And the moon said...
It has been a strange day today. I have worked for close to fifteen hours. My eyes are parched and the body is warm with a scratchy kind of fever - the kind you get from exhaustion. In this situation, I am often wrestling with some strange thoughts and dark moods. Maybe the toughest tussle is trying to pin them down - each inchoate, muffled echo of a feeling - and figure it out. Maybe adjust the sound frequency of this chaos such that I can actually hear each syllable clearly. Then I'll be able to transcribe its message in detail.
Late evening today, I lay in my bed trying to trip up shadows. J (http://www.teerathyatra.com/) sent a text saying that the moon looked beautiful. Despite that, I spent the next hour being a week, limp-wristed pugilist before my demons. After dinner, though, I went up to the terrace.
And there it was. A cool, white layer of perfectly set lunar mousse. The top, smooth and glazed. It beckoned to a latent decadence. I wanted to put a spoon through its pearly sheath and scoop a little of its rich, creamy sweetness.
All these shadows started crowding around me after a few seconds. The fight was still on and I had left abruptly.
I looked at the moon and it seemed to be in the same position as me. Shining and important to everybody else. But heckled by invisible, belligerent forces. What does one do?
The moon looked peaceful. It had the answer.
You surrender. You allow yourself to be captured. You bend to their will. Then, when they claim you as their slave, you reason with them. You promise to lead them to a clearing where they can unwind, one tight coil at a time. You be like the moon and speak with calmness and music. You be like the moon and be unafraid and sure. And like the moon, you hold on to whatever scares you the most and make an offer.
"Come with me and let me go."
Late evening today, I lay in my bed trying to trip up shadows. J (http://www.teerathyatra.com/) sent a text saying that the moon looked beautiful. Despite that, I spent the next hour being a week, limp-wristed pugilist before my demons. After dinner, though, I went up to the terrace.
And there it was. A cool, white layer of perfectly set lunar mousse. The top, smooth and glazed. It beckoned to a latent decadence. I wanted to put a spoon through its pearly sheath and scoop a little of its rich, creamy sweetness.
All these shadows started crowding around me after a few seconds. The fight was still on and I had left abruptly.
I looked at the moon and it seemed to be in the same position as me. Shining and important to everybody else. But heckled by invisible, belligerent forces. What does one do?
The moon looked peaceful. It had the answer.
You surrender. You allow yourself to be captured. You bend to their will. Then, when they claim you as their slave, you reason with them. You promise to lead them to a clearing where they can unwind, one tight coil at a time. You be like the moon and speak with calmness and music. You be like the moon and be unafraid and sure. And like the moon, you hold on to whatever scares you the most and make an offer.
"Come with me and let me go."
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