a solemn time.

November is one of those solemn times of the year, when the year ages and monotony settles in. The intentions sowed in autumn crystallise into a hidden knowing, its only requirement is to be habituated, which is always the most difficult part, especially for a soul that revels in the glory of new beginnings and diverging dreams.

The trees have become barren and the sun does not shine as luxuriously as it did. It’s warm and subtle, but it smells different now. It’s this fragrance that makes me miss the exhilarated motions of spring.

The passing of months have become truly ritualistic now. Every month teaches me something new, and perhaps I’ve learned shortly more about my attachments to this world. It’s easier to accept my mistakes and not being adept at most of my doings, but God, I find myself really clumsy in most processes that involve ordinariness. Once I’m acquainted by new dreams and imaginings, magical occurrences that touch the brink of unknowns— this is where I feel most grateful.

Ordinariness— perhaps what I keep struggling with. The monotony of daily living, when one needs to sink down to the earthliness of things taking their time upon completion. In dreams, it is all timeless. One knows the beginnings and endings in singularity. Oh this plane, it takes time. And the more there are human fears attached to the unfolding, the slower it takes.

I want to arrive at a conclusion, but I’m not sure how. A part of me wants to experience this brokenness deeply— to be at the breakthrough point, to fall, and come again with a fresh perspective that undoes all the ordinariness.

Perhaps that is beautiful; to remain so small at the edges of all what is ordinarily earthly, to feel so uncannily normal, and to let it pass.