Untitled thoughts

The sky last evening. Magnificent, isn't it? 

I often wonder where this life is heading...

I have not read a newspaper for six months now, haven't watched television but have seen two movies at least. I have just been to one social event. I’ve measured my life between workplace and home and occasional visit to my parents.

I live inside my own bubble, completely oblivious of the world around. Friends insist that I go out and explore so that I get to meet akin people, open up and build romantic friendship. You may say that I’m lonely or a workaholic. And that I’ve no personal life. I understand that. Does it affect me? Not at all!

I’ve abandoned writing also. This is the first writing in three months. I feel okay. Perfectly okay!  

Sometimes, I get this feeling of being in transition. That ‘Bardo’ concept of Buddhism. 

My whole perspective towards life has changed. I give my best and leave the rest to the things which are beyond my control. I have learned to accept the art of letting go. It’s beautiful to have come to the terms of acceptance. Does this mean that I’m breathing only? It may seem like that at the outset. But I’m living also. 

I have not abandoned reading. I read a lot. A lot. I often get lost into the world of books and its characters. Which leaves me with no time to indulge in gossips. You are what you read, they say.

I have not envisioned my life ten years from now. The path forward seems clouded mostly for now. But I’m okay with that too. If its meant to be mine, it always will. 

Have a lovely weekend! 

Conversations: the very essence of Human Relationships

He wakes up from a splitting headache. The bedside clock shows 3am. The night is as still as the sea. It’s as if one would wake up a sleeping baby if you breathe a little louder.

   

The headache is from the cheap red wine he had with her last night. 

"We are cheap drunks," she says as she pours the wine like a craftsman at work. "But I prefer drinking straight from the bottle," he thinks as he watch her take a sip of it. They had gone out for a couple of drinks after work. 

Their conversation on society, culture, politics, religion, humanity, arts, ideas, beliefs and literature always excites him way too much. 

He has seen her for the last two decades yet it makes him anxious to see her again. Beads of sweat appears on his forehead at the thought of seeing her again. Being with her is talking excitedly about his passion. She challenges his thoughts, dreams and excites his soul.  

He still cannot fathom what it is with her. Is it the way she perceives the world? The way she tries to express about a thing? The way she puts it, ever so articulately? Those dreamy eyes and her porcelain skin. He can never get over it, he thinks as he listen to her describe the outline of the book she’s planning on writing. 

At times he thinks she is the strongest woman he has ever known. Invincible! No force on earth can subdue her. Yet when he look deep into her eyes, he’s convinced that there’s a fragile child deep inside whom he wants to protect and seal her forever in the tablet of his heart.

Conversations with her always surrounds on books, writings and philosophy. 

The mundanes of life ; growing up, going to college, getting married by 25, making babies, saving for the old age and finally leaving this planet seems things of another life. There’s stillness of time when with her. 

Adele’s ‘Hello from the other side...’ is heard softly in the car’s stereo.  

How can one be so satisfied this one moment? He often thinks. Yet when he is with her on that spot overlooking the valley in the distant city lights, away from the humdrum existence of life, this is what it should feel like, when I breathe my last, he thinks as he stare at her lips and hands talking about the surrealism of life.

Rain:The Art of Being Alive

Image via pinterest

As I stepped out of the house this evening, a mild roar of thunder was heard across the south Thimphu sky. Like huge eye bags, the clouds loomed ahead. I did not bother to get hold of the umbrella. The thought of an umbrella seem least important to my already crammed thoughts from the day. 

Before summer ceases, I’d like to take in as much as the heat and cool summer breeze. I’d like to get up before the sun and remember the smell of early mornings. I’d like to inhale in the fresh air and exhale all the toxins out of my life. 

Because some days I think I’m going to die from an outburst of passion and an excess of imagination. 

I’d like to go on solitary long walks; to hear only my heartbeat and no one else's. I wanted to immerse myself in this solitude. Thus, I headed left from my apartment towards the south. Down the highway towards the woods I took the trail less trodden. 
The warm summer breeze touched the cheeks of my face. Like silk it passed by leaving that lingering feeling of the touch of a man. 

My heart did small leaps of faith. Leaps of faith which is abstract for now. 

It started getting a little chillier as I plundered deep into the woods. Far beyond the branches of the tall trees, heavy laden clouds hovered right above me. Like a watchful pair of eyes, it lingered. 

Then without a warning, in a flash of second, it started pouring down. 

Like a shower, the rain came down, resurrecting this feeling of longing, being loved and the freedom afterwards. I quickly ran down to the nearest tree for shelter. After some good five minutes, it poured harder. 

Without a second thought, I immersed my feet first into the poodle of water. I looked up and the rain pelted on my cheeks. It was that gentle twinge which at times irked my inner soul waking me up from that deep slumber of permanence. 

With my arms stretched, I let the rain beat me down. My mascara melted and washed down the cheeks. It slowed down my tired and beaten heart. The rain went into the unfathomable depths of my soul. Deeper it sunk in, right down to the core. 

I noticed the potential in the air. Felt the ground beneath my feet and breathe it all in.
And allowed the butterflies to escape from the deepest part of my belly.

Things never remain the same. It never lasts, it never, ever lasts. 
People  love us and don't love us anymore. We have something beautiful and then it's gone. 
There are endings and endings and endings more than the beginnings.

That I'm a constant work at progress. It’s not the toughest species that survive but the ones who has the adaptability to change will. 
Things fall apart. For good. Like this rainfall. 
It brought me an opportunity to lose myself and find the freedom my soul craves. Gradually, and all at once, life seemed a much better place when I returned home,  drenched completely in the rain.  

More musings on the rain can be found here in this post .