Thursday, March 3, 2011
It is March and a cold cloudy day. Flowers are wet, laden with rain drops. I am greedily holding moments clasping my fingers around their slippery edges, one of the rare days when I get to write. You know there are moments when you sense such clarity of thoughts that you feel that you can write about the beginning of the Universe or about love or about life, as if you know every thing about these elusive forces that escape human understanding. Mostly on these very lucid days I am sandwiched between work and chores. I make a mental note and that mental note is adrift into a blind back hole of thoughts. Thankfully we humans have these black holes where all these thoughts escape, imagine what it would be like if there were constant clutter of thoughts old and new.
As I watch a movie that has an Irish family with a drunkard out-of- work father and a mother with four hungry boys scraping every bit to feed the hunger, I walk to the kitchen retrieve the leftovers from yesterdays junk food and dutifully eat every bit of this food. Guilt can hit us through the monitors and TV screens too. I used to write constantly of 'soft' things, of dreams and gentler things, now as I sense age creeping up my heart and my veins, I write about survival. People die of hunger, they also die when they are deprived of an honest nurturing, why would there be so many drug addicts and alcoholics if they could say what they wanted to, when they wanted to. There is something to do with that suppressing every honest emotion in this human existence, that drives lives to become numb against all that life offers them.
Somehow nature has that potency and power over us to suck away the negativity and fill in that yearning to live the moments, to gather them close and fill them with our breaths and dreams as we stumble past the gray days to hopes of another awakening-for me it is meditation...