Intoxicated Incoherence

Today I am back to my incoherent best. So many tangled threads of thought – reminds me of tangled mess of yarn mom used to take out just before she used to start knitting for the winter. On second thought, these are alive. They feel more like a squirming bed of creepers, trying to climb up and being pulled down by others – it reaches out – up in the free air and then falls back into that moving mess. So many thought, yet not able to express – that been the story for quite some time. Looking back – in an effort to find out the reason why am I not writing anymore, again a swarm of thoughts covers the consciousness.

Is it that I have become possessive of my writings? Is that I have that urge to maintain a standard in my blog? Is it that I am afraid that since people are aware whose thoughts these are? Or is it the opposite –no one actually reads into the thoughts I pour out? Is it that I know that those who could have read into them will no longer read them? Or is it that I do not want them to read in?

See? Again – have started blabbering. That’s what I have been doing. And that’s why those thoughts stopped making it to these pages.

Today, when I woke up in the morning, I stepped into the balcony, greeted by the nip in the air, looked out at the thin veil of mist. Sky still gloomy, sun yet to succeed in waking up; I saw the row of flower pots – the plants were all dead. They have not been tended – not loved for ages. The kept on burning in the savage summer; they must have kept pleading for the monsoon – that gave a miss. While I was feeling secure in the controlled inside of my closed doors, some who were close to me might have died.

Is it true, like someone told me that I do not know how to take care of those who love me? Is it because of that only one of my favorite ways of expressing myself has left me? Or am I being needlessly insecure. That reminds me, even after getting so much in life in last one year, don’t know why sometime, the feeling of emptiness still haunts. As if I am staring at the masterpiece I have just completed, and while everyone keeps applauding, my stare only finding pieces of blanks in the portrait! As if looking at the appreciating crowd, I can only see the smirk hanging from a face – in the last row, standing apart – looking at me; the eyes telling me, “See – you too know, it’s not a masterpiece. You too know there are so many places that are still a blank, and you can do nothing about it!”

Yes it troubles me. But somehow, I know it’s nothing but being human. Being human only makes us crave for pathos. Like I was explaining her a few days back. It’s like intoxication. We know it’s toxic yet we fall for it. We love to enjoy pain. Somewhere deep in our consciousness, we crave to be pained. That is why we reminisce, that’s why we feel good to be nostalgic. So I miss; miss being read and explained by someone. I know I can get anytime from a shrink, but not from a friend. Just like I used to be pained, when I missed chatting up with my college group; having no hope to be able to do that again. Yet am able to do it now a day; albeit rarely, but it has come back. And that gives me hope that may be I will again get a friend, new or an old one coming back, who might be able to read me.

Not demeaning a single bit the love I am floating in, life has taught me that survival always means a trade off. It is not a Utopia, so we always have to “choose n pick”. You win some – you lose some. It’s the choice that we make, that makes us what we are. And I have chosen without regret. So it’s just the craving for intoxication of pathos that makes me miss. Once we start seeing through the veil of illusion around us, we come to know, how fragile and transient life is. It’s not worth lamenting what we have not, and squander all that we have. So less time and so many things to do. Have already lost precious years, may be decades in the void. It is time I too enjoy what I envied others enjoying. Am not only thankful for what I have been gifted in last one year, but also for all that I got before and taken away. That proved that I too have the ability to get all those, yet I chose to move away. And I know the reason why I moved. Someone called me manipulative; I know I am not, yet I did try to manipulate that one time.

Our elders time and again have tried to teach us that road to enlightenment is through purification through pain. When they felt, they were not having enough pain; they spent on bed of nails and walked on fire. My soul wants me to believe, these are the same pain. Sometime it numbs, sometime it stirs up the emotions, and sometime it simply put me in bliss. Like the perfectly brewed bottle of wine, pain too can bring wonders. Looking back, that’s why I thank all of them who have been part of my life and left. And pray that if I ever get a chance to repay, or lessen their pain, may my God help me in be able to doing so.

I know, I have always been crazy and intend to remain so. Not caring an aorta, what world thinks of it. So I will keep rambling; if someone dares to read, it’s their choice. If no one does, I would know I have completed my urge to take these thoughts out of me, put them on a piece of paper and tear them off. That’s what I have been doing. Now, am just putting them in a recycle-bin called my Blog. There has been hardly any good blog around now a day. Just as rightly said by someone, all I can see around are one-liners and people copying thoughts of others. So I feel safe! Horus tries to walk again!

6 responses to “Intoxicated Incoherence

  1. i was a writer before i died
    i read it
    what you have say is about where i’m coming from these days
    i don’t write because nobody reads what i have to say
    boiled down to nothing but complaining
    keep up the writing
    i’ll try to do more myself
    thanks for the honest post
    hathor

  2. Amazing – I told no one that I have written again, told no one that this blog has become active again.. yet it found a reader… that too someone who connects.. Thanks Hathor ! Best of luck with your writing and emoting !

  3. blogs are dead.. no one reads and writes these days.. but am going to make an effort positively to resuscitate the reading habit and reading such lovely posts motivates to stick to the plan..
    all wonderful writers are demented.. so that is alright ,,😀
    btw.. the first para reminded me of those erstwhile days when ladies gathered in groups chattering and knitting.. sigh..
    and the penultimate para on pain is simply exquisite ..

  4. i like your positive approach to life- fire reduces cold to ashes and gold to purity🙂

    we can use our worst pain as our best ally to enlightenment, wisdom.

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