Wind-swept

Background Music: Bring Me to Life by Evanescence

Although I know that I am not answerable to anyone, I must convey my apologies for staying away. Writing is almost a confrontation with myself and as a result, I discover answers within me which I never wanted to accept. And in the process, I break myself apart and reconstruct the shards of my existence. Often it is not inspired by self-will. This violation to recover the truth revolves around one word. A word which, even phonetically, seems to pulsate with the power of its meaning.

Change.

I welcome it and I reject it with the same passion. As a restless being, I yearn for that fresh breath of air; that moment when I crack the ice surface and gasp in that new found oxygen. But even that air soon begins to inflitrate my nostrils, inhabit my body, forcing out the past and suffocating me with the present. Then why does it scare me, you may ask? This is all I have to ask you in return. What do you do when the world around you seems to spin ahead, leaving you alone and empty? What do you do when the fear of falling is replaced by the desire to belong? You change. This manipulative word, this chameleon of a word, reflects itself and cajoles you into becoming what you are not. A life where you cannot find yourself. A mind where your thoughts are rotting, metamorphosing into the deathly dungeons from where your nerves begin to regrow. Bloodless veins, spreading about you like the roots of a tree, clutching you with the strength of dependence, possessing you by defending its territory.

When the storm dies down, you are left exhausted and settle into a deep slumber amongst the fallen leaves and crushed flowers. Lying there until the moment of change sweeps you off your feet again. I am waiting, take me away with you and wrap me in your lifeless arms...

Slipping away...

Background Music: 'Rescue Me' by Dario Marianelli (Atonement Soundtrack)

The mind is so subtly intricate, the beads of memory sewn into the fabric of life, but what happens when all of that crumbles in front of you? When reality is frayed, and the threads of sanity escape your weak fingertips? What happens when you can no longer control the voices in your head? All that is remaining in the emptiness is the ghosts of the unknown, the slideshow of yellowing, tattered photographs.

I am one such person who lives in the past, my thoughts constantly dwell upon the unsaid, whispering within this hollow cathedral of a body. But I find it comforting to huddle amongst these companions, and the idea of losing this is haunting.

This post is not a lecture on various psychological conditions. I just want to creep into every mind.....The old man who cannot remember day-to-day words, stringing phrases with the stammer of doubt.....the woman who lives in a past she once belonged to, now the moments just evaporating into the air.....the child that dutifully represents innocence and simplicity yet whose mind is churning after confrontations with life.....the teenage girl who cannot separate herself from who she is to what she's become, afraid of the crevices and cracks in the perfect and protected world around her.....life itself that seems to have lost itself in a broth of truth and lies.

Questions. Questions. An echo for an answer in this tormented soul.

In the Alleys and Aisles of the Mind

Background Music: Tire Swing by Kimya Dawson

Under the delirium of the afternoon sun, I decided to return to the familiar rattle of the keyboard. As I stared out of the apartment window, looking down on people scurrying like ants through the labyrinths of life, the thoughts came flooding in, breaking the embankments of distraction. I wondered whether everyone walks these streets with dusty secrets lying in their minds, burdening their lonely hearts, isolating them from you and me. Its all that clothes them, these lies, sheltering them from the harsh draught of truth. Imagine if they were all on display, a digital display flashing ominously above their heads, revealing years of well-kept secrets.

Most secret keepers don't realise their reactions and expressions open the rusty gates of their treasure box of secrets. Speak to them and you will be able to read them like an open book, despite the fact that they try too hard to keep themselves hidden from human judgement and opinion. I am acquainted with some such people and it is chuckle-worthy to see how their minds are as elaborate as that of the dishes my grandmother used to make. So many ingredients to cover up one secret after another, but the smell still wafts through the air, enticing everyone in its reach. And similarly, I find secret keepers interesting, there is an indescribable aura about them simply because they live to guard their mind. It's like holding water in your palm, it will leave you at some time.

I do not spare myself from these generalisations and scrutinies. I do keep some secrets, but they stay in the past, in the dingy prison cells of my mind. Don't worry, I'll spare you the concern because they'll stay there, untouched and forgotten...

;)