Darkness rains on troubled days, its drops slowly wetting each hour like as many poisoned pearls sliding down wet sticky hair, headed for the corners of a helpless mouth closed shut to swallow the unavoidable scream that lets air hiss in, along with the poison and a certitude that doubt remains for the time being and long after.
But then always the light bursts in, like Galadriel’s, and its unflinching rays begin a trembling dance, dissolving the madness and reaching for the deepest recesses, cleaning the shell from its hardened iron crust and eventually, when time has done its art, the only thing that remains, naked and exposed, is the essence of one, and two. Ready to fly again. And fall. Because everything is energy, and energy is waves. Rien ne se perd, rien ne se crée.