Yoga

A possibility of letting go the power of choosing exists every millisecond. The dream wakes up every morning. The desire goes to sleep every night.

The Little Boy.

The little boy looked at me again and this was after many years of mine. The treads of his eyes contained all my journey traveled.The dust on my shoes from my journeys spoke of my mortality and his immortality. The little boy looked again at me.

The Dimension Called The Dream.

A dream has to have a trigger from the real world. 

The trigger too has to have an agent from present. Dreams from such triggers leave no trace when I wake up. The agent could be from a recent past, but that past too has to have some recurrence in present or some emotion of future. There is nature of the dream that tells it's a dream to me while dreaming and these are dreams that are common place, that don't remember or need to be remembered when I wake up. 

Then comes a dream, that lingers on for some time after waking up, it takes some time to brush it aside because the agents that triggered it come slowly to mind, the mind thus indulges in some limbo before it can wake itself to the daily grind of waking state in real world.

Then out of nowhere a dream hits you, it comes and engulfs you, it grips you as if that when you wake up it takes a lot of time to regain senses and still its losing continuity with opening of eyes is not considered by the mind. The mind cannot or refuses to give you the agent that triggered that dream, but this line of thought starts much much later. Till that questioning hits you, there are series of emotions that have to be dealt with. Emotions that stain each action that you want to engage in your real world. The grip on reality seems lost and I am at loss as to how to exactly put it in words. 

Dreams for one which makes us realize about dimensions, how many are there in real world and how many can be in dreams are what we indulge in. I don't want to get into the scientific explanation or mystical explanation of dreams here.

But when a dream whose triggering agent is in past or a future (one says future, only after the mind gives up trying to recollect the past from where the trigger could've come from) hits us, we realize that they (dreams) could be itself a Dimension that has triggered the evolution to take such a course. (The concept of evolution I think is a paradox as I am free to choose to dream and build a dream.) 

The Kiss.

The flame teased the dust, it threatened too, to burn it by dawn.
The dust too laughed as it still bargained for a kiss from the flame.
Was the dust a seeker, was the flame divine, both were though empty, both in love, drenched in the silence of the night.

Sleep.

Sleep now...the sky above you has let go of noise and din and light to help you rest. So rest for the day that the sky promises to bring.

What do I say of this day
How can I close my eyes to this night
I don't know what do I do with this body and its name
You gave me, it's yours thus it's your name too.
Your questions are yours, your answers are yours, if I travel inwards, I only reach you, if I travel outwards, it still remains your play ground.

Stains.

Stains in consciousness live, are immortal, they survive centuries and travel through genes. Such are my stains too, that will survive my mortality. It does not matter where the die is cast or the colors are spilt, stains travel mysteriously to my consciousness.
Your consciousness merges into all as in some love story that waits to return to its own home that is mine. When it returns, it comes back  with stains of love, with that of hate, with anxious breaths, with people and their guns, their personal hopes and conflicts, their joys and their laughter.
The stream is endless and so are the hues. As a child I called these dreams, I still think consciousness flows too in dreams. I am sure you see it too, you see me too, but you see me as you.
This is how we connect through centuries, this is how we remain immortal, our stains thus never die.

It would be nice
To be born as a sea
Pick up a storm
And then forget
But the children still talk
About their boats
Sailing before the storm
The raven though wise
I saw it lost to the child
In me
Who asked
Where is my God

The Inverted Bell Jar.

The Priest raising the communion host during mass in a Maltese Church calls out Allah, as that is the word for God in their local language.

To mock is no FoE. The demand for immunity from society in Obsessive mocking in whatever forms of art is an irrational demand.

The struggle in pain often leads one to express this pain in an art form. Mocking a belief/section of society temporarily relieves the pain.

As any drug, mocking to relieve the pain also becomes obsessive, to the point that it makes the hurt permanent and the abuser a fascist.

Sylvia Plath in her poem Daddy says - ""Every woman loves a fascist... the boot in the face.""

When someone wants to kill itself, it first desires to kill someone else. That desire leads to self-slaughter.

History has innumerable instances where men committed suicide to prove a point to the society at large. This is Altruism at its worst.

These altruists who laid down their lives for some cause or pain always finished grand, saying "I died out of my own choice & place & time."

Thus the Bell Jar was actually inverted and that too to only keep the feelings/emotions trapped in it. The other way round, it couldn't be even named a Bell Jar.

Twitter Notes.

A few of my tweets ---




The Walk Came or Rather Stumbled Upon Silence As it Met Its Purpose.
#Quote




I have a Secret Fear (we all have), this secret fear haunts me, mocks me. It keeps the child in me alive. It feeds me to force me to think.




The skies don't guard the cultivated fields of Human Hands.
The Human Mind that Reasons does. #Quote #CharlieHebdo




We know about pain.We know about fear. We know when we choose not to Name any recess of our Mind, it's because of Fear & Pain.




EVERY NIGHT HAS A MOMENT WHEN THE STARS SHINE THEIR BRIGHTEST. EVERY DAY HAS A MOMENT WHEN THE SUN SHINES ITS HARDEST. #Metaphysics #Quote




Women from birth have their jobs assigned, rather from before their birth. They don't revolt against this. Why? #Question




May be not all is well with my neighbour. May be not all is well wth my neighbour"s neighbour. May be they think same about me. #AWorldatWar




There will always be a beyond to what my/our eyes can see. Beyond the horizon of the valley that I saw must have been one more valley. #Poem




In total darkness, when the eyes had no use at all, whatever I touched to hold myself, I felt my heart beats in that touch. #Metaphysics