This is not insomnia. It's one past one in the morning, and it's one of those nights where I stay up because life has been fuelling me with it's greatest force, that is, inspiration. I think of Virginia Woolf's quote which states: "Madness is terrific I can assure you, and not to be sniffed at; and in its lava I still find most of the things I write about. It shoots out of one everything shaped, final, not in mere driblets, as sanity does." I'd thought that the wheels of my writing skills had gone rusty; I hadn't written for a while; but then again, thoughts aren't matter, they're vibration and you just have to hook up with what you want.
But I digress.
My friend and I went to the cinema for 'Skyfall' earlier in the evening. That movie was a visual feast, or perhaps, even delicacy -if I'm not stretching that a bit too far. The cinematography, its aesthetic, was absolutely gorgeous. It was about all I was watching for, yet, it also somehow managed to inspire me to write again. Write stories; having the plots planned out in my head like I used to do.
Anyway, along our walk back after the movie ended, we walked through this group of three guys. Presumably drunk, one of the guys lifted his arm and patted me on my head, saying 'hi love', or at least something along those lines with the greeting word 'love' in it. Besides this, happenings at the club above the bar -in which I'd gone to with the film society on halloween night- got me thinking. There, a guy had requested for a kiss on the cheek three times, when I returned to my friends in the middle of the place where people were dancing (mind you, I hardly do this. Going to clubs and all, that is, if I haven't explained why before) after a visit to the bathroom.
Don't you think that it's weird that people get so intimate when they're drunk? It has been said that people are the most honest when drunk (although honestly, I don't think I will, or even, can get drunk on drink. It's impossible for me to comprehend even just the thought of surrendering my mind to something as fickle as drink. Now, life itself, inspiration, these are beautiful things to get drunk on. Not alcohol. Never. This isn't to say that I don't mind a glass or two every once in a while though.) But back to the thought of inhibitions brought down. If the inner self is revealed during intoxication, and the desire for closeness is also then openly displayed, doesn't it clearly illustrate that separation is an illusion the ego has built from the roots of fear? Those chilly winds whose strength we'd fed through our walk in life evaporate with the dousing of alcohol's flames, especially for those who can only do it this way. Doesn't it demonstrate the cravings for closeness, which ultimately, is the harmony of love.
(They told me that there is always another side of a story, a flip side for everything, even though this is hardly a story.) Perhaps, for this then, is the revulsion of unknown closeness. My friends had pushed them firmly away. A defence mechanism, to be fair -even though justice is an illusion, which might be discussed in-depth some other time.
But mostly, for me, I either just smile or, mostly, ignore them with the feeling that it's wiser to stay away from unwanted trouble and stories I don't wish to tell. After all, I'm rather easy to love and I find myself intentionally putting down blocks every once in a while to remind myself of the focus I have to guide me to what I truly want.
Still, I walk away with the soft hum of understanding rippling through my heart, hair slightly rustled by the last breeze of an encounter.