a stray thought...

Suddenly she looked up and asked,'Why are we discussing them over and over? Is there nothing else to talk about?'

She was right. I had become obsessed with those two scumbags from the past few days. All of our talks were revolving around them, their past deeds, their current misadventures, the future disasters they might bring about, etc. Although I didn't tell her, it was the outrage, disgust, helplessness I was feeling about many related issues that bothered me as much as the events themselves. It was as if something had hit me, penetrated and passed right through me in the heart, taking away all that I'd held dear over the years. It was like waking up one morning to realise that you weren't a human being at all but a piece of dirt which had been dreaming all along. Like the ground on which you stand didn't exist any longer and you were in a free fall into a never ending abyss. Much worse than that.

'Life isn't just this. There are a hundred other dreams with us. Let us focus on them. Let us continue our journey and leave the rest for God to take care...'

Not easy. Not easy.

State of living

Things fall apart
the center cannot hold
Mere anarchy is loosend upon the world
The blood dimm'd tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
are full of passionate intensity
......
-W B Yeats

Some thoughts...

I wonder at this act of penning down one's thoughts. What could be the motive, the intention behind this?What does a poet want to achieve when he puts his words out into empty space? Does he find salvation when these words touch other hearts and convey the meaning which he filled them with? How does he know that the words have reached the target and whispered something? Does he crave recognition, attention--is that the motive? If there wouldn't be a soul to applaud, appreciate, even criticise or ignore, would he still write, sing, dance, paint, express?

Or does he act out of a compulsion? An unstoppable urge to create, to give life? Maybe the intention behind his creativity is not to share or find glory reflected in the beholder's eyes but to just bring out what's welling up inside. Manifest the inner song. In that moment of creation he is God Himself, a spark of the divine, expressing himself without any expectations.

And maybe, just a moment later he comes down to the human realm, to share his creation with others, just for the joy of sharing. And possibly finds happiness when appreciated, or validated.

Reading Keith Johnstone, you come across a number of 'aha' moments. Then you try it out, put the book aside, reflect...maybe you experiment a bit. 'Keep you head still', 'Lock into the others' eyes', 'Keep the toes out'...you try these subtle adjustments to see if they create different conditions, within and outside as well. His suggestions begin to work, slowly, unawares. There was this book, 'The right to speak', by Patsy rodenburg, which I'd read years ago. After practicing some of those voice exercises, suddenly my voice took on an amazing texture, freshness and aliveness. Keith has a similar effect on you. It's as if a number of blocks that have accumulated inside start to melt away.

One of my biggest fears is that my son will grow up to become just like me. So I cringe everytime someone comes up and compliments with: 'He's just like you, a replica,' and I almost feel like I should stop them in mid-sentence. There are many things that I dislike in myself, that I'm struggling to unlearn, which I don't want to see reflected in him. Maybe these were perpetuated by my upbringing, with the bitterness and humiliations that refuse to fade away from memory. It gets all the more suffocating when I see him go through similar things, many times because of our own unconscious behaviour. At times when I lose patience and yell at him, when his eyes fill up, I sit up with a jolt. I have to remind myself over and over that this little plant needs all the space, air and nourishment...and I have to catch myself from tripping over, at my most exasperate moments, so that I don't trample upon his tender self-respect.

New lessons...

There's that smirk on all those faces as you continue to speak. It wasn't there when you first stood up and not when you began talking, but soon, slowly their faces light up. You can feel a sweat break down the forehead. YOur voice chokes but you continue to plod along. Soon four of them are smiling at your discomfort, one girl is looking away because she's unable to watch your agony and the last guy's sitting unmoved. You want to kick yourself for being the object of ridicule. You want to be able to talk like a pro and impress audiences. This is a small group of six people, so If you can't talk well in front of them, how the heck can you perform before huge audiences in some distant future. That future where you, along with your comrades, are spreading the word and showing people the way, sharing with them your learnings. That future where you have to appear totally convincing to others. Where you're not supposed to make a fool of yourself. Where you've to inspire others to greatness, so you better become that first.

Yet you continue to blabber, mentally telling the world to gocha hell, 'cause it matters not what other's gonna think about ya. Let them call you a fool, a fool you are. Let them call you a loser if they want to. You're here to tell something today, so let them better hear it or pay attention to your mannerisms if they want to. You'll stand here or somewhere else tomorrow too and continue to talk.

The next available opportunity and again you stand up, but are less nervous now. The quiver subsides, so do the smirks.

The demon's still lurking in the shadows--not totally vanquished. You know that it will die only when you face it. Unafraid. It'll grow in strength every time you shrink back, thinking what the next guy thinks about you. When you let go of that notion, when you detach and say, 'so what?', it's the death knell for the demon.

No, it's not just about public speaking. It's about every fear, every hesitation, every anxiety that has kept you down all the time. Worry about the endresult and you'll remain fucked. As God told the disciple on the battlefield, 'Standup, do it and let the Universe decide the outcome.'

Breaking story on newshour...

This one

Transitions

Watched Stalker after downloading it eons ago. You need a different mindset to enjoy this kinda movie, where a single shot spans more than 5 minutes, and the movie's choc-a-bloc with such long shots. You're expecting something to happen but the tension seems to build and build with no resolution in sight and suddenly it dawns...the problem's not with the movie but with your urgency to get to the end, as soon as possible. Then you slow down and try to enjoy the process, unmindful of where it'll all lead to, whether there's really a destination to be reached or not.

Tonight, I'm reminded of the opening lines of a novel....'It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.....' Yes it is, for me. So many things are happening, some good, some not so, and many bewildering. Until yesterday, I was thinking that my muse was dead, that I'd not be able to write anything, ever. One moment, I'm pondering the deadness of my workday life and within no time, I discover an interesting scenario to execute and soon I'm immersed in fashioning similar equations. There are blocks everywhere I look. I blink and the river starts flowing through the cracks and crevices, finding new routes and destinations. Tiredness evaporates. Hope arrives. As complacency sets in, I realize that there are things to be done, tasks to be executed. The journey has hardly begun. I'm toddling.

Yes, I'm a thief, a pirate in the virtual world. I've stolen(downloaded) movies, music and books instead of making an honest payment. Chriss guillebeau says 'Stealing is bad karma, don't steal,' but I say, 'F*** off', as I download movies after movies, siphone off expensive books from torrents and listen to music without paying a dime. The 'Money economy' says 'Pay 1500 bucks for this book', but the 'gift economy' of the virtual world says, 'Dude, get this book at Gigapedia,' and I oblige. Got Keith johnstone's 'Impro for storytellers' but am struggling to find his earlier masterpiece. It's out there, somewhere in the vast landscapes of the cyberworld. Will get ya.

I'm building my own nest. Moving out of one tribe to another. Breaking hearts, also warming a few. I'll be cursed and also blessed. Irrespective of what anyone thinks of me, I'm finally figuring out what matters most, to me. And gathering the nerves to pursue them. Adulthood.

Vision statement

I remembered this morning the reason why this blog began, one rainy afternoon long back. It was to record the events which I felt were important enough to be recorded, so that I would have a backup for my memory. And also share them with others, the way others shared their life online(with the distant hope that these writings would also bring to others similar joy and inspiration I found in other blogs ;-) ). A bit of feedback and conversation through the comments. But most important of all, a continuous exercise to my writing muscle, which had become slack after I dumped my writerly ambitions and started testing software code in order to pay the bills.

Which means that I can be messy, disorganized and experimental here, simply because this is a testing ground. 'Reckless', as someone said once.

That's the vision. It had got clouded off late. Not anymore.

To be on the road...

...means to actually belong to the journey. Unbothered about the destination. Absorbed in the process. Living the moment. Stepping out of a secured existence and testing the waters of the universe. Why do you go on this journey? Maybe because you're fed up of the humdrum of the daily existence. Maybe you find life totally screwed up and want to escape it. Or maybe out of circumstances, you go tumbling after life kicks you down the road.

This can have various layers. Every year, millions walk the ancient route to San Tiago in Spain, to the tomb of St James. Paulo coelho's book 'The Piligrimage' is based on his life-changing journey on this route. There are traditions of piligrimage in every culture and most of these have a religious-spiritual connotation. When you're on such a journey, the destination is a bit clear and you've God(or the concept of God) guiding you. And you return back to your life, changed or otherwise. No issues.

Then there's this journey which is undertaken not for a religious purpose, but to discover oneself, to find answers, to share ones truth. Peace piligrim and Jeffrey sawyer come to mind. This is a truer piligrimage than the one that's done as a religious obligation because, nobody but you will decide the path or the journey. The universe is your guide and caretaker, and more often than not, it's a delicate balance between luck and self-grittyness that determines whether you survive to tell your tale or not, whether you come out of it scarred or enriched.

There's another journey, a path without destination but also without any hope. You walk this, not to find answers but because you have no answers. Mostly escapist. Fatalistic. You might get destroyed but it can also enrich you and turn you around, if you're lucky. On the borders of society, you can meet amazing as well as horrible people. I've walked this road twice and come back alive and still hopeful. That experience will remain an important part of my outlook/attitude for the rest of my life although I don't recommend or wish the same for anyone else.

But there's one journey, which I'd not paid much attention to. David Monbiot sums it up in his one line review of a movie:....in which a remnant population flees in terror as it is hunted to extinction'. The movie that prompted these thoughts is The Road. A fantastic portrayal of an utterly bleak future which looks probable within a few years.

We have romantic notions about the collapse of the existing systems. At least I do. And I know deep down that these are not wishful fantasies. I believe(with a grain of direct experience) that life isn't just three dimensional, that there are higher realities beyond our everyday lives, which can be accessed by anyone with the help of sustained spiritual practices. That very soon, as the existing structures begin to crumble, there'll be an explosion of awareness, a shift in consciousness which will take us all to the next level of existence(which will be nothing short of the golden age).

But do we get there without going through an intermitten dark period--I'm not yet aware. Does it happen without any effort from our side? Don't think so. Or what'll happen to those who survive the coming collapses but also fail to make the shift in consciousness? 'The Road' examines such a possiblity, where the survivors have the toughest battle--just to stay alive, to stay sane. This journey, as well as the movie, isn't for the faint-hearted. In fact, you have many characters in the movie taking their lives, unwilling and unable to face the horrible prospect of surviving in a post-apocalyptic world. To stay alive, to continue carrying the fire on this journey, to find meaning in life where no such thing exists-- for these, you need an enormous amount of self-determination, preparation and of course, luck.

Ran prieur lists some of those things we can do, as far as preparation goes: Find a landbase and build the topsoil; plant fruit trees and vegetable gardens; learn to forage and hunt and repair stuff; learn uncommon useful skills; make local friends; work to make your city and region more sustainable and resilient; make friends in other regions in case you have to move; gradually shift more of your activities and dependencies out of the money economy; break your addictions; get healthy; spend your money on tools and skills and long-keeping food; meditate; exercise your intuition. This is not meant to be a complete list, but a list of examples of the kind of thing you should be doing. ..When pavements turn to forests, the pavement does not turn green and put down roots -- plants crack the pavement and grow through it. So do that.

Many on those list, we could be doing already. For me, the attitude is more important than the actual tasks. An optimistic outlook, coupled with a healthy detachment, eagerness to learn/know, humility, tuning to the positives in another person and an affinity for community living. To act and form a commune of like-minded individuals, to reduce the costs of living and live simple, to meditate and experience higher realities, to manifest that expandedness in daily living, to learn self-sufficiency and practise it, to learn and teach essential survival skills--these are the signposts for me, further down the road.

The biggie for me is to experience the mystical and share my truths, to find ways to make the shift in consciousness and to inspire others on this quest. That too is a journey but not a physical one. And the road doesn't stretch out but moves inwards. To be on this mystical road isn't easy. I've been on this road for the past 10 years and am yet to come to grips with my bearings. And amidst all of my other obligations and never ending tasks, it's high time I took this journey seriously and venture deep, with all my heart.

A small time-leap...

This is wierd or interesting, silly or deep, depending on how you look at it. But worth recording, I guess.

I sometimes open the archives and read the posts I wrote 4 years ago. And then try to look ahead at life now from that point of view. No earth shattering difference has occured in these years but still it's amusing, because back then, I'd not have thought about where I'm heading or what I'm planning right now. Time changes everything--I'm sure, in another five years, life will be completely different, totally unimaginable. If I can look back at my present self from that point, I'd laugh at many things that I find so profound now.

Everyone of us would be fascinated with this apparent time-leap at one time or the other. As a kid, I'd wonder about my previous births, about where I lived, what I did, who my people were back then etc. Or sometimes I'd look into the future and set sail my imagination. Maybe many of these fantasies were fuelled by the stories we heard, the movies we watched as children but for me, reality wasn't just what we saw and experienced on a day-to-day basis but much larger, more fuller and vivid. Our dreams and imagination could be nothing but tools to glimpse the multi-dimensional lives we lead--a part of which filters down into our awareness as 'reality'.

Writing this blog and recording the events/thoughts/perspectives as they occur is one way of preserving a part of this reality, so that someday, if I can catch hold of a few of these posts, it'll be an interesting read, depending on my life-situation then. And what if, in another lifetime, I come across these writings and also know that it was me who wrote all of these? How profound or unsettling an experience would that be?

When you die and exit, you leave everything behind and and start a new journey. Somewhere down that road, you stumble onto something and in a moment, realise that it has leapt across time and reached you, carrying with it a glimpse of that existence. What do you do next? Toss it aside, shut it out and continue? Look at it, absorb it, feel emotional, feel blessed and marvel at the magic of living? Be inspired to probe deeper into the mysteries that surround our seemingly mundane life? What would I do if I came across such a thing today? Something from another lifetime, another era, detailing what I did then?

Two books have leapt across the chasm and arrived at my desk. Whether or not they inspire me to dwell deeper into the mysteries of life and existence is yet to be seen, but first, I'll read them.

state of mind

So you have one last flame, dancing in the wind, threatening to get blown out
any moment. Half-heartedly, you cup your palms around it, trying to protect it
and at the same time wondering if you should just allow it to die.

Work ethic
I'm not supposed to browse at my workplace. Not that some nerd is monitoring our systems and preparing reports about our online habits. Not even that I give a darn to my manager who sits a few feet away and who can view my monitor in full glory by just turning his neck. Company policy: written: Sit at your desk for 8 hours. Unwritten: Don't browse the internet for non-work purposes.

Yet I break both of them, the unwritten one more so often. Call it slacking off. Or bored-to-death-with-routine. Or squemish rebellion. Or addiction to information-stuffing. Or a five year old habit. Work here gets miserable when the internet goes down. The net is the tonic which helps me finish the job, so that I can hop back onto the information highway. Good? Bad? Who cares, as long as I'm getting the job done for which I'm paid month after month.