything from her, that does not perform acrobatics, that is simply there and may be.
And while she thinks about all this, the sounds of the night become gentler, tuning into a nocturnal symphony, the shadows dance a delicate ballet on the walls, a milky veil runs through the gloom, slowly bringing the carousel to a stop in its seemingly unconquerable circle.
And she slowly sinks into a sleep, restorative and deep, while on both sides of the carousel stand Trust and Certainty, nodding to each other.
Tomorrow a new day begins again.
Updated on 08/01/2019
13 Comments
Mefunx
Bastian
SchatzSucher
Ergoproxy
FrauKirsche
Gold
Yatagan
Mondhexe
Tiara
Clarissa
