Narcissus on the Run

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“Narcissus so himself himself forsook,

And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.”

The story of Narcissus is in fact a myth. A myth of great profundity. I grasp it so well and relate to it exclusively! This is how it goes:

The handsome guy is SO in love with his own image reflected in the pool that eventually he’s doomed to be drowned in this pool. From the spot he drowns, later grows a flower which is called the Narcissus.

This is what they tell us of the story of Narcissus but if you’re just a tiny bit smarter than most people or if you even simply THINK just a bit more you’d see it the way it really is.

You see; Our fellow simply appreciates his whole being and is grateful for all he’s been granted. The notions considered as cockiness and uptightness are merely false interpretations of the actual sensation he’s trying to maintain.

All the people reprimand our young fellow cause he’s using mirrors to see life instead of a clear transparent vision. But do they stop to think that maybe it’s the reflection that makes us see the reality more clearly than the reality itself? That perhaps in a mirror you can’t help but see what REALLY is there and not an illusion whatsoever?

I, for one, understand the boy really well. He’s not proud. He’s in love with the beauty born out of love itself. He merely gets it; feels it; lives it and loves it. In his head, there’s a heart and not a brain. In his chest; a piece of rock, oh so cold.

It pains him how those around him do not dare to be just as free. In a world filled with self-made traps, how can he lead the life he has in mind and be understood by all? or at least those of greater kinship? he feels so lonely, our little child. He IS a child after all; Let’s not forget. He DOES need love and a shoulder to cry on at times.

His tough, sweet and perfect exterior probably has a better chance at survival than the inner being it carries around. But you see it’s not the body he cares so much about; Let’s not be mistaken about that once more!

Narcissus, I’m sure, Has had but very few encounters with the likes of himself. How it has gone I’m not sure. He’s tried doubtlessly but perhaps not enough. He’s alone as I said and that’s what makes him dread; Dread his every single step. He has to be perfect you see, Poor guy.

I’d like to think the whole “being drowned in the pool” bit was a lie. or at least some kind of figurative speech the complication of which is impossible to get hold of for me. Cause the Narcissus that I knew wouldn’t be gone JUST LIKE THAT. He’s got so much more to see and feel. So many “moments” he has to live. So many desires to fulfill.

Oh no; The Narcissus that I know is not one to drown. He floats and rises in such glory. The sun would even pout.

August 2010

My 8-Legged Friend

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The other day, after a long restless day of work I was chilling out on my bed when it suddenly drew my attention; Dark brown, with long legs and a slim figure on the corner of my ceiling, very still; A Spider!

You see, I’m the kind of person who’s mostly cool towards such matters; insects and such I mean. I have my very own philosophy towards them; That being very kind and concerned about them; pitying them for their weakness and always being careful not to accidentally or deliberately crush them.

But no matter how much you care about them, It’s a spider after all and you’ll eventually have more concern for your ears or nostrils, right? And so against my will, I had to kill it or if I wanna put it less harshly, I let it go to a better place.

This is my side of the story, and perhaps the one that’s less pleasant. Now let’s see what the spider has to say, ha?

On a cold winter night precisely at 10 PM a spider is born into this world of chaos and confusion. He still doesn’t have a conscience at this point for he’s very very new to this world.

His needs are just eating and excretion and sleep and he doesn’t have the faintest about life and the universe cause he’s so darn young you see.

He goes wherever life (at this point being those around him) takes him and has no–and I mean NO sense of direction! this tiny little spider of ours is just a tiny being, struggling in this massive cosmos!

Little by little he learns about life and the steps he takes tend to get some kind of direction, right or wrong. He asks a lot of questions and grows to a tiny extent. He’s not aware of his growth yet though.

Then he starts to have his first real experiences; of love and of those special moments in life; of lies and of those dirty moments in life; of mere happiness and of sorrow and such. He thinks he knows a little; He’s mistakenly wrong though and doesn’t even know it yet.

Then he makes a few friends; All spiders of course cause he can only fit in with them. He experiences some new things again, some being way to pleasant and overwhelming for him while others just a bit different; no matter what, he’s still so happy and excited about the whole thing, and is still thinking he actually knows something. poor naive thing!

Our teeny spider now goes through a change of beliefs while encountering some new people, he changes attitude and feels kinda new, supposing that life is fair after all and that he only has to find a new way; a better one at that. he thinks he’s passed the confusion phase and that at this point he’s finally found the way…the hard way!

He becomes more daring and as time goes by he gets tougher and tougher, or so he thinks!! He actually pulls a few stunts the old him would’ve never even dreamt of. but still at a certain point, at the end of the day he realizes…”I’m as confused as ever! and nothing has really really changed”

Those around him have learnt to cherish and respect him so highly by now and THAT, he likes and lives up to. But there are times he doubts all those loved ones and thinks of this universe and himself; one on one.

He feels desperate and at the same time so so powerful; on top of this frigging world! and so he goes high. Up up in the sky; so high that he doesn’t even see his eight-legged fellows and thinks he’s the one. Then again, self doubt once more, brings him so so down!

Our little spider, now with a bit of hope and perspective, figures he still has a lot to learn and that one day he would know more, but never quite enough…he decides to take a soothing walk one day just to clear his mind…

And guess what? that walk of his happens to take place on a certain ceiling; my ceiling and he ends up being squashed!

He dies without even knowing what happened or where all his hopes were gone to? how or what or when it happened? he had so many hopes? all gone in a second! is that even fair?

such is life I guess.

The funny thing about it is; I don’t even hate spiders or am not even scared of them.

August 2011

In throught the Wild

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Right when the waves come, something goes; either the now-shattered waves which had come a while ago or a man. One goes. One has to go. Always.

The waves always know that they don’t exist; they know that they are not but the sea. When far from the shore they begin to be shaped into existence with the help of the wind, they are more themselves; for they don’t possess the hallucination that they will BE a wave for long. Once they actually reach the coast and fade in the sand, they can see it more that they are NOT but the sea. Once and for all they become selfless and a mark in the sand is the only thing that’s left of them, which eventually is vanished by the waves to come. They are the sea then, the waves. They have no time to be BUT that.

The man had decided to do the inconceivable; the “divine” as he would put it. He had been under the influence of something intense, something so powerful. He came to see the sea at that early time of the day when the morning breath is so zesty and new; when the air is so neat; the sea and the sky are one; when the horizon doesn’t care to be around and simply lets the air and the water play and mingle.

The velvety clouds dotted here and there are almost felt against your skin. The vastness of the landscape enters your soul and only your eyes are left as the single part of you that lingers. The breeze so magical drowns you deep into the sky among the clouds while you float in the sea, in the wild and crazy water you float.

The man, now overwhelmed by the magnitude and pure beauty of all this, goes into the sea. He lets the water touch wherever it feels like, he lets the water do the unthinkable. The man, burning with love, lets the lover end the existence of the beloved. He goes with the waves, the sea. Fear never even existed, EVER! This love has been the only inhabitant of the universe since the dawn of time. Imagine flying through the sea, being as spread out as air itself. How light. Now, the man could only see light, hope and love; could only BE. The next second he no longer WAS.

I, the little boy, seeing all this, feared the non-existence that had occurred. I, the little boy, was partly an observer, partly just a little boy. Here to play. I, the little boy, feared the sea and blamed the waves once more. I, the little boy, was repelled by the waves; I feared their existence. I thought they never were; but they were. For me they existed and they were rather cruel, the waves. The purity and beauty of the day still remained. When the man was gone or started to be, a seagull flew off and I knew who he was. I decided to call the seagull Jonathan the seaman.

Ever since the sweet tragedy, I couldn’t see; knowing that trying in this lost cause would be in vain, I decided to listen from then on, to hear in fact. So the visions were replaced by sounds, by tunes and echoes resonating and resounding all around and I just listened. So still, I just listened. The silence filled my ears, filled me up. To hear nothing but the flow is so pure, innate, so secluded and sacred. In this silence I heard a lot; many stories and tales of man and his journeys through the path of nature. I heard of love and beauty and adventure and the wild; definitely of the wild; I vividly remember the existence of the wild, always there; at its wildest indeed. And just to have shown me how good it could actually get, the wild shook the earth; an earthquake as man likes to call it. I laughed and just had fun with it; with a pinch of panic of course. In the end, the rain told me not to worry, for god was watching over. I hesitated for a second, but smiled regardless. The trees so green beamed and the morning once more emerged. I embraced the sea once more and the sea bid farewell to me with the rain. I said goodbye while the sea said:

“You’ll be here. You’ll come back; one day, you will.”

The calm breeze kissed me goodbye and set me on my way…

February 2010

Pro Platonic Penetration

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There in the ashram I was sitting; to meditate. There was no time to hesitate; by the tree of knowledge, so nurturing, I was sitting in the quiet presence of the ashram, held by the warm embrace of the serene glow.

Sitting there, in the ashram, it felt as if a part of me had always lived there, in this presence, feeling this love, this never-ending euphoria all around me: the delirious incense, burning, floating all throughout the hallways and the main chamber, the soothing sound of the ancient flute in the air, coming out of nowhere and from everywhere, seething at this point.

My oblivion and my alertness both emerging at once; letting me experience this lucratively glorious sensation; The whisper, heard in time, caressing me, this sweet aroma of nature and clay, of soil, of earth and the early breeze of the dawn which has passed through the dews of the moist midnight, cooling my soul.

I take a few drops of the tree sap; it makes me alive, brings me to life. I lie on the wet grass, now out of the halls, the damp, fresh air is melancholic and so still, moving and trembling and there’s the shaking of the earth so vibrant.

I’m breathing; I’ve been taught to breathe this way, it helps. It works like magic; “like” magic. But the real magic occurs when I simply let go of the learned and hang on only to the new, so to speak. With closed eyes, legs crossed and of course a straight spine, I sit to meditate, I sit to let go.

And so I go; I don’t get far, so obvious! Because the child, the little boy is awake. He wants to play yet another one of his old games, the slide game, it turns out; his favorite. But now he’s realized it’s just a game; only a game. It’s fun and all but it is, after all only a game. And he’s growing up this boy…

The ashram, the perfect replica of what the world’s made of. Some here, not knowing why; it pains me. It pains me how they close the doors and put giant padlocks on them and throw the keys in bottomless pits or the volcano even!

And I start dancing, right there, in the middle of the ashram, among the meditators, I’m just circling around, spinning, forming these very harmonious moves which I have always known but hidden in me.

The voices touch me and caress me and embrace me. Oh how full of joy. The rhythm is in the air and there’s air in the rhythm. I am the rhythm, ready to fade away, fade out, vanish.

I shouldn’t, but I occasionally do take a glance at the now even darker space, the cold, chilly breeze and the scared, scary faces so out of light, being tortured by their arch enemy, the self. Oh how it diminishes and dismantles the soul; squashes it right under its humongous giant feet.

Oh but love yet stays here, in this air. God lives in this ashram if you ask me. That’s why you possibly cannot get lonely around here; god is here, right here in the ashram. He lets us play together, we all can play. In the valley of love, there’s only joy, only goodness. Why then, be anywhere else? How could I? how would I ever? I shall be only here, and yet…

The pathless woods… the shore… the ocean… the music… NATURE… eternal nature

Let me have you; let me touch you all over and smell you; kiss your every inch and embrace you. Let me be yours, truly yours. Let me give you all I have, all my love. Let me just die for you; let me make love to you…sweet, passionate Love…

August 2010

Andrew’s Moment of Truth & Dare

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Absolute, sheer, utter, pure madness; Andrew had learnt these collocations time and again. Hearing is one thing of course, but experiencing, quite another. He had always tried to listen intently, sympathetically; never with half an ear. To truly listen, Andrew knew, wasn’t simply hearing the words and waiting for his own turn to speak his mind. He knew that really listening was all communication was cracked up to be. Communication: that familiar word. Andrew knew it like his own name; had heard it even more. And this had made him a very good listener; a truly attentive listener. He would listen, really listen and try to communicate. he wouldn’t much care about what others thought of his words, but he did care, to an extent, for what they had to offer. Andrew simply loved sharing, communication; a concurrent communion; a stream of thoughts; pleasant thoughts, appalling ones. This endless, steady stream. This madness was so real though; He had never feared self-alienation. At least that’s what he said. He loved change and creativity, innovation and any kind of rebirth or death for that matter. But this craziness was beyond him and all that he had faced. He hadn’t ever known it; he hadn’t ever expected it and please note that Andrew was always one for surprises, big ones at that. But this was so far, the maddest! Too much for him; He got mad. He was screaming at the top of his voice. His screams were high-pitched, loud, piercing, shrill, very hysterically blood-curdling. They were ringing out, echoing right through my head. For the first time since I had known him, I was terrified of him and his actions. For a second, it made me ponder:

“Is that really Andrew?”

It really was not. I did not know this guy. Who was he? I wondered if he even knew…he was petrified as much as I was. Oh well, how would I know? Maybe even more than I was; Doubtlessly.

He just kept shouting:

“ I’ve gone mad! I’ve gone mad! I’m insane! I am insane! I’m seriously crazy! Help! I’m crazy! I can’t take it! I’m mad!”

I could barely imagine what he was going through; barely. But the terror in his eyes, was one of absolute authenticity; it was original, so real. You cannot possibly mistake that kind of fear for anything else. He transferred part of it to me too; And then more of it to the atmosphere. Then fear was dominant. Fear was all that was felt. In our souls, in the air; inevitable. You had to face it, there was no alternative. And then we all started fearing, being scared to bits; real terror this was. Only fear.

A few days have passed since then and the whole thing seems like ages ago. Yet I so vividly hear his shrill screams, his shouts, the blood-curdling echoes in his feared tone. Andrew was really scared that day. He only saw a glimpse of the truth and almost gone mad, almost died…almost.

August 2010

Fly

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If only we could always live on a plane and see our own lives from high above; from that high altitude, only then we might’ve been reminded constantly of the real magnitude of our heads and the mind. How minuscule indeed is the human mind; the human body, the human himself. How small!

And even yet, what if we would live constantly on a plane which would fly over all the clouds, so that we could not see man anymore; only the clouds, the mist and the rising sun on the opaque horizon, could we then just be? In that infinite space?

Because that’s where the soul exists and so does the heart. Light, peace and serenity and everything that’s sweet. A pessimist would also point out uh… the disturbing sound of the engine and the omnipresent fear of death of course, but why even think of that where such calm is present? Why even bother to look for the shadows where there’s only pure, morning light?

The rays have never been so united, so in harmony. Harmonious movement of light. THIS is being in the present; THIS is being free from the chains of tomorrow and yesterday. THIS is constant bliss. THIS is seeing and feeling love within every fiber of your being. THIS is becoming the light, becoming love. This is the closest to not being you. This is the truest you’d ever get—just to be a touch hopeless!

Now, what if we could ALWAYS live in the clear blue ocean? What if we would at all times, lie on the golden sandy shore and see our lives in the ocean waves, happening every second? What if we would sit for a few mere seconds and hear the splendid melody of life through the tropical ocean breeze? Would we, then reach freedom? Would we, then be free from the misery we’ve brought upon ourselves so hardly throughout our years on this planet?

What if the sun and the ocean were our only friends all day, every day? What if we had no enemies, particularly the ever-disturbing self? Would we, then be one with the universe? Would we be timeless? What if we could be like the island trees? So strong and so humble; so beautiful and so generous, offering a pretty smile and welcome, through their darkness, under the scorching weather of life? What if we were or could learn to be-for a second-the pure tropical climate? So subtle and so intense within only seconds? Could we ever let go of the sweet divine taste of freedom?

Shall we switch the setting to a tropical island NIGHT? Cycling around the twisted path which at times leads through the steep mountain skirts and the placid lakes of the hollows; this is the setting.

Damp air, brushing against your face, tiny drops of moist, glistening on your skin. Water, dripping from the back of your hair, you wonder if this is a dream.

I leave the path, give back the rented bike and after quenching my thirst with yet another strawberry beer, I head to the wooden dock. The endless wooden path which does actually have and end. But as far as the eyes are concerned, that end, is the dark blue sea. Halfway! But it’s fine. I walk it anyway and I do consider it as one of the many walks of like. Because a lesson lies in the end, where the eye sees only darkness.

There is the reflection of the many lights on the now-so-calm sea. To a point of course. Then there’s pure darkness. The sweet sea is now the demon of loneliness and fear. One can just stand and look away. One should do only that. Because taking action of any kind here, would be the work of only the blatant.

There’s always light, there’s always light! But there’s always darkness too; they coexist.

The fear propels me backwards and I head back. It’s funny that of all times, I should see Jonathan NOW ! he flies over; his presence is a message. A message for those who care to see it, receive it. and Jonathan keeps flying, I see him go past the island, but I know he likes this place.

February 2011

The Passing Path

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Just an ordinary day; an ordinary walk along some unimportant path which leads someplace known.

Who’s walking? he is. Who is he? He knows. That should suffice.

As fate would have it for him, he happens to pass this guy, something in his eye: interest. Pure interest. He doesn’t know what kind, but is allured in a way. Pretends not to see him show some gesture. He passes the guy, and then pauses, stops, goes back, takes out one of the ear phones and acts as if the guy had something important to ask.

He only asks the time. As a starter; he knows. They both know that. The guy then asks where he’s headed. He answers. He’s not even shocked.

He answers in a very matter-of-fact way. he asks if he’s in a rush. “yes.” He replies. He asks about his job. Small talk with an incentive for sure.

The guy’s words and his eyes don’t match. He then says: “you must dance well.” Not so shocked at the question, impulsively he replies: “sometimes.”

It all happens so fast and so swiftly; so smoothly as if they have both rehearsed this scene and their lines many many times.

The setting’s early fall; in the streets. The time of change, that of madness.

He tells him to give him his phone number. He doesn’t hesitate. He’s paying close attention to his teeth. They are yellow and dirty. Haven’t been brushed for only god knows how long. He doesn’t judge him, just looks. He is rather interested. He senses a tinge of danger too.

He leaves. They part. He’s certain he’d see him soon. There’s something in it for them both. He knows.

Sometime later he contacts him. He calls him by a very awkward name. this is when it hits him. He tries to escape. Not in a very discreet fashion. He sees him. He’s very intense. Tense. He asks if he’s in a rush. A very harsh “yes.” Is all he gets. Accompanied by a “what for?”

“I wanna spend time working my way on your lips.” He blurts.

He’s taken aback now. But he rather gets the point. He gives a faint laugh and looks into his eyes and tells him: “oh! So that’s what this is about.” And then lets him know he’s not in.

He’s perturbed but not hopeless. He must’ve been almost certain. One can tell by the look in his eyes.

He tries to prove him wrong, but only gets a smile of confirmation. A sweet smile followed by some small talk. Just like when it all began. And so they depart; again.

He’s walking along some unimportant path which leads someplace known; but it just isn’t an ordinary day anymore.

November 2009