The Lightness of Being

I’ve dropped my bags on the ground

                They’ve slipped out of my mind

My feet are steady on this step I’ve found

                Peace, creep into my tired eyes.

Prettier, smarter and better dressed

                Today I’ll give it ALL to you - gladly

For I’ve thrown the weight off my chest

                I’m rejoicing in being just me.

Cool and crisp, this air is lighter

                It’s easier to breathe

I feel born a’ new, a fighter

                This time less quick to bleed.

SUNLIGHT

[It's been a while, huh? Hi. Hello. I've missed you.]

Its news to no one that sunlight is happy light -

Cheerful and always grinning so bright.

And everyone knows that Sunday-morning-sunlight wins every contest –

                The happiest, the cheeriest, the absolute best.

I think you might’ve been made with a bit of that special sunshine;

                Perhaps some was left over after emptying the jar onto the skyline.

“Oh look, we’ve got some extra today”, they must’ve said.

“How about we just pour it into this tiny person instead!”

And maybe that’s why it’s hard to look at you sometimes;

                When you dazzle so bright, it’s all that sunshine leaking from the inside.

And maybe that’s how you manage to warm me up from through the phone;

                Sunlight travels through nothing and everything quite well, you know.

And so you came to be that sunny ruler I happen to carry around,

                The one I hold to the world and measure everyone up against now.

And it’s a bit of a fix, you see - a perfectly horrible quandary;

                Because the one who falls the farthest short, is me.

I Need a Moment

[You can always trace it back to a moment - maybe a series of moments, one after another - when life begins to change. That moment when she stands up, stretches her arms and shakes inertia off herself. She moves. Alters. Changes. The moment is - or series of moments are - marked indelibly, like fireworks against the background of a dark sky.]

I see you. You see me.

Explosions in the sky.

Happiness in true camaraderie.

Eyes closed. Rumbling beneath my feet.

Explosions in the sky.

And suddenly it’s just me.

Broken, empty tears like rain.

Explosions in the sky.

Nothing’ll ever be the same.

Deep breath; begin and done.

Explosions in the sky.

The game is lost and I am one.

Giant Jumble of Mistakes

"They say action is character. I think that means that if we never did anything, we would never be anybody."

        - Jenny Mellor, An Education

I do believe that who we are is what we do. 

I am the words I say, I am the thoughts I think.
The dreams that I aspire to.

I believe I am the laughs I laugh and every tear I cry; 

All my successes and my failures; 

My friendships and the fights I choose to fight. 

Most of all, I realize with a heavy understanding, that I am the mistakes I make.
Every misstep, every stumble - and every swerve I knew not to take.

For you who know me - even a tiny part of me -
You know, and know with a sad certainty,

That I am just a giant jumble of mistakes.

The assumptions I ought not to have made, the words I ought not to have said;
That look I really shouldn't have read. 

That belief that I ought not to have loved, the consequences I ought to have seen;
That ideal I really should never have tied to me.

That jump off the roof that I ought to have known was silly;
That plan that everyone but me saw as far too crazy,
That pan I ought to have known was hot,
That truth that was always better told than not. 

That idea that seemed to shine in my mind;
That feeling that seemed - in my head - rationalized,
And that special thing I foolishly thought was mine.

Cowering in that laundry list of ought-not's and shouldn't-have's, I lose myself quietly;
I look her square in the face tonight, turn around and run away from the person I seem to be. 

I hear the voice of a younger-me resounding in my head;

'We are made of all our thoughts and words; all the things we've ever done.
Never, ever just one.'

'We are a grand sum total', she used to tell me with naivety.
But tonight she's dead. And the picture in my head is painted differently.

I used believe that we are how we fix things;

How we slowly grow back our wings.
We were the lessons we learn and all the mistakes never make again -
Of this I used to be certain.

Maybe someday I'll believe again -  and maybe slowly, in time,
I'll believe that we can be the changes we make in our lives,
how we get up after a fall,
and how we heal the hurt we cause.

Observation #271289

Sometimes, to a scientist, all of life can seem like a series of experiments. That tendency to make observations, have conversations evaluating your hypothesis and then feel like you have uncovered something awesome creeps up on you and settles into the wiring of your brain before you even realize it.

<sigh>

A friend and I made an interesting discovery a couple of nights ago while sitting on my patio and discussing nothing and everything. We discovered that feelings live in your stomach. It's true. I will proceed to present various pieces of evidence supporting our claim.

Think first crush-feeling and what comes to mind? Tingles erupting in your tummy. 

Think of sunshine and happy times and you can feel a warm comfort spread slowly through your insides.
Think pre-exam misery and you'll realize you had 'butterflies in your stomach' then. 

When I think of the worst agony I've ever known, I think of my stomach wringing into knots and wanting to hurl. 

Despair at it's darkest moment, worry at it's worst - I felt like someone had placed a tonne of bricks into my belly. 

I remember countless times when it has turned over and over and over again in a fit of anxious waiting. 

And when you sit down to cry, the sobs wrench out from your stomach, heaving your shoulders and tearing all of you apart on their way out. 

Now tell me I'm wrong. Tell me that feelings don't live in our stomachs. 

Largely. Petrifyingly. And with a little help from my friends.

Have you ever had a dream so big that it scared you?

A dream so large and filled with naïve wistfulness that you were afraid to articulate it? 

Afraid to say it out loud, afraid to put it into words on paper, afraid to indelibly put it into the universe in any way because you were so petrified that it wouldn’t come true?

Because once it’s out there, indelibly in this universe, it’s there for anyone to see. Everyone can know that you want this thing so badly that it scares you. Anyone has the right to raise their eyebrows incredulously and laugh at the gargantuan-ness of your wish. 

“You poor naïve little baby,” they can then say to you. “The world will chew you up and spit you out, the world will beat you down and refuse to let you stand up,” they can say.

Have you ever had a dream so large that being near it terrified you? Had a dream so terrifyingly large that it was easier to give up on it, pretend you never had it, shrug it off like you were better off without it and turn around and walk away?

Because you see, dreams are creatures of light. They shine ten thousand times brighter than the sun and radiate the most comfortable, happy warmth in the world. So of course you want to be near them.

Except for those few times, those impossibly difficult times, when they glisten too bright and dazzle too large. You squint up at them and hold your hand up to shade your face and still, it’s too hard to meet their eyes. You have to look away.

Have you ever had a dream that refused to let you go? Had a dream that you shut away in a box – once, twice, fifteen times – that always found a way out and back to you? A dream that followed you around throwing you forlorn lost-child looks while you unblinkingly looked in the other direction, trying to ignore it?

Have you ever had a dream real enough that it seemed like the truth? Ever had an idea that seems simultaneously heartbreakingly fuzzy and confoundingly clear in your mind? Have you ever stumbled on a plan that made utter and complete sense, with a quiet surety that felt strangely like destiny?

Despite it being too large to fathom, too gargantuan to wrap my mind around and way too heavy for me, I see it. It brings a lump to my throat, tears to my eyes, frustrates me, irritates me, petrifies me and fills me with the immensest joy I have known all at the same time.

Hey, dream of mine. I see you.

[So, I'm going to stop 'disclaimer-ing' after every dramatic post because it has become more than a trend at this point. I guess I am a dramatic person. Take that. <grin>  Whodathunkit. <another grin> Also. Thanks, you guys. You know who you are. You help me through the mojo-less days, make the sad days laughable at and the patches of life that lack resonance hopeful again.]

A Person-ful of Magic

[A couple of years ago, I was reading this book called 'Reading Lolita in Tehran'. I really liked the book, but that's not where I am going with this. A particular idea in that book intrigued me then and has kept a hold of me since. 

The author/protagonist has a friend she calls the Magician. He is never given a name. He is never put into the physical context of the relationships in her life. He is not her father, brother, or husband. He isn't part of her social circle, they don't 'socialize'. He is just an entity, all by himself. They have long conversations, she seeks his advice and he seems to understand her better than anyone. But there really is no way of knowing whether this 'person' exists at all outside her mind. <smile> 

A spoonful of sugar. A cupful of rice. A bucketful of tears; A oceanful of happiness. And perhaps a personful of magic.]

The Magician spins his wand and knows exactly what to say;

Claps his hands, twirls his top hat and brings a smile to my face.

He is All Humor; and the wit of the world distilled into an entity,

Swishing his cape and wielding his sarcasm with hilarity and careful ease.

Everyone should have a Magician, a million tricks up his sleeve,

Never-ending ribbon jokes and ten thousand stories to weave  

Into knots and animal shapes like loops around your head

As your eyes droop, delighted and drowsy, in that moment before bed.

A Magic Man, who listens patiently to anything you want to put to words

Who walks the rope – understanding the dark side and still seeing the hurt.

Knowing exactly why, he’ll watch as you hurl yourself towards that fiery ring.

He’ll wait to catch the burnt pieces of you, accepting and unflinching.

He’ll sprinkle stardust into the air, amidst a magic whisper and exaggerated winking

And suddenly, you’ll  find yourself whole again – 

                                      talking, grinning, eyes happily crinkling.

This Magician o’yours, he’ll never listen for applause or a take a single bow;

So you should make sure you say thank you – a thousand times, thank you – 
                                      in any way that you know how.

That Girl in the Mirror

[I don't usually advocate writing stuff like this on my blog, but what is writing if you do not pour yourself into it, yes? And so 'I have spread my soul under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my soul'. <smile> Yeah, Yeats had it right a long time ago.]

"I hope you won't misunderstand me if I say something else. Anne, I was grieved to the core of my heart when you lost your baby; and if I could have saved her for you by cutting off one of my hands I would have done it. But your sorrow has brought us closer together. Your perfect happiness isn't a barrier any longer. Oh, don't misunderstand, dearest--I'm not glad that your happiness isn't perfect any longer--I can say that sincerely; but since it isn't, there isn't such a gulf between us."

 - Anne's House of Dreams, L.M Montgomery

That is a line from one of my favorite books. And tonight, like so many other nights before, it comes back to me, like an old friend who sits in a corner of my mind all the time, grinning and waiting, watching for the right time to come sit with me. It makes my thoughts dark and heavy, like stormclouds gathering in my mind. It prickles into warmth behind the lids of my eyes.

Tonight though, oddly, it also makes me pull out my laptop and type. Tonight I want to play out on paper, that conversation I have had with myself over and over and over again in my head. I've only ever voiced these thoughts out-loud - in a real conversation with a real person - once before. The two of us were (barely) sitting in a rickety old KSRTC bus as it traveled from one side of Bangalore to the other, so it wasn't really what you'd call a perfect setting for profundity. I hope you're reading this, I hope you vaguely remember.

I have a handful of people in my life I'd call closest to me. I love them deeply. I think these people have shaped me in ways that only the ones you love deeply can. We've seen each other through a lot, considering we're still fairly young. Beyond the teen angst, we've shared happinesses and sorrows that come with the living of life - losing parents, losing dreams, dreams coming true, screwing up, doing things right, collapsing ideals, the developing of new ones with weary hesitation, the uncertainty of transition phases in life - so often sitting together in silence, sharing it all.

And through all the warm fuzziness of being friends forever, perhaps like Anne's, my perfect happiness will be a gulf between me and you. It sucks and I am sorry. I wish it could be different, I do. You could tell me, as my KSRTC-bus-ride companion did, that I should be careful what I wish for. You could tell me ten thousand times that you wouldn't wish that upon anyone. Yet, perhaps naively, I am still going to wish. And perhaps one day, my heart will break for reasons of its own instead of with yours. Perhaps that day I will be able to reach over and sit with you in perfect understanding - right next to you, with nothing in between.

Until then, we're stuck this way. I'm stuck here, always a given distance away from you - with my naive thoughts and weightless words, and my laughter that seems to you, equal parts full and empty, a laugh that could never truly understand. Maybe this shouldn't matter to me, but it does. It probably shouldn't. I wish it didn't.

Maybe part of growing up is realizing that you don't like yourself as much as you used to. That girl in the mirror I've spent my whole life loving, she makes me sad sometimes now. I give her looks of disappointment sometimes now - because I wish she was different. 

And yet and yet.

Do Make Say Think. I've been listening to them a lot lately.

Perhaps now is the time to DO and MAKE more; SAY and THINK less. Perhaps it is that time in my life.