Rain song.

A big long monologue,
Some moments, and a movie unmade.
With sounds of the thunder,
With the touch of a little rain.

Hearts thrive, memories are made, minds are blown away. Making us experience life and hallucinations in many different ways. But in all honesty, nothing for me has really stayed. It looks like a drop of rain and feels like silk. Then when it is over, like rivers, like the thundering majestic rains. Like these things that happen that we call accidents, things we have little or no control over. But we still try to make it, to work it, try to change it even when clearly nothing is complying. It then comes clear that change in our nature and life is definitely more unpredictable than I am.

How deep did it drown you in finding yourself and how high you rose in losing your ‘Self’? How close you finally got to your alter ego and how far it took you to feel no hate. How many times did you give in because you didn’t dislike it enough or how easy was is to accept loss and feed your soul into those failures. As unreal or surreal as it might sound but nothing is permanent, what we are left with in the end are a few questions and just a few more. The touch of zephyr from years ago still fragrant in memories. The sound of life that echoes only at the break of dawn in harmony with the bird songs. A piece of him that stays forever but a universe that just passes by, quietly all in its commotion. A big city with even bigger lights, inspiration blowing in the wind and tears which are dry. When love has got nothing to do with winning why are heartbreaks shamed? Why does it have to do anything with winning when it is all about exploring, believing, forgiving and embracing. Why does it still take wars and heroes to establish peace? Why is rape such a culture and is loving the same gender still a chance, a game?

It is also little strange that pain is more acceptable than personal pleasures. Even worse when they are guilty pleasure, mostly guilty of being yourself. I am not a picky person, but I make my choice again of being a little stubborn. Maybe, just as much as the rest of us. On an April summer Friday evening doing something new, something I did everyday while I was in Kathmandu. Hustling a little somewhat to find better spots to be at. Generally, in life but right now also at the coffee shop, stubborn about finding the best corner and a tall dark handsome cup of guilt. Because life is not as serious as we thing it is and coffee not as simple a subject of choice. It sure is a little bit of everything, an experience, a cup of who we are, own with our very causes of this deep dark addiction

Some Saturday mornings that happen a little later than the afternoons because some nights are just a little longer than usual. Yet another cup of coffee, looking out of the window, staring at the pool of beauty. Absorbed in the color of cloudy gray skies and the promises that the cold winds make. A breather out of a breather, some silence in isolation with some more silence. Then a choice between the chill of a cold bucket shower or the warmth pouring out of the shower good enough to burn, just a little. ‘Playing many roles must be so difficult’ I said. ‘Possibly but what more daunting is being true to yourself, in all situations, in all sense.’ A wise man said. The image of liberation staring back at the image of me I have made.

Then there are these weekends that relieve. Off the burden that we carry on our shoulder of concerns about failing, as nations or humanity. Evenings full of interesting ‘Crowd’ and even more interesting spirits, of all kinds. At least if no one does, the music always stays. One thing that doesn’t play you but you could play. Movements that surround with speed like that of light. Sudden pauses and conversations with some infrasonic sounds. All of which happens in harmony even the spirits break, even when the beats drop.

This joy in getting lost in finding absolute devotion. Wisdom in not knowing, power in accepting that nothing really was just mine. The beauty in winning over my battles and seeking the presence of my moment’s ‘Self’, is the absolute nothingness that tempts, creeps in like a bad habit. The real revolution resting on the horizon of the mind. Letting go of self judgement, of self-hating, letting go of guilt that perspires when happiness starts to overwhelm. Letting go of the fear that cripples when life gets tough and the lines don’t bend. The image stares back and the question remains, who are you going to be today?

P.S These long weekends and little moments you realize how different the imagination of your reality is, to the reality of the imagination.