I sit here and invite you, moment after moment. I take a pen and fail for words to make their way. Every emotion & feeling that had been dancing at the periphery, in a philosophical realm, has gone deep inside & become meaningless!
With more or less a self-reliant heart, I would fight with the clouds of doubt at times which will try to overpower. Doubts would leave me sooner & cleaner mostly, but would not die. I was not sure if I wanted them to.
It’s late in the night & as if like a woman trying to give birth to a child, I keep moving my pen for something that is making all the effort to come out for a long time. What is it? Something that will pour out & consume me like I have never experienced before, but have wanted all my life, at least briefly.
It’s like familiarizing yourself with the music notes when a melody desperately seeks an expression. Where you feel you’re not the Generator or the Operator or the Destroyer – basically you’re not GOD, but you’re a channel that’s perhaps stuffed in places & hindering the flow.
There are a lot of people looking for a purpose. I also dream but I’m not sure if I dream for a purpose or of a purpose. I dream because dream happens. But as I dive deep into my dreams with all the paraphernalia of intellect & reason & the essential stuff called myself within – I lose all the charm because of the detail. But what to say – this is not a sad or a disappointing state of affairs. It feels like a peaceful maturity within.
Life takes turns to expose the vulnerability time & again & you want to be available. Just That! You don’t want to cringe or rush through or demand. You’re just available for life – the next moment, the next hour, the next day & so on. Time really does not have much of a significance, when distinction between a chaotic & a perfectly organized life cannot be done.
But are you becoming dead inside? No and yes. Is it not life if it’s lived without an anticipation. Even when it’s not business keeping you busy and you have ample time to anticipate. Perhaps one is dead. But no one is not, or how would the writing happen, how would any action happen.
Desires, purpose & all fancy stuff of mind. Getting into the core of these, I try to figure out my intent or the seed in my conscience, which sometimes I locate & at others relegate to those parts of me which I’m not familiar with.
Moving on this upstream of a complex of desire & joy & fear & search of meaning & purpose – I just seem to be going somewhere, where the heart feels a deja vu & the head is either lured towards the unknown or fears it. But an upstream it still is, as the journey feels onward!
Jotted...Dots 