November Sky

November is my month;
I opened my eyes for the first time on Nov 17th, which happens to be today.
But that's not why I love November, mind you, dear reader, so much that I enter a state of vivid intoxication for a month  skipping every other step while walking, chanting to myself ballads of romance, and falling in love with the world and with love itself.
You will pardon me, batushka, for my overflowing joy when you understand how much and why I blossom in this month.

I love November because it's the only month that contains the letter "V". 
This might sound a bit silly for those who don't realize the importance of symbols to dreamers.

"V" is the symbol of peace, victory. V for Vendetta ,legitimate justice, V for Vladimir Nabokov, for Vittorio Monti, for Vivaldi, V for Viktor Espinolla ,V for velvet, V for violin ,

V for violet.

Love has"V", Forgiveness has"V",  so does Virtue, ...There is only so many symbols and so many meanings..

I realized how much this single letter became a collective symbol of everything I love and everything i want to be, and unconsciously developed this attachment to names, object, ideas, even occurrences that contains it.
You'd think it's absurd, eccentric or even naive ; but suit yourself, that's the way of all dreamers out there...
After all, aren't we all absurd, a little eccentric, and especially naive ?

Living in my heart, there is a poet, dear batushka, a simple-hearted one, with the most candid expressions. She doesn't jot down rhapsodies, but sings her prose in a frenzy of passion when it rains; from heaven or in her soul.

She travels along with the gypsies around the soul's Bohemia ,chasing after the rainy clouds and the mystical rainbows. But she often gets left behind by her negligent companions, when she has too much love to drink and oversleeps on the morning of the departure,
It happens a lot.....she would open her eyes and realize the extent of her solitude, and decides to go back to her dreams till her folks come back for her.....next year, perhaps.

It is the time when my gypsies, my folks, come back, merry and gay as ever, to celebrate the rain with me.

This poet rises from her long slumber, and, dozy ,she stretches a bit and joins the festivity; she starts pouring down the thoughts that came to her during her long dreams on scrapes of papers ,on petals of roses, on the sand by the beach, on the misty windows when the rain momentarily ceases.

She is eager to live, she has so much to tell the world to which she has opened her eyes after a long apathy, so many feelings she wants to convey,
so much love to share, and new seeds to sow.

This poet doesn't need a tribune, batushka, for the world is obliged to become her audience when her vitality shouts, when her soul rises to the surface and screams at the top of its voice:

"I'M HERE AND I'M SO VERY MUCH ALIVE !".

I close my eyes and take in the scent of rain, feeling the droplets landing on my forehead and nose and lips, sliding along my temples, feeling the blissful shower through my fingers.

What is more cleansing ?

When I open my eyes again, I'm laying on a fluffy bed of clouds, facing the sun, bathing in its golden rays.
Wouldn't it be wonderful ? Oh, to be able to just stay there forever, trapped between the chilliness of the clouds and the warmth of the sun ?
To just lay there in bliss and ecstasy, not counting the days nor keeping track of time, forgetting it all, listening to the distant folk music beating somewhere, staring at November's sky for eternity...

It is my birthday, and I truly feel I'm granted a new life with the coming of the rainy season every year. Every time I feel the rain on my face, every time I talk to the rain, I remember that I need no one , absolutely no one to celebrate my life ; because I feel that the entire universe celebrates with me..I remember that I need not the love of mortals , because God loves me, that I need not material gifts , because God has sent me one of his : The cleansing of my soul.