I've been robbed.
I haven't the confidence to hit the post button about anything. And so i return with very little to say but the determination to say it nonetheless.
What robbed me? What do you think it was?
Complacence? Couldn't be. I'm not feeling complacent. Just content.
Then that must be it.
Contentment robbed me of my will to write.
So when i do finally get to making words the way i used to; tucking them in at the waist line and fluffing out their sleeves; i seem to land myself in a tangled mess of threads and no frills and flounces. Maybe that's what i was robbed off. The flourish was stolen from me.
All that i find myself left with are the blunt bits that used to once be dressed up for the races, or a ball or something pretty like that. Like the dowager duchess in her nightgown. Or the queen in the overalls from her nightmares.
Then again i might only have been robbed of a few concepts here and there. I find myself wandering off the idyllic roads of my imagination and onto the battered countryside paths of India.
No more phrases and dreams from Anne of Green Gables or wild ideas snatched greedily from the platters of Hollywood love potions. None of that.
I've found myself infatuated with the idea of India more than i have ever been. Sure, i've always loved this place. It's home. But now i find myself craving more and more knowledge, facts when once it was only about a clannish and reflexive defence of my countrymen. It's becoming more and more cerebral. I want to wander into the labyrinths and columned halls of the ancient literature. I want to wrap my mind in the folds of Draupadi's endless sari and look at the evolution (or glorious lack of it) of the people through the restless eyes of Sita as she scanned the earth from Ravan's chariot.
I want to bathe myself in the wonderful Sanskrit culture that ebulliently emerged with the Vedic writings and then wandered down the ages, sagely and wise.
I want to meander like history; over the pools of quicksilver tradition and wading through the forever tumultuous currents of belief and religion, agitating them further with each step. The children still born into the gilt beliefs of warrior pride mystify me. I find my self drawn to the armed hills that have stood through the sieges and the charges. I want to be lost in the ageless relief in the temples.
Let me think.
I have not been robbed.
I have been lost. Lost and left to find my own way.
And now the glimmering lights of home are calling to me.
I haven't the confidence to hit the post button about anything. And so i return with very little to say but the determination to say it nonetheless.
What robbed me? What do you think it was?
Complacence? Couldn't be. I'm not feeling complacent. Just content.
Then that must be it.
Contentment robbed me of my will to write.
So when i do finally get to making words the way i used to; tucking them in at the waist line and fluffing out their sleeves; i seem to land myself in a tangled mess of threads and no frills and flounces. Maybe that's what i was robbed off. The flourish was stolen from me.
All that i find myself left with are the blunt bits that used to once be dressed up for the races, or a ball or something pretty like that. Like the dowager duchess in her nightgown. Or the queen in the overalls from her nightmares.
Then again i might only have been robbed of a few concepts here and there. I find myself wandering off the idyllic roads of my imagination and onto the battered countryside paths of India.
No more phrases and dreams from Anne of Green Gables or wild ideas snatched greedily from the platters of Hollywood love potions. None of that.
I've found myself infatuated with the idea of India more than i have ever been. Sure, i've always loved this place. It's home. But now i find myself craving more and more knowledge, facts when once it was only about a clannish and reflexive defence of my countrymen. It's becoming more and more cerebral. I want to wander into the labyrinths and columned halls of the ancient literature. I want to wrap my mind in the folds of Draupadi's endless sari and look at the evolution (or glorious lack of it) of the people through the restless eyes of Sita as she scanned the earth from Ravan's chariot.
I want to bathe myself in the wonderful Sanskrit culture that ebulliently emerged with the Vedic writings and then wandered down the ages, sagely and wise.
I want to meander like history; over the pools of quicksilver tradition and wading through the forever tumultuous currents of belief and religion, agitating them further with each step. The children still born into the gilt beliefs of warrior pride mystify me. I find my self drawn to the armed hills that have stood through the sieges and the charges. I want to be lost in the ageless relief in the temples.
Let me think.
I have not been robbed.
I have been lost. Lost and left to find my own way.
And now the glimmering lights of home are calling to me.
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