I had always been an atheist. Never believed in idol or idle worship. And I am crying as i write this. Tears welling so high that i don't even see what i am blurring. The tears have become so thick that i pressed my eyes ginger and they gushed down, as if sitting on the ledge, waiting to be pushed.
My love for Shiva is not a pretence. It maybe unnatural to you but its true.
I am back after a pause. I had to pause. It happened again. As i wrote, i got taken over, overwhelmed by the force. Infact it's underwheleming to call it that. For i cried in whole. Yet again! It happens all the time. And stops in a jerk. Like a video rewinding itself to the start. And then..its just bliss. I feel sweet cold. Bliss is also an understatement. I dont have the yearn to find a fitting word for it. I have a greater yearn- to tell some of my friends, that i am finally writing it down- My experiences with the Truth.
I messaged a few and hopped to binge stream on my phone. Yes, It takes over like a storm and bereaves me back to normalcy. I behave dichotomous but feel united. One-minded if not like!
Today, i cured my migraine on my own, with this force., the healing power. I dont have a name for it. I started thinking it was reiki, but it is not. It is the Truth, that is all, that is omni. The only thing and everything, that to restrict it to any discipline/ science will be relegating it. In this book, that is one thing i won't do. I don't care if it sells or eats dust, but i won't inject it with doses that cause you to turn the pages. And that is what keeps me going. Unsullied, t original, less laborious yet hearty and soulful writing.
This migraine revisited me from a year and a half ago, when i first experienced awakening. But i dint know it better then than I do now. Awakening, and not just spiritual encounters. The latter are steps that ascend you to it. While i am not sure the stack rank , but i am sure i hit a step on the awakening altar. And the view from here is ..One, Uni. Uni-verse. This word makes the most sense to me from this altar. I feel bliss- Bliss is the music of this verse. The Uni-verse. And it is never a prose, cause it always has a rhyme. That rhythm , the rhyme is called Synchronicity.
While i write this, i cannot summon the writer i have known inside me. I am being guided by this super power. Some people call it energy. I wont call it any names for i feel it's me. Inseparable. For someone writing a book, I have no words to describe it. I write under its command most times. The temporal writer scales away and makes way for this spirit, and then i no longer write, words just flow. The notebook, the pen, the paper, are pity tools that bring to life this energy as a language form, so i can talk to you. But if you were on my plain, i wouldn't have needed them. I would have just looked into you and we would have understood.
Not here but, where we are. I have to explain to you that how sometimes the text in this book might seem disconnected, as if i slept off and forgot to pick from where i left. However, for me, i won't take that effort to make it seem connected, since when you live a thing, you cannot start it over. This book is not a piece of literary finesse. I think i am a better writer in my other life, the earthly one. But not here. And i feel no need to take over. When you are aligned, there is only 'One' view, no right and no wrong. No left or right, not even straight, not even panoramic. It's Zero and One..
When the grip recedes, i get pulled back to my other self. Sometimes by human invasion, of people moving about. When that happens, i re-read and try to edit what i wrote. But very often i just shut my book and run the errands of life. My spirit gives way to my body. However, i cannot say this pattern will stay for the rest of the book, for i have just started. I might always be under influence or sometimes not. We will see. But just bear it in mind. If you are ready to be a part of my story, live with it. Else give it up!
Am i being high and mighty? I think not. But i do think that its unfair to expect you to understand my world, when yours keeps you so busy. You might want to trade reading this with an event you have to attend. Fair point. I cant always justify not living upto the usual writing you are used to reading, by impressing you with 'writing under the influence of a higher force'. You might be in awe of me/awful of me. But i would still tell you, that i cannot abide by your expectations. For i have tried but that does not interest me as a writer.
I will tell you about my experiences, the ones that might be the drama you expect. I will work backwards to tell you how it all started. But i dont know when. I dont know at what point in this book i will feel moved enough to pop out this bubble of pfeace. It might happen in just the next sentence,or you may have to wait a while. But i won't be long enough to lose you. For i want to reach there sooner than you. That's why i even started.
What i mean by writing under influence? Have you ever felt your eyes are heavy and full of tears but you can't see a drop yet? You feel teary eyed, a peaceful teary , not a wrecked teary but you are not yet crying.Pregnant with tears, but the baby is still in the womb.Sometimes it doesn't even come out and always it does. My ears buzz, my hand struggles to stay legible. It just flows, can be as linear as an ECG graph of someone whose heart unites with the soul.
Ok i just woke up , sat up and i knew i wanted to cry. It happens with me. I cry hysterical but it ends in peace. It's cathartic. It has many moods. But all end in bliss. But this time, it was not the one i had become used to. This one hurt. Took me back to the time i experienced it first- when i had moved to Bangalore. Exuberant from the outside but unsettled inside. I entered leaving behind a carcass in a city i was confined for years. Not only because i spent the worst time of my life there, but also cause it was my antithesis. A complete opposite of where i belonged. Bangalore felt like a re union with my self. I could see myself reclaiming my identity, that i lost over a failed marriage, in the (land)locked city of Delhi.
This cry felt just like those bouts.Surprised, but as always, could not help it. Surprised cause i had come long away from that phase. My cries were more blissful than painful, ever since i moved to Luxembourg. But today, i felt the same.I wanted to hear the same songs that topped my spiritual charts back then. It was happening for real then. This was proof. For i did not summon that song, it came upon on its own. While outside was as dry as snowing, I felt the same dampness i used to. I could even taste and smell it. How can the same stage set itself up? I felt Bangalored again. "The Gael, The last of the Mohicans" played in loop. Why was I revisited when I had become better?
Heedless, i went on. Cried. These cries have many moods, but are never for or because of something. They are empty, that spring up when you are full to the brim. Empty and hence full of meaning. The best feeling ever.
As the song played, it enveloped me as if this the only thing that is. I felt the whole world is a flood and the water this song. For quite sometime i lay on the bed, not moving at all. I cancelled all my Saturday appointments and give into this song. This song is what living is. Just this , nothing else.
I had always wanted to bury myself in the Dark room, cause that is the cradle of light. The yellow lighting of my room, unlike the bright whites of India, added to the mood. I always preferred yellow or crimson during my spiritual episodes. With the song playing aloud, I started writing again. But my hand lost all control of the pen , it started to draw shapes. I tried to stay straight, but soon knew i can no longer force it to form words. I let it lose. It took over and started to doodle. But i knew the doodle was still a scuppered expression.My pen wanted to graze the world . I let go completely and it began to draw. I watched myself starting as a writer and meta morphing into this unyielding artist which dared to put on any cloak. However, i was still incapacitating him with my audience. I closed my eyes and let it go into the wilderness. What it drew could only be appreciated by me.Original link
My love for Shiva is not a pretence. It maybe unnatural to you but its true.
I am back after a pause. I had to pause. It happened again. As i wrote, i got taken over, overwhelmed by the force. Infact it's underwheleming to call it that. For i cried in whole. Yet again! It happens all the time. And stops in a jerk. Like a video rewinding itself to the start. And then..its just bliss. I feel sweet cold. Bliss is also an understatement. I dont have the yearn to find a fitting word for it. I have a greater yearn- to tell some of my friends, that i am finally writing it down- My experiences with the Truth.
I messaged a few and hopped to binge stream on my phone. Yes, It takes over like a storm and bereaves me back to normalcy. I behave dichotomous but feel united. One-minded if not like!
Today, i cured my migraine on my own, with this force., the healing power. I dont have a name for it. I started thinking it was reiki, but it is not. It is the Truth, that is all, that is omni. The only thing and everything, that to restrict it to any discipline/ science will be relegating it. In this book, that is one thing i won't do. I don't care if it sells or eats dust, but i won't inject it with doses that cause you to turn the pages. And that is what keeps me going. Unsullied, t original, less laborious yet hearty and soulful writing.
This migraine revisited me from a year and a half ago, when i first experienced awakening. But i dint know it better then than I do now. Awakening, and not just spiritual encounters. The latter are steps that ascend you to it. While i am not sure the stack rank , but i am sure i hit a step on the awakening altar. And the view from here is ..One, Uni. Uni-verse. This word makes the most sense to me from this altar. I feel bliss- Bliss is the music of this verse. The Uni-verse. And it is never a prose, cause it always has a rhyme. That rhythm , the rhyme is called Synchronicity.
While i write this, i cannot summon the writer i have known inside me. I am being guided by this super power. Some people call it energy. I wont call it any names for i feel it's me. Inseparable. For someone writing a book, I have no words to describe it. I write under its command most times. The temporal writer scales away and makes way for this spirit, and then i no longer write, words just flow. The notebook, the pen, the paper, are pity tools that bring to life this energy as a language form, so i can talk to you. But if you were on my plain, i wouldn't have needed them. I would have just looked into you and we would have understood.
Not here but, where we are. I have to explain to you that how sometimes the text in this book might seem disconnected, as if i slept off and forgot to pick from where i left. However, for me, i won't take that effort to make it seem connected, since when you live a thing, you cannot start it over. This book is not a piece of literary finesse. I think i am a better writer in my other life, the earthly one. But not here. And i feel no need to take over. When you are aligned, there is only 'One' view, no right and no wrong. No left or right, not even straight, not even panoramic. It's Zero and One..
When the grip recedes, i get pulled back to my other self. Sometimes by human invasion, of people moving about. When that happens, i re-read and try to edit what i wrote. But very often i just shut my book and run the errands of life. My spirit gives way to my body. However, i cannot say this pattern will stay for the rest of the book, for i have just started. I might always be under influence or sometimes not. We will see. But just bear it in mind. If you are ready to be a part of my story, live with it. Else give it up!
Am i being high and mighty? I think not. But i do think that its unfair to expect you to understand my world, when yours keeps you so busy. You might want to trade reading this with an event you have to attend. Fair point. I cant always justify not living upto the usual writing you are used to reading, by impressing you with 'writing under the influence of a higher force'. You might be in awe of me/awful of me. But i would still tell you, that i cannot abide by your expectations. For i have tried but that does not interest me as a writer.
I will tell you about my experiences, the ones that might be the drama you expect. I will work backwards to tell you how it all started. But i dont know when. I dont know at what point in this book i will feel moved enough to pop out this bubble of pfeace. It might happen in just the next sentence,or you may have to wait a while. But i won't be long enough to lose you. For i want to reach there sooner than you. That's why i even started.
What i mean by writing under influence? Have you ever felt your eyes are heavy and full of tears but you can't see a drop yet? You feel teary eyed, a peaceful teary , not a wrecked teary but you are not yet crying.Pregnant with tears, but the baby is still in the womb.Sometimes it doesn't even come out and always it does. My ears buzz, my hand struggles to stay legible. It just flows, can be as linear as an ECG graph of someone whose heart unites with the soul.
Ok i just woke up , sat up and i knew i wanted to cry. It happens with me. I cry hysterical but it ends in peace. It's cathartic. It has many moods. But all end in bliss. But this time, it was not the one i had become used to. This one hurt. Took me back to the time i experienced it first- when i had moved to Bangalore. Exuberant from the outside but unsettled inside. I entered leaving behind a carcass in a city i was confined for years. Not only because i spent the worst time of my life there, but also cause it was my antithesis. A complete opposite of where i belonged. Bangalore felt like a re union with my self. I could see myself reclaiming my identity, that i lost over a failed marriage, in the (land)locked city of Delhi.
This cry felt just like those bouts.Surprised, but as always, could not help it. Surprised cause i had come long away from that phase. My cries were more blissful than painful, ever since i moved to Luxembourg. But today, i felt the same.I wanted to hear the same songs that topped my spiritual charts back then. It was happening for real then. This was proof. For i did not summon that song, it came upon on its own. While outside was as dry as snowing, I felt the same dampness i used to. I could even taste and smell it. How can the same stage set itself up? I felt Bangalored again. "The Gael, The last of the Mohicans" played in loop. Why was I revisited when I had become better?
Heedless, i went on. Cried. These cries have many moods, but are never for or because of something. They are empty, that spring up when you are full to the brim. Empty and hence full of meaning. The best feeling ever.
As the song played, it enveloped me as if this the only thing that is. I felt the whole world is a flood and the water this song. For quite sometime i lay on the bed, not moving at all. I cancelled all my Saturday appointments and give into this song. This song is what living is. Just this , nothing else.
I had always wanted to bury myself in the Dark room, cause that is the cradle of light. The yellow lighting of my room, unlike the bright whites of India, added to the mood. I always preferred yellow or crimson during my spiritual episodes. With the song playing aloud, I started writing again. But my hand lost all control of the pen , it started to draw shapes. I tried to stay straight, but soon knew i can no longer force it to form words. I let it lose. It took over and started to doodle. But i knew the doodle was still a scuppered expression.My pen wanted to graze the world . I let go completely and it began to draw. I watched myself starting as a writer and meta morphing into this unyielding artist which dared to put on any cloak. However, i was still incapacitating him with my audience. I closed my eyes and let it go into the wilderness. What it drew could only be appreciated by me.Original link
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