Incoherence, elaborated

There are an awful lot of metaphors that liken life to water. To live happily one must flow contented, one must always move, etc. etc. Fluidity is critical. So what of the rocks along the way, the stones that shatter calm surfaces to create ripples? What do you do when life casts pebbles at you and seems to enjoy it?

From a mass of incoherent ripples, I attempt to find flow again. Some interruptions are mild, a few ripples and the surface reforms. Others are even simpler, and flat stones skim off the top effortlessly.
And some days are like God/life is a kid with nothing better to do, and stone after stone after stone is cast in, shattering stillness hard and creating a mess of silt and froth that gets in my eyes and ears and mouth, making me lose all perspective. Calm stemming from insight is impossible, and I spew grit out of my mouth, shake my head and clench my eyes shut, just trying to clear things out so I can flow again.

One part physiology, one part ego. A huge chunk of petty annoyances. People acting up, atmospheric pressure lows. A friend's illness that none of us can control. Cast them in one after the other, all together... and the ripples clash and surge and I am lost. Where do I find the strength to pull myself together again, to flow contented and find purpose?

For now I flounder, from ripple to drop to splash, I attack each problem with no strength. What I need is to go deep, to find my footing on bedrock. Instead of flailing to create more confusion, I must perhaps let myself sink. Through cool calmness, soft filtered sunlight and the weightlessness of water. Sink lower still, until my feet touch the ripples on the sand beneath, and feel them give way, re-forming around whatever touches them.

Immersion in stillness, emotional and metaphoric, is the only way to not let the splashing on the surface reach the core.

Butterflies in the brain

"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain."

Words help, sometimes. Wise words by minds so great, sometimes they help with the understanding of the present. Of some questions. He tells me why there is pain, but I knew that already. I'm ready to understand- just not sure what the lesson I'm supposed to understand is. Isn't the master supposed to show up when the student is ready?

And now that I begin to write, the title of the chapter, atleast, is clear.

Living with uncertainty.
Drawing once more on better words - "And much of your pain is self-chosen"
"You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar."

So technically, the uncertainty should end when I've figured out how to deal with it.
When I can stop focusing so much of my energy on the problem, it will cease to exist. Just like vaporising a cloud. Or casting a Patronus charm.

* Random quotes and paraphrasing from multiple sources- I'm fairly sure anyone reading this will know what they are :)

Winter within

It's the holiday season, and everything is bright and cheery. Everywhere you look there are holiday lights and christmas spirit, and yesterday I was tempted to take pictures of all the neighbourhood houses that have been hit by christmas bombs, and put them up here. Today, however, is a different story. Today feels like a tree I saw this morning- just one bare scrawny thing with no leaves, but hung here and there with leftover christmas ornaments. In the dark, the lights twinkle and you cant see the bare bones of it. In morning light it's just sorry. Like a pathetic attempt to gloss over the bad bits, as if a few laughs could hide the fact that there is nothing beneath. The strange thing is that the tree itself would be quite lovely on its own- stark and bare against winter white. It is the cover-up that makes it sad.

Today, I am not even tempted to remind myself of favorite sayings, or inspire myself to be better. Sometimes, it must be okay to just be a caterpillar, curl up and sleep. Sometimes, when you spread your wings, you don't fly, you only open yourself to hurt. Sometimes, wounds are better left to air and dry, rather than fester under the fake brightness of a Mickey mouse bandage, or a smile.

So just for today, there is no cheer, no message of hope to myself. Only a reminder, that sometimes hurt is okay.

Argh

Snood and Tetris- totally addictive, the perfect grad student TP. You match up the pieces, and when you get the pattern right, it all falls apart. And for some reason that makes you a winner.And when you win all it means is that the pieces come at you faster, and you have to figure out the patterns quicker.

Talk about crappy metaphors for life. And I play these to get away from my so-called work. I don't even want to think about what that makes me.

Sunscreen for the cynic

"Never take anything in life too seriously, including me and yourself."

In a completely (oxy)moronic way, I find myself drawn to that line over and over. Beyond all logic, I try to reason that sentence out. Like a lost key, I fit it into every single lock, trying to figure out where it fits. I'm not sure what I'll do if I find out. But I carry it around and test it on almost every situation, just to see how far the little cogs and wheels inside the lock spin, twisting into kaleidoscopic new perspective. So I hang on to those words, as what remains- after love and friendship, walking barefoot through night rain in Pune and conversations from Bombay to New York to Bangalore and beyond.. what remains of it all is these words. Like a real-life game of rock,paper and scissors- what survived is the one thing that defeated the rest.

In real-life terms,however, that doesn't make sense. Evolution craves balance, and one thing that shatters (or feeds on/ overpowers) the rest cannot indefinitely survive. So there must be a lock, somewhere, that is strong enough to withstand that key. I know for sure the statement must unlock something, and the day I find it, hopefully I will drop the key, as I have the rest of the memories.