January 1, 2013 § 12 Comments
The Annual Report from WordPress made me feel terrible for my laziness with regards this blog, and so a minor update: I’ve moved a few times since descending the Blue Mountains, and will be on the go again in a month. A brief on the wonders of 2012 (easily one of my happiest years, might even scoop first place as The Happiest) have been jotted down below:
In drunken revelry, a year of time and fierce presence is remembered.
Another full year, and I did not see the sea very often, but the sun did set and rise in it. And as light pulled back and forth, so did my stories. It is no longer easy for me to say where I’ve come from, nor where I’m headed. This knowledge is now like vacant truth, denied by meaning.
My story is not my own. It has travelled over surplus borders and languages and foods and faiths. And the people that scrawled words across its canvas are some of the greatest poets I’ve met. Their lives – their everyday – tell limitless tales of what it is to hunt down meaning, to fight and struggle with passion, to feel full of blood and humanness. There is no longer room for merely getting by, no longer space for a single day to pass forgotten.
And somewhere in between all the skies, I moved from countless house to house, always calling them home as they buried themselves in nooks of living memory – new neighbours to dine with and listen to and share with; new teachers to walk tight ropes of freedom with; new friends to love and challenge; new families of my own.
I had never been pushed so far unto freedom, and could no longer claim to know myself. I started to dispose of unnecessary articles that halted, even so slightly, every opportunity to live and engage with life. And in began to flow older thoughts from younger days: the knowledge that routine is a myth, but exhilarating comfort still appears when a local recognises you as part of their landscape; that no matter how full days become, there’s always time to be more; that another drought and flimsy banks and lawyers can drive someone you know to suicide, even as you watch a storm light up a desert with soft rain; that no amount of seeking refuge in pre-defined sentiment will teach joy, but sunrises come rather close; that to disconnect ourselves from our lands is madness of a dangerous breed; that winter winds carry flocks of migrants who choose to trust despite unknowing change; that trust isn’t, and will never be, as significant as love; that we are all vulnerable to theft of many kinds; that we can never find peace if we only wish it unto ourselves; that all that I am certain of rests within this moment, ready to perch upon a distant echo and dance out of reach. I know so much less than I did a year ago, but the intensity and joy of each day are all I wish to pursue.
And 2013? I can only anticipate.
July 10, 2012 § Leave a comment
The sun remained eclipsed for days, shining brightly at us via a rainbow round a wholesome moon.
Veeraiya, the wisest of storytellers, spoke to us of forests and our role in repeated wanderings through the same. Our paths, he said, create streams. And thus, where we go, water follows, closely by life.
I may have become from a cultivated sea, but the mountains and the waters they birth are now my home. With each setting day, I grow afraid that my return may be distant and new love, challenging to find. It appears as if these mounds are clinging to me and crying out for me to stay, but it is I alone who weeps. These hills and the lives they sustain are my solitude. I may not know them, but their faces I shall never forget.
My descent wasn’t as steady as I foresaw. The dependable moon remained through my last day as the sun rose brilliantly from the ghats. Bamboo Rivers lead me away from my new familiar as my love grew mightier than the deep-seated roots that hold up these mountains despite gravity’s snare. This is now my only remaining hope – that my own travels create space for waters to flow and life to rejoice.
For amidst a sea of cloud, the earth is an adventure.
January 15, 2012 § 2 Comments
My upbringing delved into the possibility of words and worlds of scientific meaning. Logic lay in most corners of my knowledge and the solace it provided was a temporary comfort. Mystery novels; probably the primary culprits. Soon, the use of the mind to understand, to comprehend before creating became essential to thinking, wondering and questioning. Every life is a story, and every story can be mapped out, presented as a flow chart and clinically treated. Our stories are cluttered with logic. Cause-effect relations huddle round every corner waiting to be discovered and treated with an excited, scientific mind. We believe it unfailingly possible to comprehend the lives we choose. We believe we understand ourselves and forget that our existence is mere, and yet infinitely beyond our minds.
Slowly, foolishness creeps in with each morning, as the mind stirs and we roar into the sunrise and the eye of another mystery.
January 1, 2012 § Leave a comment
Not now; not yet.
If only freedom were as easy a choice as it is made to seem. To wander as we please is not an effortless principle to abide by, even without various legal restrictions. We are taught to function and move with purpose; even those that take the road less travelled must choose a road. Aimless ramblings are unwise, unstable, unproductive.
As much as I desire and crave change – new landscapes, ideas, adventure and words – even now, not yet.
February 23, 2010 § Leave a comment
Those early mornings: brimming with energy and lazy eyes. A sense of wonder can’t help itself, but engulf every waking being.