Giving In To LIFE

When should we write?

When the buck stops its rounds.

That is when the writer in you finds your own voice.

A borrowed voice puts you through rounds of verification.

Then again, inspiration is rare, a slow find. It is what establishes your credentials as a writer.

Few people I need to thank have become the few people I am with. My loyalty of emotions would always find them, near or far. Though they are reluctant to let me go away from them but it is a cusp that’d eventually slip away to hold separate loops. That is the difference between giving in and giving up: no take-aways to compensate for the numerable things that you have given away, not even learning or lessons in life. Just that association and the will to begin life exactly from where you are continuing. That continuity is your invisible, life-affirming blessing.

And the gain could be anything:

A recommendation.

A belief.

A relief.

Nothing lost, nothing gained.

One has to move forward with that last feeling. That is only when the traction of old is likely to become attraction of the new. It is no special feeling, it is a blessing, a range of life that includes resignation as just another form of alignment, not win or loss. You are not making acute plans, you are not laying down expectations, you are not stating hard facts, you are not threading surreal fiction, you are not, you are not in automaton; you are not choosing. There is no pride or prejudice; there is life and continuity.

It is rare to find gems mixed in sand. Gems rub off with each other and sink the sand down. They float on the roughened sand bed, they know the water has shaped them, they know once shores are reached they’d lie aligned, that the water would no more be the force that shapes them but a gentle touch-and-go figure with power of alteration of texture or maybe even placement. These separation processes of non-aligned matter creates two worlds, not too different nor removed from each other. But the separation is so clearly materialised that nature cannot exercise its authority over them anymore to mould them, not anymore than it could earlier when they were so materialistically non-conforming, yet, co-existing with each other. Their sifting or shifting is sans wonder or worry. It is not the case for the curious or cautious. There is no baggage of complaints or barrage of accusations. It is how they came together like they had to, it is how they leave each other because they have to. It is rare. A possibility for it becoming common. A good possibility then, if it does become common. Living above law when bound by no laws.

The evening gives away to night. Few people hope. Many pass by. The sunset is a giveaway sometimes. Nobody stood around to notice its colours but. Whether of life, or of death. Nature doesn’t play to a theatre, Nature doesn’t play, at all.

basics’ boom

The right kind of everything. The wrong kind of nothing. The basic right to live competes with the basic right to have fun. Why live if it is no fun? Why indeed. Basic way of life is the manipulation of spirit. The spiritual path is the jump from air base but once you reach solid turf there are two major options, to jump off with another air wave or follow the sound wave and find the music to kindle the path forward. Negotiating the material path, vastu shastra, feng shui and such is the realization that we cannot take things we have earned for granted, so we either want to arrange and create a more beautiful, peaceful, auspicious way forward or we want to minimize to just be comfortable and be able to focus on some greater purpose.

Keep the boom for later. Start with getting the basics right, the lack of which actually propelled you to fly in thin air. This time, get the basics right, says I to I. Don’t go seeking until you see it. Make the reality appear before you not by bhakti but by shakti.

Basics’ Bass

When you sit on your nice rounded bums, you must feel comfortable and official. That is how comfortable we are with our basic rights…as long it is not reflected upon us as a luxury we could have been doing without like scores and scores of other people in our midst. That is when reality strikes us between our eyes and we feel shattered by it. Time to give? Give away how much and till how long and how will that heal us except by making us feel helpless by the scores coming and gathering around us asking for more from us. In this process we get more shattered and hopeless in our outlook, almost till we beg and become one of them.

It was coming.

I knew this was coming. Depression. I saw it in other people and I knew. it was going to keep bothering me too . But I also knew I am gonna fight it off like an adjustment problem. I am gonna keep my life wandering into the right tracks and getting adventurous with my humane possibilities.

I guess, depression is easier to handle when people are moving at your pace but difficult when the world around you is running off from where you are stuck. My depression is my old normal. It is where I came from before hitting the high. Thus it ought to be familiar.

I have decided to knock on other’s doors, say ‘hello’ and ‘hi’ as soon as the lockdown is declared null. I am gonna start my own magazine. And the first edition begins today. With me is the Boo club, the people of the parallel world and they watch what I do, perhaps that’s how it will all be reset for a better race towards giving up. that giving up is some years away , before that is the start-up.

I might as well start. Nature, I will make a request to elements of nature to give me the right balance, to provide me the right amount of strength and to let me engage with it in creation of that which nature will be proud of and always support.

The first question is What should I call my creation?

I have to toy with names now. I will call it ABCDs. Not thinking beyond that. Goodnight. Here’s me working on my first ABCDs edition.

The key to a long life

Are there enough people looking for the key to a long life? Why does it seem to me that people are more prone to living life off the edge than otherwise? The moment we wake up we are sucked into a life that doesn’t care whether the day ends in disaster or not. Our routine is a balancing act between how we see work and how we see life, our personal interest is lost somewhere in between.

What is the key to a long life? And why is that question sound boring to most people? As if it doesn’t matter that the question is asked, as if it is just plain stupid to expect a long life, as if there are not reasons enough to expect such a scenario. That the one who is asking it is possibly too rich, too content, too famous, too much-achieved bitch. While we are struggling to make ends meet, as if someone wants to sell us a dream of living a long life that won’t be like anything we are living day in and day out. True that, the key to a long life is in getting over the fact that it is not about changing routine, it is about playing it as routine as possible. Avoiding confrontations completely. Being popular being boring. That’s the key. If you could manage to charm people into loving you for being a tradionalist then you have cut out a way to a safer landing after each day’s flight. Otherwise you are constantly opening a pandora’s box and dealing with ghouls, elves, goblins, fairies and the likes, magically surviving what accidents being out of line brings. The opposite of a tradionalist is more a rationalist than anything else. Asking for a reason to survival is asking the provider not to provide for you and making life challenging thus.

The key to a long life is for those who can comply.

Pause Button

The flow of life doesn’t have a pause button. Even when the corona virus pandemic has virtually stopped life as it is known, we are not just sitting and staring at space, are we? Those who are, may be heavily dope. The pause button doesn’t exist. New habits are formed, new routine is set, new life is bred.

Things I have done to breed new life:

Plant seeds, cut veggies, all in food and soil mediums. The results have been interesting. Sprouts have appeared, some died and some still stand strong. I almost communicate with them and sense their growth underground.

Tried to create employment or work-projects online. Interactions have given me more reasons for resolutions and reservations. My relationship with the online world doesn’t stabilise into a transparent earning-worthy venture.

Day-dream less and less, sleep more n more. Frustrations built up over the years are best converted into bitter bile for better digestion.

Is it a sin to sin?

Often I ask my soul whether it is real? I mean, imagined guilt is the soul’s heaviness. Otherwise any punishment feels unjustified. SO to sin we must go through certain injustice that made us adamant to have our way by hook or crook. Losing patience and committing hara-kiri is the consequence of a conundrum of events , emotions and feedback. Sometimes too much positive feedback can make our ego bloated and give strength to our desire to commit sin. Alternately negative feedback could also encourage to commit self-harm of some sort or burst into that one moment of insanity that destroys all the patience you have practised and all the meditation you have gulped down your breath.

Is it a sin to sin?

Sin itself is the answer.

The outrage it creates is the other people’s crying need to sin addressing itself, given that opportunity to nail a person guilty with their collective impotent rage of not being able to sin.

The sin if harmful to one person, that person be alive to judge and slap a case of injustice then the sinner or offender has a right to argue his case with the victim to settle the sense of injustice into some sort of solution that makes the sin irrelevant for both.

Sins that involve matters of life and death have to serve those affected by the death positively.

Third party involvement such as courts and judges and advocates offer nothing but the same yet it gives the sinner no chance to redeem himself in the eyes of the offended. I think that is cruel. The sinner must be given an ability to respond in regret and guilt. The action of regret, if allowed, could lessen the occurrence of the sin.

A sense of something new

A sense of something new is the sense of movement, of a beginning, of all that weathers seeing a change instead of death, of newness motivating life to jump into its being with vigour of existence. Such is the texture of something new, such is its perfume, of such quality is its aura that everything odd and old brightens up with their own memory of having been new and wanted. That is why we must shop. Exactly why we must learn new things. Not to forget look at new places, people and sights. Taste new food, adopt a new style. Bring in an infant into this world.

Do generate new sensations in each other with words, touch and gestures. Such is the heroism in creating a sense of something new. Why experiment? Why innovate? Why invent? Why discover? Why laugh? Ok, laughter hasn’t got anything to do with a sense of something new but laughter arises from the depths of that effort that brought something new into existence, experience and memory.

We exist because of renewal. Think about it, life is in renewal…of cells, of leaves, of wind, of water, of mineral, of soil, of everything that can have a second chance at creation. Second chances are for the pro-life people who wouldn’t stop even at the prospect of prostituting away their soul so that life could feel that new sensation that assures continuity. Bartering away dreams for the dreary, exchanging glitter for dirt, giving away grand for good, those who can’t they beg for money, beg for shelter, beg for food and assume that such basic rights will be given by those who could give any of it.

I was granted this grandness in thought by someone who inspired me. My gratitude alone cannot bring coolness to my mind. The seeking of that guru, who brought this sort of kindness into my words, deserves the world in my individual opinion but what I can give him or her is words, prayers, feeling of admiration and gratitude. When I see that muse face to face, I know that I will be giving anything to see them feel like smiling at the world again. Because they are the suns that light up my inner world, their smiles would keep my world fertile, my creativity constant and like a moon, I may always start them on a quest, for grandness, greatness and power. And if they took me along I would lead them to glory, as a foot soldier keep the movement going, because participation in the quest for greatness and grandness is no sin. Especially if it is of the kind where life is haloed affectionately.

An overburdened beast travelling in the space

An overburdened beast

Hanging on for dear life and damn death

calls from wild singing

of forefather’s fears and futuristic vibes

There, there, go slow my friend

from Devil’s abode to God’s kindness

where efforts will pay fruits

as you slumber

such is the rest you are provided

in peace

Yet, the Devil might show up

might take your hand and waltz

might make you dream of cows and singing bells

the dream you abandoned

in favour of being The God’s light

The Musk of rain, the pit-stop of knowledge

my dear muse, is only but

your own making, be alive , bedazzle

take along my casket of wine

drag on it when divine!

I fall into the luxury trap of poetry often, oftentimes it is a lap for my baby-mind, a puppet-body for its caress and it dances to its rhythm like it has seen God and yet, the face of human is more alight. Such is poetry’s defiance, it protests even when the heaven has descended on its head, it wants an equal piece for every mind that is curious. Alas!, but that’s so childish and batty. A batty child throwing a tantrum for sleep?