Know Thyself

She says that having courage does not mean that we are unafraid. Having courage means that we have faced our fears. We are able to say “I have fallen but I will get up”. As she listens to these words of wisdom, tears choke up her throat. There is a her-story ( not history) that lies behind the choke felt in the throat. Thinking of the days where she had struggled, alone, brings immense pain. Every day was about fighting with the weak spirits, a tornado, tugging on the door and thrashing on the window pain, of a room she called her ‘home’. Every night, the waters of anguish would get dried on the pillow she would try to rest on. The next morning, cloaked in the colors of her clothes, she would stride, to face the dreariness and the new-ness that the day would bring along. There were some days which would teach her so much about the pain of others that her fears seemed like a tiny ant in front of an elephant. Each day she tried to be grateful for things she had and people she met. There were days she would be so absorbed by the cacophony of existential questions, that the thought of leaving the life offered more solace than finding the answers. But she knew that life was a gift, that no matter how much she cursed and berated herself, there were parts of her which she loved. The only difference was that she had stopped loving herself. Life had become a never ending struggle of proving her worth to people around. Faith and Hope had become her long lost friends. In the midst of all this, she continued to rise. She had heard someone say “Fall down seven times, stand up eight”. In fact she had become habitual of standing up so much that she lost the count.

Today the struggle continues. With-in self. There are a million tug of wars that have churned out threads of this ball of heart. The mind is rest-less. Peace is yearned for. At times she wonders “Does peace feels peaceful enough? Or is it just our projection of how peace is synonymous to bliss?” Life never stops; volcanoes shall erupt, waters shall rise and earth shall split, yet life shall continue…..Till when? She asks…….

A whisper says“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them”

With tears streaming down her face she said “ I’ll try” as she always did…………

P.S: The lines in italics in the beginning and at the end have been said by Maya Angelou.

C( Qu)oated*

Be glad that you don’t have instant manifestation. This buffer of time is really your friend. It’s your opportunity to observe and to ponder and to visualize, and to remember. It’s your opportunity to take an Emotional Journey that might be different from what you’re actually observing.~ Abraham

Before it could even start, I had a lump in my throat; an imagined one. You know how memories haunt you, as you lived your life trying to escape the moments which were only running towards you, following you like ghosts of the past, the past you never know would turn out on you, only till the time you were in present, for real.

Experiencing a vacuum is a phase which many of us have lived and those who have not may wait for. Life being itself has its ways of helping you experience myriads of emotions, only if you stay connected to them (myriad: how I love this word). Of course, vacuum has no air. It makes you feel breathless.  You live, only to question. You live, with anguish that burns through your skin. You live, with your heart that wanders to a place you’ve never been to. You live and that my dear friends, is the sole problem! Why? Cause it’s not really a happy place to be in. Yet it’s a place you ought to be in, in that very moment.

Having been in that vacuum before, the memories rushed through the mind, like blood rushes through the veins, in that fight-or-flight mode. “What if it happens again?”, “This time I shall definitely get crazy!” Work being the most important part of our lives makes its presence felt so vividly that you invariably get dependent on it, not just for income but for time’s sake too. And there stands the time laughing at you, as you walk past it hurriedly for the bus to catch, the metro to ride, or the breakfast gulped in few bites, only to see you walk back with fatigue in your bones and years added to your soul. For the lives that love their work and consider it a blessing, I offer my smiles to you, for those who complain, I offer my hand to you, come along, feel the vacuum, if you must, for it answers those questions you always ran away from. READ, beckon your soul’s voice and you shall be freed!

Not having any work after you have spent your two years of existence, slogging, writhing in pain, fatigue, exhaustion, can be difficult. Work has a powerful way of taking your life away from you even as you live each day to work! It’s a mystical charm that cloaks itself on your life hiding away the true facts, until you see them in your dreams or feel them as a ‘déjà vu’ or daydreams as you nonchalantly swift through your daily chores.

This time, the vacuum beckons me on and off. The grace of words calms me down. Both their words, are soaked in, one who holds the wand of mighty thoughts and the other where death does the talking. There is one more writer who needs to be allowed to enter the doors. His time shall soon come. When will yours?

* read as coated and quoted at once!

Thank you Leo, for the lovely prompt:) Link up at a prompt each day to get your words flowing.

Things standstill and we continue to move

Paulo Coelho’s “Adultery” lies opened near the pillow.  Besides that lie two other books. One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest and Kahlil Gibran’s collection. The floor is clean and the kitchen table a little scattered. The study table has books piled up. The Psychology of Learning, Other People’s Love Letters, along with calendar at the left, lens solution besides it, a mug with spoon from last night’s milk, still left to be washed, a nail remover waiting to be used, a highlighter waiting to ink itself on a textbook of physiological psychology and a watch which ticks every seconds, only to be looked at after a few hours.

The room today feels different. With the hustle bustle of the week, it loses its identity. The owner swept away with the laziness that a Sunday beckons re-structures and re-defines the room’s existence at least in his own eyes ( for doing it actually requires intense effort). The drawings on the wall and the inspirational messages become non- existent after a while, for they become more of an object of admiration than words with meanings. But what happens to the purpose for which they were written primarily? Time fades everything, purposes too. The lady, inside those pages, is asked a question “Are you happy?” Married to a rich man with two children, this question perplexes her. It throws upon her the deadness and monotony of living a routine life for all these years and those yet to come. The author writes “Sin is followed by a fear of being caught”. The owner asks himself “Am I happy? Is sin an essential element to strive for happiness?” The fact that why fiction still continues to excite people is that even as it is a fiction, the elements of reality play hide and seek amidst the plot just as sun does with clouds on many a days. On days like these, it feels that the mighty Sun too knows how to have fun. On other days we curse it for the heat that melts our bodies. Those who believe in the planets and how it governs their future are of the view that there are phases. Phases, where sun, moon or rahu exercises a force which determines their current phases of life. The owner asks “How do the planets act as a force? It’s I who decides whether I wish to finish my deadline or not?

In the way his life runs these days with multiple roles of the professional course, a lazy and relaxed Sunday is nothing less than a luxury. Some sun-days are strenuous for it means living with that time before another week starts, and some bring all the existential questions of life in the fore front. The latter feel much better, mostly when a book leads him to think,eventually to write.

The room is cold and so is the wet nose. The fan is off, with the dirt of the days stuck to the blades like black soot waiting to be inspected. Outside the door the sun shines bright, waiting to bestow it’s warmth into the room. The owner wishes to rest, but work as always call. This time, after God knows ages, he procrastinates in a softer and subtle way, knowing it shall be done. The peace of an author’s words can do many wonders. With this the owner signs off.