Break The Chains

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Everything has been engulfed by the white walls, solid and non-chaotic, without any turbulence, static.


Little things crawl and fly, with their crystal-clear body, reflecting light so sharp that my eyes weren’t able to withstand the intensity.


Colors, it doesn’t depend but they have the aura to grip my senses and manipulate my emotions about freedom.


When will I be able to creep and crawl and fly? Why not try now?


So, I straighten both my hands at 180 degrees and leave small gaps between my fingers. The soft wind passes through those gaps, bumping over here and there but without any sound. With each movement of fingers, I can feel the way they change, the change giving short sparks and chills through my spine.


I don’t stop the motion but continue it even more vigorously, followed by the movement of both my hands. I close my eyes and can feel the lift I say. I can feel air everywhere around me. I feel happy, as someone said, my feet weren’t on the ground, like that.


My physics must have been correct but I wasn’t flying. May be there was something wrong with my physique. The little insects call me with sharp shrieks, vibrating through their mouth, the sharp clamps like things and engulfing their whole mass.


“Come over,” they say.


“I am…. I am not able to fly like you. I don’t have the proper body. No wings, I am not light weight nor I am tiny like you,” I squeak. They give a horrendous laugh. It goes on for a while. I am silent but inside raging with anger. Were they mocking me from the start? How disgusting? Is being a human that pity?


“It has nothing to do with your state of body or how much material you can see covering yourself; the point is, you aren’t alive, just a lump of flesh we devour on but disgusting enough to be away from the smell,” a black one said in a serious tone.


Shocked was a tiny word to describe me at that time. Screwed like hell could may be a little more appropriate. My mouth had gone dry and a lump was stuck in my throat. My mind had gone numb, the control over my body was involuntary and what about me?

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“But,” I insisted, “I am not dead. I can feel myself (I don’t have the slightest idea what I meant by myself). I can feel my pulse ticking like that old watch hanging over there. My heart is thumping so hard that every ounce of blood gushes over to those arteries and drips blood to every organ like a dry gentle spring; I can feel that. I can give sense to the limited things I see, feel and derive. The rational mind thins over everything and gives me correct results. You see, I may be a little out of control but I am alive.” I just blurted out a lot of things and they seemed to be serious for a second; they started their laugh again, and now even more horrendously. I just couldn’t make out.


“You are a greater fool than we thought you were and still have got the wrong idea. Aren’t you able to see those chains spellbinding you from the reality that you are like us? Sadly, you are used to those chains. You like and adore them and never try to let them go, but with those, you are just dead and nothing else, just a figment of imagination. Can’t you feel the wings that are already inside you but the love you have with those cocoon of chains isn’t letting into metamorphosis. See clearly.”


Now true distress overpowered me. The bugs were still in their nomadic style moving aimlessly (it was my way of discern). What the hell were they doing? I just couldn’t discern by myself. Fluttering their tiny wings created some harmony of sound like that in an orchestra; they were in their own world with no bondages nothing.


They forgot that I was there too, keeping a keen eye on them and their ways. In the sky of the bugs, it seemed like they were in some sort of meditation where they had forgotten that there is something called walls or bridges. There was just nothingness.




The room was closed. Waves of light gushing through those tiny crevices between the curtains had some distinct marks on the floor but otherwise, the room was almost dark. I just couldn’t make out if the light I was seeing was waves or photons or both? If they were both simultaneously, how did the wiggling waves shape the photons?


I had seen the sun in books but not in reality. I read that it was a disc as seen from the earth, but now I was only able to trace out how it was in the curtain.


The wrinkles of curtain slowly and gently moving in a certain direction, touching each other almost tangentially, and the waves striking on it and giving some shape seems to be swaying with it. The sun seemed like the combination of wrinkles? So what was the shape of the sun? Is it a disc? Was it something else? Nobody knows but everybody can tell.


“Nothing is static. Everything flows. There is disturbance errors are present the universe may seem to be rigid and unchangeable from outside but fluidity is quintessence of everything living or dead,” announced the air somewhat old yet the aura still illuminating.


“Now hold on for a second. Do you even know what words you just spoke? Are you some sort of blind fellow or a mad grandpa? I am static. These walls are static and the paintings on those walls are static. Do you see the walls flowing or I creeping through tiny holes? Think again.” The air had crossed its limit today. It smiled but was serious, as we could feel warmth around its presence. Then slowly, counting words by words, it spoke, “we brothers are all right but you my friend have been blindfolded from truth. Your thoughts have grown static and soul numb. The barrier or the wall has made you less human and more material. The clear sky that you dream of has been blocked by your own sun, but no, you don’t want to know that. What can I do?”


How great was the air to speak such words of wisdom. It tried to show us the path the true way to the utopia where we want to know ourselves and where there is nothing but every color of life in its full form. Truly, the air is a master.


“You are the vessel and I am your soul,” went away the air, repeating the sentence again and again.


“Stupid old fellow,” I was a little angry outside but a tsunami of thoughts was already flooding my soul.




I could feel the clouds of distress and sadness wandering around it. It had always been in the cage and never been able to discern its true self. It was where the darkness ruled and where hope was just obsolete.


“What happened?” I asked. It remained silent for a while. May be it was thinking or may be it didn’t listen.


“I have eyes but can’t see. My skin isn’t able to feel and my mind is stuck,” blurted out the soul. I hadn’t seen it saying so many words at the same time. I was amazed.


“What are you trying to say?”


“Look at that übermensch. Look at it. It’s flying,” said my soul with ecstasy.


I was puzzled!




“Can’t you see in the green and blue I always think about? They are conscious. They are not like us. They can see feel and think. They are free from every chain and every vessel or bonds, whatever you name, and the aura just can’t get away. Look over there. Another übermensch. Another one.”


The soul seemed like a small child seeing something new and running over everywhere, but for me, they were not present.


I was content in my own world and didn’t need some new character in my life. May be, yes, I was in chains and I was a vessel, but I was happy. I shifted my gaze up and looked with my soul just for nothing.


~ Sujan Acharya | Edited by Nandini Kapur


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