Sunday, June 29, 2014

BEING YOUR - Own Muse


“I am my own muse. I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to know better.”- Frida Kahlo

"The sun shines not on us but in us. The rivers flow not past, but through us, thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing."

There could be more or less of things, that might whittle away or stayed for a while at disposal that one drooled over & anxiously spittle.

I rather find it unnecessary to even step out - hunting on a lookout for reasons to amuse me, since I have already been surrounded by the ones that infuse me. Be it self indulgence to an awakening of my four-walled sane ecstasies of self-sufficient pampered roofed or partly insane musings around - so goofed.. Everything (lost & found) that goes, comes around, It's a human tendency - so in-bound. 

I often think about ‘how worthy I've been, no matter how heedless or keen. I've already undergone a sufficient amount of reasoning - my life had choicest of taste buds seasoning no different than yours, All the garnishing, varnishing, harnessing - from happily, peppier to sadist of tantrums tarnishing. Did you hear the sounds? The galore or partly deceiving drums. that played in rounds! 

I won't talk much about how?, probably you already know by now. You are most welcome, incase you are going to bring me any gift, but pardon me, no use! if at all you are going to engage me in a rift. I enjoy being my own muse, 'I hate being parted.' - If you catch my drift.

There is a remotest of possibility if at all anyone knew you in person other than your own very self, for best or worst. There was a whole wide world out there. You probably have your own world. Don't get me wrong, I ain’t high nosed, I am still grounded - so earthy. My world just doesn't finds you worthy. I sufficed well enough being a loner in solitude & peace with & I had no place vacant for anyone else to possibly hid. Are you going to pay me rent? wow (Well, incase you agreed upon that too, which I assumed you won't), I would still deny. I could empty my head & heart any moment now, but filling you up in would be difficult (that’s what I meant) - I ain’t going to accommodate you, just couldn’t. You could possibly be my guest for a while, but you can't stay in here forever or reconcile.

“Instead of discussing with myself every morning whether I feel inspired or not, I step into my office every day at nine sharp, open the window and politely ask the muse to enter and kiss me. Sometimes she comes in, more often she does not. But she can never claim that she hasn’t found me waiting in the right place.” - Peter Prange

I am still learning to become aware of how my beliefs and emotions color my perception of different events in my life. I am still trying to step out of my fabrications to experience the truth and spaciousness of what is.

Rather thunder on in bleak resistance, Swift to spoil and rigorous to deny, Than as thus to veil the sullen distance, With thy bleared and tear-stained sky.

We get fed-up or feed upon each other - it never stops. At times It gets befriended and at times I find it lost - trying to find it at any cost. The viciousness starts again & I am on the verge of hunting it down. - reaching any bit closer to it, with patience & wit. Agonized to see it disappear in vein & thrilled having found it again. It keeps slipping & running away from my sight & I am again caught up in this plight. I am out of my four-walled dwellings, I am out to this cage, with so much rage. We seem to be not even on the same page. I could, if I would, Oh I should! walk few miles, dismantle few tiles (searching for you) And just about when I thought my life was a less traveled one, I seem to be completely exhausted going places far & distant. Still coping. - I aint done.

‘Ere the limes with ruddy spear-points glimmer, Ere the greenness leap from bush to bush, While the starveling grass grows dim and dimmer, And the folded snowdrops push’

What you are, is what you be, and what you be is what you see. Doesn't matter how you are being acknowledge or looked up as or perceived - you don't have to change yourself for thee. Let the world think of you or take you as whatever it chooses to believe. You are what you make of yourself. You got to believe into something.

I am still trying - no matter how easy or hard it be. Change is not always good or bad - I am going to be better, I am going to be just me. I am going to live, & make it worth. My soul is my best friend forever and I would never let me deceive me. 

"Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced."

I am friends with it - At times, It makes everything so easier and light. We quarrel & end up in a fight. It even gets darker & lengthy - I still manage to keep up with my frenzy. We hang in there tight & loose - I am learning to wisely choose.

I am not alone, "I" is always a "we for me" & there is more to it - Anonymous

A Sunday Morning - IT USED TO BE

Old English (language of the Anglo-Saxons) name for Sunday, Sunnandæg, meaning "day of the sun." (Sun in Old Norse) - "All judges and city people and the craftsmen shall rest upon the venerable day of the sun"). From being a Lord's day and the day of Christ's resurrection to becoming the first day of the week.

"Joie de vivre" - a French phrase expressing a cheerful enjoyment of life; 'an exultation of spirit' meaning "joy of living" - that's how a Sunday used to make me feel.

There were those days when I used to have; awesome Sunday, sleepy Sunday, dreamy Sunday, family Sunday, away from school Sunday, television-time Sunday, food from out Sunday, happy Sunday, playful Sunday, settling Sunday, accomplished Sunday, pleasureful Sunday, cuddle-some Sunday, magical Sunday, lively Sunday, sufficing Sunday, have a break-Sunday & so on & at the end of the day all set(in no mood though) to confront the 'Monday musings' Sunday.

"I so wish I became a Sunday myself & holidayed ever-after with absolutely no work to do"

I remember when I was kid, how in those days, would sit glued to the television spending hours watching favorite programs on the idiot box, i would sit so close, that i would be reminded by everyone to go back, else the eyes would get spoil. I would happily sit close to the television set, watching my favorite serials - spending those golden moments, having my breakfast along. That was the time when we happened to use VCR's & there was no cable by that time internet invention had not invaded homes for personal use, we only used to have computers in school, that too during our computer classes, when we used to remove our shoes & enter inside the lab with an air-conditioner on. But Sunday was a holiday & we had to spend time at home, away from school & that was one day, I guess every child my age would have felt a sigh of relief, away from torturous studies & school tantrums. Reminding me how I used to seldom bunk my classes at school at some point, & how dear the canteen of the school came to our rescue with all the little pocket money that we used to get, despite having our lunch boxes being packed & wrapped around, that we had in our school bag with us.

Last Sunday, Alexander's grandparents gave him a dollar—and he was rich. There were so many things that he could do with all of that money.! He could buy as much gum as he wanted, or even a walkie-talkie, if he saved enough. But somehow the money began to disappear. - "Alexander, Who Used to Be Rich Last Sunday" - Paperback – Picture Book, 30 Aug 1987

"Oh, you can kiss me on a Monday - a Monday, a Monday is very, very good or you can kiss me on a Tuesday - a Tuesday, a Tuesday, in fact I wish you would or you can kiss me on a Wednesday, a Thursday, a Friday and Saturday is best, But never, never on a Sunday - a Sunday, a Sunday, 'cause that's my day of rest. Most any day you can be my guest - any day you say, but my day of rest. Just name the day that you like the best. Only stay away on my day of rest. Oh, you can kiss me on a cool day, a hot day, a wet day, which everyone you choose or try to kiss me on a gray day, a May day, a pay day, and see if I refuse and if you make it on a bleak day, a freak day, a week day, why you can be my guest - But never, never on a Sunday. - from the movie "Never on Sunday (1960)"

As as I grew, I learned that Sunday grew with me - also changed with me, now it had become just an ordinary one, like any other day.The Sunday that it used to be (fun-day) has no more fun in its existence. Sunday - A day when the postman & the wont be troubling you & ringing your bells or bringing you any parcels & letters or taking away your trash. It was only the rag-picker, a junk man (scavenger - 'a scrap collector) who would give you money for things you did not wanted anymore.

These deeply instilled 'anxiety provoking' memoirs of the past, present & a worrying future  that had me sinking & rinsing through & through in a tankful thoughtful turbulence of the tiny-winy bit to shapes so gigantic high & low - These phenomenal phenomenons would hit me now & then & disappear into forgetfulness of this & that..The day slapping you & making you slip away from the most task-full of tasks turning you into unsorted sorts (a procrastinator). Fleeing away(ignoring) from the necessary, necessarily wouldn't make them disappear. Ignorance wasn't a necessity that only happened on a Sunday, but it happened on every day-each day. If at all - everyday was a Sunday - now a forgetful Sunday. I have grown-up, hopefully willing to adapt & attend the chorefull of tasks -everything that's now a necessity, but uncertainties hold me back even now & I feel like a child enjoying everyday as a Sunday - An intentionally forgetful yet food for thought Sunday. Nuisances of a busy life on six days a week, as it seems, but a day, one day that calms all down - a Sunday, A weekend day. What a relief.

Now it was 'a'- procrastinating Sunday, tumbling Sunday, fatigued Sunday, distracting Sunday, bony Sunday, dying Sunday, spying Sunday, unsettling Sunday, bitchily Sunday, conjuring Sunday, give-up Sunday, a wasteful Sunday, meddling Sunday, viscous Sunday, shitty Sunday, fucking Sunday, torturous Sunday, struggling Sunday.   

sigh! If not all days' I do wish I had one Sunday morning, (I so wish, everyday though) with a smiley face & no frowns, believing that everything was going to be alright, and I would breathe. "Measuring up & bundling - trying to find solace, becoming tolerant & then unpacking every layer that suffocated".

"If not something extraordinary, this at least should be, could be an ordinarily-flawless Sunday & never ever a vulnerable Someday" - Anonymous

Monday, June 9, 2014

The Rainbow.My Re-Union


"I don't think God cares where we were graduated or what we did for a living. God wants to know who we are. Discovering this is the work of the soul - it is our true life's work." - Bernie Siegel

My beliefs(few based on the ones I have been filled with, few taught, few experienced, few learned, few witnessed) are caricature of my emotional, mental & physical well-being, In colorful shades & hues of a rainbow that has overwhelmed my very existence & ruling out any one of it is a difficult task. I would have no color, if I had no belief' I would have no belief if there was no color. life would be quite dull with only shades of grey, black & white. My perceptions would be baseless if I had no fondness evolved involving my so called beliefs coming out of the wisdom of life. I live until I believe' the day I stop believing I would live no more. The more I trust on the beliefs, more concrete they exist to me & my faith dwells on thee deeper. The more visible my rainbow gets, more submerged I find myself into. Learning is all about experiencing & experiencing is all about learning - I would not have or even vouch for a baseless belief unless & until i witness thee' though thy shall have no color at times 'the more the merrier' either of them complimenting each other likewise in there full glorified intensity & propensity.

There have been times, I have witnessed quite a repulsive, contradictory, yet practical, logical answers to my beliefs, with colors blooming in full swing, and colorless hues in shady pigmentation. We often step out of our fabrications in quest of the truth & spaciousness of "What Is"' & more I grow, I become even more happier to have learned from them inch by inch'. They  haunt me no further, and keep me alive, for I question no more to thy' I feel content with whatsoever they tell me' & stay with me' coloring my artsy character in shades unknown.

Well I am happily married to my thoughts & even have extra marital affairs with knowledge, learning processes, ideologies, values & experience after being separated & divorced from the social stigma of an uneventful union of social marriage. I have 
responsibilities & obligations (as my kids), towards people who are close & attached to me, those I intend to take care of in all possible ways. Moreover I have 'I, Me & myself', with everything & anyone else.

My chores of course tie me in an eventful of wicked, tricky & vague tasks at time, but then things get sorted.

I have learned to live an eventful busy life, with all the time i spend knowing myself & self realizing on to things & people(how humans work). growing in the process & learning to live.


A soulful loner always finds things to keep oneself busy with whatever is necessarily a necessity & essential to survive, whether its about trying to find content, keeping peace & balance or  socializing, with lesser regrets.

I am in a trustworthy never ending relationship with myself and everything that summons it all up pretty loud & clear - & few silently whispered. Now I better shut-up & talk no more, and settle down, doing much greater things that are in my bucket list.  - Anonymous


A Self Realized Critic-Scribbled Story

"To be authentic is literally to be your own author, to discover your own native energies and desires, and then to find your own way of acting on them." - Warren G. Bennis

One fine sunny evening' I waited & waited, but there was no rain, Meanwhile,I tell you my story that I scribbled in vein. With ease and comfort, paralleled to my feel, I wish for all the love, and comfort that could thy heal. A little tenderness & comfort that I could steal, for I did not know who could possibly lend me some, who had the zeal.

Self Realization was the best invention and discovery that led me to know my existence and beliefs of righteous and wrong. For not always had I been a sage with perfect ratio of human tendencies in approach asking me for a better performance on personal & social front.

As I grew, my stagnated knowledge gained experience and I was fascinated with urges and materialistic comfort, then suddenly, my inner-self guided me to a more wiser-me' & l knew, I would and not change for nothing more, for the change was good, that I already have initiated at a much younger age  & it did not matter at all how someone believed or perceived me to be. For I knew who,what and how I was & I was satisfied with the life I lived & in the process, I had made my points clear. The only thing mattered to me was having transparency with the 'spirits and souls' living & dead. Humanity seemed to have crumbled up falsely, disguised as friends, but I knew it was of no good.

I still look upon the sky to study the geometric's of a cloudy shades of grey & blue, a sketch - a starry calligraphy & thy drizzles & thee rain drops, rainbow and sun and the moon. A phase passes, & a new one comes up - morning, noon, evening & night that passes by & everything that I always wanted stays right over my head & beneath my foot. Nothing else, & no one else matters.

"I had been shy, giving way to the witty morning sky, disclosing much ,reserved to droplets tender of a dawning dew. Not many that could stand the sight, for few are those, en-route to thy plight. Life and death is just a game, in hope I shine brightest even after, I  am gone, in fond remembrance, shall exist making worth thy name".

"If you had someone who talked to you like you sometimes talked to yourself, would you continue to hang around with thee for a lifetime?"

Thanks to the power of our inner critics, most of us have a very poor opinion of ourselves. Yet self - contempt merely keeps us miserable and stuck in our mediocrity. Unkind criticism is never part of a meaningful critique of you. Its purpose is not to teach or to help, its purpose is to punish." - Anonymous