The Ellipsis

Of tall glinting steel walls

Pitched against walls of horror

Of a horror beneath the walls crawls

And a plague creeps up taller and taller.

Of walls staring at walls

Screaming from a distance,

The tale and the teller alike the walls

The walls alike their stories,

Parted by worlds,

Screaming at the other,

Screaming for the other

Never halting

Never moving

Wailing and wishing to outrun the space

And outlive the skies

Taller and taller they grow

The horror crawls still,

The plague creeps still

Succumb into themselves, exhausted

Or enraged, would they engulf the world,

Like they did their makers, and their horrors

Their horrors screaming from a distance

Screaming at the other’s,

Screaming for the other’s

And their makers parted by worlds

Never reaching,

Never moving,

And yet, never halting

Being here. Being there

Questioning Expectations
“Let it sink in”, one of them said as we reached the camp site. But there wasn’t any space left for the sinking in. The channels were blocked. I stood there wondering whether this was going to be it then – a corked bottle that floats for miles but, by its nature, never sinks.

I haven’t written in months. Maybe beginning this now, is a step in the other direction. Which direction, though?

Anchors

There is something profound that I picked up though. The direction you take is but contingent. Whether the road is laid out for you or not, the anchors that you hold on to, through your journey, will define what you become.
They will keep you from drifting. They will hold you back too. They will prevent you from slipping, and keep you from climbing. They are the reason that you walk, and the means too. They are the reasons that you stop, and the places where you stop too.
These are the things that you build upon, the places where you keep your memories, and the people you have the memories with. Take these anchors away, and you become a child again. Faceless, and at times thoughtless!
Rely too much on them you become a child again. Unsure & Confused without it! Both ways, all that remains is wildness or sorts. A desire to plunge deeper, never hitting the bottom!
A part of me had gone there to get rid of the anchors. But then the choice is hardly your own. Most of the time, they choose you.




Lost & Found

On our way back, it had started to rain when we weren’t even half way to the campsite. So we started walking the fastest that we could. The fastest being different for everyone, we started drifting at different speeds, and at times in different directions.
Getting lost was fun. Getting found was irritating because then you had to walk back to the right spot.

Momentary lapses into emergence. 

There were two points, I believe, when the feeling did really sink in. We had to cross a peak and go over to the other side. As we reached the top, the sheer vastness of place swallowed any doubts that I had. That was where I was meant to be.
No. There wasn’t a second one. I thought there was.

Being back
It has been a while since we’ve been back to a city that barely sleeps. My experience may be a little corrupted by now.



You would think that something like this will change your life & embed it with some unexpected experiences. But my mind was in a different place. I wasn’t there. It’s not here now. Can you see me sitting next to you?

I have entered a new phase in my life. And there are still some false impressions as an avalanche
would sound like a distant thunder, or perhaps the other way around. We have made strides into a realm of awareness, I guess. We can identify things for what they are. But it is important to remind ourselves of the most ordinary things – of who you are, and what you want to be; of what your anchors mean for you; about it is that you’re looking for.

Bonus Piece: The Little Things
After walking for 11 hours, a large part of it being drenched in rain, a cup of tea taste like heaven; and the site of a plastic shed heavenly! At times, it is too cold outside & you would spend most of your energy in dealing with the cold. And something as small as a cup of tea (going back to Anchors) can define what you do in those few moments. Can you imagine what an impact a real anchor would have!

The Prognosis

Nobody knew what was at stake. Perhaps there really was nothing to be won. And in that sense, there really was nothing at stake. Yet a trial was imminent – a trial of patience and resilience. A fight needed to be put up; a fight for mere survival. And so, in that sense, everything was at stake.

This idea was not really exhilarating. You cannot plan for survival. You can only put up a blind fight. This meant that the enemy would be better prepared. His moves would be planned, strategic. And although we knew this, there was nothing that we could do, but react once the battle was at our doorstep.

Meanwhile, we were all trying to fix things in our own ways. Some of us were ignorantly breaking them further. Yet, we were insuperable in our attempts, convinced that it would but hardly matter as long as we did not stop trying; that someday we will fix it all.

At first, it was almost impossible to grapple with the idea that it could be in the nature of some things to exist in pieces – to appear broken. These illusory things exist to consume their fixers. And the fixers exist to be consumed. 

A tragedy would end here, you see. But this isn’t one. All the effort simply could not be entirely meaningless. Something had to come out of it all. It did not matter of what nature. It all had to amount to something. And so, you see, these fixers being consumed are no longer people. They are products of futility, installments of ignorance, and causes of nothingness.

They have become things – things that now appear broken but aren’t; things that were once consumed – things that are now hungry themselves. This hunger is what sets us apart now. It is our strength, our identity, our madness, and our redemption. 

It is all we have left now. But then, why would we need anything else?