This, today. I wish you could carve it along the walls of your home. One of the most remarkable ordinary days is occurring unreasonably.
Today had no incentive to start so kindly, but it did.
Something tells me that the magic of your growth is the actual source of this prismatic primitive feeling. This letter is for you later in case you forget your prism, or in the event that because you have no words for it when you’re in it, you dismiss this mysterious paradigm of your usual being completely.
You’re currently nearer to where this feeling originates, within the solar circle (or the inverted pyramid?) of my soul. I’ve never encouraged you to record me in your cellular memory. In fact, I tried to ask you to please abstain from making such a mistake. Be only yourself.
But I require you to record this now, this uplifting stillness full of everything that is tremendously joyous.
Ready? Close your eyes.
It started with the sound of our dog Max snorting and grunting, my eyelids remained drawn shut as I smiled against the pillow because I knew from the way his groan extended that he was mid-stretch. Unremarkable, isn’t it? But that’s why it’s great. He came up to bed, sniffed any skin exposed to him -my feet, my eyelids, my nose – and waited for my eyes to flutter open so that he can communicate his wishes for the day. He forgets that his wishes are the same as everyday. Then I got ‘the feeling’.
The feeling was all about the feeling that anything wonderful can happen and devour us whole in its ecstasy today. Anything. Now, this is seldom acknowledged in regular life, although crucial: that in each moment, there are extensive possibilities within us, and even if they are less extensive outside of us, the word ‘possibilities’ remains defiantly plural and visibly impactful on some days like today.
This morning, I may start by washing the dishes, by putting in the laundry and folding what was left in the dryer last night, by staring outside and seeing such cozy simplicity in no breathtaking view, before caffeine really pulls me out of my daze, before I think of working, or studying, or debating. Or I may immediately write to you in urgency before the feeling is replaced with voices and sounds. In all these instances, possibilities are brimming.
Being inside this capacity is the most profound way of being you will ever be. Sometimes, you may think it to be just a pleasant passing speculation. But it never passes, not really. Where would it go? The presence of possibilities is absolute. When it shows its face to you, record it in your genetic signature as if it were your mirror image. Let each of your cell’s individual minds remember it and replay it until it becomes the very substance inside each of them. In those moments, please spend good hours with your selves, eye-to-eye, pinkies hooked, head-to-head.
Would I then write something this morning, because of this “feeling”? I thought.
I could start writing without thinking as usual. And then also, as usual, realize that it’s just me, with uncombed hair, sitting in a poorly constructed shell made of fishnet. A woman who needs a facial and a good body scrub. A woman who still feels like a girl. So, a girl then. A girl who jumped into a woman’s shoes and wants to now write without thinking.
But now there will be you. We are soon to meet. I’m not sure I can ever do things without thinking again. This newness delights me, so I open my laptop and situate each finger in her designated spot on the keyboard and here I am, full of myself, completed. I start writing to you about how I came to write to you about why I wrote to you.
Dear R, There is such profundity in today. Such completeness. May your days be filled with bouts of this weird placating ecstasy of sitting with yourselves, however mellow, however boring, however slow. It really is what makes the all of us in each of us lovable. This is the only way we can help other. This is the only thing that makes us so needed. Find out how to give such moments momentum. Among us four, the knowledge is fresh in only you; I am counting on you to teach me.
Forever your vessel. Your mama.
Beisan A. Alshafei
January 14th, 2021
Beisan's Burble 