Writing is like a psychic mirror. It can reflect what you did not know was there or at least make clear the thoughts that drift as if in a dream. Writing is an act of capture and release. In releasing you might encapsulate a disposition or a fault of comprehension.
It is not unlike hearing your own voice reverberate down through the ether on skype in the third world. You will hear your voice 3or 4 seconds later and feel them but even weirder, is knowing where they came from. There lies a hefty purport.
So honesty with myself is what it is I am aspiring for. I have been deceiving myself for so long it is a hard nut to crack. It seems I was born with bullshit mode turned on full. I am aware of it but not if ever able to control it. Part of the resolution is engagement and training for that engagement. I suppose that is the difference with being brought up instead of being dragged up. If having suffered the later one must figure out how to live effectively as the body grows out of the biological parents urge to care for it; if that should have been your plight.
I did think I would have been better off adopted, maybe I merely picked up my mothers dreams and inserted them as my own.
Told Nrs I would try to lighten up. Can’t be quippy just for the fun of it, makes no sense.
The kids are having fun splashing away from wretched snakes that are looking for shelter from the seething flood waters that are the Ganga.
I woke to the sun reflected from the waters hitting the ceiling. It was pleasant enough though my real joy was in knowing; today my home was my own. No maid or waller to invade upon it. Now I know what hiding in the suburbs really means. In the suburbs there is an unwritten law that thou shalt not visit unless absolutely necessary. I guess that was why farm life took its toll. Too many visitors and we had become the way farers stop over.
Well the Ganga has put a very definite stop to everything. Ironically it is the great big institution that is Iskcon that suffers the most from the flood.
Maybe the contradiction is fighting for static when in fact the soul or sense of self is in a constant state of flux seeking out its identity only to find it is in a state of flux forever. This flux, maybe a requisite to existence; maybe the fight against it is futile. New bodies, new identities, ever fresh, ever full of taste. Woops got duped into surety did we?
Long lusty summers of nothing but sucking in the indolence and warmth. I remember now as a gift. Those beaches and simple meals,the moon and the ever present sense of discovery that the evenings brought with them. We climbed a cliff only to throw an effigy soaked in illuminant chemicals. It was Elizabeth’s brother who came up with that one. Years later I heard he committed suicide. I heard he was a very talented mathematician; always a state of flux.
Her mother was forever in bed while her father made a small fortune with rubbish trucks. They had a darleck on the veranda, and a very good one it was too. I think Mark grew up to be a comedian. It was one of those huge Catholic families with kids stuck all over a rambling house that seemed always to be under some type of construction. The lives I was able to look on. Fell in love with her neighbour at the ripe old age of 12. His brother orchestrated it for a laugh and they all had one bar me. Always the sucker because I am so inebriated by myself. My punishment. What I’d give to be grounded and sane for more than a moment at a time. But then maybe I don’t want it after all. A lot of work. Why so averse to the work. Those indolent days by the sea have me drunk with waiting for it all to happen again. But it will never be the same as somehow the adult form brings with it a heavy weight as if dragging on the joy that might be. There is nothing quite like being young, even if only in hindsight. Always a trick.; she must get a tickle with her constant tricks. As if it were all a riddle and some of the really smart ones get to figure it out.
Read some of Jhanavi’s blog. Happy one. Having come in from the cold or the other side of the spectrum I feel there would be an inability to relate to the drivel that wanders from my brain. She makes it seem so simple and even captured the ecstasy. I can only focus on the struggle as if the snippets of ecstasy were some kind of side show or reference. Appeasing the heart but always stay wary of the trick tab. Happy and crying, sad and crying, lets look at why.
In the mean time Sucih is off to Kolkata in spite of the Ganga lapping at our necks. Nothing will stop that machine. What would I do with the equivalent amount of vigour. I think I would explode.
I fed the dog. I think I could actually see love in his eyes. See what a desperate wanker I am. Of course I get a rather harsh lecture from Giri abut the evils of feeding dogs and how Prabhupada said we were to declare war on them. Imagine what the burden must be when every word you ever spoke is taken as law for generations. Gees you wouldn’t be wanting to be too metaphoric there. Lets say you said, one day after a nasty feed, ‘these guys are poisoning me’. Then a generation later you got some fruit cake wanting to resurrect your interned body as evidence for or against poisoning. Shit I am in a movement of nut cases.
I guess it makes for suitable company given my own proclivities though not quite as stupid as those.
Nrsmadeva suggested we would return to Australia for holidays. What a bloody joke. As if our options had increased instead of decreased. Don’t mind me I will do the will of the lord thing but tempting me with a pool side pizza oven is a bit mean don’t you think? Given I rank indolence as a relevant human experience.
God I loved those mountain range cottages with views of the sea, no one to disturb you. Good company and dreams a plenty. On the verge and never cusping. How was it I gave up the option to choose? I met a guy that was dark. It got so dark I joined Iskcon for light but it has never really been clear since. It is as if I belong to something or someone. Not really wanting to be owned and especially on such tight terms. But I guess I was so lost there were no other options. Not to say there was nothing good from it but I would like to separate my sense of self from the group just a tad.
Spacing out in the lounge of a house with a mountain range banking against the veranda.
Sounds like Venu’s place and yet he sells not quite satisfied. What is the world coming to when there is so much confusion rife?
This place says, I want to engage you and I say in what. It responds with, knowing who you are, for now at least, in this body. Get cracking girl on with the work.
Way laying everything with the perplexed state that becomes a perpetual living thing, breathing its reason onto the wasted, lachrymose heart.
No I am not crackers Nrs, you're just happily ensconced in the realm of distraction. Hey I would revel too but imply my situation as perverse and it will linger.
Must have performed enough pious activities to keep me dry in the wet but no more than necessary. An astrologer informed me that this life of mine was strictly for spiritual development. Since when was there ever a question of that? Am I to take it and lump the inequities. They are not the subject, the subject is the object and the object is the exit and the exit is a phantom, it was here by your side all along.
And along came Doctor Quatum with uncle Leary to really run amuck with antiquated versions of scripts of old recited and tainted for so long that they ceased to reveal and started again to cover all that lay fresh and new. As if the barren mother had decided that no one else could ever give birth again.
An old acquaintance could not look at me when I was pregnant while she waited hopelessly to conceive her own. So much envy packed into so little flesh.
This flood could last a month. The dragonflies are everywhere and it keeps raining.
All the while the road is above water. Looking back, the cost of these continual floods is horrendous as compared to the cost incurred of raising the land. This is ludicrous because it is so isolated.
We need to get one of those long lovely black boats. Gliding elegantly along the water giving poetry instead of the dingy releasing abject comedy. Sucih tipped it over today with poor Vishaka in it..
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