Nope. Not reading.

Looking at all these unread books lying in front of me, I feel guilty. Bad. Sad and depressed for my inability to do justice to them. 

While crossing all these beautiful libraries around, while looking at these people completely engrossed deep down in a world so far away of words. I wonder. I imagine. I irresistably wonder. If only all books could be squeezed into a magical potion; that I could simply drink and know all of what's there. 

Since the last few months, I haven't been able to complete even a single book. All these pretty titles. Each time I pick or get a new book, I feel my heart skipping a beat. Yet another. This time, I promise I'll start. But somehow, I don't. I don't, perhaps, because overtime, I seem to have grown attach to books. To topics. To the whole feeling of reading and knowing so much. The feeling has grown into this overpowering emotion that leaves you completely overwhelmed. Just one page. It takes just one page of absolutely any book here to get me thinking at the pace that I am unable to keep. Just like often, we struggle to keep pace with expressing our rapidly occurring thoughts through words. Just like so, I struggle to keep pace with my accelerating heartbeat and ideas/opinions that start playing formula 1 within my neurons set. 

I then feel like that sea. One of those two seas in Palestine. The first one is fresh with fish in it. It gives life. It shares life. It perhaps is more capable. Because it gives more. It is beautiful. It is alive with flow. Receives and gives. And then, there is another one. Dead. No life. Perhaps because it retains the water it receives rather than giving it forward. It is dead with no flow. I feel like the dead one. Not because I have no avenues to give. But because I feel I don't. So after reading a page, I don't know how to share. what to share. Who to share it. I feel so high according to worldly standards that I am afraid of being labelled crazy. And hence, I curb it. I curb myself by not reading. By not picking up another book. 

Here. I said it. I haven't been reading much. Maybe someday, I'd be successfully able to reach that second page of any of these beautiful titles lying in front of me. Gracefully, maybe then, someday, I'll absorb each word and feeling behind each word so well. Maybe then, I'd also patiently sit and feel secure. Among all these books. The day, when I wouldn't need to struggle to keep up with my need to express what I have just learnt. I'd just sit and watch while the aura of literary sphere help me transfuse to the environment. 

Until then, I sit here. With my books. Some of them the best of the best titles. Life changing ones. I sit with them, inhaling deeply their smell. Wishing that I was worthy of reading and sharing in real time. 

Stolen words

(wise) postcards from London - Words of a word while visiting her here.

There are two kinds of people in the world. People who proactively want something. They know the art of dreaming and wanting. But then, there are people who haven't really wanted anything. They don't want anything. They are happy, proud little individuals living in their world with anything and everything that they can and can't have. All settled. All happy. 

Until one day, a feeling comes in. You're caught unaware. Something you never knew you'd had to feel. Something you didn't ask for.

It comes un-welcomed. Doesn't knock. Doesn't tell. It seeps into your skin and spreads gradually. Making you suffer. You run away from it. You can't. Every attempt at cure seems to fail. The problem with it is, you can't even let it be. Because the pain is so intense at times, that it can't let you sit still

It makes you feel so vulnerable, so exposed that you fear others may look at you and realize that you are infected. You can't hide it yet you can't deny it. Its weird. It comes and goes. Makes you so numb to the world happening around you. You attempt to fill up that space with other things. But it just remains. Stubborn. You feel helpless. You are disappointed at your loss.

Because you know, even if the feeling is healed, even if the vacuum is filled, you may not want the thing that fills it. For the intensity of its absence is so painful that you are too scared to face its presence. You very well live the brutality.

After this pain, only something eternal can fill it perhaps. Nothing human. Not even the reason, the entity, the being that caused it unknowingly.

Its not a feeling. Its living with cancer, not knowing when you'd reach the point of indifference. You see that beautiful pathway in the park there? You want to hold your hand and walk yourself to the point of indifference. Right there. 

A little fool

It was a bright sunny day. Just like any other. 
Little did the leaf know, it was to become the day like no other. 
A perfect little sight from the tree it hung unto
Around with the perfect city breeze. 
The leaf did not know what the world held for it. 
An hour or two passed, when the leaf felt the pain. 
The pain of separation from what it did not own. 

It felt it bad. And knew its end. From the beginning of the illusion. 
It remembered and recalled the fate of the others, while it was blossoming in its springtime. 
The leaf, a little fool, despite knowing its fate, couldn't comprehend the pain of its separation. 
The leaf, a little fool, felt insecure and ugly. Felt how low and poor it was, despite the world taking pictures of it. 
So the little fool, set out a reminder. Each day, each hour, each moment it murmured. Just a bit more and then I shall be free. 
The little fool could not. Neither give in or leave. What it felt was what it really couldn't comprehend. 

The little fool then finally met its day to end. 
But before that it had to, feel and plead its case. 
Bit by bit, it felt naked. Exposed with its vulnerability. 
Exposed to the brutal and changing winds of time. 
It understood yet failed to act on what it saw. 
It saw and it felt yet failed to combat what it felt. 
It understood the nature, it understood the time. 
But it never understood the fallacy of falling for a tree. 
Caught unprepared, it fell for a tree. 
It spent all seasons fighting its reality. 
It dawned upon it, its denial beaten, when the tree welcomed the cold winds and let the leaf fall. 
The little fool, smiled, Ashamed at its exposure. 
Exposure to the tree that befriended just coldness.

The little fool, knew, its ugliness, its position. It felt so small, so little as it fell.
The little fool tapped itself and whispered in its last breath of pain, just a bit more my little fool, just a bit more.
Nobody noticed as we all walked away. In that park in corner on a bright sunny day.
The little fool, smiled, finally. Alas, at its end. One last time, it looked at the huge wonderful tree, smiled to itself, just a bit more little fool, just a bit more.
There it lay, peacefully, its death so sweet, its bitter pain finally put to an end.

The day began to set, the little fool at peace. 

As another season passed and another fool peeked, from the roots of the tree. 

Its time, its nature, its life. 

Just a bit more to each little fool. 

Postcards from London

It is strange how the world is turning into a global village. With ever growing stronger communication systems and sophesticated connections, no city ever seems distant. No culture ever seems strange.

Having said so, the charms of meeting a city face to face yet remains. Its fascinating how each mundane road - which is otherwise taken by many of its inhabitants on daily basis seems so different to its new visitors.

Standing here in the capital of Worldly Time, while the world drives by at its speed, the globe rotates its axis. London greets. Stubborn to international aggressive architectural evolution, secure in sticking to bearing resemblance to its 1970s literary descriptions. Amid all this, gazing into its charms, you're left wondering. How does it manage to absorb so many cultures, people, faith, religions.

I am awestruck. Not just by its maturity and natural wonders, but also with its remarkable beauty of religious, civic and cultural tolerance.

It still has roads which people trust. It still has instructions which people follow.

Rationality suspended.

And while you were busy asking for His Love, His Nearness, His Understanding, there stumbled upon an experience. An experience that you never thought you'd go through, a sight you never imagined you'd confront. A situation you never realized you'd be in. A feeling you had never felt. A feeling you that you didn't even know had ever existed.

Strangely, it was not Him. You resisted it. You fought it. You denied it. You stayed silent against the force with which the experience overpowered your ability to comprehend. To make sense. To give words to what it was. Still is.

Rationality suspended. All modes of expression mute. Inability to express suddenly seeming frustrating yet satisfying. You plan to run away. From the soul that has been touched within you. From the awareness that you now hold knowledge of. It is like, being given a responsibility to rationally handle something you can't even comprehend. Something you were not exactly even looking for.

And through this experience, you became aware. Aware of that very point where you currently stand. That very point where your will ends. And His start. Where He takes charge. Point where you realize how poor you are. Point where you despite being the richest, are still the poorest. The one seemingly at loss.

The point where you desperately want to regain your confidence in time. The point where you want to go back and live with the masses, believing and following their mundane definition of time. The point where you want to strengthen your grip on Now while the experience is forcing you to run into the future.

You keep questioning. You still do. Whys. All sorts of them. You were never on this path. You never asked for it. But then, you realize.

A teacher often pauses his Lesson. And gives another tougher lesson, A side lesson. He says, this side lesson is imperative. Without this side concept, you will not be able to learn the Original Lesson properly.

He often pauses. And gives you an assignment. To teach you a skill. A skill He says you'd need to Reach Him more comfortably.

You ask. Which skill. Which side lesson.

He says, the Skill of wanting. The skill of feeling the Thirst. The skill of bearing patiently yet yearning with that vacuum.

For how could you claim to walk on the path of Love, if you haven't even experienced the way of love.

Realization

Is it possible to realize the failure of realization itself?

What is realization? What do we mean when we say Realize?

Is it a feeling? An emotion? How is it depicted? Through our actions? If so, is realization of one thing an ignorance of another?

What is the opposite of Realization?

Is realization evolving? Do we need to realize each moment?

But realize what? Is it doing justice to the moment? Giving it its due attention? Is that realization?

And if that is realization, how do we cope up with each moment demanding its justice, its realization?

Is our internal pressure that we exert on ourselves to realize..does it stem from our fear of regrets? 

Is realization in our own hands? Can we practice free will to realize something ourselves?

What if we realize our failure to honor a few things? 

But then again, what is realization. 

Dear Pain

Dear Pain,

You're not ugly. You're in fact quite beautiful. I love the way you appear as a smile on that street kid's face. I admire the way you stay silent to avoid unimportant chatter. I like the way you pick yourself up, bit by bit and walk away from the crowd gathered around you. I adore the elegance of your calculated talk amidst glaring eyes.

I praise the sensitivity with which you appear insensitive. I respect your acceptance of brutal reality and your habit of staying brutally honest. I treasure the way you slowly close and open your eyes to growing questions around you. I marvel at the way you heal the world. I wonder at the way you hold our heads and make us see the sufferings of the world around. I cherish the way you've taught me the difference between pain and sadness. Its hopeful the way you say,"just a bit more, and you'd be fine." You make us believe in how a caterpillar turns into a butterfly.

I love the way you stay. I love you. For you teach us what absolutely nothing else can. If it wasn't for you, I would not have known Happiness.If it wasn't for you, I would not have looked around in the world and felt.

Always your student,
Just another human.