Still Sundays
December 9, 2012.
Still Sundays.
Hello Sunday evening. Should I offer my greetings to a Sunday or some maker who wraps Sundays in ribbons of stillness? A bow of made of silence is included for free.
Yes, it’s me, Sunday.
The space is finally all ready. I am not sure I am. I thought writing was like riding a bike. This Sunday evening writing in my new place feels as odd as riding a tricycle through a bike trail. I am afraid of missing the tree of meaning as I stand in the forest of words.
It’s hard to write when your mind is set on auto-omit due to an audience that is beyond an online readership. Size is irrelevant. When you wear your words like a badge of honor and not a mask it’s hard to go incognito. Today as I sit here I know this doesn’t mean no writing but going even deeper. Damn this vastness: a constant reminder of one’s insignificance that is capable of significantly altering the course of so many lives.
Who decided the meaning of the word “world” to mean our entire eternal existence? Our so called “world” is made up of different eras. That’s what I gathered today from something my former professor and good friend, mentor V.G. shared with me. I don’t think I have ever been more ready for the end of this world, an era where majority of the people walk around with an incredible sense of self-absorption. But civilizations have come and gone. What we can count on is that every era has had its share of thaumaturgists to get us through till endings find their beginnings. But The Establishment in all mediums is a dragon with multiple arms and heads slaying opportunities for real change.
Real change is fierce. It annihilates comfort zones and associations. There is no book for it. When real change happens either you are going to fly or fall in the lap of all those who can provide you the illusion that you are changing by listening to them without actually changing a damn thing.
I thought you needed me Sunday, to carve you with the knife made of words in the kitchen of thoughts.
I am humbled; I am not even holding the blade. I am the one made of stone and Stillness chips thoughts till I can understand the true meaning of actually creating.
I am standing on a blank canvas and even the horizon needs to be painted to proclaim, “This is what we call a beginning!”
Very nicely words weaved into stillness. Any change creates a different type of stillness. Best part being is the ability to adapt and start appreciating and enjoying this new stillness of change.
Thank you very much.
Every single time I read your words, I experience my own kind of stillness for I am able to relax and just enjoy the words. Thank you for sharing with us, with me, who is so far away on a different continent.
Tonight in bed, under fluffy warm covers and a purring cat by my side, my cup of mint tea tastes like bedtime stories from when I was four. Only now, I do the reading myself.
Hello and thank you for your lovely comment. I am grateful for your time and sharing your thoughts to know my effort to reach into this place for which I have to find words is of value to another, whenever he or she stops by… I like this: “my cup of mint tea tastes like bedtime stories…”