A Star Called Clarity
The star called Clarity appears on the canvas of the night sky. Even you can find her, if you look closely enough. What does she look like?
Clarity is a pale, cold, dot — leagues away from our eyes. She fuzzes up in the winter light from the rising tears resting on my eyelids. I reach out an anxious, trembling hand. I try to grab the star, grasping, with all my might. But she’s still a spec, stuck to the painting of the universe, a flickering, distant, dream.
I jump. I do this to get closer to Clarity. My tears have strengthened my resolve, and with newfound determination, I retreat into the soundless house, emerging with my bright red wood ladder, made from the strength of a former Oak. I climb, just to feel Clarity’s light on this evening, just a touch, a whiff, a scent. But ever evasive, Clarity persists, as a distant spec.
And so I am resigned.
I know that breathing is a form of connecting. So the ground crunches as I sit upon its cold back and look up at the star, breathing. I let the steam of my breath push closer to Clarity, and I wish that I could float as a molecule of water vapor, reaching the infinite skies.
But that is not my path, and that is not Clarity’s way.
Sometimes, she reveals herself to me. When I look at the sky, take a walk, or even in a vision or dream. She shows me glimpses of the the future, of the stars, of the painting of the universe. In those moments, I am inspired. I do and do and do, all from Clarity’s vision.
But I remind myself this night, as I look at the sky, that Clarity hasn’t visited for a while. I miss her. So as I breathe, I pray.
Maybe, she will visit me again.
By Saalik Lokhandwala.