The darkness that comes from within

Darkness, it seems have to become second nature to me. Although, my eyes perform their usual behaviour, they seem to have lost their lustrue. An all engulfing sense of doom and hopelessness has pervaded my being, and I have this strange feeling of falling into an abyss which does not seem to have an end.

Its strange considering, the fact that I was literally in the seventh heaven because of the “crazy little thing called love”. My friends, why even my parents asked me the reason behind the sprint in my walk and the smile on my face. It was she, whose presence had brought about this in me. Love is mysterious, it’s a phenomenon, which I am sure all have talked about.

But for me, I sensed it acted as the philosophers’s stone and transformed my world. It had made things appear bright, it had made things appear beautiful for me. A man of words I never was, but in those six months, every piece of music, I heard or every line of the poems made sense to me.

What I would miss most would be the peace that seemed to have descended on me. A deep sense of gratitude and content about everything under the sun, that was my state in those days. Her smile, her touch, the slight twinkle in her shy glance, they made my day.

If only, I knew the dangers that lurked behind the sunshine, I might not have fallen for me. Now, with my very presence being threatened, I understand that the peace I felt was the calm before the tornado, which has engulfed me from all side.

I know its useless to talk about sanity or sense. I know its hard to face my fears.. God knows I have tired. But how can you face something, when you have lost the complete being that gave you the power to face? Its like the earth being pulled under your feet and you being thrown into the black hole of uncertainty and despair.

Tears, they have dried up in my eyes, the dull numbing pain in my heart seems to have become a permanent fixture. At first, my despair had taken the form of rage, but now that rage has turned into poison, which is eating my vitals away.

I wish I knew how to tackle it, but it has become something so violent that I have no control over it. My feeling, my sensibilities, my reason, all seem to have vanished to be replaced by a dull and throbbing pain, which is all out to destroy me.

Now I know what the word routine means, for sure. It is the frightening monotony of things, which vary not, come sun come rain. My breath, my habit, my daily routine has become some thing similar. The man, who resided in my heart, seemed to have vanished or worst trampled in the pell mell of emotions, which took me by surprise. Now, instead lurks a strange being, whose food is anger whose breath give out fumes of poison.

If only I knew that this was the effect of love..

Love

They talk a lot about love.. they call it the supreme senstation.. Yes, I have known what love is all about. It is the feeling, which makes you one, with yourself, which allows you to be you. I do not know if that can be translated, the feeling of being one with the cosmos, with the sky. To stand under the blue sky without any pretenious, just being you.. that I think is love.. to be completely at ease, at peace.. with or without anything substantial.
So, how does it translate into the love that we know as the magic of the cupid? Well may be it does, may be it does not. But those who have had felt it, would know, the smile on the face of your beloved is the worth of all the pains that you go through.
Love for me, is the feeling that i have dreamt in my dreams. It is the secret, of things, which had made me survive the perils of life..
Its like tasting the mellowness of the sun, its like reading the secret behind colours and visualising a world of colours.
love, for me is the feeling, that has made life bearable, with its hatred and its pains..
Yes, I have know life and have faced it when it had no meaning. I have seen it vapourise in front of me, when the rose hurt more than its thorns. But may be it was love, which made be come alive and feel the gift of life again.
I know not the love of humans, although I have been in the game once. I am at flux, for love for me appears to be ethreal, without a body.. but yes it is stronger than the way my breath flows and it nestles in my heart.
Yes I have known love.

So, he is of the lot that does not matter

He does not know about love, or the way his heart works. He just knows the strange longing he feels, when he remembers some one. It is like the wanning of the moon, he can feel the longing in the other person when he sits for the zazen. His heart beats and he understands the longing is from him too.. Well he knows the road is not be simple.. but then he is not simple himself

The day He surrendered to Nature

What do you mean by surrendering to Nature?

He was asked this, by some one, whom he loves and the usual glib tongue of his fell silent. He thought about this, but he could not find an answers as the process itself is something which he has not understood or has not understood long enough to explain. He searched his soul, he looked deep within to find the resonance of things to create for him the words his mind could not come up with.

What is Nature? For him, Nature, is the benevolent Mother, whom he equates with the Life force. For him, Nature, is the reason for the Sun to be bright and for the Moon to mellow. The way he sees Nature, is similar to the way he sees his mother. A mother she is to him, yet she is the mother universal. A mother, who always was there with him, in every form, in every sense of the world. She was there before he was even he, she will be there even after he ceases to be he, and She will be there forever.

Has She the powers to influence his destiny? He fought with her for long, he was antagonistic towards Her, he refused to listen to her. His mistakes touched the sky, this life of his, was unbearable, he could not even think of continuing life as he knew it. Chances were given to him, he blew them up. She was benign, She gave him chances twice, yet he did not know what they were. An ignorant child he was, kicked at the chances She had given, Cried fie on Her creation, and some how, did not know that the fight would be futile.

Ran, he from the way She wanted life to be led. Wanted to be something, which he always thought it was, but he knew not what. Kept screaming, kept shouting, yet he knew not, what he wanted. Those were the days of sadness and distress for him. A burning pyre his heart had become, the very life breath drew the fumes from Haydes. Life, as he knew it was a constant haunting from the mistakes, he had made and the excuses he wanted to crop up to justify his mistakes. The outer calm, deceived many, but his inner turmoil, made him cringe in pain. He asked questions, answers of which he knew, not, yet he wanted to be answered.

What was he looking for? May be he wanted something, which he knew not he had. His impatience, refused to show him the calm he had within, and yet he was too loud to hear the words of contentment that rose from the depth of his soul. The words were mild and gentle, he would have been soothed, but he heard them not. So he had the look of the hunted in his eyes and the poison had entered his heart.

Cornered he was, he knew not where to go. His enemy was within, he knew not how to handle. He scanned the skies, he scanned the ground, for his foes, knowing fully well that they are with in. He knew not, what it meant to be at peace as sleep the slient comforter had deserted his soul.

It was then, a gentle hand fell on his head and he at once opened his eye to the beauty of Her. It was the teary eyes of the mother, which looked down at his despair. The soothing touch, that came on him, was of Nature, who was the Mother tormented by the pains he had brought on to himself. Her tears, dowsed the fires that were there with in, and then he knew what peace was.

What was it that got Her into his life? Nothing, the suffering, the pain that he had gone through was not real for sure, yet it has the illusion to be more than real. It has eclipsed his soul, and then he had cried out in pain towards the Mother, who was always in shadows. Her presence was dramatic, as She always is. She came and destroyed the drama and gave him peace.

What about surrender then? He just gave up. Lifted his hand towards the sky and just said, let go. I have fought enough, God knows I have tried hard enough. All I can say, is that I am weak, I can’t fight against you. Spare me, give me strength, was the anguished cry from his soul. And She had stepped in. It was surrender for him, to give up his ego, of being the doer. He become the done, and he was at peace.

The day I spied on Beauty of the world

His days are spent in the search of things he understands and of things he understands not. Such was the day when he spied upon the scope of eternal beauty that moves the world. It was an ordinary day, and dusk has fallen on the horizon, with her handmaids. There was anything but peace around him, as the restless mind had created a sense of chaos around him. She sat beside him, as he preened away from her ugly glance. "I am superior," was his thought, as he moved away from her. Frail, with the poison of the world in her, she sat, there immersed in her gloom. It was a chance movement, which caught his stare. She moved the tendrils of her hair, and he spied upon the world of beauty around this world of gloom. Beauty is there for those, who can see, it is there for those who can understand it. It is like the silent glow that comes on your face, when you see the Beloved alone, or it is like the way you glow, when you stand before your Maker. Its there when you see the eyes of the anxious mother, whose heart beats for the son, who is in trouble. Beauty is there in the prayers of the mother, whose son, the world has condemned. Nature, he thought, thou art my mother. Pray for me, mother, as I pray for me. Help me, and protect me, give me an entrance to the world of beauty, which you have unveiled for me. Alas, he knew not, the world is for him to savour and for him to worship alone. Beauty, he understood, is for those, whose tears wet the cheek and it is for those, whose eyes have understood what beauty is all about.

The day he died

Suffering it is, of the kind that he does not know. He sits and watches the eyes, of the passengers on this planet called Earth. He wonders what makes the journey so important when it ends at the end of the day. He blinks a little to find out the Earth a place of sadness under the bushel. Pain he sees in the eyes of those, whom he knows not. His eyes reflect what is there with in . He does not blinks, he wants to see what is there in the eye. Can he see, with his eyes close? Can he smell with his nose blocked? Can he touch with his limbs lost? He wonders why the pain moves him so? He wonders what makes him cry, why is there a yearning in his heart? Will he not be heard? Will Nature be silent when he cries to see the pain that is there in him?

On the peculiarity of his mind

He sits straight observing the apparatus called his mind. He knocks it off, yet it comes back on its own. Wonders how he manages to go through, life with an apparatus as unreliable as his mind. It knows no logic, it knows no sense a bundle of contradiction, created out of his world that is not true for the first. Glorifies sorrows, when there are none, laments over joy, when there is none. What indeed was the thought, that created the mind? How was it when Man was born, with no one to guide to make the mind the cesspool of contradiction? Alas, if he knew the way the mind worked if he knew how it began