Talking to dusk

Life ahead is for memories...for reminiscing precious emotions that had touched my soul a long time ago...emotions that I will perhaps never again feel in real life. How naive I was! I used to believe that I would see in real life the same world that books and movies treated me to. Books and movies treated me to the entire spectrum of emotions that I wanted to feel in real life. It was with shock that I realized that they were inspired not by the 99 per cent of the world we see...but by the one per cent that stood out...that held on to its inherent beauty.

Emotionally, Man is the only creature I have given up on.  Intellectually, it is still inspiring to share thoughts and ideas. But emotionally, I have given up my garb and I only don the garb of a writer now- one who feels the throbbing of every soul around him...the throbbing merging into and echoing the throbbing of his own soul. There are no attachments in the real world. Like a twig floating on a river, I am happy being carried by the river to wherever it wants to thrust me. It is only external turbulence I dread. For it breaks my reverie. In the absence of external turbulence, my mind is at peace. I have no expectations of people, for they are what they are. I am happy to recoil into an inconspicuous corner where I do not come in the way of any passing soul.

Like a butterfly, oblivious to the beauty of my own soul, I long to bask in the beauty of the world I see. I long to fly and flutter, sampling every bit of nature. In my eyes, I long to carry the beauty of the world I see.

To me, dusk is the most mesmerising phenomenon in this world. I treasure every dusk I spend at home, looking at the sky...the setting sun...the last birds on their way home...the last flutter of wings...the last sign of activity...and the red hue that the sun leaves behind. The evening star appears in the sky, announcing the arrival of night. Another dusk to add to memories of life on earth- this is what I cry out to myself each time. Every dusk speaks to me powerfully. I feel a strange closeness to my dead father in the setting of dusk. It is a time when I can gaze up at the evening star, perceive him and show him the ocean of sorrow I harbour within my heart. If I ask myself what that sorrow is, I have no answer. For it is the collective sorrow of years of life on earth...the collective sorrow of all the aching lives I have encountered in this planet. A deep, diffuse sorrow, mixed with the awareness that it can never heal. But then, it is this failure to heal that makes every simple joy on earth immensely valuable and beautiful. A child-like joy at every little phenomenon that percolates into my heart. It makes me immensely rich...and it makes me incapable of being hurt. It is this sorrow that connects me to the emotional world of the past that I treasure immensely. It is this sorrow that dettaches me from the harshness of reality, for I live in the world within my mind, built from the treasures I have collected from real life. It is a paradise that I constantly experience.

I am deeply indebted to all those books and movies which have helped me see the beauty in our struggles and sorrows...helped me belong to that one per cent who hold on to the inherent beauty of their minds...