Maybe all men’s mind are like wild prairie flowers and the soul takes on the form of a exquisitely delicate eloping butterfly with glimmering fluttering wings that flits about to and fro gathering nectar with its feathery soft wings to feed and nourish the heart that lies concealed perched on a corner somewhere within the inner maze of man… I wish to express my deep feelings that penetrate past the concrete beast and the code of the mind’s sleep, I run past with steps of fun, with my verses that attempt to make a case for my skill and talent… My mental poverty is deep but I am the line that writes the tales of the life that I see with my suspended yet sincere pen.. But my style keeps filling me with all sorts of raw subliminal energy… I am as drawn to gloom as I am to the heights of provocative emotions, but the tale I am willing to share bears no semblance to my thoughts or their secretive shadowy paths of mystic silence, no siree … the following is not a tale in anyway, i’d like to think that what I am about to share bears a great deal of character, you see I seek to search in the murky depths of everyday streams of busy broad daylight lit clean swept streets, seeking the heart, the soul of men who once stood bold and brave to the uncertain vision of life that sprinkled ambition and taught them to lose themselves in vain imaginations, proud hopes and selfish desires… and then in a sudden twist of fate life made them fall down, and they with their broken fractured hearts, stripped of deeper convictions…. sadly withered away.. Lost and forgotten… They are the lost ones…! Lost and forgotten souls who no longer felt clear, had neither noble intention but rather brooded of the years gone by and the lost chances and the worst question of them all, what if..?
I walk to see into eyes, to make something lasting of even the most random of mundane encounters, to make something of fleeting moments of unexpected direct looks, ready form appearances and , to dwell amidst the silence separating strangers, to feel the broken dreams of souls homeless and lost, wandering trapped in restless furnaces of burning ever weary hearts that orbited around circles of unchangeable plight and fate. What is sorrow…? What is shame…? What does it mean to have a dream lost…? A heart broken…? I wish I had happy thoughts, I wish I sought happiness and had it perennially blooming in my heart, but no.. I have been cursed to share a certain sense of madness.. I quite profess a rather daring love for it, and a certain love of sorrow among other unnameable things that currently entered not into my mind’s quarters…The vast chaos of the city matched the invisible forces intent on crashing into my life like immovable solid shadows, deep lashing waves possessed by the rage of a storm and forever chaining me to the unseen, the unspoken and the slow loss of innocence into stagnant pits breeding all forms of repressed unspoken violence… Violins wail tunes of sorrow, like the grand rapid decline of rushing streams or great big drops of falling tears that flow up ravines gnashing with raw primal hunger falling seemingly like a doomed soul clinging to the last traces of sanity before being cast off into the fiery pit of no return, damned for all of eternity, like a root on the side of a cliff protruding and , to the dark silhouettes of gleaming sinister clouds, like fast moving ants, like a souls dancing to unheard melodies casting them in trances stripping away their memories and sad imaginations… I walked to see the unseen, I was a shadow, a mere footprint of a song with no lyrics but with music waving like emotion, filled with emotion and indescribable lost poetic symphonies of the heart. ‘What about certain people makes one feel so senseless, belligerent and careless in his handling of them…? I claim no special inner quality, no deeper embrace of mankind nor do I have the will in me to profess altruistic abandonment, I am a mere man, flawed and incompetent but I have for long wandered below the surface gathering stray pieces that often slipped unseen. I first remember seeing her when my age meandered between the numerals of 19 and 20.. I make no assurance of this being a tale of feeling, I can most assuredly say to you that this is a tale of abject fear, and like a demon that possessed me for long I cast it over time after battles with voices and forceful opinions, should I make mention the fact that for the longest while like a long and twisting pipe that connected my heart and mind, I remember feeling a great sense of uneasiness and fearful confusion gripping me in my inner being like a strangle unseen noose increasing its grip as I longed even sobbed for the release to intake warm glorious air. I don’t know why I felt so drawn to her story, even
My mother stuck to her oath of Christian virtue, and her generosity often brought in to our warm spacious abode souls of all kinds, souls that lingered and seated themselves in the hall near the doorway, who were humble and beat down, and operated as planets orbiting the paths of our own, but the dominant species were people who had but nothing to their lives but meager conditions, viciously repressed emotions and a dull embedded sense of lost hopelessness.
My mother, kind, gentle, humble and devoted to the higher call of the spirit filled life of the Christian Faith, and to the call of the Christian, often abandoned deeper concerns to the image of the self and the subtle consequence of generous compassion , and I loved her for it, she was a great mom, but it was through one such action that brought the woman i’d like to call Amy into the midst of our lives. I must now abandon the sensual tone to my thoughts and drift more towards the calmness and detail of those early years, for I rely most on descriptions, of times framed in memories and the sounds that so delighted a certain self absorbed youth to pull me into recreating those formless stolen moments.. Time robs one of feelings… Maybe that’s why we spend so much of our time retreating back into the haven of what was, for the present moment does not seem fulfilling in its scope of memorability, and it certainly seems more rigid to truly create something of lasting value these days… !
I remember that time well, for we lived in a 3 floored rented house a little down the main pathway, further from the fork where the lane led to the main street that was wide and uneven , a little rumpled with the blows of time, and stuffed with rocky soil , now I move away with slow silence to discuss the abode where we resided for a good part of five years, I could say that it was quite classy and modern in its makeup, built with money obtained from a husband working in some damned Arabian country making plenty of useless money, but I remember more, more than the comfort and the inner close quarters where sunny afternoons offered a deep shaded silence, I remember the crude emotional hypocrisy and indecency of the house owner who lived upstairs, her treacherous nature that cleverly disguised a busy body more interested in other people’s lives than her own, she who would often walk in with no qualms and with an air of authority into the privacy of our life’s moments in that stretch of enclosed space, since there were no doors and walls that separated our home from her place on the second floor, a thoroughly skeptical savant who thrived on such random encounters that established her invasive tendencies and sheer emotionless attitude towards another person’s feeling, a certain sense of wariness thrived in our homes back then… What do they say in terms of the Faith to describe such a complicated emotional situation…? A thorn placed to focus minds into the discipline of total submission to divine will placed on us by the sovereign reign of the Man Jesus Christ who was God in the incarnate form..!
I remember the arching arc that lay above my head when one made his way into that part of our home that lay just before the backdoor and beside the kitchen that glowed with the yellow light from the grimy closed windows greased and covered with soot. I remember idle days spent staring over the high wall behind our back door, staring into the open low grass grounds , such wide grounds tends to deeply bore into one’s mind, there was not a tiny amount of space where the heat fell down in great open rays swarming every inch with invisible flames. It appeared barren and unappealing to my own sensitive eyes that would’ve longed for more trees and perhaps a tiny pond or river, but in this town ponds and rivers were ancient memories, there was not an inch of fertile ground, the heat ate away the fresh green, the grass were a thin vague brown, they were dry and an inch away from the ground.
The wide long space belonged to a teacher training institute that was situated a few metres away, lovely old dilapidated deserted buildings with paint peeling were observable from my position on the wall…I remember too the slender necks of the so called milk plants that grew as tall as the ten foot wall, plants that had a certain pale purple to their complexions, I would climb over the high wall or walk on it depending on the inner feel, imagining myself to be some invincible immortal human fully filled with power and immeasurable strength, wondering if I could ever lift off and fly into the vast skies and escape the ordinary boring life of education and discipline that seemed to suffocate my active energetic mind.
The Old buildings were abandoned in the height of the summer, for the institute closed during the summer, I remember men with gaiety to their conduct, a certain stylish swag to their step, archetypal images of strength of the masculine psyche, bolts of warm camaraderie flash through my mind, of course I care not for them, I hardly minded them for I found their need for attention annoying, look at us they seemed to say, look at our glory young child, look at our strength young dreamer… I did not venture into any form of friendships nor did I ever choose to acknowledge their presence, it was a comfortable distance between the two worlds. I found human interactions tended to limit my own sense of freedom, I found a much greater love and affection offered by the wind, the neem trees with their woody bark and their noisy squabbling squirrels more enduring to my own energies, I climbed walls, and I slept on high slabs above the ground, my summer strategies and schemes were numerous and rather complex.
Certain legal disputes between the institute and some political forces intent on taking over the compound for their own purposes soon drove all of these aspiring promising men out into other corners of town in order to pursue their education, and soon the place dropped to the ground and all academic activities were stopped, and it began to grow lonely and inhabit a certain sense of lifelessness that deeply affected me, no longer were there sounds of laughter and loud conversation between those walls, a strange uneasy silence seemed to settle over that place and it appeared haunted and wrapped in all sorts of sullen sad silence. The town and its close minded politics had won, that foul undercurrent of rage that men of evil intentions often sported in order to intimidate and destroy seemed to hover over that place, and I was reminded of its cruelty each time I stared at that long hall of empty blank windows that sang songs of silence and memories. Memories are a strange thing, they always tend to grip and hold you when you are just about ready to pull the damn plug that holds all sorts of bottled up emotional tendencies.
I am drifting apart from the crux of my early impressions of her who it is I wish to speak on for a few minutes before the ink in my mind’s pen runs dry and I lose myself into the ever turbulent chaos of my mind , Watchman Nee said that drifting thoughts were a sin that were to be cast away, I guess I sin quite efficiently in that regard, but I run away into the woods like the diffused beams of light finding trees, and branches that are eager to feed into me and gleam. The mind is like a sublime mosaic floor, sullied when the still silent vision of the soul loses ground to the louder noise and dialects of the thought and the mind Perhaps I should cast a rope and tether it to a tree just so that I don’t deviate from the main content or rather the character of whom I wish to speak.
All I could say was that she was thin, almost frail in certain regards…The first thing that I remember in regard to her persona was her walk, There are so many different kinds of walks that one comes across, the walk that reveals character and the walk that clings to one’s choice of wear, the walk that is a revelation of the self and the walk that is casual and almost unconscious free of inner feelings and emotions, she walked with her head up straight, a marching type of a walk that had more of an easy smile and a much lesser inner burden. You can always tell whether or not one has a burden by the way they walk, or rather by observing them over a period of time, she was quite free during those early years, her family life was rather chaotic and perplexing, the Indian life in the underbelly, the kind found in the lowest roofs and simple spaces is filled with all kinds of familial strife, of madness, of violence and of all forms of uneasy tension. Unfulfilled dreams and the constant oppression of poverty and the general lack of respect laid bare their souls on the pavement, Amy’s parents were not poor, but they were lower middle class citizens, her father had abandoned her family at a young age, and her mother never outgrew the rejection of her son who had stopped being her son and rather grew into a personality, he had a decent job at the Christian hospital and he spoke well, he spoke with a charm and he was humble or so in the eyes of the others, I feel like he abandoned the ties with family since it reminded him much about his roots, he was global now, and did not subscribe to the normality that a family life offered. And Amy was the elder sister, and Mal and Amy were like Yin and Yang, Mal was outspoken, endearing and warm, Amy on the other hand took time to get close to someone, had a quick and snarling mouth that picked apart the most sensitive compartments of another soul, but she was loyal and honored kindness with a longevity, whereas Mal sought to not let these slight matters get in the way of his own ambitious plans.
Amy was happy in those early days, I remember them well, I see it like a moving picture captured in eternal light, we lived right next to a dusty road with sharp rocks often left on the sides that made one’s steps slip in the most unplanned manners, we lived deep in a colony filled with all sorts of Evangelistic and brave souls, a little to the side was the home office of Indian Evangelism, a missionary organization that sought to spread the word and the gospel to the tribes buried deep in the jungles of northern India, a rather dangerous mission but a necessary task that brought more souls to the knowledge of a Loving wonderful God.
I detested people gaining the upper hand, I am never one for control, and I did not play mind games of any sort, to be honest I am more of a pawn than a Queen, I did not like to be controlled or left hanging, I was rather naive about I basically detested those sorts of characters who played all sorts of mind games with you knowing that they possessed the higher ground, and they made you feel like some perverse scum when they took away all forms of communication, they reduced it to some awkward stretch of maddening silence where your heart is busy creating all sorts of assumptions and presumptions, I detested with my whole soul the character that sought to gain the upper hand by stopping all forms of communication just because they felt like it, and they explained it away using effortless words such as ‘ Oh i’m sorry I didn’t know that I must have forgotten…’ or… ‘Jeez take a chill pill dude, stop freaking it out man, its not a big effin deal…’ … And i’d be like… Really…?? And it irritated me and aggravated me, I was basically being nice to you, I might have said some unnecessary blunt things, that does not make me a jerk of any sort, as a matter of fact I only say that because I say whatever comes to my mind, I seldom utter words that would hurt or bother you in some way, but i’d go to great lengths to make you feel embraced and loved, if that seems wrong to your Highness I offer my highest apologies, I did not like to get sucked into the emotional blackness that consisted of my own loud screams for meaning and clarity.
But perhaps that’s what Amy felt, to make my point clear I have to let you know that she is one of the victims of heartbreak, yes that same sordid condition that rendered hearts bleak and repeated tragic emotions on a loophole for all of eternity. It all began when she met this guy called Taj, he sweet talked her into falling for him, and then later took off for no discernible reason, it had originally been a friendship, it had been filled with all the effects of long conversations and light hearted teasing and fun, and then feelings got thicker, He confessed his feelings and she too floored by his manly sensitivity gave in, but like I told you life hands out quite some messed up scripts, she came to find out that he had been married twice, and one of his wives was still out looking for him, you think that’s twisted…? She like all smitten lovers came to me, and asked me if he was sincere, if he ever truly loved her, what could I tell her…? I was no expert on the matters of love, I was a screw up myself… She came to me with different angles, showed me different messages that all contained the charming language indigenous to matters of love. I offered her my deepest apologies, I was never one to command one to move on, that was a choice that one made based on the thoughts of their own mind, though I have studied to be a counselor now, and it happens to be quite an inseparable routine in my day job to tell people that they had to move on and to separate themselves from former memories and to look at life as a grand big adventure and to go forward and create their own destinies, I only did so out of concern I was never one to offer mere apologies, I let their own tragedies sink into me, in my profession that was dangerous, you did not relate to the tragedies of another soul, they could consume and wreck one’s soul, but I so wanted their hearts to heal, I wanted them to smile and feel in their hearts that they had a second chance and they did… They all did… Life was always filled with second chances.. The second, the third and the infinite, but I knew how the mind played with the heart, especially a broken heart weeping grand big unstoppable tears of deep deep sorrow, I wanted to tell her that life was cruel, life was a mad ride in some cosmic amusement park with alternate dimensions, I offered her the only anecdote that I knew… The only mantra that I had always clung strongly to… ‘ Don’t give up Akka..’ I said in a voice filled with encouragement, I asked her to pray and to speak to the Lord.
But she saw the entire thing with agony, with lost hope, as a last chance attempt, as a closing door, she was a year over thirty, and in this medieval society women over thirty were lost causes. There was no hope remaining, her mom hardly bothered about her state, each day she hardly enquired about her life, her father demanded that she as a daughter had a whole lot of responsibilities to fill, for years she had been saving money gained from a low paying job to support her single cynical foul mouthed mother, that money was taken away and her Father claimed it as his, each day he offered a sharp commentary about her lack of decency, that flab goop of marital infidelity was preaching to her about the nature of virtue, he was beating her down because she would not go against his opinion, the cruel fate of the Indian woman, her brother stole her hard earned money that paid for all the groceries, she was no one in their eyes, she was a mere machine, a machine on whom the collected burdens of all their inadequacies was dumped, a slave, a prisoner bound in chains, now well over forty, never married, lone, single, sad lost forgotten soul passing away in wide busy roads.
Every one made sure that they stamped the fact that she was unmarried into their petty foul gossips, they never saw the rose who bore all the struggles willingly, they did not see her long hard hours of labor, they never saw her agony, only God saw all that, and He remained silent and mysterious as ever. The entire gamut of people’s opinions sunk deeply into her, and I remember too sadly the resulting fall into chronic numbness of soul, the subsequent slow and cruel breaking down of the heart breaking into a million unrecoverable pieces, like pieces of glass falling and crashing on to the hard flat ground, then the retreat inward, deep in to the heart of sorrow’s misery, the dejection of lost hope , soon the blunt exterior emerged outward, the constant battle to stay afloat on life’s cruel demands, slowly I observed the sad rebound relationships with superficial man longing, the meaningless chatter, the dreamy longing for some prince charming in this sad unrelenting town to sweep her off her feet and carry her far away from the town’s lost hopes and limited offers of joy and ambition…. She was lost, a lost flower, and in this town, these were the sad hidden stories buried deep deep in the hearts of rude cold people. Each face has a story to tell, each heart has a pain to bear, we are all lost and lonely, Oh Heavenly Father we pray and cry that you feel our desolate mystery…!