First hit… Memories of shame

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I am always trying to ponder inner realities that exist within me. Coming to terms with what they are conveying.., I perhaps to write to understand what I feel so powerfully within me.., I write to share my side of the fence.., I write to live.., I write because I am in love with words, stories, prose, beauty, literature and secrets and feel compelled to treasure this gift of gab. I believe that a writer is someone whose soul can see past the nature of make believe outer reality, and into the real heart of things.

I can’t understand what is happening in my heart.., but I feel a tremendous heaviness on it right now. My Father and I had had our usual Saturday night conversation.., the topics varied from England dropping out of the EU to my sermon that I had just finished delivering in the church opposite to our house. He highlighted things in my sermon that were hard to take.., it was the usual criticism.., ‘repetitions, unwanted honesty, forgetfulness…’ etc.., I had to listen to my parents and their observations since they were just as sensitive as me when it comes to not realizing the brevity and reality of things. All my happiness and joy at battling intense inner fear, nervous anxiety, strain etc and then standing before young people who were so cynical, dismissive and attempted to mockingly laugh and smile at your face and delivering a message fizzled away as I listened to what he was saying.., He could be really persistent when he wished to convey truths about my sermon that I could never see…, Call me insane but.., I don’t understand criticism because I deal with my own inner insecurity.., and to heave a dose of observation right after a tremendous test was quite horrifying to me…I sometimes wish people listened with their heart and not with their mind.., but he is my dad and I love him in ways that I can’t even comprehend.., he has done so much for me.., and struggles with a burden so big.., for my sake…, I can’t help but listen to my hero…but I have to remind myself to sit alone with my Lord.., perhaps I can climb above the slab of the upper floor and be alone.., and pour my heart, my tears and my feelings to Him who truly cares…, maybe I can become sane again.

I’ve discovered that most of us are expert talkers.., but few can look beneath the layers and words and understand the heart.., and find the selflessness to love back courageously and look past our own scars, wounds and weaknesses…, True Love seems to be too easy to long for and so hard to find. I am no longer content with human love.., I demand, desire and hunger for a love that can conquer.., accept me at my absolute worst and encounter me at my most insane and still love me fiercely, ferociously and insanely.., So far I can only count Jesus in that list.., nobody else comes even close.., perhaps my parents, sis and doggy can be added after a billion kilometers.., but then again God gave them to me.., and they ask me to love God more than them.., maybe I could place them after a million kms since for the first 25 years or so they were the only reflection of God that I could see, feel and enjoy and they were incredible, amazing and otherworldly at it. I’m blessed and thankful always.

I remember not so long ago when I bumped into an old acquaintance of mine. He had been a mentor to me in my past.., but a hard, no compassion showing dictator who was relentless in his handling of me.., I was chastised often.., rebuked often.., told to study hard.., and it always felt like his methods were too extreme.., too hard and too painful for a hyper sensitive, dreamer in love with his imagination such as myself… and I could clearly see that I was nothing like him… He had built up his own empire from scratch.., he started one of the most powerful ministries during the 90’s and had been responsible for a wave of revival that had hit Vellore during that time.., all of a sudden there was a surge of meetings, revival meetings, youth meetings, Godly sightings.., Angelic Sightings.., curing of terminal illnesses such as Cancer, Aids, Tumors etc… God had touched the sun scorched soil of Vellore in centuries.., and my Ex Mentor had been in the thick of things.., He was a disciplinarian, who was a hardcore perfectionist… He had a soft side to him and I could see it work on certain people.., but he was above the pack and was always leading the charge and taking all hostages with him.

Growing up I had always struggled with feelings that I could never be good at anything. I saw people naturally blooming all around me.., and I was never good at anything…, I struggled with insecurity.., inferiority and shame.., I always dreamt of killing myself in my early years.

I was his polar opposite, ie of my Imperfect Mentor.., I was a free spirit, but I could feel too powerfully the pain of a hurting, broken world.., I was deeply hurt at the plight of the street dogs whose stomachs had shrunk and the bones of their rib cage showed real clearly.., I felt pained when I saw people throwing stones at their feet, I was hurt by the fact that dogs and human beings had to search in the trash for food…, I was hurt by how some people never had the freedoms and privileges that I enjoyed.., my heart was always reaching out to the lonely, the hurt and the broken… I disliked the life that everybody led, I wanted to live a life that I enjoyed.. the childhood version of it was to live on an island away from people and that island would have libraries, food for eternity and a world class view of the stars that I would see every single night.., I enjoyed freedom, I loved being free.., I did not like to be tied down, I always dreamt of freedom the more I found myself in systems.., I enjoyed sports.., and I had a hunger in my soul to reach for the stars.. I dreamt all day long of fame.., of fortune and of beautiful stories that I could imagine, and maybe create someday.

After the initial years of growing up next to him, my parents decided that I would do a year in my Dad’s Alma Mater – MCC.., up and until that moment I felt trapped in Vellore.., Vellore was too raw and primal.., there wasn’t class, refinement, integrity or friendliness here…, I felt nothing but inner torment, anguish and boredom in my early years.., School was a bore.., I struggled to cope up…, I was detained after classes all the time.., or I had to cross paths with stronger, more assertive seniors who used me to beef up their own credentials.., I was either a punching bag or a source of teasing and scorn.., My skin color was highlighted which made me feel ugly, unwanted and awkward.., I was never accepted by my peers for some strange reason.., most of them were the sons and daughters of either rich industrialists or doctors.., I guess I was not their type.., I felt unwanted by them .. My teachers did not exactly convey any feelings of me being embraced or celebrated either…, You remember what people don’t say to you and what people can’t see in you.., I still do to this day.., I remember feeling like I was of no use to this world and I dreamt often of death and suicide… I was an invisible person who had to live like I was different.., like I was not special and like I was of a lower species…, My language speaking skills would be highlighted often.., or my grades would be brought up.., Nobody worried for me.., they were just shoving my lack of interest in academia into my face and telling me that I was useless. The hardest part of it was to feel shame for the sake of my parents.., who I could see were such kind, gentle souls and here I was shoving a brutal reality pill into their faces because of my sensitive soul… They had worked hard to get to where they were.., my Dad had undergone tremendous trials.., losing both his parents.. moving here and there.., taking care of his sisters…, struggling to come up in his own life, and my mother came from a very poverty stricken family and had studied hard to reach the management ranks of the most prestigious hospitals in our town… I had let them down.., here they were working so hard under really hard circumstances to make something of me, and here I was just wasting it all away.., I was never considered for anything or thought to be anything.., I loved sports.., but nobody took a special interest in me.., or thought that I could amount to much.., Growing up I so badly wanted somebody to believe in me and push me in fields that I was interested in.., but sadly I had none.

Such experiences with the unkind, non grace offering parts of life made me really hunger and long for love, for empathy.., for being understood despite what was going on on the surface.., I wanted people to feel sorrow for me.., but I was confused since I saw people from even lower places than me survive, fight and live.., this further made me despise myself and made me close my mouth. I did not want to talk it out to somebody and listen to them talk about things on the surface.. Nobody had the power to perceive the depths of me.. No one.. Unless I talked about it.., and when I did.., it did not impact them in the level that it impacted me.., my inner struggles helped me listen deeply to other warriors dealing with a cruel cruel life.., late on in my life.., my wounds, scars and inner demons created an artist…, created a resource so deep for my craft.., but the same feelings that I heard in my earlier years would trickle into my heart after any accomplishment.., ‘This is not good enough..’, ‘ Is this the best that you can give..?’…, ‘ Look at him/her they seem to do it in a way that feels easier than you..’.., ‘ This felt easy.., you’ve not been really challenged yet..’.., ‘ You call this writing..? A 8 year old with no understanding can write better stuff than what you just did…’ …, and so on and so forth.

When we had moved into the colony that we are staying at right now, he was the only person who was caring enough to welcome us and to also help us ingratiate ourselves to the culture of the small island of Christian only homes that stretched down two parallel streets. He was so kind.., and took such genuine efforts to include us and make us feel welcome…, but I remember the initial awkwardness of it all.., I remember my neighbors treat my mother with disrespect as she attempted friendly conversations with them.. I could not see it in their faces but I got a hint of it in my heart.., I was offended that they could respond to my mother’s genuine smile with a calculated one, how inconsiderate were they that they offered hate for love..? And I was never wrong about them.., all those highly rude individuals always seemed to find newer ways to establish their supremacy in our lives, their facial coldness seldom seemed to still.., they were always wound up, always ready to attack and always eager to express their imaginary dominance… and I am a really objective guy.., but I have always abstained from those who don’t welcome… I believe that it all comes down to early experiences. I have always struggled with being rejected.., I still do.., now I am a tough nut to crack.., but my heart is too soft. I am like my mom.., dedicated, personal and intense.., I used to alienate myself and rebel to gain strength briefly but I comply, conform and humble myself for the sake of the gospel these days, and the friendship of my Lord has really helped me forget those initial difficulties.

Nothing special seemed to happen to me.., nobody wanted to talk to me.., nobody seemed excited to be my friend.., nobody could really see me.., I understand it all now.., but the heart of a guy who knows and desires love but finds emptiness.., egoism and hostility can be hurt eternally. I did not get any love letters.., I was not anybody’s best friend.., I was hurt by the lack of interest.. by the indifference.. by the unkindness and chiefly by the inability to perceive one as being important, necessary, needed etc hurt me. But I guess those initial years and the senses that I absorbed have made me the person that I am today.., have helped me take on the cross for Christ’s sake.., and have created in me a hunger to find people who suffer the same silence that I did.., and perhaps lead them with the help of the Holy Spirit to the Lord Himself.

I don’t know who ends up reading this.., but I will beckon you to attempt to make the world a better place than the way you found it. I implore you to know Jesus as your personal Savior since the world can overwhelm, destroy and kill your good intentions.., but Christ can help you with His strength and power and lead you to work for the Kingdom of God.., and believe me the benefits are out of this world.

The Artist within – A few thoughts

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I’m an artist… I repeat that word to myself constantly because I often feel the other way about it. You know , like maybe.. ‘I am not all that I proclaim myself to be’… type, My shyness like the striped butterflies that I obsessively chronicle and observe is self content and blissfully oblivious of the outside world… But as endearing as it is to feel that way it can get in the way of my assertiveness or lack thereof in plenty of social circumstances… , Password – Humble.. Code word accepted… Beast Mode activated.

I have this syndrome where I have multiple notepad documents open whenever I am typing out some grandiose though of mine that craves my artistic emotions. I write multiple stories sometimes, I get crazy and write off of instincts… I would be in a desperate infatuation oriented romedy in one place, and in the other I would be ranting about how Godfather’s director did no justice to the characters in the novel…, Except of course for the Characters of Vito Corleone, Sonny Corleone and Tom Hagen, now their acting and character inhabitation was tight… not to mention grand, delightful, imitation worthy and memorable. I wonder how they can act as people so different from their real life characters, actors do all kinds of things on stage and I often create a complex understanding of how they can go about doing such things and feats. Maybe there is a method to the madness, maybe it’s something that they learnt in acting school or maybe it is just the expression of a God given talent… Which creates my next fabulous question.., Why does my Favorite Supernatural Being gift individuals with talents to entertain that seems to attract them to the great Sodom and Babylon of this Millenium…? How come they tend to land up in Satanic worshipping, Glamor oozing, Free spirit engaging leading straight upto Hell’s finest Mansions – Hollyweird.. I’m sorry I meant Hollywood is something I will never now.. Welcome folks to Hollywood- The Greatest Entertainment show on Earth, Payment Needed.. Pay with your soul and please deposit your former and current moral ethics at the entrance please.. Now feel free to sell your soul to the Devil as he uses you to perform things that you promised you would never do, and do roles that you thought you would never enroll yourself in…! You still got hope.. , Yeah.. I know you routinely mock and scorn at Him and use Him as a cuss word in your glorious works of lies.. But His name is Jesus.. just call Him won’t ya.. when you’re not mimicking grand dialogues about self expression and discovering your hidden self.. Call Him when your ex who promised you that he would love you forever dumped you for somebody younger.., Call Him when your addicted to those shiny pills that made you forget the madness of Show business… You still got hope.

Great talents only create a more fonder love and affection within me for their Creator…, What a maddening, mystical and inscrutable Supernatural being my Heavenly Father is most of the times. I still have no earthly measure for the complex creativity prowess of the Universe’s Absolutely Greatest Artist… Yes, I mean God. What possessed the heart of the Universe to Create terrifying, tummy crawling Pythons who inspire only horror and terror.. and also create beautiful, winding rivers that cascade off as they plunge below hundreds of metres into an underlying pool of fresh water… It’s funny how water seems to always flow, seeking paths always…, Nature is so profoundly artistic and deep that I find myself always joyful and upbeat that there are still things that don’t destroy hope, sanity and mental wellbeing. I am thankful for it everyday and that’s why I try to sneak to my Garden or to the lonely Garden behind my Old Office and spend a few moments in solitude and get my deepest, inner nature into silence.. I drop a drop of prayer into the still lake and feel the ripples, the pages of my soul opened.. My true animal awakens and strolls outside of the cave.. Far away from my Masks, My Hectic life and My Restlessness… I need it desperately and deeply.

I have an intense urge to create, I often create complex stories from a single reaction. It’s like the words, the characters and the dialogues were in there all along, and all that it needed was this tiny, tender little spark and wala, out pours this magnificent piece of literary imagining that gives me the impression that it really, truly happened. I can’t still grasp much of the fine sensations of the human mind… , I find the human mind, the soul, the spirit and the heart fascinating topics and resources of study… I am always poking myself, trying to gain new insights about my inner philosophies and trying to plunge into the depths of my psyche…, The inner world, and the way in which it rearranges and deals with specific inputs is like a torch in the deepest caverns, I enjoy reliving my competitive moments where I bled, sweat and played with ferocity are replayed with narcissistic joy and I enjoy my own heroic glory… I promise to create more of such moments… I want to test myself more, challenge myself more… To see if I am capable of doing what seems so confidence draining, fear inducing and terror inspiring. I am an artist because I find art in life, I find art in relationships, I find art in the tragedies that happen to me.. Be it an unreturned affection from someone that I may have pined away for centuries, or be it a grumpy, bitter and intense conflict over something as stupid as a loose comment… I am alive in the deepest parts of me, I may not always recognize what I see in my heart or in my mind, or put a word to certain feelings that defy my vocabulary… but I am in love with the beauty of my life.. With my thoughts, with my faith and how it soars in the spiritual dimensions opened by God’s willing joy… I find more ground in being an artist now chiefly because of who I am in Christ… Alive by being soaked in the rivers of Jesus and having the joy to unravel what that means in my current life and geographical location- I am a citizen of the world in Christ – I am one of His Ambassadors, Free from who I always feared I could never be.., I am fine with who I am, of where I have ended up, and fine with what I have been given and asked to take care of.. I am not afraid anymore of getting people to accept, love or want me…I am cool with whatever they choose to give.. If it is blunt, rude, angry and bitter, misguided rage… I am okay with it.. I am here to listen.. to understand.. or if it tends to wound my spirit.. change, adapt, evolve and use it to guide me to a higher level of consciousness…, If it is not feeling the same intense way that I tend to feel when I impulsively jump into something that I may have the pleasure of encountering for a few fractions of a second…, I have come to accept that.. It is okay..It has helped me in my growth as an Artist who writes.., who observes, enjoys and delights in whatever God has allowed for that day… I try to find contentment with whatever little I have. The Simple life, with my love for gardens, lonely abandoned places lush with trees and understanding with Patience the words of the Bible… and Praying into levels, depths and dimensions that I have never experienced are more than I can ask for… This is me right now.. Dear Future me.. This temporary contentment will change in a minute, the world of the mind does not thrive on order, but on chaos and in creating an artifical reflection of the senselessness and hopelessness of this world in one’s soul, heart, mind and thoughts… But, I am a Fighter… A Warrior who kneels and a Watchman of my flock… I am alive and well.. Until Next Time.

Casual demolition

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Feelings deceive,
It would be better if a man could never feel,
Of what use are our feelings? 
Those who feel intensely are seldom seen..!
Life has a different plan altogether,
I wish my heart could stop and focus on more important things such as my Salvation, My life and what I plan to do about staying away from Hell.
But oh no,  I have to fall into what’s of no use for me, I have to fall for people who feel not a thing for me, I have to bear this pain, this breaking sensitive possession of my heart, brain and soul that invades the essence of moi’ , and begins controlling me by subjecting me to what can never be.
I hate feeling this way,
I hate being here again,
I hate being this way…  I am so sick of ending back in this place time and time again,
I’ve had enough, I’ve been through enough,
I know when I’m not needed, my mind is easy to convince,  it’s my heart that refuses to comply and stop feeling.
In some people’s life you are a speck, in some a short affair and in others a mistake, and in the majority of the cases….  a mere stranger intruding into what has already been constructed and is alive,
I hate this lack of control, I can’t stand this demolition of my heart’s repressed wishes,
Pain creates more poets than love ever did,
Suffering far greater writers than happiness ever did.
Please stop killing me with your irresistibleness, Please cut your ties with me it’s better that way.
I can’t feel differently about you… Believe me I’ve tried, and I don’t want to be some creep that was too desperate and too enthusiastic, yeah I know how that feels like.
This is not me… I’m a silent warrior, I’m at war within…  I don’t have time for this… I got dreams to fulfill, greatness to live upto, struggles to overcome.
As much as I would love for you to feel the same way about me… I hate to beg and I hate to ask when you’re madly in love with somebody else. That’s just plain wrong. I’ve been in this situation too many times before.
So thank you for the casual demolition, I much enjoyed it… My heart’s broken and my life’s at a standstill.
I am sorry I cared, forget it…  it’s much better for me to deal with my terrific wounds and bruises.
Thank you and please don’t visit again.

Glory

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Resistance is within us,
One day the war will be won,
Until then victory will seem afar,
But for now I am called to be a hero. 

For the cross of Christ, 
I am called to war within me,
His blood lifts me to heavenly heights
Even as I battle the fiery urges of Hades within me.
I am a troubled warrior, a meek saint, a timid yet glorious weapon, I am the cause but The power of the Cross is my drug…,
It beckons me on,
I will be sure in the midst of my nerve numbing uncertainties,
I will strive to carry this torch across thousands of miles,
I have the chance to right my evils and all the wrongs committed in my own history,
I will not be defeated by the overpowering might of the darkness ,
Lord make me strong, I am your enemy, 
I need You to drag me to the finish,
I can’t do this on my own,
I serve You and You alone,
I want that Heavenly crown,  I want you to call me a hero,
The day to change is now,
I don’t ever want to ever look back, for my past and my bleeding scars are lethal,
They take my energy and defeat my faith’s heart…
Lord… I need Glory,
I need You,
Drag me to the place where your throne stands

Why I love Poets and Writers – A short Poem

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I love Poets and writers,
for they deal with the same condition that I do.
There is always something unfinished, always something left unsaid,
always an inner condition that chooses to remain unconscious,
and always this nagging feeling that they can do so much more better than their last poem or story.

On most days it feels like there is no anaesthesia for this madness that is reality,
and the only way we can breathe and be normal is by being poets and writers,
or by creating art, or connecting to what treasures our abilities to see and perceive,
but people usually trap and hold us down by a false image of perfection which we can never reach.
Art comes from broken places, art is a redemptive force for sensitive hearts, timid souls and tender minds.
Art is shy but fierce,
Art is pure but without filter,
Art is taken for granted, but awakens what the dormant mind has slumbered into.
Art needs to endure what is real, for only art teaches us to discipline our minds and hearts to the harsh blows of force.