Now is Thy Prophet

Then they were together so that as the hand on the watch moved, unseen now, they knew that nothing could ever happen to the one that did not happen to the other, that no other thing could happen more than this; that this was all and always this was what had been and now and whatever was to come. This, that they were not to have, they were having. They were having now and before and always and now and now and now. Oh, now, now , now , the only now, and above all now, and there is no other now but thou now and now is thy prophet. Now and forever now. Come now, now, for there is no now but now. Yes, now. Now, please now, only now, not anything else only this now, and where are you and where am I and where is the other one, and not why, not ever why, only this now; and on and always please then always now, always now, for now always one now; one only one, there is no other one but one now, one, going now, rising now, sailing now, leaving now, wheeling now, soaring now, away now, all the way now, all of all the way now; one and one is one, is one, is one, is one, is still one, is still one, is one descendingly, is one softly, is one longingly, is one kindly, is one happily, is one in goodness, is one to cherish, is one now on earth with elbows against the cut and slept-on branches of the pine tree with the smell of the pine boughs and the night to earth conclusively now, and with the morning of the day to come. Then he said, for the other was only in his head and he had said nothing, “Oh, Maria, I love thee and I thank thee for this.”

From For Whom the Bells Toll, Earnest Hemingway.

Someday I'll do justice to the professor who took my Interpretation of Literary Texts class, and do a full analysis of this, with word and sentence structures and all that.
Today, I'll just let the words wash over me with the same semi-despairing, semi-elated charm that makes me return to Hemingway over and over and over again.

I Never Knew- II

 
I never knew...

How dreams can flutter,

Like fairy lights

Draped over ancient trees.







As part of the "I never knew" series. Each one a small spark of emotion, a moment suspended in space. First one is here.

Photo:http://s1.favim.com/orig/11/blossom-fairy-lights-madamelulu-tree-Favim.com-178046.jpg

I never Knew- I

 
I never knew...

How delicate conquests can be,

Like soap bubbles

Under the lazy afternoon sun.





I plan to make these like a series. Each one a small spark of emotion, a moment suspended in space.

photo:http://graphics.ucsd.edu/~iman/SoapBubbles/Soap_bubbles_RGB.png

Being a Fool

If there is anything that being buffered around a few times in life does to you, is that it makes you skeptical. Something good happens, and you assume there is something bad waiting somewhere around the corner.

It is useful sometimes, even if unfortunate. Getting knocked down enough number of times comes with valuable experience. Experience that tells you you can't avoid getting the knocks, but it sure helps if at least you can prevent being blindsided. Survival strategies are made of such stuff.

As they say, life hands you lemons. And for a while, you do your best to sweeten away the sourness, figuratively speaking. Then you run out of sugar, and just accept the fact that lemons are sour. That is usually smart.

And then, rarely, something really nice comes your way. Guess what, you poor sod, you are still stuck with the sour taste in your mouth. This is the sad part. You know you like it, but you can't enjoy it. You try to put aside the baggage you've accumulated, hurt and pain and mistrust and everything else, and try to replace it with a new order of things, one that has you happy. And all you can think of is, "This is stupid. This is too good to be true."

Frankly, you're right. By most chances, the good phase will not last. It rarely does. And you'll come back crashing again, broken. Just like the last time. Remember how much it hurt? You are a fool. You can walk away from what makes you happy, you can even convince yourself you're doing it to protect yourself from further hurt.
It makes frightening sense, but you know what, you'll still be a fool. And moreover, now you are both a fool and a fraud.

Tough deal, huh? It's tough for me. But right now, I'll take my chances. I'll be just the fool. Simply because I've been a fraud for too long. Wish me luck.

Love Stories

I pointed out The Bridges of Madison County to my friend at the bookshop.

Friend: "What's it about?"

Me: "It's a love story."

Friend: "Why bother?"

Me: "It's a love story that doesn't work out."

Friend: "Why bother?"

He didn't say it because he didn't care. He said it because he did bother, that too, too much. I remembered vividly the sense of helplessness and melancholy that the book had left me with.

Why bother, really.

One can perhaps answer  the question in a hundred different ways. But my favourite is one that I had read long back, written by a woman whose wisdom I've come to appreciate fully as I have grown up.

Because to write a love story requires a special kind of bravery. At least to write one that is any good. You make two people meet, you make them love each other, then you make them laugh or cry, depending upon how your mood is. And it all get read by people, who can, with exceptions, be categorized into two groups.

One are those who have, or have had, their own love stories. You embellish your story, make the couple go through everything from disapproving parents to an alien attack and let them live happily ever after. Or you make a grocery list of all the ways they are perfect for each other, and then let last year's stock markets keep them apart till the next lifetime comes around.
But whatever you do, nothing impresses these people. For them, it is always their own that was the most beautiful. It's no use arguing. When you see their faces when they tell you their story, you know that they are right too, yours is no match. Every single time.

The other group, the polar opposite, are the ones who haven't had their own stories yet. And guess what, you can't impress them either. No matter how mundane, how "life-like" or how "based on a true story" you make it, even the simplest descriptions will look over-dramatic to them.
Again, it's no use arguing. You ask them to tell them the biggest thing that has happened to them. Then, if you have a love story, compare that theirs. You'll see that they are right too, yours is too dramatic. And from their view point, too dramatic to be true. Love always is. Every single time.

Perhaps that is why we bother to read a love story, specially those of us who fall in the first group. Because we know the pitfalls of one. Because it lets us validate our own. Because one can never write a love story. One can only live it, for a day or a lifetime.

Brown Eyes

If yours locked into mine,

Two pairs of browns,

Would the silence talk

Of you and of me,

Safe

In a fragile safety,

Loved

With an inflamed hatred,

Destroyed

By a violent innocence?

If yours locked into mine,
Two pairs of browns,
Would you find me pretty
Burnt, broken and beaten
Alive in dead flesh
Dismantled
Disfigured
And Disillusioned?

If yours locked into mine,

Two pairs of browns,

For the space of a blink

Or of a century

Would you hear me plead,

Silent, tortured, hungry

To let me love you

Just one more time?

Was written for someone I haven't found yet. Hope I do. If I don't, oh well.

Need to be Purred

At least once a day our old black cat comes to one us in a way that we've all come to see as a special request. It does not mean he wants to be fed or to be let out or anything of that sort. His need is for something very different. If you have a lap handy, he'll jump into it; if you don't, he's likely to stand there looking wistful until you make him one. Once in it, he begins to vibrate almost before you stroke his back, scratch his chin and tell him over and over what a good kitty he is. Then his motor really revs up; he squirms to get comfortable; he "makes big hands." Every once in a while one of his purrs gets out of control and turns into a snort. He looks at you with wide open eyes of adoration, and he gives you the cat's long slow blink of ultimate trust. After a while, little by little, he quiets down. If he senses that it's all right, he may stay in your lap for a cozy nap. But he is just as likely to hop down and stroll away about his business. Either way, he's all right. Our daughter puts it simply: "Blackie needs to be purred."


(from The Gentlest Need by Fred T. Wilhelms from Chicken Soup for the Soul, Copyright 1993 by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen.)


And so do we all. Purred, petted, loved. Sometimes to put chaotic minds to order. Sometimes to heal. And sometimes just to remind ourselves that everything is all right. 


A friend reminded me of a classic saying, "Love is the irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired." I happen to agree. But magic such as that is hard to come by in yours truly's ordinary life. Oh well, I'll settle for warmth and happiness instead of fireworks and ecstasy. Not really such a bad deal. And if I may use our Harry Potter lingo, it "Exceeds Expectations". 


Don't get me wrong, its just baby steps, long way to go as yet. I am not even half-way close to what I really want, that is to be perfectly comfortable with myself. And maybe, eventually, with other people too. One does dream, you know. But I believe they are steps in the right direction. Let's wait and watch, shall we?






 Photo courtesy: http://www.visualphotos.com/photo/1x5067785/Woman_petting_black_cat_6N6555.jpg, Copyright VisualPhotos.com

Learning

A personal favourite, in good and bad times.I have learnt how true it is. And I have learnt how hard it is to learn it, too.

You Learn

- Jorge Luis Borges (translated by Veronica Shoffstall)

After a while you learn the subtle difference

Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning

And company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts

And presents aren’t promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats

With your head up and your eyes open

With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,

And you learn to build all your roads on today

Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans

And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn…

That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,

Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure…

That you really are strong

And you really do have worth…

And you learn and learn…

With every good-bye you learn.

Forbidden Fruit

This was written on a moment of inspiration. Inspiration that is partly literature, partly certain story people whom I know, partly lonely-night-blues And a lot of other things. Unrequited love is tough. Tougher is perhaps when you cannot even speak about it. And I don't even want to go into the cases where destiny has other plans in mind. (But I am totally against people being hailed as Romeos when they kill themselves when a relation gets over.Relations do get over.And you learn to live with it.Period.) As usual with me and poems, its extremely bad poetry, but I do hope some of the emotions manage to come through.

Forbidden fruit
Nectar divine
Love of mine
But only silently can I cry.

Forbidden fruit
I’d sell my soul
And take a nibble
If only the price wasn’t so high.

Forbidden fruit
Choices and decisions.
Actions and consequences
But what do you judge by?

Forbidden fruit
Never enough
Not even close
Judgement of man, hard to defy.

Forbidden fruit
What’s the use?
I know I will lose.
Why did the songs of love lie?

Forbidden fruit
Ever in mind
Never to be mine
Still no one to hear me sigh.

Forbidden fruit

The ecstasy of pain
Like moths to the flame
But I am too young to die.

Forbidden fruit
You will never know
Perhaps neither will I
Forbidden fruit.

[photo courtesy:http://blog.vipulsetia.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/07/Broken_Heart.jpg]

Love and Time

This happens to be a personal favourite since a long time back. Read it in a children's magazine, but the full message did not hit me until I sat down to read it out to my kid sister who was 7 at that time. Since then, I have shared it with scores of people, mostly kids. And it never fails to cheer me up (as well as those listening).



Once upon a time, there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge, and all of the others including Love. However, one day it was announced to the feelings that the island would sink, so all prepared their boats and left. Love was the only one who stayed. Love wanted to stay until it started sinking. When Love was almost sinking, she decided to ask for help.

Richness was passing by Love in a beautiful boat. Love said, “Richness, can you take me with you?”
Richness answered, “No, I can’t. There are a lots of gold and silver in my boat. There is no place here for you.”

Love decided to ask Vanity who was also passing by, “Vanity, please help me!” “I can’t help you Love. You are all wet and can probably damage my boat,” Vanity answered.

Sadness was close by so Love asked for help, “Sadness, let me go with you.”
“Oh, Love, I am so sad that I prefer to go alone!”

Happiness passed by Love too, but she was so happy that she did not listen when Love called her.

Suddenly, there was a voice, “Come Love, I will take you.” It was an elderly. Love was so happy that she even forgot to ask the name of the elderly.

When they arrived to the other side, Love asked Knowledge who the elderly was.

Knowledge said, “It was Time. The greatest and the oldest of the grand desires.”

“Time?” said Love “But why did Time help me?”

“Because only Time knows how great Love is…”


[photo courtesy:http://my.opera.com/ladyman2424/blog/]

In Love

"Come, Philander, let us be a marching, Every one his true love a searching..."

                                                                   -Louisa May Alcott
An Old Fashioned Girl

A friend of mine is walking around dreamy-eyed. Yes, it’s the usual diagnosis. He’s is in love. Literally drowning in it. Well, almost. Considering the minor details such as he does not know whether the lady in question is even aware of his existence or not. And the fact that given his current state in the affairs (he blushes violently at the mention of her name), he will probably need a few shots from the bottle just to have enough courage to say hi to her.

Being “responsible” friends, we gave him a verbal douche bath. To bring him back to earth, we said. And to remind him of those small, afore mentioned details. I liked the way he took our words with infantile meekness, turned around, and went on mooning over “his girl” with undampened ardour. We gave up after 30 minutes of hearing him praise her. Actually, it was when she walked past our group lounging on the stairs, that we knew that we had lost the battle.

Looking at the beatific expression that that suffused his face suddenly made me realise a very hard fact. I miss being in love. I miss the heady feeling that comes with it. The automatic gut-wrench when the object of your admiration is near. My last encounter with this aspect of human emotions had not really been a great one. We had ended with a lot less love than what we had started out with and from then I had been on a self-imposed sabbatical from the pink-heart-shaped stuff. That is why perhaps it took me by surprise. The fact that I actually miss it, that is. The plans, the dreams (and the merciless ribbing, yes, that too!). The intricate designs and last minute change of routes just so you can catch a glimpse or have a word. I miss the utter silliness of it. I miss going around with a stupid grin on my face, as if the entire sunshine of existence is on my shoulders.  But most of all, I think I miss the fact that it takes you out of yourself into some other plane that people in love (like my friend right now) seem to exist in. The wonderful way it beautifies everything around you. The warm fuzzy feeling that seems to tell you, that everything’s all right with the world.

My friend is suddenly finding the April skies bluer than usual. For his sake, I hope that they don’t turn grey for a long, long time to come. For mine, I am kind of hoping my turn comes again, soon. Blue skies and pretty flowers or not, I just want to get back to the times when the world seems to revolve around a single person. And as of now, I must go and see to a hapless Romeo who wants to know how to ask a girl for her number.

(Oh, one more thing, when she passed us on the stairs, she waved, which solved the million dollar question on whether she knew that he existed or not.)

Stay in love, people, nothing beats it. In the meantime, stay happy. See you again!