Junk box

Feeling like a baby – unexplained dreams

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  • Floating like a balloon : I’m in a room, weightless and floating just as an astronaut does in space. I go up like a balloon horizontally facing downwards and as my back touches the ceiling, I rotate back and come down, just as a baby does inside the womb.
  • Through the canal : I’m struggling, my way out or in (I don’t really understand) a large pipe or a canal like structure. It isn’t stiff and hard but is fleshy as if you are being swallowed by an anaconda. It’s difficult to breathe and it seems that I’ll die of suffocation. I’m lying down and crawling, one or two other people following me. It is just like an army training  (in fact tougher!). I feel that the baby born normally would’ve had a similar experience during labour. Although no one obviously remembers how it was. But I don’t understand why I should have such a dream, because I was a caesarean baby.
  • Falling from a height : I’m on a roof and walking. Suddenly it ends and before I realise I reach its edge and almost fall off. The dream gets over there because just as I’m going to fall, I kick into the air in reality  ( again as a baby does inside the womb) and I’m awoken by the jerk of my own kick. This also happens when I dream of descending a staircase or anything involving body’s descending motion.

It can happen again…

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Yet again!

She knew she was in love again. A kind of love which carried the experience yet the madness of her first love. Yes, it can happen again-in the same, similar or a different way, nevertheless a better way. But was it in anyway better?
It broke her, made her weak. It was making her someone she wasn’t, a different person. But most importantly, it was one sided. They underestimate one sided love even when it carries weapons that can rip either of the two persons off into pieces that cannot be stitched together. One becomes scared of love, the other becomes scared to love. It forces both of them to act like there’s nothing more to it…. nothing at all. When the reality is, they are ashamed. Ashamed of confessing, committing, holding on to the friendship they had and talking about it, because they know, things are already messed up! None of them is the person himself or herself. We pretend. Ashamed of something so beautiful.

“Stop this Chhaya! This is insanity. Will you ever learn a lesson?!?! I did. You must” he said.

“Why should I? Loving someone isn’t a mistake. LOVE IS NOT A MISTAKE…the person is. But I was sure you are not.” she woke up telling to herself.

To know you…

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I would enter into the darkest of tunnels to know deepest of your desires and  secrets. I can climb up highest of the tombs and towers to understand the obscure fears that you bind within.

At night I stalk your shadows under the moon, and listen to your breath in profound silence. While the day blesses me with your lovely face and barnet so bonny that I yearn to touch.
I long to sit back and stare at you; look into your naive eyes and explore your heart,
I long for the day I would sit with you and sing to the chords of your piano’s hidden Mozart.

To know you completely is the enlightenment I seek.
To keep knowing you more is the life I want!

Saya

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“Why can’t you be yourself? Why do you act like you don’t have a soul?” She asked her looking deep into her beautiful eyes. They made memories flash back into her’s as she kept waiting for an answer.

When she was a little girl, she used to love watching and talking to her. She loved everything about Saya-way she looked, the way she laughed, the way she dressed herself. She knew Saya the best and Saya knew her the best. She carried an ocean of secrets and desires of which, no one had even managed to reach the shore. Saya had tasted each drop of it.

They grew.
She watched her grow into a goddess of beauty. Her teens saw waves of desire rushing from nothingness into her heart. While her friends told her about their guy crushes in school, she wondered what was something so angelic in Saya that no other persons she had met possessed. She was not just beautiful but had one of the brightest brains, greatest heart and wisest souls. That was one of the reasons why she liked studying with her rather than school.

She used to yearn to touch her every night when she undressed for bed. Her long thick hair, covering her soft breasts ended at her thighs. She used to watch her intently while her fingers glided smoothly on her milk bathed skin.
“God must be an awesome sculptor”, the thought used to keep striking her each and every moment of her visual treat.

She was horrified when she realised she had become obsessed with her. So much so that it was becoming impossible for her not to think about her, touch her or praise her. But there was something admist them that made sure that they can never become one. She was turning mad. She settled on to believe that Saya wasn’t real. But how could she? Saya was indeed the most real person to her. She was someone who defined love!

She knew that she could love no one the way she did to Saya. Who was to be blamed? God? The one who made her fall in love with her; one who was inconsiderate while making her the way she was? She wished she could find someone else like Saya. But then would have she fallen in love the same way? She loved her exactly for what she was!
She wailed, she shouted in angony because that was all she could do. Even god couldn’t change it for her.

“Why don’t you say something!”
Her own shout brought her back into the present. It is a curse to fall in love with our ownself. It is more torturous than hell itself-to not get something you love so much.
Blistering tears rolled down her eyes as her naked self stared back at her from the mirror, displaying the same emotions as her!

P.S : “Saya” is a word in Malay language meaning “I” or “Me”

My favorite place at home

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I like to see the flights taking off. I imagine the people inside them and the reasons for their travels. I try to remember my own past journeys, how i used to get bored and hate it. I used to like listening to the safety instructions even though I had almost got them by heart. Now since I travel less, I like imagining my future travels, hoping that I would travel for work rather than for vacationing.

I imagine the life of the workers in the air ports. I never feel awkward staring at the hostesses, they are so neatly dressed. I even imagine their uniforms.

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Sitting on the canopy, I like watching people on road. I feel like being at the top of the world. People normally don’t see upwards so rarely notice me, but I notice them all. I can sit, stand and walk the way I want, even if I’m not inside four walls. That feeling is great!

But the thing I like doing the most is observing the birds. I normally go there during the dusk. So I see birds returning to their nests…silent, unlike during the morning, less chirpy. I try to guess how they feel like when they see the aeroplanes, jets and helicopters. Do they feel jealous because they themselves fly not so high as them? Or do they feel inspired? Do they think its some different kind of bird or are they intelligent enough to understand human intelligence and that humans have built them?

I try communicating with them. I have learnt in Wicca that more you can communicate with nature and its creatures, the more spiritual you are. Animals and birds won’t harm you or get scared of you. I keep testing myself on that. I love every kind of bird- even crows which is not liked by many.

I observe and contemplate. When I see a group of birds I try to find what’s going on in their minds-if they are playing any game. Sometimes it feels that two pals are wishing goodbyes to each other as they split into different directions. While sometimes when I see a couple flying, I visualize, even after they are out of sight, how they’ll reach their nest and feed the young birds or see their unhatched eggs or make love!

Initiating

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I started writing poems by scribbling stuff on my notebook. That was when I was in the fifth grade. It took almost a year for me to realise that those seemingly nonsensical lines actually held beautiful meanings, rhyming enough to be called “Poems”. Read the rest of this entry »