"If we live each present moment meaningfully, the
infinite past and the infinite future will enrich
our lives with a constant flow of the cosmic
life-force. One moment in our lives will become
a manifestation of the Mystic Law, which
includes all time, and in that sense this one
moment in itself becomes eternity, our life-flow
fusing indelibly into the life-flow of the cosmos."

- Daisaku Ikeda

How does one live each moment meaningfully? There is no one answer.

The truth promises to set you free. It does not mean one would like it to. I'm calling you and me out.
Here's the thing, when you are free - there are no more excuses.

Silently, we begin to wish freedom came with a 'T& C's apply'.
Like a "Ah! But, wait a moment" paragraph on the back of a box.

Ironic. Anti-thesis. Paradox.

Freedom does not have terms and conditions. However, it does appear to have rules. Or should I say a 'personal responsibility' clause? I could be wrong here, but then again, this is a sounding board of my own dissection.

There is no one answer, do remember.

So, when presented with the knowledge (and therefore the freedom) to live each moment meaningfully, how do we do about doing this (without freaking %^&* out)?

How do I browse a magazine meaningfully? When I chew, how do I ensure that it seamlessly syncs with the "infinite past and infinite future". Would a reading of a winter recipe or a movie review affect the chords within the life-flow of the cosmos or is it a colossal waste of time?

Perhaps doing nothing (when in doubt, leave it out) is a meaningful way to live each moment?
Most would argue against this. Call it a cop-out even. Possibly true.

Here's a possible answer:

To engage with each moment and do our best.
And that each moment is an opportunity to redetermine and create a fresh start.

Again, this is open to interpretation. My 'best' could mean 'pass muster' to someone else.

I was recently introduced to the alarming but sound posit that our present behaviour creates and determines our future. Causes create effects. Your external reality is a direct reflection of your innersole. Yes, the length and breadth of it.

My every action, by definition, would then set off a series of effects in the time-space continuum.
Okaayy...

So that begs the question - Am I really free?

Yes. 

How so?

Your life is a series of choices. Some were made for you, it seems like it to you. It helps you move forward. But if you trace it all back, they were mathematically calculated by your original self to be carried out for you, until you were ready to take the reins in the realm you considered to make yourself. After that, you're technically in charge of all aspects. 100% responsible for your own happiness. 

Oh, the quiver of counter-arguments and intellectual cacophony...!

The blame game is a self drawn cop out field you drew for yourself - like a self imposed prison. You keep screaming for freedom, but to tell you the truth, you were the one who chose to remain caged. You were always free, free to live meaningfully. 

Fears are learned. So you learned, now unlearn and make your way back.

That's crazy talk! What?!

Well, you asked, so...

So back to living each moment meaningfully. Okay, let's see...:-


Mindfully considering my words and actions - lots of material on this. So, watching the content and monitoring it is a good place to start.

• No more stupid, mindless, numbing conversations to keep up appearances
• No more flippant, glib jokes, thoughts, wordplay to impress, depress or suppress 
• No more shoot from the hip statements, moves, or speeches
• No more idiotic arguments and left of field suppositions
• No more emotional or impulse driven actions
• No wastage of mind space
• No more negative verbage

• Carefully considered responses and deep breaths
• Silence when pushed for reaction
• Kindness instead of harshness
• Compassion instead of Cruel Self Protection 

Tough gig this. But the guarantees are well worth the hard yakka. Apparently. I'll keep you posted.

First Blood

She had propped me on the granite kitchen counter top, I had one leg extended along it's length, the other tucked under me. Butterflies and gremlins danced in my stomach. I watched her dip a table knife repeatedly into a bowl of hot sugary caramel. Checking. Runny. Checking. Runny. Checking. Syrup. Check. 

"It needs to be...so it pulls just right," - she was obviously talking to herself.

 She then turned to me - like Hannibal - and said, "Shall we try?"

Did I have f%$&*ing choice? 

"There is no beauty without pain, mollay…no pain, no gain," she smiled. 

I was 12, I levelled my gaze, to meet her mocking stare dead centre and set my jaw. 

She raised her eyebrow, almost half impressed.

It felt warm. Like warm cocoa. The right kind of warm. It glistened. As she spread the dollop, down my calf - it tugged, ever so slightly, here…there, a small pinch, a firm tug, a mild sting...I was mesmerised.

She had laid out strips of muslin (from a butter biscuit tin…#malayaleeswag) and considered each one like a snob shopping for silk scarves. She then lifted it gently and in a reassuring and almost maternal way patted it on. I'm still under the influence…the soft, rhythmic, warm pats…

I wasn't aware that she was looking at me. Her hooded gaze. 

I don't remember the exact moment she had stopped. 

I was still transfixed, my gaze solidly set on my calf. The caramel under the muslin looked dark. Like a wound - on the delicate tipping point - before it stained and swelled and seeped afresh. It felt like thick basting. 

I inhaled, distractedly…deeply…and my eyes refocused. It was suddenly very quiet. Her hands were by her side, they were right next to my leg. My eyes shot up and met hers again. My mouth parted. 

Sharp intake of breath. Her lips curled into 'Cheshire gone rogue'. Her hands were swift, merciless. 

First blood.

Go Away! And Save Me.

Why is it that when I connect with one the other wrestles away?
What is this curious see-saw connection you both share?

When you're happy, the other's sad.
When you're trigger-happy. The other is glad. Maniacally so.

When you wallow, she flies.
When you whoop with laughter, she dies inside.

If I extend a hand or a call to say hello to you
She cowers away spitting and hissing.

And when you and I fall out over a simple matter,
She rejoices, in ways big and small.

What is this thread that tugs and connects you both?
Can we snap it and free you two?

So I might be free of both of you.

- MA (2012)

No Turns In Sight

I'm not sure where we go from here

It seems as if the turns have passed.

The road now stretches - an endless ribbon

As our sources of conversation run out fast.

I partially turn by head away

As a gear shifts within our minds

I watch bleak and lush lanscapes hurtle past.

There's no more music in this patch of empty

No more whirlwind dervish dance.

We take turns to shut our eyes

And in pity we seek recourse from each other. 

The road stretches out before us. 

No turns in sight. Not one. 

- MA (2012)

Now that the TV's lost it's shine...

Today was an Olympic sit in. We watched as sportsmen and women from across the globe competed for a medal while chowing down on bad Chinese takeout and lolling around on the couch in our night clothes.

At 7:00 p.m. I looked up and realised the day had passed us by. Well, in this case passed me by, because my husband wasn't even aware of anything else but the screen. He's glued to the Badminton Doubles finals - China and Japan are fighting it out - as I sit at my computer listening to the incessent cheers and the 'thunk' of the shuttlecock rallies.

I never thought I'd reach a point where I'd tire of watching TV. We deliberately didn't sign up for good cable and settled with a basic TV package because our TV series and movie lists are handpicked, paid downloads which we diligently watch after work almost everyday.

The unthinkable has happened. I actually walked away from the TV today in favour of another screen. The computer. It's a shinier, prettier and way more advanced from what I've got at work, and toying around with this while surfing my usual sites is almost...

With TV losing its lustre (I'll admit it won't completely fade from my list of interests) I'm now tasked with finding something to pursue. The predominant themes - health and hobby. Have I ever mentioned that I don't have a proper hobby?

I have an on-off relationship with fitness, and while I've tried the usual suspects, the good thing is I've learnt what kind of exercise suits my countenance. It has everything to do with individual fitness - so no group classes or pacing partners for me. Stretches, Pilates, Yoga, Swimming - that sort of thing, y'know?

As for hobby...well, I'm yet to stumble upon something that can hold my all too fleeting attention. I get bored easily, and I'm not sure why. Sometimes, there really isn't any rational explanation for how and why I switch off. I'm still trying to figure it out.

I tried stamp collecting when I was little and I had a decent collection going. In fact, that book is a pretty impressive compendium - it's now stuck at my parents house in a box somewhere. Not of my own accord, my mom has a problem with hoarding and letting childhood memories go. The more physical manifestations of her children's pursuits, the more rabidly possessive she gets. I do not and dare not call rightful dibs.

Maybe that's why I've never wanted to pursue a hobby full time!

Jokes aside though, its that mid-life crisis phase - I'm beginning to think it could be the precipitating factor for my increased awareness of not having something to focus on or be proud of. Anyway, enough of that. I'm already going to kick start health this week, so that's the positive.

Could any one suggest a decent enough hobby for a 30 something woman to pursue? Something I could enjoy without too much investment into hobby sundries. Comments, if any, are most appreciated.

Post Script: This post began a loooong time ago. Like when the 2012 Olympics was headline grabbing news. No, really...! The spirit of the post however, if I may say so, is still timely (it is for me, anyway!), because health is now my hobby, and I've revived my voracious reading. 

Yesterday

I was split open emotionally at work last evening. I was ploughing through reams of research and expert feedback on a trending topic in economics and finance and I was 4 hours past my deadline. I kept staring at the screen as the panic slow and steady shot up my spine and lodged in my brain. I slammed the desk, wrung my hands and clasped them into a tight ball. Hot tears welled up behind my eyelids squeezed shut, smarting from frustration. 

After muttering an incoherent rant, I shot up from my chair and walked away with my phone securely in my hand, head down staring at the screen pretending to message someone. I hit the side stairwell and climbed up to the top floor where no one goes and sat down on the topmost stair. Emerging from a frigid interior, I note in relief that the air up here is warmer. 

For half an hour, I did nothing but take deep measured breaths to steady my raw nerves. I then stared at the wall for another fifteen, until my mind relented and left me alone to recover. 

All in a day's work for me as writer. I'm wondering if more seasoned writers ever feel this way. When I read established writers' online or in print, I envy how well their story flows, how effortless their language constructs and how succinct their points are in writing; yet when they communicate so much more is conveyed through a single sentence. 

Don't get me wrong, my research, ground work and ability to chase known and unknown sources are spot on. In fact, I'll go as far as to say that I'm pretty good. I'm not very good with compliments and I've never really given myself credit where it's due - but this I will admit, because honestly, its a skill I worked hard to hone. 

But I digress. It's the constructing that I peak and trough with. The troughs, oh, how they smart! How do I explain the sheer agony of having all the information I need but not being able to draw out its essence in superbly fashioned paragraphs. 

On some days, its perfect. Literally. I see sentences map out in front of me even before I type them. Each one linking beautifully to the next until the perfect finish. On a day like that, the high trumps all else. You almost feel like you could accomplish anything, and still have time for a long drive afterward. 

I want that feeling everyday. Everyday! To be able to put a story together in the syntax and flourish of those writers whose words I greedily devour. At times I loathe my vocabulary and on occasion I marvel at the way my turn of phrase, quick wit and clever puns. I smile indulgently when I pack a punch. It's so addictive. 

Yet that next hit can be a torturous lover, who scorns you for fun and remains hidden deliberately, playing silly games as you thrash about in the dark playing in protest but playing - pitifully - anyway. 

I question myself as a writer everyday. For above me so many do better and below me so many have unbridled passion. It isn't uncommon to feel like a pretender even when in your heart you've swum oceans, and sacrificed equilibrium to dance with words.

I hold court, she says. So easily, flippantly even. Almost jealous. Good people can be too. I don't grudge her subtle mocking, for I can see there are aspects of me she'd rather have herself. Funnily enough, her stature is hard won, but not natural. She knows this. Yet, I will not belittle what she has accomplished. 

I have a talent, this much I know. An unwieldy power that I'm able to grasp when it lies sleeping with one eye open. When it awakes it's cyclonic temperament puts me in tailspin. My stubborn and gutsy countenance forbids that I let go even when it thrashes wildly. It's at this moment I look around me in despair, hoping against hope that a godsend force helps me tame it - this power - this talent. I wish to master it. 

It lets me guide it under false pretext. Why can't we be friends? Is it the place, the time, the space, the air conditioning? 

How do I smoke the peace pipe with you? Won't you sit awhile and talk? Won't you have a hot beverage with me? Won't you let me in?

It's time. 

Procrastination has waged war with me. My arch-nemesis and half-brother of indecision. He comes to avenge his sibling's crushing defeat. The retaliation was expected. Yet, for reasons unknown, I am only half prepared.

Time still remains to prepare myself, I am consumed by the thought of it. Action somehow eludes me. Clarity shines its perspectives everywhere, and Understanding stands shoulder to shoulder with me.

Determination desperately seeks counsel and insists on drawing up plans for battle. I acquiese and give her a postponed date. She is not happy, but has grudgingly accepted it nonetheless.

I stand overlooking a vast swathe of my existence. My empire. If only you could see it from my eyes. The vista is beautiful and humbling. As a child, it was a play field of discovery...today, there is so much at stake.

"Individuality, we must overcome this," I murmur.

I turn my head slightly to see him step up behind me. He feels what I am consumed by and nods slowly. His expression is grim. He doesn't take kindly to challenge. He is wise, yet ruthless when it comes to anyone questioning my sovereignity or my realm.

"Freedom has expressed her concern, your Majesty. She strongly advises a counsel with Determination and Energy. We must complete our stand."

I nodded slowly. I knew I had to meet with them, but something was holding me back, my mind suddenly veered away from the conversation as I caught sight of an upliftment soaring majestically past.

I was suddenly filled with a need to ride into congnizance, I scarcely noticed Energy enter.

I turned to find her sitting a little away from me on a chair, crackling in irritation.

"What word of our counsel gathering, my lady?"

"I...need to clear my mind."

"Forgive me, but I sense an avoidance..."

"No, no...Energy, you are mistaken..."

"Am I?..."

"Energy..."

"I speak out of turn, I know, but please, you must understand the urgency...the.."

"I understand! We will hold counsel, as soon as..."

"As..."

"As soon I have completed my ride into congnizance, for a review...I feel I must do this."

"My Lady, this is your seventh ride into cognizance; what do you intend to find, you must speak of an intention, otherwise..."

"I know what a cognizance ride requires, Energy..."

"Then I request permission to ride with you."

I stared right at her. Her fiery aura was beginning to take on an electric hue. I had to smile; such loyalty, such raw, brute passion. What was I waiting for, when my trusted instincts were armed and ready? I had no answer. The questions and diversions were many.

Individuality's sudden conjunction broke me out of my reverie. He opened his eyes and looked straight at me.

"It is Freedom, she has something important to tell us. We must meet with her immediately."

"Is all well?" I asked, suddenly concerned.

Energy was already gone. Individuality extended his arm, he didn't say a word.

____________

We approached Freedom's chambers. She had been confined to it since Procrastination's declaration of war. Her protection was an absolute requirement. However, bounding Freedom to chambers was a dangerous act of self-defence. She would not be contained for long. We had to act quickly.

Energy spoke the words to Freedom's chambers and the doors heaved themselves open. We entered to find her restlessly pacing before us. She looked up and her senses enveloped us instantly.

Experiencing Freedom's sense is to be stunned and breathless and overwhelmed to the highest degree. Until now, no one but individuality had been able to pair with her perfectly. They were joined in Energy's infintismal burst when the empire was first conceived. Only they truly understood each other's essence.

She rushed forward and enveloped us in her flow. She touched palms with Individuality. I was lost in abandon and needed to sit down. She knelt and touched my knee, and slowed her breathing. I opened my eyes and looked at her. Such weightlessness, such beauty.

"Are you present enough," she breathed.

I nodded.

Energy was stemming the flow; I was more connected to my ground realities now. I nodded again.

She sat back on her haunches and flopped to the floor, crossing her legs and cocking her head to one side.

"What holds you back, have you narrowed down the possibilities?"

"Why did you summon us, Freedom?" Individuality interjected.

"I must know this first, Indiv, it is important..."

I suddenly felt like I was back in infancy modus. Deep training, in the dead of night, while the outer world slept and all was unlocked. I sensed Energy's glow, and felt annoyance at the way they congregated around me.

"Nothing holds me back! Nothing!" I spat out.

"She is overwhelmed still...Energy..."

Energy sighed and her wattage pulsed down to the dullest glow I had ever seen. It frightened me. She eyed me with disappointment and walked out into the antechamber.

Freedom turned to me and smiled. "Tell me, please..."

"This is infuriating! I do not know! That's why I intend to do a cognizance ride, this time, I think..."

"Let Energy ride with you, Thought will come to your aid, but Reason will only come if you ask the right questions...you must know what you are looking for, only then will it manifest from the eternal sea of cognizance, you already know this."

"Then why REPEAT it?!" I asked stubbornly. I stood up in rage and made my way past them, striding toward the door, when I stopped mid-step.

"...Purpose, where is he hiding?"

"My lady..."

"Why won't Purpose meet with us?!"

Individuality stepped in front of Freedom, as if defending her.

"Your Majesty, Purpose was banished to incubation, several years ago, by your command."

My head began to spin. Part in anger and part in disbelief.

"What? Why?!"

"You were not pleased with his manifest."

"That's impossible! How can you say that?!"

"It is the truth, the war with indecision was long and fierce...it was during revivification, you blamed indecision's attacks on the empire on Purpose's lack of merit and substance..."

"How can that be...!," I stammered, I felt impotent and vile. My eyes began to burn.

Individuality stood his ground. He was too sure, too absolute. He could not fathom the sense in my outburst.

"What was Purpose's first manifest?" I asked breathlessly shaking from newfound resolve.

Freedom looked at Indivuality with a sudden glimmer in her eyes; she smiled at me like Hope would in the darkest times. I would have given anything to have Hope here now; but she was far, accompanying Courage to help summon and build the armies.

"You have identified your first question for cognizance, my Lady...now...we begin our ride to unlock the answer."

Energy was already back amongst us. She smiled and strode out calling for our transship. Individuality walked past and clenched my shoulder, nodding. He would ride with me too.

Freedom embraced me. "Remember, Procrastination's power is subtle but immense. He understands your weakness and strikes at the heart of it."

I nod. "Then this ride could be..."

"A diversion...yes...but it is where your answer to winning this war lies. Be brave, let nothing hold you back. May Courage's spirit ride with you. ."

"And Patience with you."

She smiles knowingly, and we embrace again.

As I walk out, my uneasiness is slightly abated as I think of my comrades joining me. I am not alone. The journey's magnitude settles on me once more. As I walk, I see them waiting for me. Understanding is at the ship's helm. I nod in acknowledgement.

My mind equips me almost without hesitation, I am clothed and sheathed. I step on to the transship and we ride out to into cognizance.


End of Part one.

Die inside.

I was leaning into her car, when she told me. After a weighted pause, I was told that a person I knew had committed suicide. At first, it was quite difficult to take in. She didn't appear the kind. To commit suicide. She seemed so sure of herself. At times cocky, to the untrained eye. However, it would be silly to discount how she wore her chinks. There is no mistaking the vulnerability.

When I knew this woman, she was spearheading efforts to produce a play in which I was cast. It was a good project, it had all the trimmings for one hell of a reunion, if you know what I mean. In short, I really enjoyed my time working on this. I made a couple of friends, met up with others who weren't half as bad to hang out with while I lived (and loved) in this particular city.

She and I never really got on famously; the project however, threw us together and we were quite friendly and tolerant of each other. She was well loved by most of the group. Most of them were her friends. Others, weren't. I was part of the others.

The reason why I mention this is because, it is important to consider this as part of this post. It helps me explain, how I was able to look at her without the rose-tinted glasses and without the several layers we tend to draw as a buddy, lover, relation, friend or wannabe.

It helped me get there faster. I didn't need lifting, you see.

Most of the time, behind her smile - lay this fragile frame of energy. It was almost as if she was drawing all that she could from her source to hold herself together. As a result, her mood swings were excessive. Holding it together must have really taken a toll on her on most days.

The drink sessions or the get-togethers after practice on some days, was an escape. Indulgent and rewarding to her. Balm like. During practice, we would have breaks, and I would see her gnawing at her finger-nails and nodding excessively as the director and production team briefed her on what was going on.

Sometimes, she would walk over to some of us and display paternalistic emotion, asking us if we were doing okay and if we were pumped. I wanted to ask her the same thing, I never really did though...I was scared she's collapse into a heap if I did.

Everyone was going on about how strong she was, how organised, how adept and how she was the only one holding it all together for the project. Self-serving? Maybe, but I also believe that they believed it when they said it. Either they didn't want to deal with what they saw or they didn't see it at all.

She hung herself on the eve of February 14. After a night of partying and a fight with her partner / husband. 20 minutes. He stepped out to buy cigarettes and calm down. She locked her self in and got it over with. She left no note.


In one of my earlier posts, I've indirectly (or directly) blogged about suicide. A self-reflection piece. Yes, I had a lot on my mind. And yes, I have thought about it. Several times. Have I tried to take my own life? No. Maybe, just maybe, I'm chicken. I'm working on a more refined response, but this is what I have so far.

I believe for the next few weeks, the friends and friends of friends must have sat up in shock and tried to play back the hours that led to this catastrophe. Till date, no one I know has come back with an explanation. The last I heard, they say her husband was put behind bars, as a murder suspect. Her family thinks he's responsible. Well, if that's anything to go by he's fucked, for awhile at least.

When I thought about it (suicide that is), I've often considered the inconvenience it would cause others. The messy business of walking the thin red line between what went wrong and what one didn't see and saving one's own ass; since this is an unnatural death, of course.

I've thought about loved ones going in for questioning, dealing with the body, the hunt for personal effects. The hiding of or playing down of the suicide by a landlord, especially when it comes to finding another tenant. If it's your own house, it's the case of the messy memories and scared younger generation, who will never consider sleeping in the room until their over 30 and sufficiently skilled in the whole concept of being balanced when it comes to negotiating childhood fears and family legend.

I think of the funeral and the curious gazes from people who only come to watch the survivors of the family break down piece by piece. And then proceed to eavesdrop on close family and see if they can piece a good enough story to spread out and quench THAT thirst which is never slaked. I think of the wake, the ground, the rotting. I think of how everyone will move on. Most without a scratch. Others with a reality check. And a precious few with their vitals performing below optimal.

What drove her to do it? What was it that snapped?

Was it reason? Was it meaning? Was it feeling?

What does it feel like when your brain shuts down and you're a countdown to self-destruction? Literally.

How do you fashion a knot that won't give through all that rushed and insane breathing? How do you manage it in time? Do you have an adrenaline rush, when you're trying to do this before someone can save you? Do you have the satisfaction of watching them crumble when they find you, eventually?

Was it fear of failure? Dissatisfaction? Lack of purpose? Was it revenge, served cold? Were you tired? Did it not matter any more? Any of it?

I think as lives extinguish around us. We'll never truly learn the answer to our questions. Everyone has a reason, valid enough for their misery or happiness. When you can't look misery in the eye because it's too ugly, you'll never truly accept who you really are. Cause we all want to be beautiful, the illusion of perfection is such an intravenous addiction.

Being happy is necessary. No doubt. But it's learning to be sad that we need to master. Irrevocably so, and once we have, we must own it. Own it like it's your own. Not someone else's. Feel it, let it wrangle with you, shake your bones and flood your system. Clench hard, focus and coil into a big ball. Die inside. Rising from the ashes is the easy part.

Die outside. And you won't.


Rise.

When the penny drops. It isn't always nice.

A few months ago, I tried to get back in touch with a friend. We had met through work and through the rough patches (I assure you there were many at this particular place) we seemed to always end up seeing a big patch of light at the end of it. In short, I enjoyed her company and she mine.

We parted from daily exchange after we both left the company. Distance as the realists will have it, does not make the heart grow fonder. Over the next year we moved on an even orbit, not meeting, yet knowing where each other was and how each of us was carrying on.

We met, a couple of times, and on other occasions we would catch up on the phone. Over that year, I realised that it was the very first time, I missed someone from any place I've ever worked. Genuinely. That emotion, was the catalyst for me thinking up the possibility of a sustained friendship.

Sadly, a few months ago, the penny dropped. It was not her intention to carry on a friendship. In her eyes, I no longer held that lustre. Also, she had bigger fish to swim with now. Also, we both don't really speak the same language effortlessly.

It hurt to think that out of the few people I do really tend to genuinely some really nice ones do a turn coat. Sad, because their excuses are valid and yet so lame at the same time. They're almost relieved that they are busy and don't have to beat about the bush to say it. But I think to myself, if I mattered. Really mattered to you, you'd make an effort. Like I did. Like I dud, rather.

So...plink. The penny has dropped.

C'était génial. Adieu, ma chérie. Peut-être que vous regarderez en arrière et se demander «et si» ... et puis je vais dire ... "Nous ne saurons jamais maintenant, allons-nous?"

Discussions versus Action

As part of my personal strategy of action, I partner with Word Quotient (www.wordquotient.com) as a committed creative professional. As Director, Web Presence Management (WPM) at WQ, my present aim is to find clients and freelancers who are committed to recognising and implementing change (not only from a business perspective but also by being personally invested in it).

Word Quotient is a creative writing company with a difference. We operate 99% virtually.

I recently posted a blog entry on the WQ website blog talking about Discussion versus Action, which is something I feel very strongly about both out of personal interest and also as a professional when it comes to innovation, collaboration and collective action.

Groping for an A-ha.

I think we're all looking for something to believe in. Deep enough that we make it through to another day - looking forward to it.

When we eagerly stare at another and are taken in by their sense of content, we aren't necessarily hating (although there are parts of us that would like to...hate), but sensing something that there is something being believed in.

Is that why chefs wake up to a tumultuous day at their restaurant and loves every minute of it? Is that why audition lines string across the street and around the corner? Could it be the reason for nine year novels in the making and lonely hours spent in space?

Why do we do the things we do?

What is it that compels us so much?

Does it matter to anyone else past a certain degree of obvious? Personally, the feeling is, it doesn't (matter to anyone past a certain degree of obvious). So what makes you or him or her do it?

What I've heard from the handful of people I've seen in this state of zen is, "I couldn't fathom doing anything else, this is what makes me happy."

Okay, but why?

"It matters..."

What does?

"I do, what I do matters, what it does for me matters, what it does for others...I don't know, it's quite obvious to me and therefore I cannot do anything else."

Okay...


Almost all of the time, I find myself almost willing that epiphany to come to life. forcing it out of incubation or thrusting my hand into a sac of nothing and groping for an a-ha.

Bursts and spurts, bursts and spurts. People and reason. Situations and places. Silence and noise. Sullen and joyous.

People. Situations. Silence. Sullen.

reason. places. noise. joyous.

Patterns out of nowhere. Faces on the bathroom tiles. Messages in condensation. Signs leading nowhere.

Scanning: pages, faces, posts, emotions, conversation, noise, colours, textures, food, liquid, pieces, juice, waves, slippers, feet, hands, fingers, ring, nails, brow, mouth, tongue, chin, neck...

Heart.

I think it starts here.

What is it that they say about insight? Today, I'm leaning toward Herodotus...“The worst pain a man can suffer: to have insight into much and power over nothing”

I'd be lying if I didn't say it was an ability. Some of us just have it in us to see beyond the layers, hear behind the words and feel behind the projections.

When you're sitting there and you're seeing things for what they are, instead of feeling powerful, you feel overwhelmed with what you're able to discern that others are joyfully oblivious about.

In the beginning, you want it all to stop - the noise, the real words, the hypocrisy of of being in something, knowing fully well that is isn't what everyone thinks it is. You feel alone, despite being surrounded by stimuli of every type, class and form you can imagine.

I see and hear a head talking, its mouth moves and shapes words, and like a badly dubbed movie with a delay, I hear the real thoughts spiral out after their mouths stop moving. I get sucked into their streams of thought, while they sip on drinks and laugh.

I spiral down their water slides. Sometimes its loads of fun...especially when I cannot relate to anyone or anything that I am thrust into/at forcibly. It's like the Simply Red video (pleasure at the fairground on the way...), but only you're in it alone. Don't get me wrong; I do have insane fun most of the time!

About the pain. You do feel that too. Insane shots of it, in your head, your heart, your soul. It tries every portal, shaking the door knobs, rattling the locks, trying to get out and manifest. Harnessing this pain requires immense sacrifice, it is the only way to gain mastery of the ability and reverse your powerlessness.

My expectations from life have been debilitating to say the least. I often out-expect everyone out of the park and end up sitting on a bench all alone wondering why it is quiet and lonesome.

It isn't what but why?

If it isn't the battle against meaningless or the rage against the mundane, I am otherwise consumed with thoughts that have little or no meaning in the cosmos. Except for the odd principle and code, the others are wisps in grey smoke, which I replenish when it is about to disappear.

I upset someone very dear today. It's the smoke! I promise you.
I am addicted to its acrid smell and its foggy countenance. It shielded me from so much; and now I have run out of reasons to envelope myself.

What is down to a few clouds will become mere shadows. All I ask for is understanding and you.

Moving Stills

Solitude makes you see how animated your surroundings are when all along you thought it was just you.

The past few weeks has seen me locked up in my room after work, reading or watching television for a few hours or just listening to the silence around me. It was unnerving at first. Discomfort. Pure and unadulterated.

I have grown accustomed to this extended splodge of loneliness; like a heated balm it stung at first, then it burned and now it's a deep and beautiful warm pulse. The stillness around me has lost its inhibition. It now moves, darts and orbits magnificently; and then...suddenly - will lie dead, willing me to believe that I'm seeing things.

But I'm not. I see the dark spots on the marble floor slither to another section of the floor; wisps of shadows dart behind the chairs that face my bed; specks of light bullet into the ether like shooting stars - but only faster.

All of this happens simultaneously or at random and I dart my eye to the motion only to see it settle or hide.

I close my eyes and tried to replay them in my head...and all at once, all of those phantasmal '!did-its?' play out like a complete tape. And it is terrifying and beautiful at the same time.

I once leapt up and switched off the light and lay with my eyes wide open. The pitch black of the room waned to a milky-grey and then a tinge of blue dove into the room. Literally. I could see every square-inch of my cube.

As the coloured light crashed and receded; the decrescent night shook out its music. Zzzzzzzzzz...

Lizard Brain

I believe the first step to my conquering my fear of lizards, is to understand my lizard brain.

I was pleasantly surprised to know that a primitive organ in the brain called the amygdala - the centre of our basic emotions: fear, anger and sexual desire. To learn that this is what we have in common with the lizard was a bit disconcerting.

To think that the reptile has the same 'lack' and 'attack' mechanisms with which I operate in the modern world was bit too far fetched at first. Gradually, though, after thinking and reading further about it, I realised, that it was possible. More so, definite.

I typed 'overcoming fear of lizards' in Google, this afternoon to realise that as I scrolled past the usual online community boards that just affirmed fear and had no real solution to the problem, I was able to find more helpful links to understanding what exactly happens when I am cornered in a room with a lizard.

And in a modern context - considering I'm not exactly faced with a Komodo dragon (or a chameleon!) - is irrational. The dread, is related to a single or few extreme emotional experiences, that can either be traced through the parent or the self, depending on the circumstance.

So what am I to do? How the flip does one overcome this?

The article link, I've made as the title of this blog, discusses it from another stand point. It resonated with me because whether I face it as a literal fear or metaphorical, both have a tyrannical hold, which I'm in the process of overcoming. Although I've made major progress when it comes to the latter, the former is a challenge.

Davender is right when he writes 'the lizard brain does not like the unknown'. I agree, I don't like it at all. I've never liked the unknown.

After reviewing major and minor life-incidents of note, I can now say, I don't like NOT being in control of most things. I attribute that to emotionally having to fend for myself from a young age. In other instances, I was able to get things done better and more efficiently when I did things myself. One thing led to another and the reinforcement worked its magic.

I am now beginning to realise that I can let things breathe and work themselves out, especially when it comes to shared experiences and circumstances. Although the maxim 'I can only be responsible for myself' soothes the nervousness that preludes one letting go, what I have come to understand is that when I allow others to do their part (however, well or sub-standard), it has no bearing on me or the circumstance as a whole. It is what it is. Therefore, it is not unknown, but an occurrence.

Wouldn't my lizard brain then immediately react and say, that then each occurrence would present itself as a bomb from which we cannot protect one-self without being smacked with an outcome first?

How does one rationalise one's fear here? How do we prepare for it? The link talks of reducing or avoiding the unknown. Reducing I get. Avoiding...hmmm....how does one do that?

I could let go of the unknown completely. It's like saying I know everything there is to my life - nothing is unknown. It's impossible, so then I do not think about it, but face each part of my life as it presents itself.

Where do I go from here? I don't know, I'm here now typing. I'll probably be assigned another task and then get to go home, bathe, watch some television, read or sleep. Past that and a reasonable expectation of a routine, I do not know what else. It is unknown.

Why does that not induce fear? And yet at the same time, I am that much closer to a heart attack when a lizard presents itself on a wall?

On reading further, I learned that the irrational fear response has a lot to do with my associating reptiles with a/a few extremely negative emotional experience(s) in my life. Possible. One can't rule it out.

I think a major part of my fear of the reptile was passed down to me from my mother. Watching her almost bring the house down when a lizard was either on the wall, floor or behind the cleaning supplies, must have reinforced an extremely negative perception of the harmless thing.

Then on seeing larger versions of it, the fear only compounded itself. Followed by harmless jokes and chiding from friends, made me internalise it further, until it dissolved into my very psyche.

Understanding this, helped me see how deep the rabbit hole can really go. From this branches and roots take form, mutating into other irrational fears, until finally, the real reason for fearing a reason is no longer visible and the lizard becomes the innocent recipient of repulsion, hate and disgust.

I'm only looking at the branches right now. If I have to get to the roots, I've got to start cutting faster. The lizard now presents itself as a reminder of the unfinished business I have inside.

For the most part, I'll probably prefer if the actual reptile and I mutually acknowledge our differences and stay a good distance from each other. Otherwise, I must say, that whenever I have encountered it, my mind immediately brings something I need to deal with to the surface.

If I can continue to look at it positively, I'm looking at making peace with this creature and not have it pop up when I least expect it. I just need to 'remove the risk, and the lizard brain goes back to sleep'.

As I was going about my work today, I was suddenly washed over by a wave of abject fear when I remembered a faint childhood memory of nearly being kidnapped.

Not only have I never related it in detail to my family, but it happened so fast and my instincts so sound that I passed it off as a phantasmal imagination. Until of course, I played back that memory scene for scene in my head not 10 minutes ago.

I remember walking back from my extra tuition class, which was opposite to my home. And as I was rounding the corner to the main gate, a Maruti Omni van stopped next to me. The right sliding door opened and a man extended his upper torso out of the van with a worn piece of paper in his hand.

His expression wasn't menacing, in fact, it was quite friendly. He was sitting with his back to the driver and interestingly another elongated seat installation faced him; I knew this, because another passenger was seated opposite to him, I could see his legs.

He asked me for directions to a place, which parallel to the lane I lived on. That was the first sign. This is when I started to take in everything about the van and how the driver wasn't even idling his engine. He kept revving it for some reason, which I assumed was to keep the battered vehicle alive.

I pointed the man in the direction he was supposed to take. The second sign, was that he wouldn't get out of the car completely, willing an unsuspecting child or teenager to inch closer to him to look at the 'address' he was looking for.

When I noticed how dingy and dark the interiors of the car was, I immediately looked the guy straight in the eye and a very deep rage began to boil inside of me. I know this now, because I was confused by the amount of adrenaline that was suddenly coursing through my veins.

I tentatively took a small step back and kept staring at the man. He didn't notice and then proceeded to ask if I would step into the van to show them the way. Dead give away. I firmly said no and took a bigger step back and instinctively looked over to the balcony and pretended that someone was there and waved.

Before I knew it, the van door slammed shut and the van disappeared out of sight in the exact opposite direction of where it was 'supposed' to have gone. I breathed hard for exactly 2 minutes as I literally strode to the gate. By the time I was upstairs, my mother was too busy screaming orders for chores to even notice my story, which she heard in bits between the piercing whistle of the pressure cooker and the shrill sizzle from the pan.

I remember playing the incident back in my head for exactly 2 minutes again, before my teenage angst kicked in and I was busy defending my 'independence and individuality' that was brought up for questioning with said requests for household responsibility.

With all that behind me now; the sheer force of fortuitousness hit me smack in the face.

Wow. What a rush, knowing that sometimes, when you least expect it, the force remains strong with you. And for that I am eternally thankful.

As I walk to and from my place of intern-ship, I see different kinds of people. We all do. See each other.

I have been noticed as an anomaly in my building. I am a curious thing to the Gujju wives, who sit on the stairs to catch the cool air that spirals upwards, but never enters their homes for some strange and infuriating reason.

My hair cut in a side-swipe mullet, a swirl that would make Justin Beiber blanch with envy; my penchant for pants and my silent demeanour, all combine to make me a perfect reason to loathe with awe. Don't get me wrong, I'm not pandering to myself. I've done enough of that, with disastrous results for the egos around me. ha ha!

It is this initial reaction to my person, that switched on my observation radar and it has been on auto-pilot since.

So back to my walks.

Today, I watched an old man slowly walk his route around the gated 'society' that he lives in. I overtook him in a few strides, but not before noticing that his thin cotton kurta, worn to battle the heat was soaked to the threads. It stuck to his enormous canvas of a back like wet mache.

His dhoti billowed around him, like he was sitting on a cloud that moved at the pace of snail. His walking stick, an oar.

I realised that he could do nothing about his situation, except to keep walking, until he reached his gate. As I passed him, he looked over at me. A moving pan shot, was my view. What he saw, a passing comet.

His eyes said most of what he wanted to; his eventual avoidance of my returning gaze was the end of the brief exchange.

"I used to walk faster than you; you should know that. I wasn't so big, I had a defining frame. Does it feel good to walk fast? It must, I know it made me feel powerful. We all slow down after awhile, some more than the rest. I am part of the more, the excess. I know that, you don't have to tell me. Go on, there's nothing left to see. Nothing."

For a moment, I wondered what it would be like. Old, without the distractions of our created environments. It would be such deafening silence. The mind would then start to speak again, and all that wisdom we wanted then, would come spilling out now. And we would try and impart it, desperately and as a result look desperate. Trying to claw meaning back with this knowledge. But will it come?

We would be looking at the noise from the outside in. Sadness of knowing would no doubt become our responsibility. Who else would want it? And then in that knowledge, we wait for our next journey out of the inside, out of the outside. To the infinite.

"Then my love, I will be the light; faster, brighter and stronger. I will be the comet."

People everywhere are living my dream. Right now. As I write this. Every single one of them I thought were only mine have been spliced and diced into tiny shiny cubes that are imploding my dream into the palms of others.

My dream starts with difficulty and then accelerates into sheer raw pain and finally explodes into a gratuitous sigh as all the pain slips away and I am transformed into a ball of light. Free, brilliant, powerful and beautiful.

Will I ever have an exclusive projection that is solely mine? Will I ever find a calling that no one else is plagiarising? Bloody shit!

Must I be reduced to rehashing my dream after it was eaten and passed through someone else's gut?

Frustration, what's not to know? It's balled up inside of me like a twisted globe of rubber bands. Bruising my innards like a rancid, hardened hair ball. I cough, but all it does is nestle stubbornly against the folds inside. It's a tumour. That moves.

I want to spit it out on a carpet and watch it writhe and become still, without a host. But how? Where is that idea, that magical moment, that light bulb? I almost feel like we're fresh out, because of those damned idiots! Idiots who won't let my ideas be. Why won't you go die in a jungle somewhere? Away from me! WHY?

I must become quiet and drown out the noise in my head. That way you won't be hear me, hear my ideas, steal them, feed on them. I must become quiet. I must focus, I must cough up the tumour. I must kill it.

I'd like to say...

I'd like to say, that you know me.
In reality, it is not true.
You may think that you know me.
It's pretty clear, you think you do.

For all the scheming and the plots,
For all the mindless games you play
You may think that you've got me
But in time, you will despair.

For when a gyre spins it's endless
When the torture starts to prick
You may think it an indulgence
To sit back and watch me sink.

But a gyre is as treacherous
As it's creator, did you not know?
You'd like to say that it was for me,
But the gyre will never think so.

Come in, love, join me.
The gyre's got room for two.
Let's dance this little dance shall we?
And see who comes out true.

For the gyre is an endless spiral
Until the maker decides its end.
I'd like to say that you know me,
In reality, let's not pretend.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

 

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeoning of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

 

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

 

-          William Ernest Henley