This isn’t about you anymore. It isn’t even about us. It’s about me. It’s about how far I am willing to let go, about how far I am willing to lose myself again. As I am losing…and I don’t want to.

Sometimes, when you lose something, you would much rather that it remained lost. Cos finding it would mean additional responsibilities. And sometimes, you don’t want freedom, cos freedom again, comes with responsibilities that you are in no position to handle.

“The Wild Duck”…. a play by Henrik Ibsen. The moot point he left in my mind was- Is it ok to rip somebody’s illusion and mask, if that’s the only thing that is keeping them alive? If the illusion and the mask is necessary to keep you moving forward….or is it tantamount to cannibalism and murder to rip it apart?

It isn’t anymore about what’s wrong and what’s right. It’s about what’s right or wrong FOR me. And this isn’t right for me. And something tells me it isn’t for you either.
I wish life were like a flexible recipe…flexible and yet exotic.

Staying Afloat

I wonder what it is about us humans that we venture into situations that are so obviously fraught with danger; into circumstances that are so obviously doomed for failure. I wonder really, if there is anything called free-will and free-choice in this thing we call life…. Or is it all really inevitable? Is life predetermined for us at each step, with each choice leading to a definite conclusion, or are the scales tipped against us right from the beginning? Are we our own worst enemies?

I have always been judgmental. I see that now. There were certain things that I simply would NEVER do, because I KNEW it was wrong. Now though, the certainties have been pulled from under my feet. I don’t know anymore, if I am all that “good”. There is no good and bad anymore. It’s a bunch of lost human beings trying to figure themselves out in a world with no guideposts. Yeats “second-coming” is a terribly spooky self-fulfilling prophecy.

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.


I wonder if this was how life always was and I just smell reality, or if it’s only recently that the world has turned out to be such a shaky place. The situations that you think you will never confront, life makes you confront. And as you look inside, you realise that you have a dark side too. That your evil twin is precisely that “bitch” you condemned.

‘Cos even though your head tells you something, your heart, that one thing you always trusted would lead you through, turns out to be a traitor. It is insistent, persistent, whiny, and throws a perpetual tantrum, screaming to be heard.

I mean what if someone posted him/herself outside your door and kept ringing the bell the entire day? Wouldn’t you let the unwelcome visitor in? Out of sheer frustration and desperation? The heart is like that. An unwelcome visitor who speaks unwelcome truths, challenging you to deny your true feelings, even though you know that what you may do may not really be morally right.

What’s the best thing to do? How does one know when there are no guideposts? When all the literature and all the advice you receive tells you to go with your heart, but your head simply will NOT allow you to take the step and be at peace with yourself. When life hangs suspended, actions halt to a stop and you are just hanging there at the edge of the cliff, wondering how much longer you’ll have to hang on. And knowing all the while that the possibility of a helping hand is next to zilch.

(And really, if you think you know someone really well, think again. Human nature is at its best idiosyncratic and interesting, at its worst, unpredictable and fickle. )

No, this isn’t a confessional. I haven’t really DONE anything wrong. Lol. Not yet!! But suddenly I am faced with the choice of taking a “wrong” step, and I am finding that the battle is longer and more wearying than I ever imagined. And I cannot judge ‘them’ anymore, those erring “wrong-doers”. I am one with them. I sympathise, empathise call it what one may. I am no longer a mute spectator. There are voices everywhere and the wrong step is just over the brink.

And suddenly, Heaven seems to have shut its doors.

Magic

A cool dark glade. Lying in a boat, staring at the blue, blue sky from in between the leaves. Criss-cross patterns on my face. Come and go. Come and go. Shade and light. Light and shade.

The gentle lapping of water. Lying there all evening as twilight creeps up. Soon, it will be dark. Soon, the stars will be what I see when I peer through the leaves.

But with the water lapping so gently, there is no past. No future. Just the pure ecstasy of being. Suspended in between sleep and waking, reality and dreams. If I stretch out my hand, open my eyes, twitch a foot, or breath too hard, the magic of the moment will vanish.

It’s that slender, that fragile…this magic.

A ray of light that does not blind. A ray of light that warms. A ray of light that bathes me in glory, envelops me in complete contentment.

Nothing more. Nothing less. A little more or a little less and the balance will tilt...and the magic... will snap.

Being Rapunzel

Being Rapunzel is not easy. But then again, being anybody is never easy. It’s tougher though when you are a character in a fairy tale, and everybody tells you to be real and treats you like you ARE real. It grazes against your soul. You are sensitive with all the sensitivity of those who can only have a life within the fairy tale.

Being Rapunzel means that you are locked up in a tall tower, cut off from the rest of the world. Cut off from the human and from all that constitutes humanity. You can’t escape even if you wanted to. But being Rapunzel, and being sensitive, you divine with the sensitivity of the princess in the faity tale what it must feel like to be part of humanity.

Being Rapunzel means that you live with a witch who watches over you, jealous and possessive. A witch who nips in the bud ANY attempt that you might make to get real. And it means that you’ve lived with her so long, that you’ve almost given in.Often, she is your only company. Often, she is you.

Being Rapunzel means that you know there is a prince. How do you know? Cos you know that locked up princesses in fairy tales always do. And so you wait.

Being Rapunzel means that you never can be Rapunzel without your prince. 'Cos without the prince you are simply Rapunzel wanting to be Rapunzel.

It isn't easy...being Rapunzel.