The Magic of Life

waskan1501_kandinsky_lake_stamberg_custom_print_large.jpg

Lake Starnberg, Kandinsky/1908

Perhaps, there isn’t much wisdom I could bring to the table. Only still a young adult trying to make meaning of this greek-latin thing we call life. But, I have figured out some particulars which of those I share.

From where I stand, and I stand tall, people seem to be living their lives so (un)comfortably. Seeing how everything has been set in our times, I am left dazed and confused.  Should we have the perfect face? The perfect hair? The perfect house? The perfect ride? The perfect job? Take the perfect holiday? The perfect friends? Wear the perfect dress? Say the most polite words for polite’s sake? I have this view of society where every construct is so flawed, where people are so dreadful to each other with their lies, projections, adornments and judgement. They appear joyful on the exterior, but there are moments plenty, of insecurities, doubts and weaknesses. Where do these get hidden? Where does fear, anxiety, restlessness, hurt get deposited? Why are we ashamed to be who we are, to feel what we feel? And why are they talked about only in privacy? Are we petrified if people spoke of unhappy things, the world would be dark and negative? But isn’t it already? Where has bottling up of our emotions, suppressing suffering and pursuing passive goals taken us?  Isn’t finding one’s truth, and to live from that supposed to be the goal? Or is the measure how well-adjusted we are to the current arrangement of society which dictates our ‘happiness’?

What is happiness anyway! Such a subjective idea and I am so interested in getting to the bottom of it. Silly me, one may say. But I wonder, are we going to be happy only if we are doing things that favour the general tendencies of the world? Or is it something you create within yourself, asking if you are relevant to the world within you or the world without?  I had visited the library the other day and started skimming through this interesting book ‘Breakfast with Socrates’ by Robert Rowland Smith. What a title that is! Unfortunately, I couldn’t finish reading the book and oddly enough I didn’t lend it out either, but the book set out to a thought-provoking start. It talked about the basic idea of questioning if you even existed and why you do. If you did do that, that means your existence is indeed, relevant and you need to continue to exist. To probably figure it all out!

Lofty expectations being met seem to resonate with having arrived or having achieved big. And it has always got me wondering why. The general tendencies of this world we live in, the ‘now’, which beckons our humanity and simplicity turn to complexity and confusion. The one who reaches there first, the one who is popular, the one talking about the latest trend, and such. I don’t find this to be any wrong or shallow, even. It’s probably their reality or at least it is their projected reality and is what seems apparent to someone on the outside. But what about freedom, the beauty in nature and its simplicity, what about setting out on an adventure to encounter new experiences with the more beautiful elements that are forgotten, less cared for….I’d like to quote a few solid lines from “Into the Wild” here which has deeply impacted me,

“make a radical change in your lifestyle and begin to boldly do things which you may previously never have thought of doing, or been too hesitant to attempt. So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservation, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun. If you want to get more out of life, you must lose your inclination for monotonous security and adopt a helter-skelter style of life that will at first appear to you to be crazy. But once you become accustomed to such a life you will see its full meaning and its incredible beauty.”

When we all start out right at the very starting point, the practice of being transparent, open and honest to ourselves has to be engraved in our minds. We disconnect between the idea of what life should be and what life actually is. When one truly shares, it gives us the courage to be brave about what we are faced with. To be brave enough to tell the world what our experiences are, our summit with mistakes and our ability and desire to want to learn and better our experiences, with every sunrise.

Happiness, pain, ugliness, sadness, regret, guilt, dullness, an off day, cranky, loopy, what you may. These exist. Where such is repressed, it created the big hard world.

There are pressures about tonnes and tonnes of things. Needless to say, the higher your expectations, the more the confusion and dissatisfaction. No matter what we do and how much we try, when we hit the sack, close our eyes and think about our day and life so far, we should be able to be connected with our truest inner selves more than any other attachment, habit, behaviour- for this, we must seek the truth. All we should really be wondering, pondering and reflecting about is how much do we love and how truthful we keep it- L.I.F.E.

Age Makes You Wiser, But Is Time Running Out? On Writing and Aging

#amreading now! Older means more experience which beginners need to be exposed to and take in. Keep on keeping on! @realnikkistern

BREVITY's Nonfiction Blog

unnamedGuest blogger Nikki Stern on the challenges of writing past mid-life, adapted from a panel discussion at the recent Out of the Binders Women Writers Conference in Los Angeles:

All my life I’ve been trying to communicate. The funny thing about wanting to say something is that no matter how articulate you become, how presumably skilled in getting across your point, you may never feel you’ve nailed it. I’d guess most writers are plagued with the impulse to make themselves understood. I know I’ve been that way since, well, forever.

I wrote my first short story when I was six. By the time I was sixteen, I decided music was the medium and wrote all sorts of original songs, including music and lyrics for school productions. After graduate school and a short stint on Capitol Hill, I was slaving away as a “singer-songwriter” before falling back into the less…

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Juxtaposition of the myth of Isis and Osiris, and the epic ‘Divine Comedy’.

Osiris, take my hand,
Far and away from this persistent inferno.
You, Osiris, are the heaven of my moon and
I, Isis, is beautiful with long dark hair,
Born to love you, to take away your despair.
I have no address in purgatory’s in-between-ness anymore,
For I have fled to the celestial spheres of heaven’s door.
Osiris, invite me in again, to your heavenly abode
From where I shall take leave, never, no more.
Osiris, I am a wonder made only for you
And You, a marvel made only for I, Isis.
When in limbo, far away from you,
My heart got trapped by evil thoughts not my own, not at all.
But them, the cruel village folk.
I, Isis, made many a sin when she be separated from you, her Osiris.
But I, Isis wasn’t I, Isis when her Osiris, was so far away,
When the village folk fed slow poison to her thoughts,
I, Isis became a ghost of her cerebral demons.
Soon realization dawned upon I, Isis
Her apologies overflowing from the deepest pit of her soul,
For having hurt her Osiris’ heart of gold, for having hurt, Isis and Osiris.
Therefore, I, Isis, beg her Osiris so truly, to forgive her for her sins,
For she wants to be the one to mend her Osiris’ golden heart.
Because I, Isis, belongs just with you, her Osiris.

 

Spacing out

Words to live by

Words to live by

The knows and hows of the heart are truest as they can be
But the head is jam-packed theories albeit all untrue
Lose yourself you will
You turn to nothing but rented thoughts
You are everyone but yourself in that stage
With an identity of you entirely misplaced
But after it all, after the alien impact fades
Once you feel again
Once the heart trumps the head with a heavy bang-bang
It is once and for all
Learning true self, learning who are you
A second birth of sorts
From where there is no going back
In the texture of a love compassionate and true
Can the heart of the other understand?
That sometimes the head dictates, and the body obeys
But the heart is pure and has always been
It only forgot to feel
For circumstances clouded its strength
And words of the wrong seemed louder and louder
Only for a period of limbo, a period slightly long
Back up in reality now
Please believe the tears are true and not crocodile
Please accept for the sins were untrue
If pieces of you and I, fall apart
Our pieces will come together in the sea of our love
Chance upon us once again
Forget it all as it were just false
The love is pure and the love shall wait.

Bittersweet and strange…

My friend expresses beautifully about forgiveness, relationships and our self-made prison.

Risk-taking. Soul-sailing.

… Finding you can change, learning you were wrong.

If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we would find in each man’s life a sorrow and a suffering enough to disarm all hostility.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

How hard it is to live while judging another’s worthiness, and setting up lofty standards for our own selves. We set ourselves up for each day of trial, a test by the fire of illusion, everyday. We make life hard by our statements, laws, and decrees. We birth misery out of our plain ignorance of our basic bonds. We raise a structure that is meant to be a fort to keep us safe from the prying, judging eyes of others, and spend our lives in said prison of our own making. We hesitate to forgive, for we have not been forgiven. We do not pause before walking away, for we have…

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My Jungle Queen. (For my madcap, wacky, cerebral friend who pleasantly distracts me with meaningful banter)

Tribal girl with buffalo headdress, Andrea Zuill

Tribal girl with buffalo headdress, Andrea Zuill

I deny through my nose
No, I am vested in ‘clarified-acceptance’.
I’m so cute, do you want to marry me?
Drama in my springs, wig on my head, I’m not scared.

My classic move is an apologetic apology
I want to be a cerebral warrior saint.
I shall deny I deny
But will have clarity in the looming summer

Chatter to the ocean, frolicking with the waves
It be my bizarre trait
Benevolence I understand, soon after some nutritious flamboyant finger-pointing laughter.

Neurotically neurotic neuroscience and neon colours
Love is a chemical reactor.
I keep a moon-oriented friend that tells me too well
Beckons, summons and gesticulations.

I do delicious dancing with my hands while in speech
Making me radical points reach
Maybe your brain is gooby and you a pale twerp
I still encircle you in me squeezed jalebi squishes.

Tejas beetle-juice bogus caterpillar, a cleverly-innocent tropical tribal raver.

Intertwined wires.

Inner freedom experienced raw
Can’t look in the eye of tomorrow’s truth
A feeling of the soul wandering lose in the body
Lost in moments of weakness
Can it be questioned, such human errs.
Do these uncharacterise?
Rather does it leave a strong forcefulness.
Seeking that transcendent spontaneity in life
Bottled-up liberation wants to explode
Urging to look reality in the eye without fear
Only to create value in the supreme present, to make the mind a stronger temple
Holding back for the sake of another 
Although meaninglessly meaning-deprived.
Fathom a void in thought
Thinking can be but dangerous
Beneath guilt-infested stars
Not knowing how to explain to another
So abnormal and unadjusted among the pseudo normalcy
Battling instincts albeit inner-most emotions a total intensity
There is freedom from where we act.
Under a blank white ceiling of evil 
What is it we exhibit
Hide away natural curiosities
Suppressing mere momentary weakness
Do these uncharacterise? 
Wonder how a great love be expressed
To express as a naked human.

a moment.

prettiest words.

prettiest words.

I once dreamed a dream,
of two white horses dancing madly in the rain.
The occurrence of lightening first struck Earth in the infinite moment of their first encounter

They shined like crystals under the sky of their sorrows
One horse glum, the other one too 
But by somehow, their stargazed eyes appearing mind-numbingly mystic as they were electric in the strawberry fields of each other’s paradise.

Dark were their ways, wild were their traits, and a magic potion to get them through…
they experienced a connection so cosmic in its most rudimentary form.

Contiguous was their raw infectious love with overflowing passion, brutally witnessed by the naked wind, bright rainbow gardens, heavy woods, scattering rain, and a stunning earth.

They adored the way the parentheses of their hidden smiles became quotation marks when they stretched out to each other.

One thing in common were their oddities and strangeness with too few consistencies with or without each other… the two horses, so magnetic and profoundly addicted to these defining characteristics finding one another as irresistible as forbidden fruit.

Only growing to worship the uneven craters in each other’s moon alongside embracing it’s romantic light, if one of them left, the other would utter the words ‘come back to me and let me taste the rain again, come home and paint my world again’.

So I say to you ‘come back to me and let me taste the rain again, come home and paint my world again’.

more than a tongue-told story.

Flowers and ice-cream, Parker Fitzgerald

Flowers and ice-cream, Parker Fitzgerald

in your love,
there is galaxy
a bluish-orange purple sky, with lemons and cherries
drip drip drop dang
I feel your finger tips on my neck

chocolate pudding
swirls and butter,
this thing couldn’t get any better.

my crisscross heart loves your tangles
one two many sun-drop kisses,
passion-fruit and liquor.

waiting to circle around mesmerizing aura fully yours
my body is heat
with you so sweet

touch to see my love
if i could see it at all
great love, great truth, a glorious beaut.

pearl-tears roll down me skin
come spring
your my guitar i your string.

my lover is you
(desires cringing but soul accepting)
i come to you in all my nights,
in my love,
drowning in your sea engulfed with rainbow corals