deviantgene

“Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. Begin it now.”

I do not know, why I am writing this to you…. this is be “stupid” and irrational. i wrote this to you yesterday – in half sleep and half waking- when the mind rambles and sleep is slow to come. I know you wanted someone else all the time, someone who would come to you in the middle of the night and lift you ip in their arms and whisper in your ear as your were sleeping – so that when you woke up(and here I paused- for about five minutes- thinking what to write next) , when you woke up the world would seem a better place.

I want that too. I want that relationship- that “world disappearing beneath the sheets” meeting of souls- where it doesn’t matter how old you are or how much you earn or what diseases you have- All that matters is that you and I are together, you and I are one. That is a world. That is our world. And now, once we have found it, I know I will not be able to live outside .

I know you wanted someone else, someone balanced, stable, someone who would think rather than feel.But that was always your job, wasn’t it??
And I know you wanted someone else, someone who would not freak out so much, who would not “feel” so much- Like the stable -“dead” line of the ECG, someone who would remain stable throughout. I am sorry I am not that person. I am flesh melting into flesh made manifest. A product of a fractured union of two bodies- a union of flesh. And the flesh wants, craves, desires, lives, lusts and flows in boundless passion and energy. “Rajas” they call it , I think (and here I pause again- as if what I want to say has not fully been realised)-

sire There are stories in my head, two , actually. One is this love tale of longing and desire that ends in a furious passion- The moth, as drawn to flames, burns himself but lights up the whole world.
The other, well, it will soon see the light of day.

I have alos found one caharchter for my book. How she sees the world(yes, it has to be a woman!), or how she uncovers the double life her father lives. Biit by bit, one lifetime at a time-

I saw ROckstar yesterday, and have not been able to get over it since. More on that, soon.

The movie ends with a quote by Rumi –
“Somehere out beyond conceptions of right-ness and wrong-ness, there is a field. I will meet you there”

More research on Rumi and I stumbled on this little gem

If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,

Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,

Like this.

If anyone wants to know what “spirit” is,
or what “God’s fragrance” means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.

Like this.

When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.

Like this.

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don’t try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.

Like this. Like this.

When someone asks what it means
to “die for love,” point
here.

If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.

This tall.

The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns.
When someone doesn’t believe that,
walk back into my house.

Like this.

When lovers moan,
they’re telling our story.

Like this.

I am a sky where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.

Like this.

When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.

Like this.

How did Joseph’s scent come to Jacob?

Huuuuu.

How did Jacob’s sight return?

Huuuu.

A little wind cleans the eyes.

Like this.

When Shams comes back from Tabriz,
he’ll put just his head around the edge
of the door to surprise us

Like this.

We are all trapped in this bubble- This prison of our own making. And sometimes, the prisons interlock agaisnt one another- and we are left facing anothe person for the rest of our lives

We call it love

She sees him from a distance, her hair cascading down her face in tufts of black velvet….she sees him, and smiles. Perhaps today shall be the day he tells her, perhaps the waiting will be over. Her heart tightens into a knot at the very thought of spending the rest of his life with him.
We are all pulled into this. This bleak and blank expanse of love and hate and desire, What we are, we are not i t makes babies of us. We desire, we long and we want. And when everything is stripped away, when the flesh does not want, and the blood does not coarse through the veins, what then are we?

Just beings of flesh and bone

There is the spirit too. Where is the spirit ? Where is the life? Disenchantment grows quickly under this sullen skin.

“But you have had a good life” she tells me

“Yes, but not an honourable one” What do we do that affects the world…where do we draw the line between hat we earn for and our desire to change the world, to make a difference in it somehow. They look at me and all they see is the fat and the laughter and the round face. Maybe that is because when I look at myself all I see is the same. If I looked at myself differently, would they change their opinion of me ?

“Dont worry about them, the world does what it must “

Yes, and sitting here with you, in this Kafkaesque version of my reality, I feel nothing. Is it the same as feeling at peace , I ask her.

She shrugs and leans in closer to me…and we watch the rain pass by the window

Love is a many pronged thing, snaking its way past undiscovered crevices- making its way into the deepest part of us — Till a causally said line like- ‘ we should just be friends’ finally causes breaking strain
And yes, the heart is a fragile thing – After every disaster, every koss, we tell ourselves- no ‘ I will not fall in love again’ – yes, the heart is fragile
so are dreams, hopes, families, and even bodies too
But I would rather recollect a life misspent on fragile things than one spent avoding moral debt
So the only uestion to be asked – really- now- is this
When the lights are off, and the sound of applause has died- when all the audience to this great drama has moved away- when finally, there is a need to be taken home
Will you still be there – witing in the wings- helping him clean up, helping him sort out the mess on the stage- putting him to sleep ??

Writing, I reckon, is much like walking….exploring circutous routes around your own psyche…curious about what you may find around the next bend…its just about putting one word after the other and before you know it…you are conjuring up whole universes…

I feel sometimes, that whatever we write about exists somewhere.. on some plane of existence..the charachetrs we make are really really living…

What if one day you meet someone from your stories..would you be able to look them in the eye…to tell them that you have done their charachter justice..that you have made them all you could..

I suppose that is how god would feel if one of US ever confronted him

Neverwhere

Am currently reading neverwhere by Niel Gaiman ….Thought i would laze out and post a few of HIS quotes for a change..

“He had noticed that events were cowards: they didn’t occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once.”

“Dear Diary.

On Friday I had a job, a fiancee, and a life that made sense. (Well, as much as any life makes sense.) Then I found an injured girl bleeding on the pavement, and I tried to be a Good Samaritan. Now I’ve got no fiancee, no home, no job, and I’m walking around a couple of hundred feet under the streets of London with the projected life expectancy of a suicidal fruitfly”

Has it been a month since I have written… could it really have been that long… words flow over the keys of this typewriter easily now.. When I started writing, I hadn’t thought that it would be about anything in particular…

What set me off was this… I heard somewhere that it is sometimes important in life not to be strong.. but to feel strong… to find yourself in the most ancient of human conditions

Things have happened lately… not bug things.. but little things.. where there was certainty, is now only doubt

Little voices whispering in my ear., surrounding me like ghouls on chilly nights.. The gita says that “verily should the man control the self, for the self alone is one’s friend, and the self alone is one’s enemy”- and that , I find, is true. We are our own greatest saboteurs- are we not…

We sabotage our relationships, our loves, our professions our happiness- Insecurity, ego, the “I don’t really need you so don’t care fuck off” attitude…

Unfinished thoughts here…

He was there the day her world ended… and the day his began…

He claimed to know her… through the aeons…

They had been born together.. he said… They had been gods..

and the night they made wild..passionate love was the night another universe was born..