Thursday, February 14, 2013

A beat

A faint beat barely heard. Its mother felt it within her. Its father pressed his ear hard against her belly, trying to hear it separately from hers. He closed his eyes and a serene smile was drawn across his face as a warm wave traveled all over his body upon that brief acquaintance with the universe she contains, and the life sustained by that faint beat.

His beat grew stronger.

It regulated blood-flow, pumping quicker or slower as need be. When he ran, it ran with him. When he rested, it slowed down. The beat never abandoned him. It never let him down. It worked, constantly, every second of every day. It efficiently delivered life to every cell of his being, and allowed him all his functions.

When he anticipated, or worried, or won, or lost, he found himself clenching his fist to his chest, right above where the beat comes from, as if to tell it to calm down, or to cheer up. It was a curious thing. What’s in there to get him to feel all that intensity? Wasn’t he taught that all these different feelings are mere chemicals in the brain, trickery of the mind? Why wasn’t it that when he wanted to refer to himself in hand gestures, he pointed to it, rather than his all-powerful head?

His beat grew louder.

He found that it offered him guidance, and gave him courage. He imagined how stale everything would be without it. It whispered to him. It whispered his love’s name. It whispered what he must do. When his mind was in the right place, it whispered truth in unison. 

His beat grew truer.

It beat for a reason. It gave him passion. Through all the difficulties he faced, it gave him the strength to pick up the pieces and pull through. It reassured him of his life’s purpose, and that he must go on, for it still beat for him no matter what happened. His mind, trained, pointed him as a compass would. His beat took him there. 

As long as that journey was, he gave his all, because his beat, as it pumped through him, it pumped through all that which he touched, too. People recognized it, and were attracted to it as butterflies are attracted to a shining light amid a vast darkness. 

His beat grew weak.

Not because it had a choice to the matter, but rather for nature to take its course. And there is no evil to be found in nature. He understood that. He embraced it. He took comfort and basked in the thought of resting for a while, to return younger and stronger later. Maybe in a decade. Maybe in a hundred. But he knew he would return. In the meanwhile, he smiled as his father once did when he pressed his ears to hear his tiny beat. He smiled because at the end of his current time, all around him, were people whose beats drummed rhythmically, in harmony to his own.

Then, his beat grew silent.


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This is originally published in The Clairvoyance Collective, under a common theme week titled 'Heart'.
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