Snowed In

When did the soft rain turn into a snowfall? I know not…

When did the warmth of the sun fade away? I know not…

When did the birds stop singing? I know not…

When did the landscape turn grey? I know not…

When did the leaves fall off? I know not…

When did I lose myself in the snow? I know not…

When did I turn from the path in front of me? I know not…

But one thing is for certain, Winter is here at last.

Of Pain & Death...

This was drafted a very long time back, almost a year back. I perchance came upon it while talking to a friend about Death and Feelings. So after a small re edit here it is finally.
Here is the thing... everyone is afraid, most often of themselves, of their own cognitive reality and to some extent their feelings. They talk on love, about how great it is, but it’s not so. Love hurts, loving someone even more so. Feelings are depressing and painful, jubilation also; it paves the way for a depressing mind.
One is told repeatedly that pain is evil and dangerous and that it is to be avoided. How can one deal with love then, if they're afraid of pain? Pain is meant to make us feel alive. People try to hide it (myself included). But we are wrong!! Pain is like a scar, it is to be lived with, like a case of fine wine we keep to mature. Experiencing pain strengthens us, makes us who we are. It's all in how we deal with it, how we carry the pain. (That is of prime Importance) Pain is a feeling, probably the only one tangible enough to sustain on. Our Reality includes our pain, our feelings, and our dreams. So why would you avoid pain?
But if one indeed seeks liberation from pain, then the only way is to let Death claim you. For that is the only way to escape your reality completely, for Death is a void, a black hole, the end of existence; you can’t experience anything more after that (The termination of self itself), but the conundrum thus far unanswered is this “Nothingness” after death… we are quantifying this equation, by placing ourselves there. How can one fall into this nothingness, and remain there for the said eternity?
That said and done, what are you going to do? What path will you choose?
As for me I always say that pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. Moreover I am Immortal… so far so good…

A Loss of Words...

She called out to me again today…

She was upset, upset that I had not been in touch with her. Its has been only 4 weeks since I last spoke to her, but for her as she put it, sounded like 4 millennia….

I will not lie, I always feel good when I talk to her, and she is the very essence of my being.

But I still ignored her.

I heard her silent plea for acknowledgment and yet I ignored her….

She is my mistress, my mistress of the night, sometimes I sit late at night gossiping with her, she completes me, makes my day. Talking to her is like reliving the memories of yesteryear when all was good, nothing was out of place… but that time is now only a distant remembrance, and I can only live them through her.

With her it was always bright and sunny, sitting beside her in the pleasant shade, life was bliss, but now… I found joy in the rain, in the constant patter of the rain that beckons me to dance, like the newborn who finds warmth in the bosom of its mother, I found joy. I felt guilty.

Guilty cause I was doing the one thing she told me not to, like me she feared the storm but unlike me she did not embrace it.

I walked down that path, enduring it, companionless, even when all hope was lost; I still stumbled on, picking my self up where I fell, starting from scratch where I lost everything. I Endured. I endured it alone.

Through me she endured it too… she survived the storm. For a moment I though she would join me, dance with me, become my muse again. But it was not so.

For that I punished her, I stopped speaking to her.

She was my healer, my councilor and my missy… I wonder now if she missed me the way I did her.

Like the crying child misses its mother, I missed her.

Then without warning the urge to talk to her again set in … this urge could not be ignored even, even blocking it out did not seem to work … so I sat down with her and made amends. I admit it felt like nirvana…

She started off by telling me how I have changed. How dancing in the rain, has changed me, how finding joy even in despair changed me. I liked it. I made a vow that day, to keep in touch, silently making a resolve to show her how liberating dancing in the rain is. She is my mistress once more.

For the moment I ignore her, because for the first time in my life I am at a loss of words, I don't know where to begin, where to end...

I wish I could tell you, but I can’t find the words....

Sometimes we put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares to break them down.

This Post is dedicated to my Mistress, without whom I would not be the individual I am today

~*~

The Touch Of A Woman

Ah, the Touch of a woman,

Seductive it is, the Touch of a woman,

Lusty it is, the Touch of a woman,

Reason is lost over the Touch of a woman,

Men have been lost over the Touch of a woman,

Wars have been fought over the Touch of a woman,

An enigma it is, the Touch of a woman.

 

That what I call the touch of a woman actually encompasses a lot more than mere touch; it includes the Scent of a woman, the whims and fancies of a woman and every thing a woman does which you end up noticing.

The touch of a woman, so to speak defies logic, it defies Reason, and it is the irresistible force which not only moves an immovable object but also structurally changes it. This ambiguous force of nature is not always destructive, but is always cataclysmic.  There is no inference or hidden messages in this blog; it has been presented below only to showcase the mysterious, intoxicating, and sometimes fatal conditions that follow the touch of a woman.

The very act of her looking at you causes you heart rate to increase, blood pounds your ears, irrespective of your testosterone levels you will act like the bull, just for her. Now why would a rational individual do that? It is because; the most primeval instinct of a male, of any species is to attract a mate. The touch of her skin against your always is cool why? Cause there is an increase of blood to all extremities of your body in that point of time. I have seen men bend backward to accommodate the whims and fancies of a woman, why would one do some thing like that? However the answers cannot be chalked up to pheromones alone, there is a lot more in the equation.

“She is like this vestigial part of my memory, it’s a total waste of time and effort talking to her” This above line quoted by a head banging rock star, brings more light to this phenomenon, Men once touched by a woman are for the time undone, temper rages and even profanity takes center stage, until of course they are touched again by another woman.

I am a curious being by nature, so I actually asked a few of my friends, weather they believed in love at first sight, the girls as expected said no ( one thought that, I found a girl , bah women I tell you )  a few guys said yes ( experience speaks I guess) all but one of the rest said no comments ( the diplomatic freaks) , and 3 actually said No, one even eloquently broke it up and said ( and I quote) “ 95 % lust (testosterone), 3% stupidity, 1 % Bravado and 1% love”. Who can argue against that? All I will quote is that is Love at first sight is a by product of the touch of a woman.

Do you know what else is a by product of the touch of a woman? (Scratching the surface a wee bit we arrive at :) Every thing in society which is male dominated, justification you ask? Well, look around you the females have played the species card so aptly that, you have not even noticed their slow and steady rise to their current semi dominating position. The silent climb was so silent that that, here are the women side by side, rubbing shoulders, with the Males.

Ah, the touch of a woman,

The very Instrument of men’s doom,

The very embodiment of life

Touché to you,

For you have come at last,

To aid thy wielder to be the harbinger of tomorrow.

~*~

 

Ps. I am still the chauvinist I was. The above post is in no ways dedicated to the woman persona, but to the enigma which come in the package with her, the touch of a woman.

Also note that, I hold all women (exceptions of a few) in great admiration and respect for with out them, life would be extinct by now.

One more thing The Touch of a Woman is toxic as far as I am considered; readers are warned not to experiment. Do so at your own peril.

For the first time, in a long time

The above post is dedicated, mainly to four people

The 2 people with whom my objective conversations range from sports to religion to even historic figures ( one of who is my secret confidant, I tell that person every thing), my shrink who has a split personality, and my healer who always gets a weird Vibe from me.

The Last Brick

The storm is still raging on around me, I don’t know how but I manage to find my footing and crawl to the place where my Tower once stood, the caved in derelict just a shadow of its former self now slowly crumbling away, in front of me, that which protected me for 7 years is now broken, but in reality it feels like I am broken. The debris is scattered across the entire place, and the storm makes everything un-salvageable. All the stuff I want to protect is now destroyed. All the stuff that hunted me in my final moments in the Tower is no more.
(A mixed emotion, that of deep regret and freedom now smothers me, for the second time after being outside I am acutely aware of the rain, the spray of water on my self, washing all the hurtful memories away. As the last brick also slowly crumbles away into nothing, the regret vanishes; it is like being born again, its intoxicating, the feeling of having survived the storm and no longer being a prisoner to my memories.)
The storm of storms as I had once thought of it is now a gentle rain, like a warm shower on a cold day, the feeling of joy that it gives is overwhelming. My endless debates with my self as to whether SHE was the one, whether SHE was the answer to the enigma that is me, are now the basis of my nascent dogma. Abraham Lincoln once said “The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present”, but mine is based on a stormy past which eventually leads towards something new and different. The way ahead now for me after a long time is bright. The light is now what I welcome.
Every thing comes back around, maybe there will be more storms, but the sun will eventually come out like it has now.
If this has taught me any thing it would be 2 things, one primary fact that Life is not about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain, and secondly that one should not attach oneself to things that one cannot let go in 30 seconds.
My dogma, etched out in stone is a constant reminder of my past. You can say that it is the very last brick of my tower, some thing that cannot be forgotten and should not be forgotten…

*
Part 5 of 5

The Loneliness

In this side of the barricade, there is but little light, light which throws monstrous shadows against the walls. In this gloom you can hear it; the silence is now over, the storm has thundered in, so loud you can barely hear yourself… Now I am truly alone. Alone in the darkness I have only myself and my memories. Creaking walls and rattling windows betray the stability of my room; the tower will definitely not survive this storm. It will collapse. It’s just a matter of time.

(Darkness really adds a new perspective in every thing, and that is not always good. Suddenly people who you once trusted blindly are the ones who you are running from. As you lie awake at night on the brink of tears, you will inadvertently go over the time you spent with them, wondering where exactly; at which specific point of time did every thing start to fall apart? Where did you go wrong? Those are few of the answers that are with them and for ever will be denied to you. You can only guess or estimate them…)

In the darkness, there are no shapes, there is no fluid concept of reality, and there is no sense of time either. All the things I brought in, all the memories I then clung on to, in the darkness are transformed, into monsters, Hunted and tormented I Frantically start breaking down the barricade I set up first to protect my self and the things (memories) I wanted to fight for.

The idea of being confronted by my past never terrified me so much, I was and am afraid of loosing my individuality, but this fear is new, and it is unfathomable, for me to be hunted by my past, I always cherished memories, it was the one thing that remained constant even if the people in them changed. I realize now amidst the chaos of the storm, that I would rather face the storm out in the open and be threaten by the possibility of being drowned alive than stay in the room a wounded prey to my memories.

Finally the barricade breaks, and I stumble outside in the thunderstorm alone and empty-handed… I glance back to see my room, my tower, My Castle being upturned brick by brick, that what took 7 years to build is now being turned to rubble in less that 7 minutes.

For the first time I feel the rain upon my face, all that’s left of my room is a brick. The very last brick.

(Part 4 of 5)

The Empty Room

They say that in times of mortal danger the human body just shuts its self down, to preserve its-self. It is not exactly voluntary you see; that switch (as I call it) is involuntary. According to me the same holds true mentally also.
So in a way you can guess what happens when the storm comes to drown me. It shuts down; it becomes pitch black in the room. However, there is something to be learnt from the darkness too; in the absence of light you get a level of solitude that is unprecedented. The room though full of things (I brought in many things, a lot of memories, of a time when it was nice, I believed that it is best to hold on to memories as they are the only things that do not change even though the people in them might… but I was so mistaken) becomes empty, with out the light there is nothing, nothing what so ever, just an empty space. (Try it for yourself, blindfold yourself, what do you see? Nothing, Try switching of the lights at 3 in the morning what do you see? Nothing…) the darkness helped me once long back, I look to it again and hope that, she too has not forsaken me.
Now for survival, I cling on to all that I can, and let go of all that I can…. There is much to be learnt from the absence of light and the empty room.

Its time to wipe the slate clean, and barricade my self in...….

part 3 of 5

The Blank Page

There really is calm before the storm, a lull in its activity. I have a strong hunch that it is because it tempts you to leave the safety of you room and venture outside, so that it may crush you and drown you unaware. But this Storm I have faced before, I have survived it once before and I am sure I will ride it out again, (but what is this nagging feeling that won’t just go away...) The storm has now grown with the room; it is now on a totally different level than before.
As the silence continues I realize that this storm is not a naturally occurring one. It has come to balance me. It has come for me. Come to wipe me out, drown me.
Ash to Ash, dust to dust rings true now. The circle has to be completed, no matter how big it grows. Buildings are erected to be toppled down. (Even In nature, if the forest grows too quickly, expanding on all available land, a storm will come and bar further progress and push it back a bit.)7 years ago it came to balance; now it returns. The pages in my life are now blank; all efforts are being channeled towards survival. All I can do is try to turn the page.

Part 2 of 5

The Closed Window

There exists a room in me, in you and everyone; it is what makes each and every one of us unique. We build this room by our self, with our own hands, shaping it and nurturing it, in any way we desire. This mental Extension of our physical abode comforts us and protects us in times of need. As a result this room it totally unique to the person who built it .We sneak away precious artifacts and items and store it there, stuff we would not like to forget or leave behind.
(My room, I can’t describe it, as it will then cease to be mine as you will be able to imagine it and hence reach it so I am not going to describe it)My room is where I go when there is need for it, as I love the solitude it gives me. There is assurance in the fact that none of you can reach it. Here is where Silence can be heard. A silence so loud, that it shuts out the physical world (It is like having a high end head phone and sitting by the beach, you hear the music not the waves.). This is My Sanctum, which no army can conquer.~
But of late there is a great unrest in the winds, something is blowing this way. The window over looking my mind just slammed shut. The Silence is now the low growl of a Storm that might very well break the very foundation upon which my room is built. I think it might even drown me in its wake.
Despite all my efforts the window remains firmly shut. It is now closed, (once again) after 7 long years.

Part 1 of 5

Desolation

"Some thing about this feels familiar;

I know I have experienced it before."

The Closed Window.

The Blank Page.

The Empty Room.

The loneliness.

The Last Brick.