Adjusting? Day 217

Been sick for almost a week... been in a strange set of mind, feel like I am dreaming when awake - every thought is fuzzy. Maybe that's why the blogs have been less, been sparing the world of my haphazard thoughts :)

Been in a strangely nostalgic mood these days, sharing lots of past events. I was talking to a friend about moving to the US and she was asking me what things struck me, so I thought I would share some of them...

1. State Parks - around where I grew up - we never really "contained" parks I guess. No one really went on trails to parks, you could hike up a mountain and follow a stream, which I did plenty of... but no marked trails, maps or commercialization. Of course, in South Africa it is a little bit of a different story - especially the more famous parks. But yeah, state parks were a new concept to me.

2. Calling petrol gas... it still doesn't make too much sense to me... how does a liquid get the name gas... must read up the history behind this. I am stubborn about it though, so I still call it petrol, and we fill it at a petrol pump, not a gas station :) Got to hold on to something...

3. A big one I guess was the conversion to Fahrenheit from Celsius. I have been in the US for 8 years now and I think I JUST about started understanding it. I used to have a bookmark for a website that would do this conversion for me!

4. Well I guess this is just about anywhere you move to - but the words and accents. I don't think I struggled too much with following but I became very aware that I definitely learnt British English growing up. You don't really realize how different things are till well, you are in a different place :) I think one of the amusing things I noticed was how things are named after companies...for example, kleenex has just become a word for tissue paper.

5. Soda/drink refills - another strange concept. Discovered the meaning of bottomless drinks.

There are a lot of things I guess which come to mind. Though, it was also the first time I was living by myself so moving to the US was a big deal, I remember having a crash course from my sister where I owned my first plastic card, learnt to write checks and that fries solving a lot of life's problems ;)! In time, I replaced that with ice cream...but thats a different story.

I will prolly do a part 2 of this, cos like I mentioned haphazard thoughts... but the thing about US having lived in 7 states, visited i don't even know how many - was about 21states the last time i counted, you can find some place that will remind you of home...wherever that was before you came. I guess the funny thing is, I have spent my whole life living in different places... never really belonged anywhere and it was a recent discovery that I made, that home is where it feels right, where it feels good...where you are and where your heart is at peace, even if it is for just now.. and even if you will be know as best as a "resident alien" in your current home.

Lightning Day 216

A thunderstorm crept up on us today... went from a hot sunny day, to one with flashes of lightning and drums of thunder. Lightning somehow leaves such an amazing impression in the mind, doesn't it? The quick release, the high voltage, the strong claim of the sky on the land, the clouds fiercely owning the land, then healing it with rain... the Gods playing on their drums, the roar of thunder.

It is easy to give emotions to elements that are so magnificent in nature. I am sure in my blogs somewhere I have mentioned the lightning showers in Roma where I grew up. There were so many myths about them in Roma itself. Witchdoctors had a field day around that time. We would often lose electricity. I remember standing in the dark living room, looking out the large glass doors at the fireworks of nature. How the light would flood into the room, and then fade away leaving the darkness, the candle flame flickering in its wake. I suppose I did come to respect lightning a little bit more once our house got struck by it.. not once, but twice... 

Nothing as dramatic as the house going up in flames, but just about every plugged in device going berserk. Having to buy a new television and computer simply because the lightning conductor didn't work. I do remember seeing it strike our house - I was walking home and it fell on our house, and held the charge for a couple of seconds before the deafening thunder came and I ran home, to see everything fuse out, the little oven, random static on the TV, the backup generator, all done for. No one pouts better than mother nature. 

Well regardless, lightning has been around me for a while and it usually used to take front stage. There was not much to do but admire it, seep in its energy. Would lie down and try to decipher it's tales, the stories that must echo in the heavens... story of passion or anger or strength... Soon the roars and the power struggle would be hushed by the soft patter of the rain on the tin roof...and I'd fall asleep to the wax melting in the candle that seemed to shine brighter in the darkness. Somehow writing this blog, I remembered these lines I read somewhere...

What tongue does the wind talk? What nationality is a storm? What country do rains come from? What color is lightning and where does thunder go when it dies?

Good night... tomorrow we will soak in the sun - if not, we can always dance in the rain.

Just one of those... Day 215

...poems I really like:

We are resolved into the supreme air, 
We are made one with what we touch and see, 
With our heart's blood each crimson sun is fair, 
With our young lives each springimpassioned tree 
Flames into green, the wildest beasts that range 
The moor our kinsmen are, all life is one, and all is change. 

With beat of systole and of diastole 
One grand great life throbs through earth's giant heart, 
And mighty waves of single Being roll 
From nerveless germ to man, for we are part 
Of every rock and bird and beast and hill, 
One with the things that prey on us, and one with what we kill 

One sacrament are consecrate, the earth 
Not we alone hath passions hymeneal, 
The yellow buttercups that shake for mirth 
At daybreak know a pleasure not less real 
Than we do, when in some freshblossoming wood 
We draw the spring into our hearts, and feel that life is good 

Is the light vanished from our golden sun, 
Or is this daedalfashioned earth less fair, 
That we are nature's heritors, and one 
With every pulse of life that beats the air? 
Rather new suns across the sky shall pass, 
New splendour come unto the flower, new glory to the grass. 

And we two lovers shall not sit afar, 
Critics of nature, but the joyous sea 
Shall be our raiment, and the bearded star 
Shoot arrows at our pleasure! We shall be 
Part of the mighty universal whole, 
And through all Aeons mix and mingle with the Kosmic Soul!. 

We shall be notes in that great Symphony 
Whose cadence circles through the rhythmic spheres, 
And all the live World's throbbing heart shall be 
One with our heart, the stealthy creeping years 
Have lost their terrors now, we shall not die, 
The Universe itself shall be our Immortality!. 


Oscar Wilde

Skye Day 214

He was small. Trying to figure out his way, standing up and running though extremely wobbly. He came toward me almost immediately and licked my hand. I noticed his deep sky blue eyes and maybe that's why I named him Skye. Even though he was my birthday present, I couldn't get him home till a month later because he was just too small and it also gave me some time to warm my parents up to the idea. I remember on his first day with me, he sat on a bench where I left him staring out. I remember his quiet silhouette, very rare moments with Skye, to see him calm and quiet... and day one, was one of those times. Maybe it was suddenly being alone, away from his fellow pups, but he stuck to me all day. When night came, I had a nice round bed for him, thought he would be comfortable. My mom insisted he sleep out in the corridor, not in the bedroom. He whined and screamed all night, till I finally came out and slept with him, he finally fell asleep in a teeny bucket with my hand pressed against his chest, paws holding it there. 

He grew up very fast, and very big - never grew up in his mind though. Always remained puppy like - always ready to run. His blue eyes changed to brown, but he remained vast and giving like the sky. Surrounded me with his innocence and unchallenged loyalty. I can close my eyes and remember his white chest and white front paws. His tough muscles, his slightly irregular breathing, his smell, his fur. I remember the early mornings we spent with each other, the long walks. Getting into trouble at school together because I took him to class one day.

As a young pup, he ventured playfully into a neighbors yard and got bitten in the neck by a much larger dog. I remember seeing him wrapped up in a t-shirt, as the owner came rushing toward me, blood and him barely conscious. Being Easter weekend we couldn't get him to a doctor as fast as we liked.. I remember nursing him, helping with his surgery and healing process. It was definitely a major bonding point for us, we both grew protective of each other. Maybe that's where he became more determined to protect all of us. Feared no one, but didn't give his trust easily either.

I remember how he was terrible at learning tricks - too much of a free spirit maybe. Very mischievous, and loved to trouble his "selected people". One day, one of these ladies slowly ventured into our yard, trying to quietly drop of a key she had carefully wrapped in a handkerchief. She thought she had made it to the door, when Skye appeared from nowhere and immediately took the handkerchief. With all the yelling and screaming - I had to run after him and when he was surrounded, he did the most obvious thing - he ate it - key and all. After a long hours wait... we did get they key even if it did go through his digestive system...

I think everyone knew his name in the campus. Some as the dog that dropped that mean lady in the ditch, some as a very friendly one, some as a large one to be feared. Little kids who would walk on our roads would greet him - kids from the village knew his name. He built a strong relationship with our gardener and our whole family. Very different around different people. I was more of his playmate and his best friend - he guarded me ferociously. My dad he was tender and calm with. My mother he troubled relentlessly at times but always knew when to stop enough, to not push her too far. Everyone had a "skye story" - I would hear of it so often. So many people approached me as "You're Skye's owner aren't you?" So many memories come to mind when I think of him - amount of times he ran off with my books or projects I was working on because he wanted my attention. Our runs, him trying very hard to keep up with his super fast jack russell terrier friend, his "girlfriend" koo - his peaceful expressions, my hand extending out and finding him. Him constantly running outside my window on summer nights when he'd rather be out. 

On his last day, I knew he was not well, but did not realize how bad. His tail still wagged, his tongue still licked me. I went to class and somehow had a strong urge to see him. I remember coming home and finding him resting in the verandah. He looked at me with those same eyes that had found me in that litter of puppies and I remember smiling at him and telling him he's going to be okay. I remember hugging him and giving him milk with my fingers. That evening when my mother picked me up, she told me on the ride home that he never moved from that spot. She had covered him with a blanket and when I got home, i remember seeing those same white paws underneath it. I never touched him, nor saw him like that. It just felt like he was gone. There was no soul of Skye in that body... 

I think the hardest part was knowing he had been poisoned, that his innocence had been exploited by man, who saw nothing but a hindrance. Maybe it was my innocence too that didn't even think such a thing could happen to my poofy (yes that was my terrible nickname for him).

The next day, when they buried him I remember being asked. I chose the spot, but I didn't see him still. I couldn't bear the silence in the nights that followed. When I finally did go see him - I planted a 100 carnation seeds around him, over him. Sometimes when the nights get too quiet, I think of him and how he kept guard. I imagine him as a beautiful soul that could not be contained, travelling through the astral space - free from this. He never knew fear, nor boundaries.. Some quiet nights... some long nights... I miss him, I miss his soft fur and his innocent eyes, that would look at me almost with bewilderment - asking me, why would you want to do anything else but race the wind and live fearlessly and in abundance? What more is there? What more is there... 

Long NIght Day 213

The long night is looming, stark, dark... just wait
No promises, the dark inviting, the numbness a bait
Stay still, stay quiet, you can hear the sound
Stifle your scream, loosen your armor, fall down
Opening a closed door, closing an open window
Reaching in to go out, reaching in to feel the blow
Words playing, feelings playing harder, the theatre
The story misshapen, the character a tragedy
The swollen eyes, the dropped tear..
Fist opens, no more search of a remedy.
Know your demons, know them well
Stand tall among them, protect yourself
Wear the dark cloak, the thorn crown
Stand up, we must keep moving on
The long night is looming, just wait
Live out the irony of a jokers fate.

- RKS

Smoke Day 212

Smoke clouds my eyes, the grip gets weaker
The sounds louder, the darkness deeper...
Lost in the wave, pulled away, grasping for the shore
The shout buried in the throat, eyes searching for more
The quiet getting too loud, the voices getting too soft
Searching for an anchor, slowly getting lost.

Blue smoke. That's how it was described to me. The place your mind goes to in its weak moments. The smoke which blurs the line between the different versions of reality. Blue - when painting, it is the colour used to create distance. Make a painting look further away, give it perspective of sorts. Believed to be the colour to counteract your fear, giving you an open communication. I don't know why it is blue smoke... but it does open you up, it takes the walls down, you forget where you're safe.

Maybe black would be a better colour. But in all truth, black is not considered a colour. It is the absence of colour. While white reveal, black conceals - hides much in it's veil. Giving it the aura of mystery - wouldn't black smoke make more sense?

There are games our minds play on us - times we convince ourselves or hold onto truths we know we shouldn't believe. And yet we do... are we truly so fragile, that if one negative thought gets through the cracks, if one blow from the world injures us, we slowly crumble? Does our confidence just live in glass armors... and our strength in ourselves, or people who surround us... simply exist as long as it's not tested?

I often told a friend that to see life get better, you need to live. If black is the absence, white is the presence of all colour. Smoke itself fades into white, does it not? And yet, sometimes the only escape is to close your eyes - to see clearer, you surround yourself with that black. I don't know - lots of contradictions, lots of awareness of colour - no clear thought, no clear direction.. one of those blogs, where I write, but maybe don't communicate... but then again...

The smoke clouds my mind, the thoughts get confused
Faith gets tested, the right and wrongs get bruised...
Words fade into meaningless jargon, how do I explain
The dark horses had to come, the dark horses they came
Everything changed in their wake, everything stayed the same

The smoke clouds my soul, I hold on to what I know...
Holding onto my anchor and the tomorrow it will show.

Different Realities Day 211

Sometimes I think of the different versions of reality we must all believe in. With us all having our own perceived notions of what is right and acceptable, and what is not. The people we surround ourselves with, the responsibilities we take on, our environments, our jobs, our interactions. All of these just add onto what we believe life is.

Everything is scaled based on our experience. Pain is measured in different scales, we react differently based on the number of times we've gone through something. We take good news/bad news in different lights because of our experiences. Our reactions are controlled or unbridled because of the way we've been shaped in our reality. We can put different people through the same situations and have different reactions. We can take different people to explore a country and they will return with different experiences.

And in this whole spectrum of different realities, we're continuously meeting and colliding with other versions. Continuously changing and growing. Somewhere we find people with the same desires, amidst all our differences, there are a finite number of things we all want. Some common subset of desires and wants always exists. And those differences that make us who we are, come together into something we connect to and hold.

Connecting, pulling together, pulling apart... in so many ways we're alone in our viewpoint, and in so many ways we are so connected, building our viewpoints from everyone around us. It's very interesting to think of ourselves as individuals and also building relationships. Believing in the idea of what or who we can live with or without, being able to make a distinction between who you want to be with, be around and who you don't. Shaping our own realities, by shaping our surrounding, our influence... every reality is different, but maybe we hold some of the strings. And if we can understand what strings get pulled by what choice, maybe we can shape it to what we desire most.

A Tale of Time Day 210

And he arose with no mission, he had nothing to prove. He moved with contentment, with a direction of his own. Being aware of himself in a way that he didn't need to question. He was strong, defined... time hadn't been unkind, and he wore his scars proudly.

And she arose with a quest, she had to find purpose. She moved with a rhythm, trying to follow a direction chosen for her. Being aware of the throbbing in her.. that she had learnt not to question. She was strong, undefined. Time a friend or a foe, she embraced every moment she could find.

When his eyes found hers, he needed no cues. Loved as beautifully as his soul, gave as purely as his heart could. There was nothing else to be said, nor done. What story is there to write when the words are just the echoes of the obvious. There is purpose in his hands, and promise in his eyes. He finds life within her and dances with her, for what else is there to do? Time has been unkind, but he wears his scars proudly.

And when his hands found her, she needed no explanation. She loved as she never had, gave as much as her soul could. There were no more questions or paths to follow. What story can be written more beautifully than the whispers that filled these gaps? There is hope in her eyes, there is a dream in her heart. She finds faith in him and dances to his song, for what else is there to do? time, a friend or a foe... not thinking, she embraces this moment with all she has.

Reach out... Day 209

Been a strange day of sorts. Everything seems unreal in a way, everything the same and yet not. The streets,  the air, everything where it should be and yet not. A strange feeling, a denial of sorts... I don't know, maybe it's just the tired mind, maybe it's the distracted mind... Sometimes its just scenarios in our heads, moments where we are not where we should be.

Reach out, reach out I am here
Don't be scared, have no fear
The dark fingers can't touch you
I have fought, and I have won too
I will keep you safe in my arms
Reach out, you will not be harmed.

Let me show you a different way
Make you believe, want to stay
Don't pull away so hard and fast
The night is long but won't last
I have seen the morning light
Promise you won't lose this fight..

The light will come, dawn will break,
You will find reprise from this ache
Don't say goodbye, don't give up
I will hold you, the seas are rough
Reach out, reach out, I am here
I can see your pain, your tears

Reach out, reach out I am waiting
The battles not over till you're with me
I won't give up, you will be happy
I am listening, call out to me
Say something, help me see...
Don't give up, I can hear you shout
I am here, I am here, just reach out
Reach out, reach out to me..
I am here, I am here, can you see?

- RKS

Paths Day 208

There are stories we put away as done. The tale is done, the journey over. What we expected, what we hoped - are just shadows now. We won't face those ghosts anymore, the walls come up higher and stronger. No one can find us, if we don't show ourselves.

But are any stories really done? Are the moments and times we spend with someone really over when we say goodbye? Or do we just set in motion a chain of events? Are we heroes in ways we don't even realise - impacting people we don't even know. I don't know, sometimes looking back at friendships, at people who aren't in my life anymore - who left without reason or explanation - I wonder if our time together really was that meaningless. There has to be purpose, there has to be a point - doesn't there?

Can all the affection and good intention you bestow upon someone just be forgotten? Do wrongs just become dust of the past that no one ever questions... do good times, just fade into fond memory of a time that cannot be claimed...

There are many stories that have come to an end - most without my consent. And I sometimes wonder if the memory of all that time, of all that effort even mattered... if it was just a moment in time that we shared because we had to, or if it tied us in ways that can never be challenged or broken no matter how hard we tug at the rope. Connected or broken, over or halted... sometimes when the questions get too hard to answer - we just do what makes the most sense.... Stop asking.

Who I am... Day 207

Will my tale be of courage, facing that which I should have feared? Or will you speak of how my acts of bravery were things that happened because there was no other choice?

Will I be drawn with despair, a pawn to my emotion? Or would I be celebrated as being able to listen to the pulls of feelings that tugged inside me?

Would I be remembered for loving the beauty around us, dancing in the rains, flying with the winds, or as one that couldn't react and connect to those with me, too connected to that around me?

Is my weakness viewed as strength? Are my sacrifices accepted as cowardice, the higher path just an excuse?

Do my tears cloak my pain, or let it flow freely? Am I a hero that has saved you, or am I the one who broke you down? Do you think of me as friend you can count on, or as someone who didn't give too easily?

Does your lack of understanding me, force you to conclude that I am difficult? Are my decisions, heartless or does emotion harden me?

Will my loyalty to you not matter if I can't give you what you want but what you need? Would my holding back make me a heart breaker or will it command your respect?

Am I a mystery to you, or just one that shrouds herself with the idea of it? Do my secrets intrigue you, or suffocate you? Does my truth calm or scare you? Do you define me with your memory of me, or do you let me show you the canvas of my existence?

Everyday I arise, everyday I exist, and everyday you decide who I am going to be.