In the quietude of the evening, there is a face that dips into the still waters of reflection, where amazement dissolves like sugar in tea, sweetening the depths of thought. It is a place where figures of speech break apart, their fragments floating away to form new means of communication. Eyes, bones, ears—each becomes unmoored, adrift in the liquid embrace of introspection.

With a little more care, a touch more tenderness, one can reach the very bottom of being, touch the essence of self that lies uninhabited. Feet, senses, all that we are, unshackled from the gravity of the world above. In this submerged silence, we distill our cries, our laughter, our very breaths, until they rise as bubbles, never returning to the surface from whence they came.

Close to the window of the soul, we observe the body within the body, the spirit within the flesh. It is a dance of shadows and light, a play of the tangible upon the intangible. And in this delicate balance, this tender ballet of existence, we find that the body within does not fail. It endures, it persists, it thrives—unseen, yet felt, in the quiet ripples that spread across the waters of our being.

Copyright © Beatriz Esmer