Cloud Gate


It is a calming experience. To feel lighter. Feel carefree, alive, almost like a child. To feel the cool damp of the winter breeze brushing your face, the water accumulating near your eyelids and slowly making them heavy. My hairs try to blanket them but fail. It leaves its mild embrace underneath and moves on. My hands try to get a hold of them, to capture it forever. The breeze couldn’t care less. Its amorphous shape steals the meaning off the steady forms and gives them a mischievous dynamism. A veil it looks!

Gradually, I loose the track of time. I am here, now. Enveloped between what’s visible and what’s not. Between the now and the then. The only visages of being is in the flow. The flow of cloud that surrounds me but does not suffocate. The flow that mystifies. That indicates a journey ahead. Rest is this stillness. A white, comforting stillness. I find tranquility in its constant contact and departure. Its assertion of presence but not the imposition of it. My vision gets blurry and unclear. My breath is cool and even. The wind pushes me to attention and steadies me firmly.

And then there is light. There is this play. A love affair between the fog and the light. Its glow is gentle and ephemeral. Both fluidly complement each other. A light beam pierces through the thick mist like a cone of bright particles and accentuates its destination. It fades and forms rhythmically, like a gentle rocking of an old ship in steady waters. The mist quickly and carefully caresses it, too shy to share its treasure. I realise that I am stationary, forgetting where I am and where to go. The hard and slippery stones emerge below me. The gentle chime of a cow bell sounds softly at a distance. I yearn to follow it...