As i trod behind the line of white robed pilgrims, I could imagine or pretend to be one of them. Of course I'm not going to Mecca with them. Far from it.
I love being in white. It gives me comfort. Simply a good feeling.
Yet, often as my hands reach for my whites, an inner voice chids, do you really want to be in whites, aren't there rainbow colours running within you?
When i grab my karate 'GI' and run to my dojo, jumping up and down, there's nothing spiritual about me.
At other times, when i cha cha or rumba around the court with this cute Chinese dance master, Henry, I'm just vibrant and high. Happy.
When i run for my drama practice, I'm definitely not in white, my next costume is a Singhala saree, tied, kandyian style.
While i train the Bharatha nattiyam steps, a future surprise act even for myself, I don't remember whites, only pure ecstasy of sounds of drums and bells chiming from my anklets.
Then comes the probing from the most colorful rainbow from within. The streaks that lights that little light within which seeks the other light from afar. Will it happen? Will these two lights join and complement each other to reach that perfect harmony? Is that light the light from the Almighty? I can only wonder but i often hope and wait, for that perfect feeling of belonging of going home. It has happened once. Will it happen again?
But once the mood passes my heart stops and seeks whites again.
Perhaps I'm just clearing all my heart's pulls and needs. Perhaps once all yearnings are fulfilled i can move on? I wonder when that will be, quey Sera Sera.
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