A few careful observations on a recent trip to the Hills

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I see the world as it appears to me, I don’t see it through definitions and opinions, but rather I see it in the manner that it presents itself- raw, open, primal, ferocious and defying conventions despite the nature that it is too often consumed with and forced to inhabit.. The small town was loud, boisterous and cranky, it was famous for nothing and carelessly contained most of everything with a few broken roads.. There was an ordinariness to it that felt mundane and dull,a lot of people lived there and they all seemed constantly occupied with the air of something that worked their minds and their bodies,  noisy buses rudely cut past you blaring their horns with venomous force, before they faded away like forgotten sirens as they sped into the narrow roads that hosted loud and catankerous vehicles coming in opposite directions as untamed as wild beasts and as perpetual as moving wind kissed waves playing to the hypnotic tunes of gravity, anger seemed to be bubbling beneath the surface and the faces that you saw seemed weary, filled with scorn and contempt. It feels odd to see people without knowing their names, yet there is a familiarity to it thats polarizing and comforting.There was an air of hostility that possessed the lower plains, and one felt irritated by its presence.. Peace seemed distant and afar and probably only descended when dreams played on in a blank wall of pitch dark inside men’s cranial caves.

The car began to move past places bright with the motions and sounds of life, past lingering images of cheer and human relationships that felt like the tune of a song that could only be felt, meanwhile in the car, strife played beneath the surface, unkind words had been exchanged between me and my aunt and tension played its blazing hot tune, as coldness increased between each other… Each one seemed to draw closer to their own pride and their individual nature, intent on finding any bit of emotional leverage possible to get the edge towards feeling better, replaying old grudges against each other in the form of charged dialogues delivered with strength and valor… After a while one wished to separate himself from these spiteful feelings, for he realized that they wished only to make him more bitter and malicious, and seemed to add on to the unending pits of resentment that would engage the heart in continual hostility.. No one was ever right all the time anyway, and one wished more to inhabit the character found in the spirit of Christ and lesser the revolting nature of the self bound to its power struggles and egoistic themes.

I have been filling my mind with emotions that were pursuing certainty, ambition and purpose and had not seen how they clung to me making me feel more and more unsettled and withdrawn, no wonder my mind seemed preoccupied, for the heart had become full and irritable feelings constantly spilled over,  … My occasional meditations into prayer had refreshed my spirit, but then my inside chambers became full..  busy without clarity and full with dissatisfied chaos, silence had departed away from me and I had not been aware of it for so long, I had not sought to silence my inner sanctuary… like a full jar I was filled with feelings and thoughts that collided and struggled to issue their authority and catch my attention… I needed to empty them all and fill them instead with the noble dignity found in these secret hills. The hills were far, far away from all the empty meaningless chatter of the neurotic town, the car slowly moved along the ancient paths leading one past simple villages and rustic surroundings. The farmers and field workers stared in curiosity as the car sped past them, they seemed surprised and their eyes followed you even after you had long passed them by…there were small altars constructed to host a fearful appearing deity that appeared to be smeared with pious yellow and saffron paste, it had many arms and its tongue forked out as the lifeless eyes stared at you with closed wicked brows, the children played unaware of the ugly wicked world far far away from their simple home in the hills, the young men meanwhile were intent on sending messages about their uniqueness… Announcing their presence to everyone who intruded into their little world, perhaps they dreamt about marrying rich girls and talking in English to people who had spurned them when they had been young… Perhaps they had taken a ‘few too many’ trips to the noisy town many miles away and had corrupted their impressible souls to the tarnish that abounded in excess in those places…, they acted important and there was something carnal and sinister in their stares that made one feel terribly uneasy, the women folk seemed to express their irritation at being dumped with all the burdens of a domestic life and talked loud and complained, some tended to wailing crying infants perched on the curve of their hips, some sat besides mud stoves cooking away some brew with fine smells, smoke rose up slowly from those burning twigs, creeping and rising into the air like a summoned spirit who guarded and watched over the land, one saw them all and one felt himself as being no different from these creatures wrapped in nature’s picturesque freedom.

Wide open fields greeted you, you drove past them, people worked in them with bent shoulders and busy hands,  there was something utterly rich and deep about their presence.. Their touch was irresistible and it seemed to echo with a silence that calmed any thoughts that wished to creep in, and it slowly seemed to permeate one’s being on a spiritual level, the air was rich and the breeze, windy, it appeared to come from the southern part that was obscured by the rise of the hills, one sat beside a tree and stared without wishing to look, one wished to perhaps meditate for a few minutes and allow these rich gifts to truly sink into his soul. The bright sunshine seemed to add a depth of life that felt sacred to every bit of the open grounds. What great joy it gave me to inhabit a place free of human interference.. One felt free and seemed to rise to a level of being that was unmatched in its expression, for a few precious moments, life in all its beauty flowed through the rugged terrain and into my spirit like verses from the Psalms and stanzas of intellect, through the noble trees graciously standing beside, to the powerful hills with all their powerful hymns to man’s deeper instincts, through the wind that wandered in through the distant jungle.. Free and bursting with tender love, life was affirmed and realized here in these forgotten temples of life. One wished to perhaps stay longer… But in this sad play called life such thoughts wander haunted like unfinished lives and unrealized talents, my heart filled itself with unbearable sorrow when I realized that I had to go back and continue living amongst ambition, pride and hate. I realized that perhaps I needed to gulp in all of the magnificent soul food offered before I returned back to the land of the corpses that bled.

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Some strange strange lines

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( This following few lines are akin to me performing a Jazz piece, in the literal sense, playing with feelings, philosophy, art, the deeper things and with the very elusive master called Life) 

I have always held the firm conviction that everyone had a story to tell, I do not have the slightest clue as to how it came to be.. there are so many facets and parts of our being that defy general classification and conventional wisdom, and I believed that hint offered to me perhaps from the sprinkling of divine wisdom on my parched soul and as surely as the light of dawn sneaking up unbidden and as seriously as the news of death that reaches one when he is the least bit prepared. Yet I could never understand the whole pathos that it implied in the process of bringing it out. It confused me chiefly since I seldom understood the evasive medium that can be described as all of life and the waves of feelings that it evoked in the sea of conscious reach and being. I have seldom felt the strength to feel invincible within the corridors and the expanses of my own consciousness, I feel as insignificant as a fly near a gigantic pillar with many words and important verses that illuminate and bend the very limits of what knowledge really is, that appear to be written beyond what the eye can stare into as the huge monument stretches high into the clouds piercing and scraping the sky and totally oblivious of its own design.

I believe that I am my strongest foe for as fond as I am towards the life in my body I find that the actions of my heart somehow seem to contradict that affirmation for at many moments I feel unconsciously intent on destroying my own life and that confounds and terrorizes me and the feeble fragile heart beating within, moved along by every theatrical nature and act that there can ever possibly be towards life, life at times feel unbearable since it is powerful in its methods of discouragement that are expressed so freely , and in reducing it to simple definitions seems such a travesty since it occupies so many hearts and minds and lives, perhaps there is a profound nature to it that can be comprehended in the most minimal and simplest manner possible, a method so revolutionary and direct that it strikes you as absurd and meaningless, if one could perhaps throw a light on the most important aspects that can serve as an instrument to deal with the complexities of existence, if that someone could be anyone yet our own heart working as a stranger and slowly working towards realization in the personal self, if only one could peer behind the curtain and perhaps view things as they are being committed, understand actions as they accompany the workings of thoughts and inmost feelings, perhaps then … there might
be a slight sensation of peace .. but i’m cynical, I know that it can’t be, for every ‘could’ there seems to be a stranger and more dangerous ‘not’, the unbearable dualities that confound and provide can be rather maddening and torturous to withstand.

I want to remember the most minutest details like staring into the vast open sky and knowing what I see and yet not polluting it with immediate and impulsive words, perhaps the greatest gift could be the power to think without forcefully thinking… The mind with all its junk, accumulations of time, of age, of experience … Bad days and their gospel of hopelessness, confrontations and their nervous jittery hatred towards weakness, abuse and their darkness, insecurity and the blood thirsty demons that accompany its blues weeping away like bad stormy days filled with whipping rain and muddy shoes, what can the mind think beyond what it knows…? , I want to
inhabit the very soul of the universe and the sanctuary of a man’s most secretive staircase leading past smoky layers right into his whole being as it suspends itself in the streams of the inner realms with all its mysteries and power, I wish to linger on in the moments where men encountered the infinite and felt themselves slipping into childhood fears and dark rooms without open windows, feel the feelings that they felt when they perhaps saw something that scared them into becoming a certain way, and find a way of looking at a person in a way that helps me view them in a way that they themselves would view their own life, I want to give them a touch of the
romantic.. make them feel stronger than the forces that are rampant and debilitating and infecting the world, . But the trouble lies in the fact that none of us are strong all the time.. Perhaps we are but the slightest disagreements and insults seem to have the power to destroy us like acid eating away menacingly the , perhaps some possess a vital force that convinces them that they are special and unique and so empowers them beyond the piranhas of doubt and insecurity, and perhaps a gift of talent in a soul sometimes makes them turn the eyes of their soul away and beyond the horrors of unbelief that normal souls have the privilege of letting in and of
becoming used to, the tyranny of long long hours of plain, dull nothingness.

We long so desperately for hope that we live in a state of paralysis where one half of our heart has grown apathetic to its possibility and the other half rolls around for it like a condemned man about to become executed dreams of the beauty of life one last time with utter desperation, the very reality of life that has left him out of its courts and has turned him into a cold intruding stranger, and perhaps wishes of living and going through perhaps the entire odyssey all over again, but never can beyond the illusion of wishes and empty hopes. We have storehouses of memory filling us with a sense of bleak yet potent despair, that are full of all the strains of existential woe and constantly reminding us that we are defined by the past, that no matter how far we can run .. and perhaps we can run even to the very cliff that overlooks the total end of the earth and the terrifying fall into the bottomless pit, but it remains… as malevolent as Satan and his wicked cruel schemes to rid Humanity and blind it to its need for a Savior.., whispering over and over that the hope of the present and the promise of the future can never match the pain, the blunders of yesterday, and that sense of deep divide between the here and the now and the unknown and the beyond.

Perhaps as one walks more and more into the path that is defined by age, they are swallowed whole into the nature of responsibilities and lose the immediate connection to their real self, the real ‘I’, and settle into another constructed ‘I’ with borders, limits and boundaries. Its very strange yet the very young remain connected only to themselves they observe the larger world in poignant life altering moments, or perhaps in the very essence of it, but the larger portion of it does not bother them, the young that can be defined as youth possess the vital manna emanating perhaps from the very soul, and the power of that force intimidates those who once felt it but have to largely rely on the fables of their experience to guide the young, those fables possess the truth but contain with it the mistakes and also the sense of unpreparedness despite all of their best efforts. Life is a vision, Life is a lonely chair in an empty station, Life is a walk in a crowd filled with strangers and their nameless faces, Life is a journey shared between two intimate souls longing, thirsty even for their love to complete their soul, their hearts and each other, life is the budding of warmth between an orphan, who is not an orphan but rather one who truly feels that way despite possessing parents yet never fully comprehending the deep doctrines of the gospel of love and how you abandon yourself to it with the guiding light of the Master Shepherd, Life is pitch black darkness, Life is a slow smooth jazz song in a smoky bar with empty tables and the dream of trance dancing away by the bar with the splendid absence of thought.

A moment – Short post

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You collect enough of life’s artifacts and treat them with exquisite delight, and sooner or later they open themselves and talk right back to you, they pull you towards all that overflows with life’s strange mystique, like bubbles rushing to the surface in wild delight, like the sigh of love in a wounded lover’s heart, like tears formerly rivers over white snow, like moments of glory residing in a forgotten hero’s heart, I walk around the shores of peace, far away from the madness of a life shared and lived amidst much malady, I am a lost and all alone… but I wander onward, into the wholeness of what life holds beyond the breath of life and the sting of death, my very soul struggles to remain calm in the fading splendor of this life, my soul wounds itself by setting its sights on what corrupts and remains a cause of hopelessness for many, my heart yearns for love like it was the very breath of life, my heart longs for passion like a flower longs for the touch of the sun’s sight,for the rain like a moment caressed by feelings in the heart’s playground. I long for the very nectar of life to run through the world hidden within my soul, burning like a funeral pyre awakening my own inner fire like falling rivers boundless and filled with power.

I feel like Beethoven as my fingers hover over my keyboard, Like Chopin and his strange emotional symphonies, I am about to lose myself in the moment, the feeling that comes by every time when the moon turns blue and the skies grow dark and the stars seem to elicit strange melodies only heard by the heart, I am nothing more than what I can lay my sights and feet in, my life feels like it never holds still and like nothing that I do have is truly mine.

Aside

You collect enough of life’s artifacts and treat them with exquisite delight, and sooner or later they open themselves and talk right back to you, they pull you towards all that overflows with life’s strange mystique, like bubbles rushing to the surface in wild delight, like the sigh of love in a wounded lover’s heart, like tears formerly rivers over white snow, like moments of glory residing in a forgotten hero’s heart, I walk around the shores of peace, far away from the madness of a life shared and lived amidst much malady, I am a lost and all alone… but I wander onward, into the wholeness of what life holds beyond the breath of life and the sting of death, my very soul struggles to remain calm in the fading splendor of this life, my soul wounds itself by setting its sights on what corrupts and remains a cause of hopelessness for many, my heart yearns for love like it was the very breath of life, my heart longs for passion like a flower longs for the touch of the sun’s sight,for the rain like a moment caressed by feelings in the heart’s playground. I long for the very nectar of life to run through the world hidden within my soul, burning like a funeral pyre awakening my own inner fire like falling rivers boundless and filled with power. 

I feel like Beethoven as my fingers hover over my keyboard, Like Chopin and his strange emotional symphonies, I am about to lose myself in the moment, the feeling that comes by every time when the moon turns blue and the skies grow dark and the stars seem to elicit strange melodies only heard by the heart, I am nothing more than what I can lay my sights and feet in, my life feels like it never holds still and like nothing that I do have is truly mine.

Incomplete… To finish later

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I have read so many books, and many of them still linger in my mind’s hallways like faint whispers in dark empty corridors, their presence invisible yet their memories strong and their touch immortal, I constantly seek solace in the land of poetry and even in that land of silken lines and mesmerizing movements of words that crash like waves and , but my spirit remains out of reach… Stories reach my soul and renew my own, but where can I go to meditate in a manner that is beyond life’s offering..? I consider myself a philosopher of life, its not a public statement or something that is meant to draw attention to, but speaks more about the way in which I  experience and feel life, existence is the artwork that I use my soul to ponder upon, a moving, infinite work that constantly challenges my ignorance, opens my jammed door knobs and fills me with its powerful yet fleeting flow, life is the ultimate experience and I am drawn to its presence and movement in the lives of others and in my own. We are all Poets and Philosophers of our own life, narrators of our memories, professors of our experiences and Masters of our fate… , the Book of Psalms is where I constantly run to, I ran to it when I was confronted with ideas of putting an end to my life, I ran to it when the darkness in my heart drew me away from life and into the very pits of despair and hopelessness and kept me there while the demons of shame and anguish held me captive, I used those verses at times to word out my own heart’s cry to God, and time and time again it renews my spirit and cheers me up in ways that I can never fathom, it released me from the bondage of demons and powerfully destructive emotions. It helped me look in wonder at all of God’s beautiful creations and made me feel special and blessed, the book of Psalms prayed my prayers for me, I leaned on it for strength when I had none, it made me ask serious questions about life and to assess the sincerity of my feelings, but most of all I felt no judgment in it, the Book of Psalms is a book of Poetry, of Praise of Worship, of Love… These were the things that drew me towards God… I was attracted to His love, His mercy, His Grace and chief of all His kindness… , I wanted to feel the love of the Psalmist for God, but I did not know how to… It felt difficult for me to give God my heart when there were so many things in my heart and life that were keeping Him away from it, I grew wild wth delight as if a beggar were to meet the very Emperor of the Universe whenever I read the Book of Psalms … But I remembered my wounds, especially the ones caused by Christians,

the Book of Proverbs corrected me often, but I felt that it was too authoritative and I felt rebuked often… I imbibed and learned much from its wisdom but it was a little too confrontational at certain parts and so I resisted it with all of my heart , mostly since the majority of my heart’s wounds were scars received for standing up against authority.. Corrupted in some cases and righteous in others, for rebelling against the misuse of power, I was lost in the world then and I did not want to be corrected. My ways were right even if they were pulling me into a spectacular crash,  

The thoughts of a lonesome man – Short fiction.. Narrative

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‘ I wish for her to take the results seriously…’ she said
, ‘once you get to college, good marks matter…!’
My sister spoke with way too much emphasis sometimes, I am very sensitive when she talks that way… It almost feels like I’m drowning in chlorine infested water, and I can feel the sting to my nose as the water rushes in, I can almost feel the effect of such an assumed horror possess me for a brief imagined second… I wonder why I feel so different with everyone… I am a different person with almost every person that I meet, I wish I could treat two people in the same way.. I wish for it to stop…, I can feel someone pull the shutters down in the distance .. Its a very bright afternoon… But the colors are at their peak and one can feel that they were about to descend, it was four anyhow… Pretty soon it would be dark… , such a pity… The skies were at their absolute best right around four… , all bright and visual… The birds flying around lent an almost romantic touch to the skies, watching them fly my heart feels the loss of love.. The sadness of separation and the loveliness of loneliness on a deserted beach… It was all musical, but the sound could only be heard through the soul’s temple.. The birds, the mashed yellow of the departing Sun, the scenery of men and women moving with haphazard  trails lingering like whispering voices, lingering long past their absence. Beauty is everywhere, but you have to search for it since it hides in plain sight… That’s why I lock myself in the room near the terrace, the outer presence does not linger like Blake’s poetry but rather seems cloudy and too vast to merely explain in simple language… The stars seem faint, the people tense, my moods agitated, I wander like a lost child in the busy terminus of life. 

People are always changing on me when they talk, I swear to you, thats why I get extremely nervous when I talk to anyone, because I’m terrified that they will all of a sudden change on me and begin to act all cold and impersonal.. And I’d do anything to avoid an awkward pause… I hate how I keep myself vulnerable all the freaking time… I gotta stop it one of these days, I just realized the other day that whenever I was at a crowded place… My mind played some sort of music that did not have sound, but applied to the crowd and the manner in which they moved on, it felt almost like people and their hidden stories and feelings interconnected with my own soul’s music and we all walked past each other, stranger’s and all that… Oblivious to the other’s thoughts and emotions, I mean when you were someone’s friend… You atleast were a little closer to what they felt.. Not the entirety of it, but maybe a little of it that could connect you with the other person… Sort of like standing next to an open chapel with burning melting candles, where you’d go and maybe be smitten by the feeling of warmth and by the abstract embrace of something shared and universal.

I get the feeling that the news is where people assume to speak.. The language of the newspaper is absorbed by the collective mind, that feeds on it, and then it promptly becomes an instrument of sorts… And the things that the newspapers and the them fancy television people talk about, they become truth even if they were just random incidents that just happened.. And it drives me mad… Almost a destructive sort of mad… But I understand that there is nothing that you can do about it, and you could always avoid them.. So that is what I do… , I realize how weak you feel when you dont speak out sometimes, and how strong it feels when you speak right from your heart. It feels like the whole world was your oyster and you were the emperor of it all. 

A lot of things depress me, when my mind and heart is consumed with flaky stuff like appearances, and how odd and ungratifying my face feels when I look in the mirror or in photographs… , my heart feels like its in a room where one can never relate to any one even if they wanted to, and the heart is consumed with vaporous fumes of insanity and the entrapped person slowly loses himself to a billion unsettling feelings that dont even allow him to pretend. 

Lazy words written in a careless mood seem to make me feel uneasy, I react to them by further sinking myself into a lousy and hostile emotion where I lose hope real fast and begin to feel like maybe this writing thing.. Maybe it aint for me… Whenever I feel that way I wish to escape… I plot a moment in the future or perhaps enter a part of my mind that makes my fantasies feel real, and I climb the ladder even as the waves of distress crash and wail.. And I am drowning in my heart, torn apart and feeling more and more hopeless… I imagine myself alone on an island or near some harmless predator free woods, there is something utterly depressing about experiencing things like every other soul in this universe… I wish to escape all this shackling conformity