Where thoughts die and feelings live….

innerself

“Fumbling in the blackest spaces of the intimate emptiness, worries at bay and hopes to stay, she swayed to the melodic rhythm of her soul. Winnowing out pride and embracing love in her stride; croaking beyond the game of shame and blame, she swam the banks of her emotional river. Trampling through and through the murkiest layers of grief and strife she acknowledged her soul dearest. She drenched, drowned and lost herself into the unfathomable profundities of her eternal self. Feeling and freeing limitless, she remained with an innocent fed heart. She rehearsed the “weep of retreat” at the ultimate hark back to her soul. She buried the prosaic rituals of mere living and was adrift on the clear waters of everlasting existence – a pristine pearl in the shell exuding her innate essence. Raising calm in her own presence, she reassembled her fragmentary self. In these unparalled moments of divine silence, she sank in her true self….where thoughts died and feelings lived.”

Advertisements

The road OFTEN travelled.

brain

Man is unremittingly in the pursuit of digging into the unexplored realm of existence, unscrambling the enigmas of the world, unearthing the earthed affairs dating back to some centuries. But how often do we dare-say of plugging in with the road we very much travel almost every second of our living? Some great one said that the greatest distance in the world is just few inches – the path bridging mind to the heart .Perhaps, the most difficult one for anyone who ever walked on the earth. I marvel at the weariness and disarray of such a short distance. Perhaps, it is the confusedness emanating from the choice- whether to go with the heart or the mind. We always gyrate under this mix-up, besetting humans. Accommodating these two in one space of being is the absolute trouble. As of now, I am listening to my heart but I am carrying my mind too.

 

A silent walk in the rain.

walk

A barren spirit tailored in a 5 feet three inches body, and the body cocooned in a slack black raincoat under a dingy grey (gray) sky. The troika being unsatisfied for no apparent reason went for a rain walk.

It was a fortuitous walk in the rain roughly around 5.30 in the evening and was feeling castoff, harbouring a substantial and indomitable urge to catch up for a brisk lease of life, breath of air, and feeling of freeness. There was a spine-chilling cold outside but I guess it was not even remotely close to the frigidness inside me. There was a big chunk of arctic growing in me, engulfing me and my feelings gradually freezing my thoughts and feelings little by little.

Without any conscious effort, I just pulled in my raincoat, donned my oversized rain boots and walked into the green under the grey blanket of clouds. It was mizzling outside without being any eminent.  What next? An unspecified thing within nudged me to JUST WALK. Therefore, I walked aimlessly towards the nearby park. The otiose raindrops piloted slothfully and willy-nilly over my raincoat. I took heed they shooting down gently on my coat’s hood and then arriving at my shoulders and sluing unto my boots- melting off into infinity. It was enormously a tacit rain indeed. I guess it was speculating on silence. All I could pick up was rapping of my blue boots trampling in muddy waters. I was all-empty with no conscious ‘consciousness’. The bombastic iron gates of the park were wide open. For the first time, I felt someone receiving me with such an extensively stretched out arms. The panorama from that point was beyond any literary verbalism. I palpated it subtly and silently. I called in that park many times but it never subsisted this charming. What made it so magical?

I found it to be my maiden visit to that erstwhile park. Every inch of the park, every contour, every leaf, the soil, the scent, the air…. everything appeared complete and blissful. The park that usually inundated with people jogging, exercising, lying on the grass. cycling, walking, sitting, standing, stretching, jumping, laughing, crying, hating, loving, imagining, looming, meditating, reading, writing, smooching, flirting, spitting, reeking, niggling, squalling, grumbling- seemed resplendently lull. It was wholly dowsed with life like an epitome of sprightliness, a Shangri-La, an alien space, a terra incognita, an unswayed realm, an endearing verse of love. All I can say is I lived a private moment in the unknowingness of the knowingness.

I walked few more paces, realized myself standing flyspeck, and imbrued at the midriff of a huge ground, swamped with dampness afresh. All my eyes could conceive was a bow of stout trees zoning the ground. No one knows how long they stood there in silence experiencing the euphoria… resonating with some of something that I cherished. I birthed no reason to stand there and think so intensely about them. However, the inner detective never stopped from drawing inference on the wisdom, the age, the size, etc.  I struggled to move but stood stuck, denting the wet ground as the grass blades kissed my boots. I gazed until it dimmed into nihility. I sensed everything of nothing. A warm saline mischief consorted my cheeks marking the contours of my shivering lips. Why did I cry?  I looked into the vast sky heavily gestated with darkness. The rain gained momentum and the salinity in my eyes diluted.

I walked into some shade to stomach the liberation from my anxiety. Before I could fully assimilate my newly found freedom, beautiful stretch of tar with rhythmically fallen maple leaves…. a wonderful nature-laid wallpaper, satiated my vision. Leaves….. some fresh, some semi fresh, some dried, some semi dried, some decayed, and all, without any racism of freshness/staleness; freshly dried/ burnt some weeks ago, were there together contrasting and complementing the background. Everything seemed awe-inspiring in every aspect. Every maple leaf there had a cute little story to tell. With every passing wind, the leaves flexed whispering LISTEN. Even the most dried and decayed leaves seemed alive. What was that my senses perceived? What was that conceived glee? What made my spirit jump in joy? What made my heart warm in that icy cold rain?

Effortlessly, I took the air back to my home enquiring why I failed to see this beaut before. May be, I was too enwrapped in the superficiality of life happening around me. May be, I never surrendered myself completely to it. May be, I was too clattery to listen to the silence. Maybe, I never understood the mysterious ways of nature. May be, I limited myself to hearing, listening was too far from that. May be…

Time flew and I found myself groping for keys. I was back into the warmth of my home in no time. The moments of unflappability, the solitude, haunted me obtusely thereafter. I desired to relive every arcsecond of the newly found elatedness so penning down the unedited tone just the way I sensed.  Excuse typos and grammar as these are my magical moments straight from the park to the blog.

Beautiful Poem 1- The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.”

― Robert Frost

Life does not come with an instruction manual.

LifetitleAn energized ray of Sun remembered to kiss my room’s window gently after a short-term memory loss. It was all grey outside for the past three days. It was nice to welcome the sun once again. I groped for my slippers with my teeny-weeny eyes. I had my laptop in one arm and morning coffee mug in the other. All three of us settled down on a blue couch. As I was reading the news online, I happened to see some shameful stories of cowardice. A teenage boy dumped his girlfriend for no apparent reason. Not able to assimilate the reality, she ended her life in her hostel room. The only clue was the note besides her body that read, “I did a mistake choosing a wrong person”.

I don’t know what kind of foolishness is this……..
Mistakes are not bad at all. It is a healthy way of dealing with your situations. It is stupid to pay for your mistakes until the last breath of your life. Almost every one of us are dealing with one or the other problem; being in a bottomless struggle; making mistakes each moment; trying hard for refinedness. I guess, it is impossible to trace out a single person who is free from mistake making. First thing is that the mistakes are innate part of being human. In fact, the main thought behind we being on this earth is to learn our lessons by way of doing mistakes. Our mistakes make us a better person. I have seen many people beating up themselves hard for all their intended and unintended mistakes. However, that is not the solution.

Learn to acknowledge your mistakes for what they are and learn from them each time. Friends, never ever forget that you are not your mistakes. If people around you judge you for your mistakes, pity them. After all, simple minds are excited by simple things and what great can you expect of them. Remember, great minds know the secret: your mistakes are the proof that you are trying. There are millions of hollow people who have no guts to accept their mistakes. I say it is better to make mistakes than faking perfection. The people who do mistakes and learn from them are the greatest and strongest.

We are like PENCILS; the best part is inside us. We are so familiar with our pencils. They have been crying out their story and inspiring us but we never had any time to learn from them.
Anyway, it goes this way………………
We make a mark as we touch others’ lives
We make mistakes, we erase.
However, we become better as we are sharpened.

P.S.
To all the girls and boys:
Never say it is your mistake to choose a wrong girl/guy………….
WE MAY LOVE THE WRONG PERSON,
AND CRY OVER THE WRONG PERSON.
ONE THING IS FOR SURE.
MISTAKES HELP US FIND THE RIGHT PERSON.