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  • Writer's pictureWojciech Salski

Passionate Nightcrawlers

It’s rare to find passionate people these days, he thought dragging his exhausted body through the empty streets of London, but to find so many of them in one place… Almost impossible.


The wind of the 'late-night', or maybe one should say ‘early morning’, played with the boy’s coat, as he marched against nature’s order. He should have been asleep, yet he was awake. He should have been indoors, yet he was roaming the outdoor space. He should have been resting, yet his efforts continued. It was somewhere around five o’clock in the night and he was less than a kilometre away from the train station. He needed to get there in order to catch his early morning flight, but with the sensation of the tiredness and disturbed circadian rhythm, his body felt like it was the latest night flight there was. Even when boarding the plane a few hours later, he would still feel very much so as if it was the middle of an endless night. A black void of exhaustion. A restless slumber of the mind. One step at a time, he kept repeating silently, one step at a time…


Participation in the conference filled his heart with plentiful of wonder and amazement, as he recognised the passion, which flowered from each of the participant’s actions. There were about sixty of them in total, and with the room filled halfway, they interacted with one another sharing experiences, exchanging knowledge, and inspiring changes for the better both in the society at large, as well as in every individual respectively. The boy observed his surroundings, sometimes actively taking part, sometimes just seeing and hearing what was there for him to notice. It was a pleasant, very intense weekend, which above all else celebrated the diversity of experiences and lives, which took pride and part in unifying their efforts for the betterment of their world. Quite inspiring if you ask me, he chuckled as the night bus passed him on the street. The breeze made up of air gathered and pushed by the speeding vehicle engulfed the boy moments later. On a different occasion, he would have probably avoided the shivering airwave or at least pulled his coat tighter, but with so little fuel in his body’s tank, the only thing he did was to turn his face away, allowing the body to take the hit regardless. It won’t change much, his clouded mind concluded later.


Their activities varied in style, seriousness, and engagement. The majority of the day would be spent discussing burning matters of their organisation, announcing the introduced changes, and voting on the approval of all, which was mentioned or acted upon. Then, after some afternoon relief, they would meet for the social programme, which ranged from organised quiz and food to a full-blown late-night rager, which in its extremities could take their souls to go without sleep until the following day. The boy experienced these events in many circumstances and although appreciative of his body’s need for rest, he seldom listened to its cravings until it was impossible to resist them. That is exactly how he found himself representing the zombie movement, right here, in the center of London, sometime before the sunrise. He changed the song and heard his awareness searching the mind’s closet, as it recognised the rhythm. This is where we part, claimed the song, which his dear friend showed him a while ago. That’s about right, he smiled without the strength to make up a chuckle.


His walk continued, while his mind wandered its own path. One, that was, without a doubt, a less often traveled. After all, it is unlikely to find as many people in one’s mind as one can find in London. The boy laughed silently at the absurdity of his thoughts. He truly was quite tired. Imagining vividly, he saw the crowded streets of London paved across the hallways of his psyche. People of all kinds rushed in the direction of their needs and wished plans. They were visibly agitated, which was common, in the boy’s opinion, among those who lived such intense lives as Londoners. No time to slow down, he observed earlier during the trip, like on our conference – no time to wait.


Resigned to his state, which resembled an insomniac stumbling across the dark maze of their winter garden, the boy allowed himself to experience whatever it was he was presently living through. He picked up the thoughts, which earlier fell out of his mind’s backpack, and turning off his playlist, he listened to what his tired awareness had to say. It’s rare to find passionate people these days, he thought dragging his exhausted body through the empty streets of London, but to find so many of them in one place… Almost impossible. This observation touched his heart deeper engraving the appreciation for the community they were creating. It was one of support, understanding, and admiration. One worthy of existence. In a world full of polarities, having the space to be accepted the way you are, just like that, is priceless, he pondered, it is the greatest gift one can receive from another…


He turned behind the corner and raised his head, noticing a bright neon nearby. I’m here, his mind announced, finally here… He entered the station, paid for the ticket, and stood on the platform like a weakling waiting to be blown away by the slightest of breeze. He was so sleep-deprived, he didn’t even notice the train’s arrival. After a moment of mindless stare, he recognised the vehicle and shuffled his body aboard. Seating down was the revolution his body needed. Within seconds he was asleep. Awakened by the police officer, whose pleasant voice entered his dreamland before the rest of reality did, the boy got up and realised it was time to find his flight. He finally arrived at the airport. The hardest part of the journey was done and dusted, but it was far from over. With his documents ready, his body curled on the seat, and his mind wonderfully lost, he awaited the boarding call. It was time he would go back home and continue his journey. One needs such events to keep the flame of purpose burning, he concluded, but at the end of the day, we all must walk the path alone… One step at a time.

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#prose #creativewriting #foodforthought #purpose #life #idea #ESN #truestory #philosophy #night #contemplation #journey #passion

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