Whispers of P.A.U.L. in My Cocoon Tent
Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. July 4th.
The relentless Summer sun beat down, turning the world outside my tiny beach tent into a shimmering mirage. Inside, the air hung thick with the salty, briny scent of Fleur de Sel that seeped through the square opening over my left shoulder. Amnesia, my ever-effusive inner voice, sat perched on the edge of the moth-eaten armchair of my mind, a hopeful inquiry shimmering in her umber eyes.
"Happy?" she chirped, the word bouncing off the sandy walls like a forgotten melody.
"Happy," I mused, the word tasting foreign on my tongue. It was a curious question, one that always left me floundering. Happiness, with its fleeting nature, seemed a flimsy thing to chase. It was like a butterfly, alighting momentarily on a vibrant bloom, only to take flight on a whim. No, I craved something sturdier, something with more substance.
Instead, I offered her a wry smile. "There are things, Amnesia, far more vital than happiness. Patience, for one. The ability to weather the storms life throws our way with a quiet grace. Acceptance. To embrace the tapestry of life, both the light and the dark threads woven within. And understanding," I paused, letting the weight of the word sink in, "to see the world not just through our own eyes, but through the kaleidoscope of another's experience."
A flicker of surprise flitted across Amnesia’s face, a spark against the backdrop of her usual sunny disposition. But before she could respond, a revelation struck me, a word bubbling up from the depths of my being. LOVE. Not just the saccharine kind splashed across romance novels, but a deeper, more profound affection. Love for the world, for the messy symphony of humanity, and most importantly, for the fractured creature I called myself.
"Ah," I breathed, a genuine smile gracing my lips this time, "and now, there's a fourth. Love."
"Praying," Amnesia scoffed, a playful glint in her eye. “Adrian, you, praying?"
I chuckled, a low rumble in my chest. "Not in the conventional sense, perhaps. But consider it a daily ritual, an intention I set. A plea for P.A.U.L. to guide me, Patience, Acceptance, Understanding, and Love."
Perhaps it was an unorthodox practice, this silent supplication within the confines of my cocoon tent. Yet, it felt right. A compass to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of life, a beacon to illuminate the path to a more authentic self.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the sand, I closed my eyes and whispered a silent prayer for a little more P.A.U.L. in my life. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.
