Riding above the sillies ?!

Awry is me. And askew is thee! Together we shall do better if we think of this as a jamboree😊

Co-commonly conjoined and sometimes amply carried forward “alone,” these are the ways in which we assail life.

Indeed, that certainly calls for qualities to deal with this world, regardless of swimming or sinking in it as some downtrodden.

Hugely crouched over  tetra-shields, life can be as unpredictable as any other titanic ship. For that reason, I have always needed the near -perfect nuance of poetry in my speech.

Precisely so, off hand or rather, off censored, you might find me musing very badly 😅.

Awkwardly absurd ! So be it!

Yeah that’s the absurd reality I was born into aeons ago. It’s like I was dealt with a hand of cards 🃏 that ended up as precious leavings.

Conditions like this might not fit you well, I know. But do absurdly adjust if you will (by any chance,) relish this piece and end up feeling swamped in it.

So, where was I ?

āḥ húñ!

Now listen 🎧..very carefully to this verbiage —a potpourri as I prefer to define it . Use your utter discretion before you collectively resonate or disqualify it in entirety. Up to you !

This is an “Alchemy of my mind,” seeking to rightly fit into the world of vagaries, as I  scribe 📝 such a story.

And I say this with gratitude 🙏 as I slowly sink ( along with you, as you read,)  into this sleep …💤😴🛌

Writing does this to me —puts me into meditative trance ….

So follow  along if you will…

It all seems like an other worldly scene;

a slumber serene,

Wherein, existence switches thro’ new realms of quivering fields

Yet again, every now and then ,

‘T’s the palm found wanting, with nothing fitting in between. 

Thro' and thro, therein,

There’s a never ending spiel of infinity tied to a everlasting stream,

And trancing upon mighty pulses and,

sunken upon some timed machines,

Here’s how I dare to look within!

Of muted races rushed to gleams

all beside each other in full-fledged swaying schemes

For onto those thresholds of innocent dreams

Could there be a soul seeing triumph in things

And around those many ranged reasons lining up to mien

Let me praise dutifully, knowing all reasons to spring

For those fated wings —oft chasing faith, to be inimitably seen,

Like two words constantly gliding, yet lingering in fresh breaths of fresher greens

O glad!

Swift to spell here comes another evergreen,

conjuring a dual throbbing with e’ery pant ( not this 👖 ) swelling and roaring in between

O look!

A silent signal lamps 🪔 to swing

For that muse coming by gusting thro’ the winds,

Yet Floating around is a convulsive spirit, all “arriving,” as it seems!

Now, hovering here and towering there

Here comes another basking-surrealistic dream

Certainly, this matter is about an ephemeral gleam -

While it calls out a prelude to this timely serene

Like a holy descend upon precious things

Yes, I am a Dream—coming (again, keep a straight mind 😊,) with a fluid force technically seen— just so -to attach and go along  to hold the following theme :

Aqua Fortis : a cogent thought, flash floating across in an alchemy; cuddling its own brains, and heeding to view a

distinctly casted indomitable scheme…

Yeah it’s all —  a Dream

There, at length, comes another sealy scheme, night after night,

blanketing over a languorous preen,

As if to roll out— everything—scene by scene…

🙏🏼🧡✨🦋☕️

Look! Over there !

It's a conception born in a naked mind's steed yet fully redeemed,

but, as to the visible,

it shall illumine every other abysmal beam !

There,in those realms, a remembrance strikes all in a repeating scene,

It holds out of hidings ,as though,

 'twas some fondest temptation—O so very keen

But….

There’s nothing much to take to heart in all those preens,

Coz, it was —just—all in a dream!

Allegedly, I have been a pro @ saying something and coming off as another. 😅Be-aware!

Yes, I have been totally super illustrative; but never near nor ever far at saying anything precisely seen. The tragic frugality of being so has earned me nothing but —peculiar predicaments.

O yes! I could be hyper superlative to the fiercest extent. All the better, and reconciled so, I c’d be taken together as a one piece or merely brushed off as a done treat. Just as much—lost in meaning, I could be lamented upon as :

“jack of all trades and jill of none—a reparative anomaly of not doing anything —perfectly, so to believe!”

Additionally, repartitioning( courtesy global living ) has led me into this —

I  could easily fit into everything but be exactly fine with not fitted into anything.

That’s where the fairest ( loftiest) prospect and desire of living absurdly creeps in . And, in all that grace, somehow, somewhere an awakening happens. Probably it’s a Catch up game for that —perfect time to roll in ;

O C’mon, it should be happening!

Alongside all this stuff, pleasantly delightful were my yesteryears…

Since childhood if Creativity and Caliber were to gauge me on a platform of progress , I w’d come off as—  “long gone.”Almighty seldom clearly gave a true direction to my restless thoughts. All my soul searchings were fundamentally made for the grace of others reaching me out of turn. It’s as if, my Gypsite wanderings were ultimately being expelled to the policies of others’ noble screenings.

Duller critics could give hoodwinks but taint was sure to follow, brighter than bright by all means.

Herein, I dare to share one of the most crucial incidents of my childhood, credentialing to shape “me as me,” —a make belief !

Know this!

A bit of a prologue before I descend into the actual scene.

Have you 👂 heard of THE

“hi-fi 👋 psi phenomenon,” that’s non-local in “awareness.” That phenomena has been ME, ever since. It’s like night embracing itself to somehow contain the light in it. 👈🏽 That’s the rhetoric claiming my life story as I gradually🙆‍♀️became intuitively analytic 🧐about it. Remember, It’s a matter of defining “me as me,”and through it unearthing the varied characterizations of an absurdists’ tale …

Yes, life has been a transformative experience.

With formative years seeming like “bogs meads,” meaning— mind boggling. These minds-capes have traversed, transgressed varied timelines, and still, the mighty in me, quizzically queries itself—have you arrived yet?!

To that I say—huh , another make belief !

So here’s the anecdote ( an addended piece of my memoir, ) that was rudimentary in shaping me. For the most part, and for all the practical purposes it’s a tale depicting the beginnings of the “absurdists’ spirit in me. Call it a comedy of errors ( if you may wish ,) if the nature in me claims a distinctive view of thee.

Nevertheless, trusting the eyes of the beholder, I peruse:

“Who am I ,actually!”

A being who’s version of bonding with people has turned into writing—surrealistic schemes — I call it poetry.

I was shaped into this by fate and destiny !

Why —I don’t know because I believe that everything has a way of getting at things—that includes me. So in ways writing came to me as a  grace….

But, this gyrating world of wordy gibberish… Did I need it especially when the most emphatic silence could say it all? I ponder 💭

Right now, to me (the wordy world,) seems like a composite way of feeling societal and political correctnesses.

Unendurably, I sought this alternative to March towards the exact sameness of “the March Madness spreading everywhere around in themes

And believe me, the legacy of going —straight up— into the conclaves of “kinder-kin’ parties,” and dutifully sitting 🪑 around the “Winnie the Poohs,” has been my forte.

Why I land up so, don’t ask . Now telling would be a legacy that I have most sincerely carried with me.

Eventually, led into this annal ( thesis) writing is cathartic. But first it all started with scrapbooking, preceded by grumbling footnotes. Extra point being —I wasted full scaled notebooks searching for  serious 🧐 hobbies ?

Who the hell —actually—desired this of me. It’s almighty?!

To that , my first two choicest words would be:

O blimey and “Swahaa,” both equally ( eternal outpouring) karmically flowing into me.

So, as of today, scripting a muse is appealing to me because “that ,” is an end in itself , registering “me to me” as I turn inwards thro’ this life’s journey.

And for the bewitching mind, envisioning to make every matter become nakedly stark. Mind as it is captures the subject of matter without anyone touching , without any wind blowing it and without anyone moving a finger over it. Something like —one and the same registering its own senses, and in that —quiet —of the “ HESYCHASM,” everything becoming familiar with its own surroundings.

In that sense, I look at sleep , dream and awakening as the very ground of a democratic vision; a deep dive to unfurl what’s for what?

Herein, we are all —one ☝️ and the same . Tied to that empty bed (of space and time,) and paying sober attention ( as if, in a hermitage, ) and going weary, to stand up and pray and then again sit down to courageously take up the task of taming those tempting thoughts to steer the flow of life time and again.

Yes it’s a yearning, I suppose!

It insists upon overcoming all temptations to finally arrive at that —big smile.

Lifetime: It’s like a fantasy. Like in a heartbeat making it all up as we go along and then, finally waiting for everything to open nakedly stark … and with reality get totally exposed.

Yes for that ultimate big laugh😂 🤭 😹 to be evidently espoused.

Life ,it is said, is the descent of mind into the heart, only with the difficulty that it descends on its own.

So a hermitage can also be seen as an innocent dreamy escape wherein the vagaries of mind ( not oblivion per se) enters, shares and/ or choreographs selfless dreams alongside the oneiric lives that we weave together.

My Grandma’s Place :

Now,  just imagine, good many years ago, getting electrocuted,much more like a tad at a time. Once I mistakenly 🔑 keyed into a hole —thinking it would unlock the mysteries of the other-world.Strange eh!

But that happened and a grander picture elevated my misplaced fate and brought me to the present.

Some may say “Curiosity.”Yeah, it killed my neighbors cat 🐱, not me !

And I for one,  lurked in some good ole bark, larking amidst the sooty darks, beguiled by the possibility of splendor towering my state one ☝️ day.

At the same time, I shall offer the following.

Please don’t faint !

This is the Nostalgia of rural living. It has haunted me ever since the days of the yore. Literally, mesmerized me. Since childhood I was drawn to endearing details of grandma’s house —more specifically, bedtime stories. It had a magical effect casted upon me. In essence, all the spiritual-religious teachings propagating godly or god like beings and the belief that their existence was nearly close was intriguing to me.

This idea boxed in my mind and I felt the urge to explore the inhabitation of the supreme in all manner of ways and means.

I asked my grand ma : How could “he,” ( the almighty,) be otherwise —witnessed or be seen.”

To that, she said: unlock the karmic key and you shall find him.”

However, all that had a totally different bearing upon my mind.

As askew as ever, I would imagine and thereby draw out the “other worldly,” in my dreams.

Here, I would like to draw the attention of the reader to the essence of spirituality ingrained in the Indian every day living . The Hindu culture, community and society brews in it at different levels of longings and understandings.

And such a grace and longing for a total human experience came naturally to me.Everybody in my village redoubled their vigor to know the supreme as and when the bells of the temple rang, clanging, bouncing against every brick and mortar.

That raised an adroit presence of the supreme grace. My mission was to approach the almighty in my own consecrated way.

I looked within as grandma vehemently suggested. I tried vainly to make sense of that “phantom-shaped -all knowing- Supra being called God. But then again, that “supreme,” with his mixed abode —both equally-at the farthest end of the unknown realm and staged behind the curtained doors of the temple confused me. Marked to that point, I found that mystical.

Someone suggested —“wake up the asleep.” I didn’t know how but I kept that hidden meaning etched to my daily rumination. Slowly those mysterious verses —mantras, got even more enchanting. Sometimes, new connotations came down as new givings. Combing down the clutter caught up in my head brought new meanings.

Besides, not querying or simply reconciling in seizure, was not me. So I continued my explorations.

Some, in support of the traditional edification which w’d say: Blinkers on the eyes and the weight of the world are things to be felt —not literally, to be abutted in the streets.

What I didn’t know then —popped up as a new extension in the later years.

Today we see regimes as incarnates of the supernal beings … don’t we ?! And defining and redefining the essence of our living, calls out a special presence of a “new being.” Emergence of a Teutonized context, in all its thoroughness, reawakens the human race to rebuild itself and a new era is at the verge of emergence.

Dig under and be gone ,at once!

Besides the spelled shortage of “assumed command,” also sashays new directives of dangerous living.

Such habitations without the appropriate sense of the “higher ups ,” proscribes a new course of actionable living.

That sure is a good grace caught up in sacred givings and passed on as due diligences to take their own effects. That wisdom is passed from one regime to the next as precious leavings .

Sitting with other peers at the village lavatory, I heard another village elder 🧓🏼 fathering the fatherly preachings: “it’s none of your business to become a champion of others —esp. in the streets.”

In its meaning, he was implying : Bang, bang, you will be dead amidst those congregational stampedes.

In ways that became a way of life for most of them, guarding cultural beliefs.

But then, a few—like me couldn’t wait to see the marvelous results of so many —make beliefs.

Also to exemplify all these enchanting experiences thro’ writings can be pronounced as a true arrival or ……

What do you say?

But w’d you dare ( in all authenticity,) to do so.

Don’t worry, I won’t ask : can you or would you ?

Virtuoso! Virtuoso!

For now 🙏 splash some water on face and continue reading …

I have always loved “ every day works,” and tried to piece things together; word by word, as it all came together in one long sitting—one day ☝️

Not having to wrestle with everyday hustle of coming across strangenesses and thereby constructing meaningful experiences to take their🫡 respectful best. That has been my forte, ever since.

For example : taking a metal rod and shoving it into an electrical outlet and thinking it would unlock mysteries of the other worldly. Subconsciously internalizing

I was obviously shocked! That was my childhood fantasy which took to a distinguished patronage and is  taken its projectile into adulthood.

A postulate —true or untrue —yet a paradoxical construct while I drew upon reality and saw —me as me —in all its entirety, living and learning in that cross-cultural context individually.

All this because I wanted to be a surprise witness to that “psi-fi,” phenomena.

Putative proofs in less exalted terms is this incident.

One night, I remember listening to a bedtime story 👵 wherein my grandma said —something of a kind happened behind  the temple doors. And if they were to be opened at night then one c’d risk—experience —other worldly. That literally stuck in my head. A bolted thought 💭 construing its own predatory proprietary.

Grandma, however, didn’t say much nor expand on that subject matter any further. But that was enough for my curiosity to spark ⚡️ and a strange kind of neural circuitry doted me into action. Resultant , a unique supposition took its root.

I needed to prove my mettle and come off as amply BRIGHT among friends and foe, I suppose!

To that, I imagined a surreal surrender into that—  light. I visualized getting wrapped in sheets of lightenings and  hoped for miracles to happen.

The story stuck in  my mind and it went straight into my head —as though, it was a sort of a dreamy vision to be immediately explored.

It all sounded like a mêlée, generating an inexplicable ruckus reaction; almost like  unease setting in me.

My grandma’s house was located adjacent to a temple and every night we were ushered into bed with a warning finger on the lips ,as and when, the temple bells 🔔 rang in the evening to mark the end of the day.

Those days 8:00 pm was considered late night.

No doubt,  we had to be in our best behavior —in bed 🛌 and off to sleep. And while chasing thoughts in utter pleasure,  I w’d solemnly proceed to tuck myself in bed along with my sisters and cousins.

Then, this happened. I shall never forget that night. It was about 3:00 am in the early hours when I got up to attend nature’s call. Now imagine a village setting. We used to sleep on the open terrace with night skies as our rooftop.

Watching those constellations moving across the night skies  was truly mesmerizing.

You don’t get that sort of an ambiance nowadays. So one of those nights, I decided to quietly sneak out and cross past the cobbled streets—towards the temple. On course,  I made a point of stealing a metal rod from the village contractors heap of tools ‘stacked near the temple doors. They were left there for temple renovations. But for me it was an arsenal to ward off stray animals en route to the fields and then onwards to the temple subsequently.

Ushered in the presence of the dim street lamps, I took the metal rod and headed towards the fields — open bogs.

A few hound dogs 🐕 chased me around and I found myself steered off towards the temple door. I had passed the “pass.”

☝️ That is a vernacular joke!

Dear Reader : Overlook it if you didn’t get it.

I roamed freely in sleep and the grunts of the quadrupeds continued to goad me to the streets.

Adding a pleasant tilt , I peed ( twice more than I c’d release) and quickly ambled towards the temple, mistakenly thinking  that it was grandma’s house.

Yes, if you haven’t guessed as yet, I was in deep spell.

I must have been roughly 5 -6 years old.  For some strange reason I hefted the metal piece and tried drilling the door with the hope of waking elders. All mixed up, I know!

But somehow , it occurred to me that the elders of the household were still up and I c’d hear their  laughters. Yet they weren’t paying any heed to the surroundings.

At that moment, something absurd happened. All of a sudden, dark clouds came forth,and I found everything going downhill. More precisely, I had gotten it all wrong.

A door creaked open and I waddled in. The ghoulish curiosity in me had explored another sight. At some part of the night, I must have totally conked off. Almost in a devotional duty, I pulled out a plug in the wall and was standing up in a  deep REM ( rapid eye movement ) state. I was in a half sleep and half woken state.

Mistakenly, I had gotten my fingers into a plug in the wall.

To make its best case in a manner of devotion, I had made another supposition. And out of that came—askew.

Call it a sort of a folly or something else but I literally took to it. It was like a  blessing of freedom, pulling off its own new stunt in an ominous manner. Momentously, I stuck the metal rod through the socket in the wall.

My best effort boomed back at me in a startling manner.

My imagination ran wild 😜 reeking bombazine, with the hope to harness a “marvel.” Instead, shockingly 😳 I rolled out of action. Fused out, I was thrown out, yards away, luckily landing on the mattress in the far end of the backyard. The intensity of electric ⚡️ jolt hit me hard. All this was privy to others as nobody knew about it.

Moments later, I fainted and everybody assumed that I must have slept off there. At the wake of the dawn, one by one,whoever passed me, patted me and soothed me to sleep in an act of affectionate cajolery.

My whimpering coos were never heard. I was adjusted to further comforting postures as the day progressed. No body realized that I could have been —literally dead in the bed.

To all that , I moaned , groaned and howled for quite sometime.

Today , I may say, I kind of  stood still in sleep! I guess that was the stoic in the making!

And when all the 😴 💤 zzzzs, with some extra shrieks struck out of me —that surely, deafened my grandma when she heard of my deeds.

And quoting from a retrospective journal and chronicling this horror from the past is a sort of total recall of “grace” for me.

I was always much beyond and if the grand ole grace were to ever compete with me, it w’d find me triumphing out of reach in blatant patisches.

If I were to ever write ✍️ ( scribble more precisely,) a book 📕 of revelation about me , then I would see a part of me being laid aside and forgotten totally because I was being me. Yeah, it’s tough being me—different!

So the preceding incident happened in a dream and I woke up to it thinking 💭 where is the awe 🫢 of wisdom in it.

Clearly ,I was not , as you may want to know , the wise pundit.

I was meant to be rumpling around to make my own new discoveries .

P.S: Core claim

a) Sought relevancy relentlessly thro’ times

b) Loyal to reality   while grasping the evolving nature of mind and matter.

Who should remember me and why?

1. A wisecrack —for whom, awakening happens in the real

2. Free cracks in the finished masonry of (matured) adulthood or in degrees to be found reformed as a wise Alecs amidst the medley of nature