Human
Lake: A large body of still water.
If
you look up the word "lake" on the Internet or the dictionary, that
is the definition that will be indicated to you. But the lake is anything but
'still'. I spent almost every minute I could spare during the past five days
close to the Phewa lake - be it in the morning, or in the
afternoon, or in the evening, or before the crack of dawn, or before the dusk
settled in. I stood by the lake and listened to her.
In
the first afternoon, I chuckled as I watched her and suddenly remembered
studying the definition "A lake is a large body of still water"
somewhere in my science book back in my school days. I would not use the word
'still' to define her. Instead, I would use the word - 'human'. Yes, the lake
is human - as human as the word 'human' can ever mean.
The
first afternoon that I met her, she took my breath away. None of the pictures I
had ever seen, none of the paragraphs I had read on her, none of the
descriptions people told me about her would ever actually make up for how she
is. I don't think I will be able to describe her to you or to anyone else. And
maybe when the day comes that I will need to remember her, I don't think I will
be able to describe her to myself.
if eyes could stop their rumored lies, do you think that we could venture to the light?
When
you are with her during the daylight she will be keeping company to hundreds of
visitors - listening closely as they talk to one another, to her and to
themselves and they row away on the colorful boats. In the daylight, she is the
friend that doesn't like to talk much but is always a good listener. In the
daylight, she is still. In the daylight, she is a friend to you, to everyone on
the boats, to everyone near her surface, and to me. In the daylight, her arms
are wide open - even when she wants to keep her arms folded and hold herself
together.
i don't want to be that crashing wave. but i'll give it one more try.
In
the evening, her words are a little bolder. If you are quiet enough, you will
even understand that she is talking to you, asking you to listen. Little
children, by the lake, will sing in voices a little too loud as a stranger
plays some music to them and she sways to the song. In the evening, many will
choose to escape from her as it is cold - the colorful boats will swim to the
shore and lock themselves down for the night' the people need to get back to
the land, for the night is close. In the evening, the lake doesn't have to look
you in the eyes, that's why she is a lot closer to you. Her arms are reaching
out to you - seeking the nook at your elbows. In the evening light, she is
a lot, a lot, like me.
if i could take this wave to sea, do you think that we could sail out in the night?
When
the night kicks in, the lake is alive. Things are simpler by the moonlight,
even for her. A handful of the the crowd that stays close to her by the night
are kinder, softer people. People who stay. And then there are the hills are
engulf her in their warmth. In the night, she readily strips off her
inhibitions and wears her own skin, lets in her own soul back to herself. In
the night, you need a little courage to go close to her, maybe some alcohol in
your blood, maybe a cloud of haze covering your eyes - something other than just
you. In the night, you get to see her. but when you see her the next day, you
won't believe that it was really her.
let me swim, let me swim into the coast.
A
few moments before the crack of dawn, she takes your breath away. At this time,
you can see that she has to prepare for the daylight. With the moonlight fading
away, her inhibitions are back. And she is working hard to hide them away from
you, from them, and from me. She sends away chunks of herself along with the
fog towards the mountains. When I met her at this time of the day, I sat next
to her for the longest time and watched as her soul swam across her surface and
took shelter in the hills. In the crack of dawn, the lake is a little clumsy
and that, I guess, makes me believe that she is even more human. In the crack
of dawn, she whispers sound perfect along with the singing birds. In the crack
of dawn, the mountains want to befriend her and she lets them. In the crack of
dawn, she asks the hills, and the mountains for colors so that she can face
you, them and me in the daylight.
The way that the lake expresses herself in whispers, waves, and silence...
The way that the lake hides herself in whispers, waves and silence...
All of this make her human. Yes, she is beautiful, fierce, serene, strong, insecure, confident, humble, proud, warm, and cold. But she is more than all of that. The lake is human.
x
That's the thing about metaphors. Everyone is so very wrong and equally right at the same time.
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