Conversation With a Sparkling Soul
 |
Conversation With a Sparkling Soul
By Bedor Alobaidi
Despite the crowded room, the noise couldn't diminish the sparkle in his eyes when he spoke to me.
He listened to me with curiosity and understanding, showing a genuine interest in knowing more about me, even if I chose to remain silent.
However, I couldn't help but engage in conversation because my heart had longed for joy for quite some time.
I didn't go to that place to showcase a dance or perform a solo act. I went there fully aware that it was my soul that led me to that bustling place, filled with intricate details.
It was visually pleasing, but the true pleasure lay in the profound conversations one could have with people there.
He represented the essence of people to me. Perhaps it was because he was an artist, and I have a deep passion for art. Or maybe there was something else about him that I have yet to discover. He is like a secret, or rather, he embodies a secret. Though it may be overshadowed by an air of mystery, it is a clear secret.
This is not a narrative from my favorite movie, a scene from a book of ancient poetry, or a condensed idea about modernism in contemporary art museums. He is a unique case. That is how I perceive him, that is how I saw him, or perhaps it is what my heart hopes to believe.
Simply looking at him was not enough. It was the tone of his voice and the words that flowed from his lips that emitted a distinct fragrance, leaving him with a dreamy and reassuring smile.
He is the elusive hero I have spent years searching for, the one I yearn to write about. He stands and speaks, leading the conversation like a ballet dancer.
His personal identity is akin to an uncomposed musical piece. He brings calm and inspiration after long periods of worry.
I don't know how, but I found myself being more natural than required, as if I were under a magnetic spell. My words were not delirium, yet I wasn't pretentious or tense when speaking. And he was the same. We shared similarities and found common ground.
I wished the conversation would have never ended. I longed for it to continue for days or for time to freeze at the spark of our first exchange, which continued for hours afterward. However, hours are not days, which made me recall his tone of voice in the following days. It is a distinctive voice that lingers. Or maybe my ability to deeply listen was so profound that I remember every word and emotion that accompanied his voice in every topic we discussed.
Surprisingly, I haven't listened to music in about a week. That, in itself, is a miracle. I found satisfaction in revisiting the dialogue between him and me. It created a new state, as if it were a musical piece composed through our conversations. It is the soul finding its likeness and expressing it. It is as I found myself in abstraction.
And I am aware that I am the one writing, but the words do not flow easily unless it is the soul that urges me to capture these moments and write about them in a smooth manifestation.
I will consider this state as writing a memoir, but without divulging details about the event. I will keep all the particulars within my memory and return to what I have written years later to test my recollection of who I was writing about and why, or where I went and the details that the reader may or may not find interesting. My intention is solely to convey the feeling and the essence of the feeling itself, not the remaining details such as time and place.
Those events are significant if I aim to document the occasion. However, my documentation revolves around capturing the feeling and describing it. Historical writings do not adequately do justice to emotions. And those who write about life gracefully pass through history. The true author of history remains unknown. Therefore, history must be rewritten at the moment of encountering admiration or love.
One must write it, even if it is just a draft that may never be published. Perhaps someone will stumble upon it and appreciate what lies within reach, attempting to experience a similar state in different times and places. It is writing filled with pleasure, clarity, and hope.
And undoubtedly, it will find its way to those who are constantly searching and chasing after that hope. Maybe someday they will find it, and the idea or temporary state will transform into something continuous and everlasting, transcending changing events and faces. The eternal state does not cease, and it has no expiration date. It perpetually renews itself to infinity. And that is how it is with him—something extraordinary and indescribable, an unending journey.
Bedor Alobaidi
Comments
Post a Comment