Three Tears for Waltz

Three Tears for Waltz

There is a certain mystical quality about waltzes-- a certain hidden strength that takes everyone in its stride towards eternity. Sometimes gentle as a gondolier taking me through the Venetian waterways, sometimes sprightly as the railway locomotive passing along hedges and under bridges, and sometimes grand as the Emperor riding forth to battle, waltzes never cease to hold me entranced, and I see life with all its little tricks continuing to lead us on, tearing through the formless veils of future and clearing the mists of providence. Yet, the journey has a certain completeness with its contrasts, encompassing minor inconveniences as well as little joys, sorrows unforgettable as well as rhapsodies reaching crescendo, loneliness in large and hollow palaces as well as affection in cozy cottages, royal tragedies as well as countryside comedies, intrigues for the throne as well as gossips about the village belles, all embedded in the little folds of that fabric called life. Ever a new fold appears and there starts a new tale, ever another unfolds and a story reaches an end, only to continue into some other fold, all in a perpetual waltzing motion.

There is a certain nature about the simple three-beat rhythm that gives new strength to the imagination. A certainty of a true fantasy, born out of simplicity of the rhythm, that transports me into a world where tiny droplets of water are ever in motion around me-- little orbs of bright light falling from the sky, recalcitrant, pristine spheres born out of a splash aiming for the stars, and nature's most precious jewels-- tears, each with a tale to tell, playing hide and seek with one another, all swaying hither and thither in one slow solemn content motion to the ever-present rhythm of the waltz.

One there was, rather big for a tear drop and he had a sense of urgency about him, always eluding others. He came right in front of my eyes, hovered a little and settled into a calm spin in the air. He was heavy with memories-- of the person who gave him birth, and of the times he was born in. And slowly images appeared within him. I saw in him an image of a little girl in tears. So young and full of life, but why was she in tears? And then there was another one-- a young man crying over the body of an elderly woman, perhaps his mother. The third one showed an old gnarled man sitting alone on a high throne crying, the pillars of stone and the roofs of the majestic hall were crumbling about him. This was long time ago, ere the earth and the sky were estranged and so has he remained ever since, floating and gliding in the vast recesses of fantasy. He was the tear of loss, also called the eternal tear. He started hovering again, and bowing, he left soaring up into the high airs.

And there was another-- On a pedestal, and he had around him, a following that recognised as truly the highest ideal of life. I went to him and greeted him. He smiled, and within him, forms gradually materialised ... of people rebuilding fallen empires through sheer perseverance and strength of will, of proud mothers of slain warrior-sons laying wreaths of tears on their sons' bodies, of the worshippers of art dancing with wild madness at the heights their passion took them to, of the men of science offering a great gift to the humanity. I was humbled. I closed my eyes and remained so for a while. A smile slowly blossomed. I was at peace with myself to have felt an inkling of that same passionate fire that drove all these people to their glorious destiny. I bowed to the great tear of passion.

I was about to leave when I was suddenly stopped. I felt a strong pull towards something, for some inexplicable reason, I did not want to see. I was summoned. It seemed like all the ways in the world led only to one destination. A strange power was at work. In a trance, I was dragged against my own will to a place in that world of tears, dew-drops and droplets where I never visited, nor cared to visit at all. There was a huge pyramid. I climbed the steps. Little droplets of water caressed my cheeks... each produced always a new sensation, a new feeling, and I watched myself with surprise, seeing the ways I reacted. From where I was, I could see that at the top of the pyramid was an altar and an ornate conical roof with four pillars. When I was led to the top, I saw that I was standing in front of tear drop, if a drop she was that was as big as I am. She was slowly spinning, and when she saw me, she smiled. And slowly, visions appeared in it...

I was in a house with a woman. She was preparing tea for me. And then we sat for a long time by the window, watching the night sky, sipping our tea.

And then, the vision was taken away as it appeared. Another appeared...

I was in traveling in car with a woman on a full-moon night on a beautiful drive with trees laden with white blossom on either side.

This abruptly ended as well. And there was another one...

I was walking on a paved road in some woodland along a pond on a lazy afternoon with a damsel. And this vanished as well.

I realised that I knew who the tear was, and how she grew so big. She is the One that never was allowed to flow out of the eyes. She was the tear of love. Each time she tried, some iron door cruelly stopped her way out. And so she went back, and she waited for the next time. And she grew each time. She demanded her due justice.

And I still stand in front of her, like an image carved out of still water in front of my own creation that I disowned. Will I accept her as my own and allow her out and join the waltz of life? Or will I, as usual, turn my back on her? Only time can tell...