The Rainy Night Of January Winters

Outside the barrier of the glass window of her room was a world, which was celebrating rebirth. The clouds were thundering and every bit of nature was washed away for renewel, for hope. She wanted to go outside in that cold night of January winters and celebate renewal of her being, but she couldn't. She was not that genetically strong. So she accepted her fate, maybe beacause she didnot want to change her being, or perhaps she had gone used to of it. But she couldn't stop the thundering of the clouds and cooing of the pigeons at the back of laundry of her home to penetrate into her world. Trying to concentrate on the silent whispers of her unknown, of her micro cosmos, of her God within her, she finally gave up and opened the window.

        She couldn't seem to response at that time, her flesh was tired, and her mind yearned to be silent, to be drowned away with the chilling wind, with the particular scent, with tiny droplets striking her face and shaking her aura, and giving her the feeling of being alive. She wanted it all. At that time, being empty, she began to cry in the middle of nowhere, all of the sudden, like a silent cry that came thousands of miles from within of the flesh and has forgotten its very cause.

        Perhaps she wanted to wade through naked nature, silent trees, sacred mountains, holy lakes, all on her own with no one around. She wanted to experience the fascinating beauty, the beauty that ancient civilizations have worshipped throughout ages, those emptiness, that wholeness.. Her little being was moved by that rainy night, by the wind, the scent, the droplets, she wandered at what was that beauty that was worth being worshipped!

        After a while, descending back from her thoughts, she realised that the droplets are no longer shaking her aura. She looked upwards, the sky was clear, with stars more in number than usual. She wanted to go outside, alone, just at that moment, the moment of awe. She wanted to carry herself through the wet street to the park near the back of her little home and to drink, drink endlessly, the very song of her, the song of her story. She wanted uplift, and to go away....

        But she couldn't, because she was surrounded by the serville bands, the bands which she wanted to free herself from. She had always been a free bird, dreamt to go to a place that was beyond the world because the place where she lived was somehow uneasy for her. Uneasy because she had never understood socialism. To her, the greatest set back of human civilization was speech. To her, language never exposed the true song of her heart. There was always something left, she never knew what it was, but it always troubled her. For her, language was like a barrier to expose her, to find her, it always promoted self-conciousness,  but she always wanted to be free, to be silent, for ages and ages...

        She had thought sometimes of dying, of escaping the world on her own, but then she started living in the beautiful valley of her thoughts, about nature, about lakes, mountains, wind, scent, rain, the divine feeling that felt like crackling her chest, making her feel divine, feel like sacred and great, and which always kept her within its pleasure, and kept her from dying...