Like a bass line upon which treble layers like an antagonizing force of disruption, my calm is stirred up by the hustle outside my door. As smooth as the jazz that comes out of the dark oak radio and pervades the room, is the whisky I swivel around in my mouth. A numbness of my gums that parallels the muffled sound of the world outside. A pool with a steady surface, at once a world shaken up – all due to a single drop. As the circles grow bigger in number, they start overlapping and from a square frame with perfect circles drawn inside it springs forth pure chaos, a surface trembling underneath the upstirring force of the rain. I keep looking out of the window and watch as that solemn geometrical world perishes before my eyes, the glass in my hand sliding downwards ever so slightly as the double bass that plays in the background is overpowered by the harsh sound of raindrops smashing against the window and the shrillness of the laughter in the hallway.

Serenity does not linger then… inner peace can only be a passing state. And how comforting that this is so – an incessantly reshuffled deck of cards, a garden constantly tended to by a gardener whose mind is not made up. The whence and whither of existence, it has but partly to do with forces internal.

What a relief, what opportunity.

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