Journal Extracts#14

Image by A PICTURES, New Delhi

"It is early, early morning," she said, her voice suddenly low and mysterious. "Dark. We stand on a beach like this beach. First hint of dawn. Cold." 

We were there in the cold and dark with her, living her story. 

"In front of us stands our easel and canvas, we hold our paints and brushes." It felt like being hypnotized, by those dark eyes. I felt the palette in my left hand, the brushes in my right, brushes with rough wooden handles. 

"Now the light rises in the sky, do you see it?" she said. "The sky is turning to fire, gold poring, ice prisms melting into sunrise...." 

We saw, stunned in colors. 

"Paint!" said SHE. "Catch that sunrise on your canvas! Take the light of it on your face, through your eyes, spread it into art! Swiftly now, swiftly! Live the dawn with your brush!" 

I'm no artist, but in my mind was that glory, tuned to bold slashes on canvas. I imagines Sakshi's easel, saw her own dawn wonderfully delicate there, careful beams blended to a starburst in oils. 

"Done?" said SHE. "Brushes up?" 

We nodded. 

"What have you created?" 

I should have painted our teacher, that moment, she was so darkly bright. 

"Two very different sunrises." said Sakshi. 

"Not two sunrises," said SHE. "The artist does not create the sunrise, she creates..." 

"Oh of course!" said Sakshi. "The artist creates the painting!" 

SHE nodded. 

"The sunrise is reality, the painting is what we make of it?" I asked. 

"Exactly!" said SHE "If each of us had to create our own reality, can you imagine the chaos? Reality would be limited to whatever each of us could invent!" 

I nodded and imagined. How to create a sunrise if I'd never seen one? What to do with a black night sky to start the day? Would I have thought of a sky? Of night and day? 

SHE went on. "Reality has nothing to do with appearances, with our narrow way of seeing. Reality is love expressed, pure perfect love, unbrushed by space time." 

"Have you ever felt so at one with the world, with the universe, with everything that is, that you were overcome with love? She looked from Sakshi to me. "That is reality. That is the truth. What we make of it is up to us, as the painting of the sunrise is up to the artist."