Night

Floating in the sea, refusing to swim, to go in quest of a land.

For the sky looks beautiful. And the stars dreamy.

But let’s not just talk about sky and stars.

Let’s talk about the night.

Night that is home to many unheard voices, looking for a way out, complaining about too much light.

All these voices, yearning to be heard in solitude.

I wish to float in the sea of those voices, and be forgotten.

Status Check

Where does one look for inspiration? Sometimes it comes in form of a person, sometimes as a long forgotten memory, or sometimes as words in a book you are reading.

Inspiration is not something which comes from outside and needs to be absorbed. In fact, it resides within us. We just need a trigger to bring it to the surface. And that trigger can be any of things mentioned above.

Purpose and Passion is what drives us and makes us happy and feel fulfilled. Even mundane tasks such as doing dishes can be a joyous activity if we go with the flow. Ikigai calls it microflows. Mindfulness tells us to be what we are doing, dissolve the ego and become one with the task, i.e. no distinction remains between the task and the doer.

Live in the moment – While this is very true and key to happiness, we cannot turn a blind eye to the future. Most of the texts that I have read regarding this topic seem to skip this part. I have been trying to create a framework that would work for me to bring these two together.

Assume life is a hyperbolic curve, with things going blurry with increased y-axis coordinates (assuming y-axis to be a scale of time). Present is where most of the focus has to lie and this will be in place all the time. Near future is something we need to review once in a while, but not ponder over more than needed. As we go deeper into future, we can see future as a theme, rather than an exact representation. Future can also be looked at as a choice between multiple themes, or just a blank slate (if we are unsure of where we want to see ourselves) – whatever be the theme, we need to be cognizant of it – And of course keep in mind that things can change, and will change.

I am a believer in destiny. ‘If you believe that everything is destined, why even care to do stuff?’ – Why, really? Because if we just leave everything to be as is, not contributing anything to self or world, life becomes void of passion and purpose, and you put yourself in a state of limbo which is different from death only in fact that blood still continues to run in your veins. If you astray from path of Karma, your soul weathers away, bit by bit.

I wish to write again, that too frequently. Worrying a lot about quality of my writing has kept me in a writer’s block for a long time now. This is one of my short term themes – Write more and see for yourself if you still like it as much as you did in the past.

The web of memories

A good memory is like a gush of fresh air which feels smooth and pleasant against your skin, completely engulfs you in a blanket of thoughts and you find yourself smiling at the very touch of it.

But when a bad memory visits you, it doesn’t do that alone. It brings with it all the interconnected memories that creep up your mind and pull you down. You keep trying to escape from this quicksand, but the more you move, the more you inch towards drowning.

What is it about bad memories that make them so powerful? I had been thinking a lot about this. Opening my arms and mind to all the memories that visit me – Experiencing them, studying them. Can we cut emotions out of these visits? Can I invoke my emotions when a happy memory visit, while behaving like a spectator sitting in a farm house, watching cars running across the newly built highway, when it’s turn for a bad memory.

When I say ‘good’ or ‘bad’, it’s all about perspective. A memory which could have been haunting you some time back, suddenly transforms into something good, which you embrace whole-heartedly. Thereby meaning that a memory in itself is not good or bad. It is just a reminiscence of a time gone by, child of random circumstances. It is not real. A ghost from the past which has settled in your subconscious and refuses to budge. It is how we decide to face these memories, when they momentarily jump to your conscious, that makes them good or bad.

I am just thinking out loud here. There are times when we ourselves fish a particular memory out of our subconscious. Like a drug addict, all we want is one more hit. But the memory you retrieve doesn’t visit you alone. Fragments of other related events make their way out and this just spirals out of control. A cycle that never stops.

Saying that, I also do not believe that closing this door will help. Memories (both good and bad) do help you, guide you and can be a faithful companion by your side. All the blunders that you did, faith that failed you, hope that was brutally murdered (by yourself). These are not supposed to be thrown away. But kept very close to your heart. While pleasant memory is like a visit to a park full of butterflies (something which needs to be experienced and shelved), cruel memory is like that car which gets you to that park (something which you always need to keep by your side).

This approach might not work for everyone. For each, his own. I am not sure if there is some science behind it. Some framework which tells us how to deal with it and turn it into a tool. Until you come across one, you should work towards building a framework of your own. It won’t be perfect. But neither is life. Or your memories. Good or Bad.

Lights

I see red and green – traffic lights, slightly blurry in the late twilight.

I see people swishing by, leaving traces of their existence, on the flooded pavements.

I hear different sounds, embedded in the rapid footsteps, the hushed voices, and my thoughts.

Slowly, silence drapes over me like a thick cloak, as all sounds fade away.

And then, I see yellow lights and purple smoke. I am finally home.

The Storm

He thought the storm had settled down,
And normalcy restored.
Only to discover that turbulence is permanent,
And essential, to some extent.

The lightning struck on an important day.
The day that used to be important.
But not anymore. The day has lost its meaning.
Like so many things around.
It has become a farce.
A fancy painting in a mirage.

The canvas laughed at him.
At his helplessness.
And he kept looking at the illusion.
The storm that was now brewing in the painting.
A storm that he thought had settled down.