Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Maybe it is like this?

That with skies and puddles, red earth, crumpled napkins, careless hellos, unfinished breakfasts, there isn't too much to a day other than a giant, phantasmagorical Rorscharch test. The late nights is when I'm staring hard at the smudge that the day arranged for me. I assign a meaning and then I sleep. To do the very same thing the next day. Maybe, in summation, at the end of my life, I will see those hard thought meanings speckle the expanse of the wings of the Rorscharch butterfly that will fly away.

Monday, August 12, 2013

Who would've thought? Certainly not me...

That it's a precious gift when friends can't join you in your outings. I had such a beautiful walk, savouring the way 7 o'clock shadows painted the world in broad strokes. I still have it seeped inside me somewhere - the magazine articles I lingered over with a warm beverage.

That I would love my Kindle application which now has Eat, Pray, Love and Anais Nin on it, including, what I hope will be the story of my life, a memoir of a man eho apprenticed with the Himalayan Masters. That I can dip into a page whenever I want, so easily.Sometimes, it's to re-read a phrase, think of a paragraph again, ir just melt in the mood of a story. Forget about all the naysayers who pooh-pooh online reading. It's scrumptious.

Blissful. I feel blissful. 

Friday, August 09, 2013

Upon moving on

Today, I decided something...which caused me to feel some freedom yet a tough, lingering sense of sadness. By the end of this year, I had hoped to get together with someone. This, based on my decision today, pushes me further from the finishing line. Oddly, I do feel bad yet liberated. Self-respect is a funny little companion. I haven't exactly heard it speak up too often. It gets drowned out by the long wail of love. But sometimes, when love has thrashed about and injured every scrap out of you, this teeny little whisper of self-respect will come along and mumble, "Nope. You mustn't be treated this way. You deserve better. Come, now, let's get coffee." And then you do get up, wipe off the dust and tears and maybe the spot of blood that trickles down your lip, to get that cup of coffee. The voice of love trails along. It says that you are making a mistake. That you really must be more patient and all that. That maybe you should not be so selfish. It will tell you that you are abandoning much that is good and wholesome. For something that may or may not even exist, that weird cloud of whateverness that self-respect has become. Except that whateverness points to your wounded lip and tells you, again, "No. You deserve better."

The mind will always have justifications. The heart will always have disclaimers. No wonder one has such a hard life. Imagine getting through with a law firm in your psyche.

Tuesday, August 06, 2013

Prayer in pretty purple

Sunday nights have been hard lately. I get a tight knot in my stomach and my heart starts to clamp up. I feel this jagged hardness in my shoulder muscles and a hard lump between my blades. Often, I wake up with a stomach cramp and deep furrows in my forehead. So, Monday mornings I wake up tense, sharp, anxious, and ready to battle the day. Today, as usual, I was running out the door without eating breakfast. The car keys jangled from my nervous hands and fell.A cup of tea that I cherish so dearly lay unsipped on the table. I would just get home at midnight and throw it away anyway.

With that funny urgent weariness that only office-goers know of Monday mornings, I pulled the door shut and stepped out into the world.

I stay alone. This means that I need a careful strategy (and also a back up to that careful strategy) to arrange for someone to collect the gas cylinder when it's delivered.  Relying on the watchmen to show some degree of responsibility is like trying to get a leaky faucet to stop dripping. It's possible, yes, but if I could get a plumber to come for a leaky faucet,  I could stay home for that darn cylinder.

Anyway, I rely on my neighbor. I went over to her place to hand over some money for the gas when I saw one of her gazillion plants in full bloom. It had thick magenta leaves that seemed to have veins in which the deepest violet coursed through. I had never seen  flowers in that bush, so I had pegged the melding of colours as it's chief attraction. But today, nestled in a cosy cup of leafy furls was a tiny bloom. It was as big as a fingernail and a bright,  bold purple. There was a cold breeze and this bud nodded along to the breeze.

I felt so happy. Others may have their prayers and rituals. But I got my fortification from a purple flower that danced away like a Sufi saint...in hope, in poetry, in love, and I dare say, for me.

Sunday, August 04, 2013

Sun and simplicity

Today, after weeks of grey, cloudy, rain drenched and cold days, there was sun. The garden in my building lay bright and happy in a warm, patch of yellowish-white goodness.The world really looked as inviting as buttered toast.Later in the day, when I stepped out fora walk, I felt the sun on my back. It was so comforting.

Later, I met up with a friend for glasses of hot apple toddy at a bistro called Zodiac. It's tiny but has a sweet layout and pretty potted plants outside. Sitting outside, sipping our warm, sweet drinks that was spiced with cinnamon-it felt like a holiday. The picture I took of our drinks has a, how shall I put it, a 'rim-side' view. I really like it because it makes the stick of cinnamon look like it's taking a dip in one of those infinity pools.

The sun was out, the day was warm, and I had a lovely golden beverage that made me so glad.

Sunshine in a martini glass...that's the stuff good old days are made of.