The pleasures of prose

If poetry is an elegant waltz across the ballroom, prose is like a freestyle dance that excites.

Free time is hard to come by. Despite all the changes I have been through for the past two months, the one thing that has not changed is my delight in solitude and silence. I once wrote that "if my heart were a square, my need for personal space is a tight circle that stretches from edge to edge of the square, leaving only the little corners for my closest groups of friends and nobody else". That has not changed very much, except now He resides in the circle with me, which has made me overcome my reluctance to walk out of the circle to people I like and those whom I used to dislike.

Despite the changes, an ideal rest for me, is still to sit down to a warm cup of caramel latte and a good read, in a quaint cafe away from the intrusion of friends and acquaintances. By alternating my eyes between the words on the pages, and the passer-bys on the streets, the impact is therapeutic and the effect calming. There is no need to submit to the pressure of time, because time naturally slows down to a crawl, with the stillness of the sun and the laze of the afternoon. How I love to stare into space in a midday reverie, lost in a galaxy of thoughts where hypotheses are formulated and my imagination is the only limiting factor. And not to forget the important role of music, a soft number that pleases the ears and sets the mood for some quiet reflection.

Ah, if only I can get away from life, the persistent trail of trials and tests, the inexorable cycle of events -

And the afternoon rest must always end with an honest expression of my heart. I write not particularly for an audience, but primarily for the pleasures and relief that it injects into my veins like morphine to my soul. This is what keeps me sane. This is the human indulgence that still brings me joy. And this is the one thing I pray the Lord would allow me to keep.