Words

I write
Sequences of words,
Meaningless,
And vest them with
As much meaning
As life.

Moments

Moments -- untold, indescribable.
Moments written in the whisper of the wind.
Moments seen in the fading half-light of stormy skies.
Moments sketched in power, in love.
Moments shouted from mountain tops.
Moments born in reality, in unfolding destiny.
Moments frail as spider webs glistening with morning dew.
Moments strong as tempered steel.

Moments slipping through my fingers.
Moments drowning in the inky blackness of expectations.
Moments burning low, flickering out into dust and ashes.
Moments trapped in a cage of needs and wants.
Moments gone quiet, echoes dying out.
Moments retreating from the onslaught.
Moments smothering under the weight of tomorrow.
Moments waiting to re-emerge.

Always asking, never knowing.
Always careful, never showing -- anything at all.
Denying, resisting, persisting and never accepting.
What world taught us to douse fairy-lights?
I capture the body of a moment in words,
Like catching a butterfly and pinning it down.
But its soul? Its soul flits away with an inscrutable smile...
Elusive, unfathomable, indestructible.

Fire can burn and fire can warm.
Fire can witness vows made outside time and space.
Fire hides in the breast of the wind,
In the salt of the sea, and the grains of the earth.
Fire flows in our veins and leaps from our eyes.
Mountains grew in fire, and webs, and steel.
Moments forged in fire will always gleam true.
These moments will always be.

Thank you for the gift

"You look like a star -- you have a radiant sort of personality shining through you -- your proper habitat should be the evening sky just after sunset -- or the morning sky just before sunrise. Yes. I think I shall call you Star."
"Do you mean you think I'm pretty?", she asked directly.
"Why, it hadn't occured to me to wonder whether you were pretty or not. Do you think a star should be pretty?"
She reflected.
"No", she said finally, "the word doesn't suit a star."
"I perceive you are an artist in words. Of course it doesn't. Stars are prismatic -- palpitating -- elusive. It is not often that we find one made in flesh and blood."

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The above is from "Emily of the New Moon". I was re-reading it for the hundredth time, perhaps, and suddenly paused on those words. They took me back to words that someone had whispered in the soft darkness of a train coach a long time ago. I should have given those words some thought. How strange that I spent all these years asking a pointless question.

Sweet dreams

It's the middle of the night, and I am way way overdue for going to bed. Looking at life through the blur of sleepy eyes, I almost feel the "flash" that so thrilled Montgomery's Emily. Poised on the brink of the future. It's time for 'adieu's and time for 'hello's, for tears and for laughter, for letting go and holding on. And for tonight, it's time to sleep.

Good night. I love you.

A fairytale - Part 1

Once upon a time, long, long ago, in a magic kingdom far, far away, there lived a king. The kingdom was in a vast forest -- the most beautiful forest you can imagine. There were rolling hills and shimmering lakes in this forest. There were trees reaching to the heavens, and little paths under the canopies of leaves. Mushrooms peeked out from under the shade of burdock leaves. Frogs hopped, birds called, dragonflies flitted, and coyotes howled at night. All the inhabitants of this kingdom lived in harmony. The king's castle was right in the centre of this forest, on top of the prettiest of all the hills. In the castle's backyard was the lake with the highest magic of all.

In this kingdom, there was utter joy. But the king wanted to spread joy outside his lands as well. He would travel in disguise through the world on this mission. Every so often, he would return to his castle to gather his strength, before setting off again.

Far away from this kingdom, lived an enchantress. The enchantress lived in a crystal palace on top of a flaming rock in the middle of the ocean.The winds roared and the waves broke all around in wild beauty and light. Yet the enchantress could not stay at home. The world was full of dragons to be conquered, and she would keep going from place to place in search of them.

The enchantress's dominion stretched over the unearthly... fire, water, air. And souls.

One day, in course of their travels, the king and the enchantress met each other. Despite their disguises, they knew each other instantly. The king, being very generous, invited the enchantress to visit his kingdom. And the enchantress thought, so what if the kingdom was outside her dominion? There was nothing she would like better than to be a visitor there, to leave her quests aside for a day or two.

So, they traveled to the king's land. For the first time ever, the enchantress was traveling without hope or agenda. For there is only need for hope when there is something wrong. And what agenda could one have in the complete unknown?

They reached the outskirts of the forest, and started walking towards the castle. The king kept introducing his subjects, his friends, and the enchantress was welcomed by them all. She was enchanted by the loving harmony in this world of earth and trees more lovely than her unearthly one. After walking for many days and many nights, the pair finally reached the castle.

To be continued...

Dear reader from Queensland, Brisbane, Australia...

... I see on my stat-counter that you have read a fair amount of my blog. I would love it if you'd leave a comment, since I have no idea who you are. Thank you for visiting!

Shades of the sea

The sea was the home of her soul. As a little girl, she would wait every year for the precious few days that they'd spend by the sea. The long train ride. The dusty road and clean white house. And finally... the sea. The reunion of old loves. Through the scorching sand in the white heat of summer, she’d run for her first glimpse... and then run again, straight into the arms of the water. Unstoppable, a force of nature herself, running into the sea until the waves surrounded her and embraced her. Then she'd pause, laughing with the sheer joy of living, before plunging forward to be fully in the world she shared with the sea. The sea recognised her; named her for who she was; completed her.

The colours changed, and so did the moods, in that eternal sea with its unchanging power. So many shades of the sea, and not one she didn't love. Blue, green, grey. Sometimes limpid, sometimes deep... sometimes boisterous, sometimes calm… the waves rising and falling and always calling. A primal call she could never resist, and would never want to. The waves that kissed and leaped and pulled her under. The salt in her face, the sand in her pores. On bright blue days, or under lowering monsoon clouds. She recognized the sea, named it for what it was. She could have stayed in it forever.

Then would come the time for goodbyes. The time for wrenching hearts and learning not to cry. And she was back in the world, with the strength she needed tucked away in her chest. She was too alive to ever stand by marking time, and she lived life with all the lusty exuberance of her passionate nature. But somewhere inside, she’d keep waiting…

She used to swear to herself, “When I grow up, I’ll live by the sea.” But life gets in the way, and adult women tend to dismiss little girl fantasies. So she didn’t. She chose, instead, to live in a nice city, in a pretty house, with everything one would want. She loved the winds around her house, all soft and sweet, and she smiled in their gentleness. She forgot her longing for the smell of salt. She loved that her house stood on solid bedrock – it made so much more sense than shifting sands. She loved the sunsets and the stars, and it seemed immaterial that they were not reflecting off breaking waves. Of course, she could always visit the sea. There were never any recriminations, only the healing sense of wholeness. And so it was a happy life.

And yet… the sea, the sea, the call of the sea. The tumultuous sounds and sensations in blue and green, drowning out truths she thought she knew and choices she thought she’d made. That strange longing from deep within and long ago…

Tell Me Your Dreams

Note: This is the first "real" song for which I've written lyrics. I was in a friend's basement, listening to a musician (who I had just met) create music. I was really listening -- like I had never listened to music before. And the guitar spoke to me. I jotted down the words just as they had to be... so I haven't really written these lyrics. I just heard and articulated them.
..........................................................................

Tell me your dreams,
Angel blue --
Midnight streams.
Tell me your dreams.

Open my eyes...
Open my eyes... (sexy babe)

Sinful thoughts, I dare to scream.
Don't you tell me it's how it seems;
Push and pull and truth and lies...
It's all a dream.

Climb the skies where seagulls soar,
Crickets call -- I want some more!
Eyes closed: my heart cries,
"It's not a dream."

Racing pulses sigh and slow;
Was that the end? I don't know.
Am I a fool, or am I wise?
Was it a dream?

No no no...
Don't ask me to let go...
No no no...

Tell me your dreams,
Angel blue --
Wrap us up
In indigo.
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Anika

You found me so that you could teach me perseverance and patience and unconditional love, didn't you? You kept trying, undaunted by many many failures, until you found out how to jump on to every surface in our home, until you could get into every cupboard. I saw you today, squeezing your way into my office, desperate to get near me, not believing in the limitation of not having opposable thumbs. You would never ever think, "I can't".

And when your daily round of naughtiness is done, you climb into my lap, not doubting for a moment that I will love you. And why should you doubt it? Didn't you spend all day teaching me the most important things I could learn? And as you lay and purr and drool your happiness on me, I know that I will always love you. Thank you for finding me.

Yes, we care

Today is an extraordinary day. Today is a step on the road to a world where we all actually care about the environment and what happens to it. I may have come a tiny way on this road not knowing where I was going, but it's my first deliberate step.

I am nervous. No, I'm powerful. Completely charged. I can do it. I promise.

Note to self on last post: please don't play with creating new worlds when you're only half-charged. It turns out to be an uninspiring waste of time.

Rambling some more

If you could create the world anew, what sort of world would you create? Yes, it would have me and you. But would it have, for example, Bush and cohorts? Uhhh... that's a hard one for me to grapple with. Does my new-found love for humanity only stretch so far? Could I see the human side of Jack the Ripper? For that matter, should I?

Ouch. I don't think I'll address this question tonight. I think I'd rather address the pressing issue of recording how many hours (all of which have since, apparently, fled from my mind) I've spent working on which project since May. I'm more likely to have success there.

The difference is in the listening

I just got through an office conference call of the usual kind. Prior to that, fielded several other work-related calls this morning. It's amazing how happy everyone sounds. I mean, we don't work for Mother Teresa. Merely for a Fortune 100 consumer goods company. I can swear they didn't sound this happy last week.

It's all around for us to see -- I promise. Okay, give this a shot. The next time you're in the middle of a pedestrian crossing and a car cuts you off, give the driver a smile instead of the finger. Maybe, the next time around, pedestrians will move out of his blind spot. Or maybe he won't notice you. Either way, you've made a difference in the world.

Remember the story where time travelers step on a butterfly? It is just as real as the screen on which you read this.

Ode to you - Part 1

You are so beautiful. The last time I talked to you, I tried to tell you how beautiful you are. Beautiful and strong. I can picture opening baby eyes and looking into your face. Tell me, did I do that the very first time I opened my eyes? I do not remember. I do remember I did so the second time I opened my eyes. Eyes a little sadder, more confused, less wise than little baby eyes. You were there in front of me. Just like you've always been there for me. Always loving, always trusting. I need you. The world needs you.

I know you, perhaps more than anyone else. I know the littlest stories of your life, your past. You don't have a bigger fan of your past than me. But it's your future that fills me with awe. Will you move mountains? Or raise oceans? You were made for huge things. To fill vast spaces with your quietest word. You are immortal. Please open your eyes and see your power.

I love you without beginning or end.

Resistance is useless!

In memory of Douglas Adams -- you have brought us so much delight.

I was sitting at my work desk, in the midst of essential (but perhaps not quite enticing) activities, thinking "I can't do this. I don't want to do this." And who should pop into my head but the miserable Vogon guard, yelling "Resistance is useless!" I bet nobody has ever been so glad to see a Vogon :-).

Back to work. Ta-da.

Random thoughts at night

There is an inevitable cosmic reason why we met. (Ah, the liberation of creating reality!) Yes, we have always been traveling companions. But there is some secret beyond that, just at the corner of my vision, where it disappears when I turn to look at it. I cast about for it. I consider the possibility that I am a writer and you are my muse. I consider creating it. I pause. And listen in the hush to the throbbing hearts of billions. I listen for the whisper of the wind. For the sighing of the sea. The conversations of the leaves. The harmony of the stars. The indescribable concert of the cosmos.

Someone asked me yesterday if I had got religion. It took me aback and it made me smile. In my life, I had seen few people as virulently anti-religion as myself. And I replied, "Perhaps I have. But not in the way you mean."

Rationale and reasonableness. Science and logic. I have worshipped at your altar for years. How could I ever break faith? But surely I can consider that the rituals of worship are not cast in stone. Aha.

How many hours have I spent talking through big, weighty questions? With friends and foes, in determination and in anguish. Somewhere inside me, I feel quiet today.

I speak the possibility and make it real.

Hello reader

It is good, so good, to be talking to you at last. It has been far too long. Of course we have known each other for æons, and of course I still love you (and I always will) even though we haven't been in touch of late.

Let's start with an apology. I'm sorry I ever tried to skip ship, to bail out. There is no excuse. Especially, there is no excuse for an ancient soul. So -- I am sorry, and it won't happen again.

Today is a day for singing. The raindrops are singing against the roof of my house. And I've been singing -- not humming, mind you, but really high-volume stuff -- in the lovely isolation of home-aloneness. The songs of longing seem to take on a new meaning (and I find myself unable to revel in my long-beloved completely hopeless ones -- oh dear). Like singing "Shokhi Bhabona Kahare Bole" (the song roughly translates as "What is this thing called love?") as a happy song. It is so good to feel that there is nothing wrong here.

Much love, dear reader.