It’s a feeling, not so well defined

First, let me start off by greeting you — the reader who will make it (or not) worth the effort I shall spend here, writing (or not), reading (or not) and sharing (or not).

I live in that part of the world where there are very clearly defined seasonal changes and well spring is upon us. I see a little red sparrow walking outside my window, oblivious to the world (except it's quest to find a meal and bask in the sunshine). Ok, the last part is my over-active imagination perhaps.

The reason for this blog is not clear (at least not yet). I wanted to share something with everyone and have everyone share their thoughts with me. The world as we know it is a transient thing, effervescent and ever-changing. Day turns into night, night into day. Spring turns to Summer, Summer to Autumn, Autumn to Winter, Winter to Spring and the cycle repeats itself. I must have had a feeling when I woke up (was it yesterday? maybe), so I set out to write this. There wasn't any special thought or idea in my mind (and I make this up as part of my grand experiment with this journal). But one thing I do know, there was a feeling, not so well defined.

I stood outside in the crisp spring air, looking up into the quarter moon in the sky (tufts of grayish blue clouds floating over it). As I stared, the moon grew bigger and the clouds were just superficial noise, that flitted back and forth my field of vision. It was a very strange feeling. I felt I had not slept in days (or had I slept through my waking hours) — or how was it that I missed all the glory that was in the crescent moon last night all those other nights?

I woke up this morning and stared outside my window — saw the cheerful sunlight and revelled in it. The air was cool (not cold), the sun radiating it's warmth gently. What was I doing all these days that I didn't notice the Sun, the moon, the stars up in the sky?

The soft cumulus clouds forming beautiful patterns in the blue sky above. How many days has it been since I lay down on a patch of green grass and stared up at the sky? My wearly bones long to stop bearing the weight of my self and let mother earth cradle me in her lap.

How did it get like this? Chasing after those unintelligible signs of material comfort (my home, my family, my life), had I forgotten to enjoy the simplest of things? A look at the bright blue sky, the green canopy of Ashoka trees with their red flowers?

The scent of the mud after a glorious rain. The roll of distant thunder, wind howling and thunder and lightning in the horizon. When I was a child, I'd sit in the balcony of my home, with the lights going off at the hint of a shower — sit and stare at the grand show in the sky. What was the distant thunder saying? What message lay hidden in the whistling of the wind? As the trees bent down to the might of the gusts, was there some message there too? I don't know. All I do remember is that it gladdened my heart.

I wonder…what is it about these things that pleased the heart? Or is it the mind? Or may be the heart-mind?

Maybe I have come so far down the road to being a person, that I have left the child in me far behind? Is he sitting on some culvert several years in the past, lost, waiting for me to run back and hold his finger again?

Or maybe still, he isn't lost to me, but plays hide and seek, in some feeling, not so well defined?

 

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