Don't fall in love with a woman who reads

Don’t fall in love with a woman who reads, 

a woman who feels intensely, a woman who writes…

Don’t fall in love with an educated, magical, delirious, or crazy woman. 

Don’t fall in love with a woman who thinks, who understands what she knows and also knows how to fly; a woman sure of herself.

Don’t fall in love with a woman who... knows how to turn into spirit her flesh; 

let alone one that loves poetry (those are the most dangerous), 

or one that spends half an hour contemplating a painting

and doesn’t know how to live without music.

Don’t fall in love with a woman interested in politics, 

is rebellious, and feels an immense horror from injustices. 

One that doesn’t like TV at all. 

Nor a woman who is beautiful, 

regardless of the features of her face or her body.

Don’t fall in love with an intense, playful, lucid, and irreverent woman. 

You don’t want to fall in love with a woman like that, 

because when you fall in love with a woman like that, 

whether she stays with you or not, 

whether she loves you or not, 

from a woman like that 

you never recover…

— Martha Rivera-Garrido

Broken pieces

He put the broken vase together,

loved it,

painted it.

Then one day

he smashed it

back to a million pieces.

***

for a little time

No matter where i am physically, i am  actually, mostly, at a place like this.. quietly by myself, feeling melancholic, sweet pain always in the heart, overwhelmed with the sheer big-ness of the world i have come to live in, for a little time...

A Note on Mithya

It is ironical that for all the value we give to the rational, life is primarily governed by the irrational. Love is not rational. Sorrow is not rational. Hatred, ambition, rage and greed are irrational. Even ethics, morals and aesthetics are not rational. They depend on values and standards which are ultimately subjective. What is right, sacred and beautiful to one group of people need not be right, sacred and beautiful to another group of people. Every opinion and every decision depends on the prevailing myth. Even perfection is a myth.

~ myth=mithya by Devdutt Pattanaik

Sometimes, its astounding - the complexities of human kind. We are a billion different worlds co-existing in a complex grid, directly and indirectly effected by every other entity, human and non-human. Our minds concoct a picture of a shade, motion, sound, script and actors of its own choosing, many times unaware of the colours and shadows and noise from other parallel pictures. 

i think sometimes, that one of the more intelligent ways to exist is to always, always negate the adamance of our ego, our desire for approval, for respect, for admiration. To always remain humble and harmless, and patient. To remember that our self is insignificant, but the potential of our energy is unlimited. 

Every thought- expressed or unexpressed, is energy. Love, sorrow, hatred, ambition, rage... once felt, they spread through the air and they linger and they cling. 

But we don't understand, we don't realise. We see only what is near us - blind in perspective, eager for our desires. We are slow in learning, quick in judging and mostly foolish. 

A billion worlds. A billion afflictions.... all huddled on this tiny speck of blue dust.

I Will Be There

At Dusk

In the evening, when the sun has disappeared from the horizon of the city, and the light beyond the window is like a floating wisp of air about to leave, the birds make a little fuss settling down for the night, and my mind feels sad for the day coming to an end.

For ends remind me of cold mornings in January and cold evenings of February, when the world had become a blur of mute screaming noise and frozen movements. It had rained on both the occasions, a dreary deathful rain, seeking to wipe out all joy from life, all smiles from my sinless lips.

A strange moment during dusk happens each day, a moment between light and darkness, a moment between the known and unknown... a little window to a world where shadows have life, a realm of a possible meeting of the living and the dead. That moment, if caught, can tear away our false sense of well-being, certainty and intelligence... and make us breathe the air of a strange nether world, whose smell can make us remember old forgotten memories of centuries ago.

What is true, what is a shadow? What is life, what is death... where do we live, how do we exist. How many dimensions are there to a point of my life? Might we be living in one frequency, in a shared space and time, with other beings of another world?

Can the shadows see me, hear me, feel me....................... do they know me?

.

The eternity of loss

I am drunk with my memories
of the stars in the sky
that i saw with you
up in the hills one night…

The flowing hair
in the blowing wind
as i curled on to you
in the winding greens.

It is as if time doesn't exist
and everything is eternal
i just have to close my eyes
and everything dead comes alive
to devastate me forever…