Two Things on My Mind: Volume 3

I had forgotten what it feels like to arbitrarily pick up a book, read it, and not put it down until I decided to resume leisure reading, and I keep reminding myself to not lose all sense of time, responsibility, and self-control, like I used to. 

Switching between spiritual literature and fiction, also getting back to reading in Hindi, Marathi, and Sanskrit. I’m also reading two books simultaneously, each from a different world: one spiritual, one fictional, to please my dual personalities, who refuse to agree on anything except ruining my plans and my schedule. 

Cartography of the Void

There is no language that can truly hold certain feelings. But somehow, this world has managed to limit feelings within the boundaries of certain languages, making them almost intranslatable.

I have been sitting with this since January this year, trying to name a certain emotion, rather a cluster of emotions, I think. I can't quite pin down, but I'll only try my best to describe it. It took me years to even realize it as a feeling, or the fact that if I let myself unravel enough, I am capable of feeling far more than I know how to hold.

I Ache for the Space Between Moments…

I ache for a life that moves slowly, even if the world insists on rushing past me. In this era of now, I want to linger at the edge of time; I want to wait, but not because time is slipping away, but for a quiet, flickering inner certainty. For that moment that feels right. I want to live in the softness of feeling it or not feeling it and make it the vantage point of my decisions.

Grace in Irreversibility

When all is said and done...

You know the feeling, the slight tingling in your bones, your thoughts frozen, of an ache to press the undo button, to rewind the reel of experience, as if it's a cassette you saved to revisit, and snip off wrong turns, wrong interpretations, and wrong investment of your devotion.

Rivers never return to their old courses. Trees do not reclaim the leaves they have shed. Words, once spoken, can never be taken back. 

Yet they always find the sea. Yet each spring they will bloom again. Yet the silence that follows holds expiation.