Rhea D'Souza: 2017

Defined.

By design 

Salve to an understanding 

Freedom is caged.

Shackled by the slumber of doubt

Without faith 

Freedom wastes away 

Like the tepid water running out of a once fresh mango 

Slowing turning the fruit into its own grave

Drowned.

Burdened by habits of thinking

Freedom waits 

Like a puppet in the wings

For someone

To pull the strings.

Fear activated

It mimics life.

I am saddened by the victory 

Of fear over freedom

Once again.

When will we be free to be free?

Rhea 

Cannot signpost in language

The pause that I fall headlong into ..

between two silences.

Holding conversations without a beginning or end.

I realize painfully

That somethings are  like perforated experiences

Series of holes held together by blank pieces of paper

Delicate. So fragile.

Holding the conversations.. the pages ..the book and eventually 

The story together.

To be read and understood one day... 

Someday. 

Till then 

I must resist the urge to tear off the page.,,

that seems loose..

and be patient.

Rhea

It was a closed book

Thick grey and very important looking

He lay it in front of me..  

I could see the frayed pages ..one on top of the other 

Read, re-read, stacked, marked, contemplated
, and even ..slept upon....I guess.

I wait.
 Patiently ..I think
, 

Time goes by .. shadows change.

We look at the book in-between
, and then at each other

Waiting ..stretches
 the long pause in the conversation 

I am silent ..and so is he, 
just like the grey book

Silence !!!

I am still waiting…

But now, 
No longer waiting still.

I begin to fidget, look around, long quick breaths escape unchecked..

He continues to look at me,does not move an inch,
 and then the book 

He isn’t about to break the silence anytime soon
..I can sense that.

Time has some strange habits..

I notice my body beginning to contract inch by inch

I fidget to make space, to breathe
 ..

and in that shifting .. 

I suddenly become aware of, the nature, of my waiting, shift

What was masquerading like patience was really, tolerance.

And as I hear the voices of the  two Waits…

I hear..

Tolerance saying, “I am waiting ..Can we move on..?”

Waiting for things to close..

Patience saying, “I am waiting ..Can we move in…?

Waiting for things to Open..

Pause!!!  

Waiting suspended for a bit

Taking a deep breath.. I smile, 

Waiting now.... 

Not to move on - but to move in.

34 Reads

Jet lagged and tired.. 

It was a perfect excuse to be bored. 

Sitting at home doing nothing. So I did just that   - Nothing.  

Not because I wanted to but because I couldn’t do anything else .

 TV channel switching ..books pages flipping …even eating chocolate Didn’t work.   

So I let myself  Be bored. All the distraction lost their power. 

There is something about nothing on the outside being a hook anymore that almost forces one to go and stay within.

As I entered the Boredom..  I also encountered a different me. 

A me that I generally don’t get to meet .. Since I don’t easily get bored. 

Or, more honestly don’t let myself get there. 

As my mind settled down into the slow steady rhythm of bored, and stop fighting it… 

It actually felt so much ease.. 

I could hear my deepest thoughts  And feel the tiny sensations. 

It was like being in a whole different world  Where time stood still. I felt at home. 

The things that were really important were now clearer. Seeing has a different meaning.

Be Bored. 

Don’t let your mind trick you into entertainment.

Enter. 

The silence that gets created inside wants to say something. 

When the outside  is no longer alluring -  you can see through the Lure. 

Being bored can be a great doorway to  Listen to the conversation inside. 

and a great indicator that ...It’s time.

Be Bored 

 Be Connected.  

These tears you keep holding back,

                    were only meant to flow and make you lighter

These words you keep swallowing down, 

                  were only meant to make you empty and set you free

These battles you keep avoiding,

                   were only meant to get clarity of what is really important

These mountains you keep carrying,

                        were only meant for you to climb and cross

These seeking journeys that frustrate you,

                          were only meant for you to meet your self in the wilderness.

These loud voices  which you want to shut your ears to, 

                      were only meant for you to hear the unheard louder pleas 

These cruelties  of your heart breaks,

                      were only meant to open the heart and set your soul free.

These moments of getting lost and wandering,

                        were only meant for you to keep wondering and find magic.

These dark nights and long tunnels,

                        were only meant for you to have faith and embrace your fears with love

You see.. dear one all along,  they were all 

for you, never to you.

In the wake of  night - lay dawn.

In the wake of a retreating wave - lay unfettered sand.

In the wake of a flower - lay the fruit.

In the wake of history – lay art.

In the wake of the storm - lay an opportunity to de-clutter.

In the wake of a fight - lay apologies and intimacy.

In the wake of a smile - lay restfulness.

In the wake of crisis – lay resilience and new perspectives.

In the wake of the silent dawn  - lay the busy chirping of waking up birds.

In the wake of the tears  - lay a fresh heart.

In the wake of death -  lay the possibilities of  new life.

In the wake of quake  - lay vulnerability.

And yet…

Yet ....

We refuse and resist wake-ing…

Wake does not mean an end..

It just marks the temporary past location of something as it was ..

Making way for what is.

Time to A-wake.

 Tired from the weight of accumulated time

Fragments of identity 

Start to loosen and float.

Like dust particles

Going up in the air 

when we dust old mattresses

Kept on the loft.

I remember, as a child,  being mesmerised 

watching them move in the singular light beam

I would never know for sure if, 

I was seeing the particles because of the light 

Or,  the light because of the dust particles.

What fascinated me was also ,

how one little movement or interference in one place 

and the entire band of dust moved…like magic!!!

Maybe that is true of the fragments of identity as well.

It is irritating for some time, for sure 

The fog, the burning eyes, the itchy skin, the runny nose, the fatigue

But in the end

It is freeing  - softening - cleansing;

Time to come down from the loft.

Rhea D'Souza