Singularity

As I sit and wait for the thunderstorm to pass over my head and the village, in the absence of electricity, in the smell of the rain and the sounds of cars wheezing through puddles and the tapping on the corrugated iron roof, the most complete singularity wraps itself around me. It makes my stomach turn and my head spin. I long for detachment from this world, but I would not have it if it was thrust upon me. Being is full of contradictions that seek conclusion, choices that fuel the burning of old wounds and long-lost memories, and moments needed for waiting, healing, interiorising. The thunderstorm resembles a point d’orgue in music. A lot can happen during that time, when the rhythm fleetingly becomes suspended, and a solo breaks into the space, with moments of silence weighing down on the audience like love on a heart-in-waiting.