Becoming

20 Jan

I wasn’t prepared to write today. I was in bed just moments ago, trying to get through a book I’ve been savouring but prolonging beyond necessary. My Kindle says I’m about 30 minutes from completing it. And so I left it because 30 minutes isn’t much especially when something stirs you to get up from bed, haul yourself to the laptop and get back again; to write. It’s a blessing.

I’ve been reading Eat, Pray, Love (after having watched the movie first, in one of those rare switches that happens). It has agitated me from time to time which is why I’m unsure if 30 minutes will really be the 30 minutes the world of time knows. Perhaps. But then the book has left me in so many places at once – good places that make me put my book down and explore my new-found lands. Lands that have stars and contentment and peace and questions and sandy beaches and explorations and bicycle rides and magic and giving and taking… lands that make me think about the universe, of life, of sensibilities, of experiences, of exultation, of emotions. It’s all too much to find yourself amid. But it’s poetry nonetheless. And I’d like to use the word poetry because it’s as decipherable as the next enigma. There lie so many questions and so many answers and possibilities and so many chances and opportunities… it’s a marvelous place to be lost in and let go in, because it’s poetry.

Talking about poetry, I’m a part of this one group that sits a little at the edge of the others that fill in the spaces of my small universe. I’d like to think of it that way – just aptly situated at the edge of a starry universe where one talks about life, love, magic, the heart’s love affairs, the mind’s midnight walks, and beer. I’m not sure how the conversation began but it invariably led to poetry. I think we were discussing this concept Elizabeth Gilbert talks about in her book – something on the lines of “being a drop in the ocean and the ocean being in a drop” – which revolves around the concept of our soul and working on it, to some extent and in a singular perception, of course.

But isn’t that poetic? To think of us not just as a drop in the ocean but to realize that the ocean is in a drop too? How magnificent in its ability to change perspectives and highlight the beauty of the whole, the concept of infinity (which was also something we were simultaneously talking about on the group as well) and the image of a continuum.

I connect this to poetry because of its diverse ability to give as you wish to take; for who can be a poet except someone who allows those one-minded walls to free-fall and become fluid? I’m not sure if I’m making sense but you understand what encountering poetry does to you, right? It makes me levitate, to simply put it… it enables me to drift and explore meanings that tremble like leaves and flower petals waiting to be touched, smelt, felt.

Who else can be a poet but someone who can become and allow becoming? To manifest and to allow manifestation. To grow and to allow blossoming. To live and to allow life. What else can poetry be but sharing?

It was through this that one of them shared their poems which, when I chanced my senses on it, made me want to come here and write. And share. Because you should read it. And dive into it. And let it take you places you may like to visit but haven’t yet. I’m also giving you the music that took him to where he was when he wrote this and which could possibly do the same to you too. Thank you for allowing me to share this, A-man.

I LIVE AGAIN
(By ASP)

While the plastic bags do their dance in wind,
I bind, unbind and bind again.
For little mercies and Her mightiness,
I close my eyes and live again.

What one saw is what’s on the mind,
And there She was, sweet-singing glee.
I walked to Her and asked for me,
She sang her song and let me be!

Then a story and once more a song,
And this time I knew, she wasn’t just the sound or smell.
The ocean was a drop and dense as well,
Exploded, eroded, I let it dwell.

The time was when time stood still,
There was space and continuum too.
All I am is also a rock or hill,
I waited for light to dawn and fill.

In her tactful whisper she yelled at me,
Hey you, close your eyes and live again.

Now tell me, isn’t there poetry in sharing? And becoming?

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2 Responses to “Becoming”

  1. Jala Bula Jux January 20, 2015 at 9:58 PM #

    I am extremely humbled by your gesture. I didn’t know something that I wrote on a sleepless night could make someone get out of bed and write a blog post. It gives me goosebumps. Thank you!

    • Babushka January 22, 2015 at 3:55 PM #

      Sharing is caring, they say, for a reason. :)

      I hope you keep writing more.

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