Sleeping in a Pomegranate...

Here’s one that no one, except me, remembers… Or believes…

It was late – almost closing time at the coffeehouse. I sat alone - occupying one couch, but, two tables (as always) – lost in the shade of another sketch. Each stroke was, as if, a breath – alive!

The last couple came to an agreement, and walked out, thanking Marissa for the quality services, I suppose. Marissa passed her little warm smile, which she never seemed to fake, and started clearing the counter.

She then walked towards the door, and flipped the open-closed sign at the window. With the tray in hand, she started collecting all the lonely cups left behind on a few tables.

I still remember her humming Evaporated by Ben Folds Five, which played in the backdrop.

This was it, I always felt. This very moment was everything I ever wanted out of my life. Simple silence…

I always believed that time freezes when you are at your happiest, or, having a near-death experience. I also believed, that in both situations, a sudden calm takes over you – as if you had lost yourself somewhere in the experience. This was one of those moments.

I could now hear a 12-stringed guitar softly-plucked in the background – it was that song by Loose Fur.

As I placed the sketch-pad in my bag, I could hear Marissa whisper the words, not at all in-sync with the song:

“If I sleep too much, a good Chinese Apple – shine to touch, my sweet-feeling capital – it’s hard to change, something supernatural…”

She almost crashed on the couch opposite mine, and, after about 48 seconds of silence, she broke with a few words…

(This one’s badly paraphrased)

It’s a Chinese secret…
The Chinese Apple always reminds me of that painting by Salvador Dali – Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate One Second Before Awakening… A fish ate the pomegranate seeds, which was eaten by a tiger, who was shot by man – all of it, to impress a woman…
That painting in itself reminds me of the little piece by Kahlil Gibran in The Madman. The one where he tries sleeping in the heart of a pomegranate, but can’t, because of the number of seeds - each communicating its dreams and desires with the other. Eventually, he moves into the heart of a pear – where the seeds are few, and only silence prevails…

I was dazed. I couldn’t grasp the purpose of the story, however, the essence… it was extraordinary.

I left the coffeehouse with a bit of a rush in my head that night. It also turned out to be the last time I ever got to meet Marissa…

Sigh!