Everything was sort of slowing down, the vehicles were slow, people were walking slowly, my heart was beating a tad slower, then even slower…..and then it was so slow that you could count the heart rate just by sitting there and listening to it. It was easy to listen, for now I felt totally aloof, taken away from the world and locked up in a shell, a transparent shell of some sort overlooking the real world. I could see the people before me, walking past me, grinning, mocking perhaps even trying to make a conversation. Indifference, absolution, nothing mattered now, not the people around that were eyeing me suspiciously, not the vehicles that were honking so long and interminable, yet so melodiously that I was slipping into sleep, the kind that that even babies would not have experienced.
Then, I was counting numbers, there the frog that leaped in joy was retreating into its hideout, it was growing in size, so long and so big, counting numbers again, my mom yelling at me, the gorgeous lady that sat beside me in the auto to work earlier that day, the tea vendor, the voices, why was everyone talking to me, and only to me. Silence, now, it was slow again, I was slow, my responses were slow, heart was beating slowly; I was losing consciousness.
It seemed as if, the feather of my consciousness was raised up by a cool breeze (not ruff wind, for it felt gorgeous) and was up there in the air swinging merrily to the inanimate tones of something fresh, something out of this world. With the reverberating mood of tranquility, I undulated like the top soil on the bed of ocean with every passing motion however small may it be. The feeling of an attainment, of something natural yet unreleased, of something rapturous yet soft and tender, of something primitive yet to be found. It was bliss, I was barely able to feel, my senses were so drawn inside, I was pulling my “self” away from the sources, away from the bodily receptors (hands that feel, ears that listen, eyes that see, nose that breathes, mouth that tastes), preserving the “self” inside me. Without the aids of “self” the receptors were merely hanging on to me physically, I no longer possessed them, I was possessed.
I stood up, for how long I do not recollect, but I was standing with my knees bent in the posture of a man that is about to stand up right from his seat. There I was, in that inelegant posture and I did not know, for I did not feel, for I was not pretending, for I was lost with my “self” drawn into me. I did not realize, but when I did realize, I stood up right, and now again I was counting numbers, the slowness, skin I was not able to feel, heart beat I was not able to hear, memory I was not able to make. But nothing mattered. I was in a state of bliss, I sat on my bike and then I was lost counting numbers, then I regained consciousness and I kick started my bike and I was lost once again, I put it in gear and I am lost, I race forward with throttle spinning and weaving my consciousness together, I realized there was hope now.
My only hope was to throttle to the maximum with wind against my face and eyes wide open; I should be able to beat the effect. Was I asleep, how long, there I was counting numbers again, nothing seemed to work, one moment I am there, one moment I am gone. I stretch my “self” tight into the locks of all the receptors (eyes, ears, skin, mouth, and nose) to see, hear, feel, taste and smell. The moment I do this it was gratifying only for that moment, and I am back on the downhill trot of the roller coaster, it happened so suddenly that none shall vouch for obeisance after that. The coiled “self” has to be un winded again and the threads tethered to the receptors back again, for I had to become my “self” again, the total self, not merely self but the complete self.
Where was I again, here I am on my bike, on the wrong gear at the wrong speed on the wrong side of the road proceeding towards the wrong lane. Then, I correct myself; push myself into concentrating, into stretching the chords of my “self” tight with all my might. Now, I am fortified and then…..where am I again, I am mortified.
This cannot be happening to me, what is two times three? Numbers, what ? where am I heading to? Yes, the effect is dissipating now and it’s becoming easy to hold on to my “self”. Not so adamant now, goodness, in a bump! Again where, what, on which gear? This is not happening; I remember I was on the top gear, yes, so I should not have been driving so slowly. I was not able to put things into perspective. The gear and the speed, I was getting it wrong, still forgetful, still oscillating between the states of superb consciousness and the depraved state of emptiness. These states of emptiness were grotesque, for they were awfully superior in their hold that it took me a while even to register my previous point on the map of consciousness.
So, I began singing (work for ears and mouth), and slipping my hands over the throttle (work for my skin) and blinking my eyes incessantly (work for my eyes), and biting my tongue (work for my mouth). It helped, but there I was again, doing the same thing over and over again. I began the exercise of putting all the senses at work, but the exercise would slip off my wet consciousness within a futile period and if not for the street turns and dead ends, I would never have even found out that I was supposed to be doing an exercise. Such was my depravity.
Then, I reached my home, parked my bike for how long I do not recollect, but the shop owner appeared very displeased for I parked it right in front of his shop and was walking away heedless to his words of displeasure. Then I heard him, thankfully, and adjusted the bike’s position and went inside. Finally, I went to bed unable to keep my conscience in my grip, unable to hold on to it, unable to stop it from bouncing of the ground of my mind up into thin air every now and then leaving me unknown, unconscious. It was terrible. And I slept.
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