The cove of solitude and the corn on the cob

I have it, plain in my vision, a cove where waves lash ashore with ease. It is someplace I know and have been to, had food from and watched little ones being taught fishing. That was where I thought life begins again. Man teaching his children to fish rather than just to eat. To know where what we eat comes from and how important it is to appreciate the effort to have brought mankind to a position in life where he doesn’t worry about acquiring the next meal by preparing to hunt.

Of course we hunt, we hunt for money and maybe for moneyed people. That’s pathetic. We must learn to fish, we must learn to find our own money. No one method to it but honesty and sincerity are two values that can keep it steady.

The home advantage

Coming back to home turf , I retired my aggressive ambition in favour of Nature pouring rains on my parade. I curl up on bed and sleep, I spread myself lavishly and sleep, I sleep like a dead log. Sleeping it off or tying up my faculties in a bundle and not bleeding words or action anymore.

This year is gonna be difficult if I don’t let the cooling happen like it should. Any sign of struggle will set back my repentant mind a few years back thus bring walls down and deluge. Therefore a sweet surrender to words I write in hope of living them out.

Otherwise, these chain of words will become my own enemy. I have to air them out and turn them into a comfort blanket for the time being. That way I can shed the weight of over written life that drowns like a salt bag, heavier in its drenched state. The ocean of my dreams must not turn any more Saltier.

This is where I am at and it will be like that for sometime.

Dear life and dearest life’s leads

If one lets life be, then it could be noticed that there is a sudden spurt in growth, activity, wanderings and wilderness. This leads from creativity to chaos to procreation. It is only with procreation that sensibilities calm down to appreciate the result of the hyperactivity and restlessness. A simple surrender at the altar of one’s vision in person seals the case and make us enter into a pact with nature and everything around us. Life is tricky but fertile, quirky but agile, kinky but senile, risky but methodical; in its grasp we are spirits, it shapes not only our minds but also our bodies. For those limbs to grow, for those muscles to bulb out, for that fat to melt some sort of surrender to nature’s will is required since rebellion against life will derange, not align our matter to our mind-sets.

Let life be

I am not against any group of peaceful people, not gays or lesbians, not cinema fraternity or singers unit, not black or white people, not men or women rights demanders,not ethnic or casteist groups, not against anyone who loves life. I love and like everyone and therefore I wish everyone will become sensitive to ecology and environment and save this planet from destruction. To place above one’s personal interest the right to love life in general . So I am pro-life, pro-friendship and pro- environment. Rest is all divisions along personal issues which is heightened by historical tiffs, tyrranies and fights, fuelled by some people who thrive on negativity. Let us rise above all that and embrace life with its imperfections and broken-ness. Even if the whole world chooses to hate me I want to survive just like Nature who we humans are destroying. With so many animals going extinct and so much forests destroyed I am feeling that all those who loved me is dead. I feel like mother earth, pained beyond despair. Let us join hands or individualistically do whatever we can to bring about policy making to suit the environmental restoration and repair

Wine of Solitude

Recently, I sort of made up my mind to stop being mad and start being sad. NO, I didn’t use the rhyme to impress something I didn’t mean to. Quite contrary, I mean to be sad and so I expressed it that way.It is like one of those religious rituals where you go through repentance by hurting yourself either physically or by pretending sadness. But I am not pretending sadness, I am living it. And I am able to do so because I have effectively blocked out all means of entertainment, shaken off my circle of influence by hook or crook and basically become a hermit of sorts who lives with limited thoughts, movement and emotions.

That explains why the word repentance started sounding right for righting the criminal tempest that I threw around. In that raging state of mind I was embroiled in an emotional tornado, throwing every thing and everyone out of my reach and making them broken. Putting a distance from well meaning people meant that I had to be rude, stubborn and uncaring. It killed many people to know that I was not being the person they had taken a liking to or started trusting. I gave them words that stuck like daggers in their hearts and caused much emotional destruction and reconstruction.

I repent that. Though I repent it but in the process I have accidently sensitised some people to beautiful things like love, care, family and friends. And while they have climbed into that boat, I have off-loaded myself like some deep sea creature who is off to seek a cove of solitude. It is heavy work, being the tornado and retreating back into sea like the dying wind of change. My repentance is private and protected, it is meant to be sad and it is. But the good thing about it is that nobody interferes in it anymore. It is of my own making and I am the only one bearing its burden. That somehow is acceptable to me, unlike my rage which had spilled over and involved everyone in its wake. This, that I feel now, is mine and mine alone; sharing it with someone will be sweet but I am not desperate to do that. It ferments slowly like wine.

Power Broker’s Paeans

Research on Energy might involve finding out ways and means to discard waste without harming environment. Also in case of solar energy it must assess its effect on the Sun itself as well as on climate change. In case of nuclear plants we must know the risk and have adequate waste disposal.
Global worldwide extreme steps to effectively tackle climate change crisis:

  1. Ban plastic and metal production. Recycle. Stop mining and quarrying.
  2. Ban private vehicles on roads. Introduce more buses and trains.
  3. Work from home as far as possible.
  4. Minimal survival provision, shelter and support for everyone.
  5. Sustainable community based living.
  6. World peace, positive ecosystem
  7. Mixture of appropriate energy sources. Limit energy use after 6 pm. Stay indoors. Provide community get togethers and community kitchens for evening using minimal energy. Or in extreme cases, black-outs after evening, lanterns and candles. Early to bed, early to rise. In places with extreme weather conditions allow heaters and airconditioners. Minimal human activity after 8 pm
  8. Non-biodegradable waste to be managed by recycling.
  9. Renewable energy sources to be allowed to be renewed efficiently.
  10. Bio-degradable waste to be used appropriately.

The beetle that died, lived again

The beetle that died today on my balcony tiles knew how to. It sang till its throat gave way and it had to. Carry on, he sang, carry on mate, bring the spring again, though once already in vain it came, try again, bring it around one more time, spread your mane, let the horses in your head be home-bound, let them seek you out for love and its encore, the pride of belonging when free to mate after the courting’s done. Let light showers begin, the Sun too join ìn not to miss the fun. Let the glancing Sun colour your grey sky undone with Amber glow, let the coast clear for more ships to come, diamonds peek again through the golden sands. Let celebration of life begin for ten years to come, let all the wounds heal. Let us spur Ice apocalypse and bring it to dance to warm calypso and eternity thus begun. How empowered our Sun, the gentle water its chum.

Honey is no trap

It is the bees, beetles, wasps, butterflies, moths and other flying bugs that generate the Buzz and hence the wind. They come to flowers, kiss them sweet, take away their loneliness and touch them with their sweet mouth, sucking at nectar, brushing away their burdens and making away with their seeds/pollen. They spread news of beauty found and loved how, they gather forces of nature to spread wings of joy. This Buzz and joy, this looking forward to survival, this propagation of wonder and surrender, this craziness of a lover creates the wind and from the cool breeze emanates the warmth that trickles down like a smooth liquid of pure ecstasy, honey. And this honey is no trap, it is essential sweetness of life, the song of birth and the promise of sorrow being over and out, the product worth all its salt.

The Word

It begins with the sound and the need to animate that sound. Therefore we first draw, a two dimensional representation of the sound. Then we give this written symbol an association. With association comes other sounds which also beg to be a representative symbol. Stringing these symbols together we attribute meaning so as to play with a more complex idea than just the sound. Thus, a word is born.

This word jumps fences, makes friends with more words and relates a short story in a sentence. This story is a recorded act or thought, a way to move forward, evolve, emerge from troubled situations, find a new thing, invent some excuse to be more creative.

The world is now witness to flowers of new hues and scents, birds with new feathers and songs, a celebration of endless creation and evolution. The word made it possible. Some creation beyond classical, a joy beyond every kind of despair, a step towards immortality. The idea that was, finding voice and begetting creation. Wallahomageisk! Howdylalujahed! Divinitysunastreisk! I am seriously running out of newborn cursative exclamations, rraaahh! Ra@h!