Emptiness

January 22 – was my birthday. It was the emptiest of all my birthdays. I have been alone, all by myself, on my birthdays before, but yet content and comfortable in my skin. This birthday wasn’t so. It was empty. Soundly empty. If I were to describe emptiness that I am so close with right now, I would describe it as a state of constantly evolving newer scary thoughts, full of doubts about oneself, full of adrenaline rushing through your veins and reaching nowhere. The mind, body and soul get entangled in cobwebs of one’s own thoughts. As if thoughts weren’t enough, the memories fill up the space too. Emptiness is, therefore, a very ironical state of existence, where we are just full of scares, thoughts, memories rushing, fears and doubts about oneself. The state of emptiness is, therefore, really not empty.

Tonight, I am filled with this emptiness. I want to write, but I don’t want to write.

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Yet Another Musing

The record of my Week 15, since I started writing a weekly journal last year, was my last entry on the blog. In the week that followed, I found myself lost in an unknown world – a world that I had never experienced before – a world that I so much wanted to make my own – a world that weaned me off my dear blog. I could go away from my blog confidently because I knew if I ever come back, I will find it ready  to embrace me with open arms. I wasn’t wrong about it. The world that I wanted to make my own, finally, purged me. All of it by my own doings. I became too acidic and too polluting that it threatened the very existence of that world. Perhaps, I had to be purged and that there was no other option. I know the world will be much happier without me and perhaps, much content too.

I am not going to be the same person again.

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Week 15: With enervating heart

September 22, 2014 – September 28, 2014

The week went by with heart sunk deep amongst enervating nerves. It felt uninspired many times during the week. Particularly, on the Wednesday and the Friday. My mother has often asked me for whom am I doing what I am doing, for whom is all of my hard work, and for whom or for what purpose I continue to dream of expanding my work. I have always answered her as,”For me.”

This “for me” does take me to a trip. Only at times. A trip to the desert of despair, having harsh climate of piercing questions enquiring my purpose and central motto of my life. When I decide to live “for me”, am I being selfish? Can the life not be lived for one’s own sake and be vapourised too-for one’s own sake? All such enervations came haunting to me. I couldn’t pick a book to read or gather passion to continue writing the story.

However, these were only lows of the week. Highs of the week were new inventions that I came across. Human ingenuity and craving to beat the past – work or record or memory or technology – has always left me impressed. A few inventions were particularly interesting, especially those with application in oil and gas. Though these inventions did leave me wondering on the business models of these inventors and such businesses, but their ingenuity prima facie was impressive, but it is after I conduct a thorough analysis of their invention and technology, would I be able to ascertain or ascribe or attribute “genuine ingenuity” on them. This is a little difficult task and while I do so, I often get better informed about general technology and methods in a certain field of art. 

The enervating heart took a rest on Sunday. It did not stop enervating, but suddenly the thoughts of the new week filled it up with some passion, something more to look forward to and brush the botherings that were bothering me under one of the several mesh of neural network that runs in my body. That’s how it is. Uncertain future may be weaker than a glorious past but it is certainly stronger than a hopeless present.

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Week 14: In being regular

September 15, 2014 – September 21, 2014

Last week was eventful with being busy at work, in chores at home, in finishing a small book, amidst good conversations with a friend, gym and of course some short walks.

During the weekend, I read the book Tuesdays with Morrie on recommendation from a friend. It is a short and tributary memoir of the author’s favourite professor, who taught the author the subject of Social Psychology at University of Brandeis. I have recently been locking horns with some of Brandeis’ personnel on different issue, however this one was a pleasant encounter. You can always trust books to give a pleasant encounter.  Most of the teachings by Morrie, the professor, during the end of his life, which was nearing its end due to ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease, were not really new to me. Coming from an Indian household, and more so from a Hindu household, the teachings on detaching from emotions and world, while indulging in Dharma, Kama, Artha and Moksha, of remembering the fact of one’s eventual death, of acquiring Santosha [satisfaction] from whatever we have were not new to me; however, certain values were entirely fresh such as to build one’s own culture, about forgiving oneself, some ideas on family and marriage et al. The book is made for a nice weekend read over multiple sips of green tea. I do wish we all be students like Mitch, and had teachers like Morrie!

My lessons on Sanskrit continue. I am only reading what I read years ago in childhood days. Therefore, finding it as a pleasant walk in garden of childhood, having fragrance of nostalgia. Soon, the tough lessons will appear and I am braced up for them. However, I would not hurry towards those lessons, until I make sure that I remember most of my basics and can exploit them in manners I already know.

I also happen to start developing a story. A fiction. Not a book, but just a short story. After I figured out the theme, I am not able to make great headways into the story itself. It is a difficult art. To tell a story. In a manner that keeps a reader hooked on to those structured words and prose. I think I lack that skill, rather I know that I lack that skill, but never has lack of something stopped me from pursuit of something.

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Sonnet V: Redoubt

Rahul:

David and his sonorous sonnets!

Originally posted on David Emeron: Sonnets:

All was given, everything was left,
And every hope would swell that I redeem
With nothing taken out; and when I deftly
Built up my redoubt, I felt returning

All that gifted, everything that stood
To gain and give me gain in my esteem
In every way in which such profit could
So bolster my redoubt, my feared concern

That some were not as they appeared; that next
To me–so closely held to me, extreme
So close my sense of safety had been vexed
To lay such siege, my hasty need to learn

How best to live within a fading dream
When once confessed, received, but did not earn.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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