Confluence.

There was a certain character I invented, in a fit of boredom one day.
His name was Ouingu. He was small, round and shiny. His head was slightly flat, so he looked like a semicircle, but not quite. He had two tiny Zoo Zoo hands and legs.
The only word he knew, was Meep.

He wanted to tell the world so much, but never could. When you have much to say, and you can't, the silence can be deafening.

Ouingu was from the future. He was obviously trying to enrapture us with visions of good times, bad times, evils and wonders. His "Meep" meant a lot to me. But to others? It was just an annoying sound.
So Ouingu did something. He actually applied a lesson from his history books. Just like our ancestors, Ouingu learnt to sketch and paint.
His drawings started from the basic stuff. The window. .My parents. My brother. My runaway cat. Me.
In all of the pictures we were washing clothes by the river. Even my runaway cat.
They developed under the light of skill and creativity. Da Vinci level, even. Then one day, they stopped making sense.
Random splashes of red and blue. Sometimes a plain white canvass, A yellow circle. I didn't pay much attention. Modern abstract art, you know.
But, after a few days, my heart started sinking with grief. My life was going well. I didn't know what was wrong. Then I found Ouingu crying in a corner of my brain. I had totally forgotten about him.

His tears, were the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Swirling rainbow patterns, specks of black and white, like ying and yang. 

I closed my eyes, and in the kindest, softest voice I asked him, " Ouingu, what is the matter? Isn't the craziness and happiness of my mind giving you euphoria too?"

The sobbing stopped. He expected me to understand. I didn't.
His soft little fingers touched my brain's sensory nerves. I blacked out. 
*********
It felt like I was inside one of Ouingu's teardrops.
Rainbow patterns swirled around the walls. I was hurtling backwards. When my body was expelled from the travelling dimension, I found myself in a shiny, sunny room.
Really. It was as if the walls were made up of sunlight. 

The room was covered with things. Important things. The sword from the Indian Battle of Panipat, A red Stygian cap, A model of the Holy Grail. And Ouingu's paint set. I was puzzled by the sudden contrast.

Suddenly, people started appearing. Not only wise, wrinkled faces, but young adults, even children. They sat on a round table. Just like King Arthur's. A debate of the wisest minds of the world began. They fought and argued and Ouingu stood there in a corner, sketching.
Then from some where, a green gas started filling the room. All the idealists began to choke. Soon, everyone began to evaporate. I know it sounds weird. But still.
Pretty soon the room was empty. And Ouingu had nothing to draw. His sketches fell to the floor.
I recognized them.

I looked at them closely for the first time.
Me and my family weren't washing clothes. We were washing the colors of nations' flags.
These were all the ideas he had shared with me.

*******************************************

Ouingu was fueled with ideas. The arguments and debates. When the vapors of ignorance and flaneur habits floated into them, they simply stopped. Forever.
With that, stopped enlightenment. Art. Culture. Design. Religion, to some extent.
Ignorance is promoted. Ignorance that destroys nations.
You see, all the important things of the world, have a confluence.
A point very easy to reach,  Just imagine. Watch all the colors, from different fields, blend together. Da Vinci style.

Their strength together, the depth of the brown they make together, is sometimes greater than the ignorance.

Mix a little hope, you have Rangeela glitter shades.