Trailing off to serendipity

A usual summer day’s sandstorm had past by, leaving the plants in my tiny garden as if descending into their grave. Washing down the plants. Being hardly attentive to Tanya. She was going on about her job at the school and how everything would ave been different if she had decided to work at the local newspaper instead. Life was like dust and heat piled on everyday with a yearning of rain, trying to remember what it was really like to have the aliveness in her bones. The split life like many others of the repressed yearner and the mechanized worker.
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The self on its own spur slips along the same way, ever deeper. An interruption, a wave of inspiration from without the bubbled self stimulates and brings the slipping self back from the precipice.Back from the edge into the mundane. From the gorge onto the cliff…

reflect:
is a snapshot . a momentary capture of a few wavelengths, many missed in between. the prism of emotion/feeling accentuates some and the others are lost forever. When I look back I just have a constructed truth, but its not the whole truth. A speck called me in this infinite expanse, capable of assimilating no more than a whit, only that I dream the whole of the grandness could live in the whit.

If i get the core of the light I see a path/a hole into the real truth, a la Alice in wonderland, been through, I get to know myself, myself without the worldly noise.

The perception link

The Akira Kurusowa movie, Rashomon(1950) exemplifies the effect of the subjectivity of perception on recollection (the Rashomon effect, named, after the movie). Its a movie that lingers, long beyond its done being a sequence of visuals and sound. I am in no way a movie buff, but i like the ones that tingle me in some way or the other..and this one did. Being simple, and nuanced in its treatment. Movie aficionados would find more adjectives on the technicals of film making; but I channel the movie’s subject to my understanding that a person is her perception and all that is tied to it. In realms of higher consciousness, all observation is superfluous and transitory. Even scientifically, each living creature is limited in its grasp of the environment. Humans cant hear the same audio range frequency as bats do. Cats cant perceive colors as we do..and hence, each of us have a limited observation leading to peculiar perception. A perception guided further by our needs and, in context of consciousness: beliefs. And so, what we are at a given moment in time, is the sum of our beliefs. Its the tuning force of our perceptions and actions.

Beliefs, are acquired over time..mostly based on events and situations experienced before. But I find some people more keen on experiencing the unknown than others. I would imagine that spirited people are in the process of building up their beliefs while others are at the stage of adhering to the beliefs they have. But is it frugally possible to experience beliefs as a stream and be treated as a repository to go through our lives? That would be the same as being in a fluid state of being, without defining an image of yourself. Not holding on. Unprejudiced. Open and accepting towards life as it comes.

I do not know how many experiences can I have through my lifetime, but I do not want to miss relishing the ones I am going through. Present to this warp of time alone, and none other, whichever way it makes me feel, but it does bring about an extreme emotion..and I want to savor it, wholly..the succulent fruit that i slice and roll over my tongue to feel the texture, smell and the burst of nectar when I sink my teeth into it…the flavor of the moment. Life is made of beautiful bits!

Whim

the happy tingle tangle of the triangle
or maybe its the dripping rain
i hear the chimes jingle
a long song, with a gust of wind again

the vine walking up my window sill
beautiful wonderous rain
alls so greener still
oh the fresh whiff of life again

the sky smolten in fire and gold
the dark veil illumes a jiff again
all happy colors all in its fold
writhe in gloom, i long to be with colors again

the babel and the flashes
in haul, bring the grain
the flicker of what i seek
semblance of my keep, the picture with the colors again