The changing seasons so much reminds me of the change inside of myself. The change I am looking for some definite period of time to reconnect with my inert existence. Rightful seasons stay long enough to make itself attached to or being and to feel nostalgic about. Yeah, they have to go and come back anew after a certain time. This is a set pattern that no one can get around, all we can do is play spectators to this phenomenon on the outside. I can feel winter in my face, sign that it is just another season of hope that offers duality - cold with warmth as sun shines upon my face breaking away from the monotony of night. I wake up and get out of bed to stare out of the window blankly.
Life is not based on rules not one, not any, not few but the lessons learnt. It is a continuous chain of events impossible to predict what leads from one to the other. Now, I am sat on the roof every bit lost in the gaze inwards and watching the sun go down. I am reminded of school when I would be out most evenings with friends but that has all changed. They are all left behind.
A matter of being stuck in a situation where no one wants to be unless left to his own will. It has been an utterly desperate setting something like a conspiracy around me which keeps on impersonating my actions.
I believe in power of oneself and that there can’t be no existence if there were no unreasonable men. Therefore, egotism paves the way for altruism. In cruel times, the situations where I found myself miserably miss-fit in, it felt as though I nominated myself to dig my own grave. For a long time (perhaps for 4-5 years), I strove to take upon myself a leviathan challenge to bury my guilt of not doing justice with my talents. Back then my sensibilities rarely came to a head and called upon myself to break free from the paralysing clutches of middle-working-class mindset. Though I lived miles away from my old neighbourhood, I still clung to the fixed wisdom of a road well-travelled, my fear buried beneath the new façade of self-knowledge I was acquiring, it lives inside my very bones, like the words I read and the ideas I envisaged.
I was shaped in the sterile cocoon of the middle class, a realm where comfort takes over confrontation, where the self is pacified into the illusion of stability. The ego clings to convention, fearing the abyss of transformation. I wished to hurry the transformation to be more progressive- ones driven by the whisper of the self, they must break this cocoon. They must descend into the underworld of the collective unconscious, confront the shadow of their inherited values, and emerge aligned not with polite rebellion, or as a mere reactionary, but with the make of a revolutionary.
The debate between systems like socialism and capitalism is not only political. It reveals a deeper divide between care and control, between community and competition. Facing this incredible strain with thought is part of the work we must do. Change can only follow when we stop pretending that everything is fine and start asking what kind of world we actually want to live in? It takes a lot of work, but I want to be part of that slow and necessary effort to build something.
Over and over again the ghost that was lost in time comes back to me to scorn me to drag me out of my bed threatening to unravel what is left to of me of my conscious efforts. I love this ghost because of its honesty in keeping me in tune with myself. Least for its features, valiant mourning’s aren’t any good to counter them instead I have chosen to get on steadily.
To this day, I believe I am in search of what is mine, not necessarily looking for it but trying to discover in the process and if that comes good, I embrace it and if it doesn’t, equally good- I learn. A small pie from the divine cake. It’s these small pieces put together to form life. We are all surrounded by opportunities to “make it big” in our life but the only thing that remains to be maneuvered is how to take it and when to run with it. First step is always the most difficult, rest you can tip toe. One fine Sunday afternoon I was walking in a mango orchard, there was a serene silence, the one of within. My thoughts go inward and outwards both for the same matter; this is how I give myself something to rejoice. Too much.’
It’s some tenacity of a mystical sort that fringes on my inside to do more and generalise my emptiness with my actions or in another way that emptiness reminds me of what I must to do, to sit myself up at the very head of perpetual ocean of feelings that open up the horizons speckled with stars and oftentimes a dark sky. And I keep on staring into the darkness not knowing what lies beneath, still there is something very fascinating and life like about it. This hunger will set me free from my cravings someday. On that fine day I’ll know what it was to crave for something and not to have it; it will be very different from what I would have in that moment.
The morgue is more alive than keeping on living a life for a feeling good factor and I just pass it up as a regular parade pretending not to feel. Well, one day, it was up to me to take ownership of my actions and forgo the burden of past to heal the future and I suppose that is it.
There are hopes and there is a need of action that have a vitality of force to draw attention to. These ideas about my early years are fluid, almost fragile that they melt every time. They must be forged into something solid and true.
"I deserve this," I think. "I don’t deserve this," - goes the conflict in my mind. The conflict rages inside me. I choose to close it to ensure the intensity reserved for that moment. There are lots of things that are ought to be done. They come to me like randomly like raindrops leaving some part of the body untouched and others soaked to the bone to feel anything of it. The whole body goes numb. Mostly it reminds me of my present state.
The feelings of rot, guilt they all latch on to me. Its more tormenting than it used to be.
There is nothing more complicated than human connection. It deserves honesty, silently if not out in the open. And that, perhaps, is the greatest truth of all.