In Search Of Discontinuity

I am surrounded on all sides by thick fog, blown up from the valley into the lap of the hills. I’m little taken aback by its sheer speed. What a transformation! Within five minutes there is no trace of the hills, no trace of the bright sun, no trace of the world, no trace of life, just layer after layer of thick white fog.

Sometimes I wish that I would wipe off all my past from the canvas of my life and start it all over again. I can see this urge in me as early in life as I can remember. I was awful in painting, quite unlike my sister. There was mismatch in the beauty of my imagination and the skill of my hands to paint it. I would try the impossible. The colors won’t match the colors of my imagination. The brush would refuse to be guided by the dreams. I would sulk at what I have painted. I would try to improve it and then a point would come where the painting would get worse with every touch of the brush and in a fit of disappointment I would pour the bottle of black color on it. That would be the end of that day’s painting session. Black. The color of night..so soothing..

I always have mixed feelings about the present state of life. With one hand I like to change it..with the other I would like to preserve it. The difference in what it can be and what it is, haunts me. But the future is built on top of the past. Neither can I improve on it beyond a point, nor can I can’t pour black color on it...

I need a discontinuity now. A thick white fog which can wipe it off. Then a pouring rain. Then a clear sky. I bet I know how to paint rainbows.